Water. Water sprinkled on his face. The animal in Tarzan pushed the pain aside. The beast needed to water. He forced himself out of the agony raging in his head. Brushed aside the red-hot curtain enveloping his mind His tongue sought out water. The animal in him needed to drink.
The flow was in his eyes. Tarzan twisted his head further back. Mouth gaping open .. the stream poured in. He filled his mouth, he swallowed. It was warm, the water was salty. But it was wet. He tore his mouth open again. Filled his mouth full with the strength-restoring flow before closing his lips and swallowing deep.
The stream stopped. Abruptly. Unexpectedly. Disappointed he ripped open his eyes. He needed to take on water, desperately. Above his head stood that beefy muscle-head who’d taken to beating the hell out of him. His nylon shorts down around his thighs, hand on his dick. He’d been pissing into Tarzan’s face. Tarzan had been swallowing his piss.
“It’s all you’re getting.”
Tarzan recognised White Bull’s sneering voice. But he couldn’t see him. Twisted backwards over this boulder.
“Take it or leave it.”
Tarzan took it. It’d do no harm. The whole point was to shame him. For the tribe to see how powerful this chief was. He could even have this hated captive humiliated into drinking the piss of one of their own. Tarzan opened his mouth again. Piss streamed in. His mind wanted to react, the stream was foul-smelling he now realised, the humiliation intense.
But it was no shame to take on water, it was wise to build up his strength. He needed to keep his wits about him. He needed the strength to fight back. HIS time would come. When he had found the strength .. when the chance came to break free. He’d hide himself away, recover, lick his wounds. Then Tarzan would come back to settle scores. Fighting this White Bull on an even keel. Hitting back when he was not helplessly tied down. A fair fight. Showing this new White Bull that Tarzan did not shirk from taking him on. Tarzan had seen off a pair of bullies named White Bull. He’d not shirk from taking a third one down.
And while he was about it .. this favoured henchman White Bull liked to use .. he had better watch his step.
He gulped down restoring fluids. He felt a reviving flush of strength flood into his thighs. His spirits lifted. He could almost suppress the burning pains across his stomach .. push aside his fears that his strength there had been pummelled to mush.
Again his mouth gaped open wide .. unconcerned that this act of theirs was meant to shame. It only shamed if he let it.
The stream shifted. Splattering in his eyes. Tarzan moved his head. Reached for the flow. Got his mouth on it. It moved again. On to his chest. Tarzan heard a snort. He looked up. The chief’s favoured henchmen was smirking down at him. He was toying with Tarzan’s desperation. Making him twist and turn. Fight for the privilege of taking down his piss. Pissing Tarzan around.
Damn that. Tarzan was not playing games. He was not going to be made to beg. He settled back. He stopped struggling. He refused to play along. His head flopped back down. His arched back settled onto the stone underneath. On with it, his body commanded them. Get on with your damned games.