Tarzan, The Man update (Patreon)

Her body now prone, bowled down by Tarzan’s ceaseless thrusting, Jane squirmed against the rug, loving the way her stiff nipples dug into the luscious bearskin fur. She felt the little hairs brushing against her sensitive breasts, both irritating and titillating her, and her eyelids flickered with the mixture of pain and pleasure that throbbed through her. It felt like it had been hours since Tarzan had first stripped her bare, making her his wife in body as well in the eyes of God and the Law, and she had been nothing but his wife, his wife in the flesh, ever since then. Whenever his body seemed to flag, his all-encompassing lust for her overrode it and he was back to demanding his fill of her.

Then Tarzan’s passion came to another crescendo. His fingers dug into Jane’s rump as his manhood swelled and throbbed inside her.

“HHHGH!” he yelled, a stream of pure potency shooting high into Jane’s spasming womanhood.

Jane jutted her ass up into Tarzan as his cock blurred in her warm cunt, shooting the seed that covered her inner walls and washed back out, to run slowly down her thighs.

Tarzan grunted, bursts of passion slowly stilling as his prick ran out of emissions to give her. He sighed, ramming his still-hard erection into Jane, feeling her tremble from head to toe as he rampaged through the newly sensitive folds innervated by his semen. He groped Jane’s ass hard, kneading it like clay as he slowly eased his prick away from her. Jane let out a cry of mingled pain and lust.

“Was that a sin?” Tarzan asked her.

Jane gasped and panted, trying to catch her breath from the amazing climax she’d had, almost in deference to Tarzan’s completion. “I don’t see how it couldn’t be.”

“Then it’s a sin,” Tarzan muttered. “One I’ll never repent of.”

Now that she could think more or less freely—hampered by the quivering aftershocks of delirious passion, but inspired by the rush of oxygen to the brain in the wake of their lovemaking’s cessation—Jane realized that as quickly as Tarzan had grasped so much of the civilized world, his thinking was not sufficiently developed to capture the complicated thought process of morality and sinfulness.

Her first thought was to pity him, once more regretting the vile circumstances and trying hardships that had robbed him of a proper upbringing and joyous childhood, even if those same circumstances had brought about the evolution in him that had made Tarzan her savior on many occasions.

Her second impulse was to find something beautiful in Tarzan’s innocent, animalistic attitude toward sex. It struck her as possibly more proper than her own chastity, for he saw sex as it must have been in the Garden of Eden, as something naturalistic, fraught only with pleasures to be uncovered. Jane almost wished she could be as free about it as he was, though even after the pleasures he had shown her, she couldn’t give up her genteel conception of herself as a lady with any enthusiasm.

She smiled sadly, but sweetly, and held Tarzan with a resolve not to regret what they’d done. Jane knew she should be thoroughly ashamed of herself for losing herself so wholeheartedly in the fornication, even if he was her husband, and so possibly encourage Tarzan down, as he himself had said, a sinful path. But it was easy to repress the smattering of shame she felt. It was insignificant compared to the glowing sense of satisfaction he’d left inside her, filling her and flowing through her as though there could be no end to her wifely contentment.

“Maybe it was too wonderful to be a sin,” she cooed. “I’m glad we waited. I don’t know what I would’ve done with myself if it’d felt that good when we weren’t man and wife.”

“Why wouldn’t it have felt as good?” Tarzan asked. “I’m no stronger now than I was then. You’re no more beautiful. I desire you as I always have, no more, no less.”

“Oh?” Jane asked, eyebrow quirked. “Haven’t you been wanting me more and more with each passing second in which you were denied?”

Tarzan’s scarred brow furrowed. “I can want you no more than I already do. A bottle can’t be filled beyond its fullness. A bucket can’t hold more than its brim.”

Jane giggled, now a little abashed—not of the sex, but of her thoughtlessness. “Then you’ve been… wanting me… as desperately as a man can want a woman… for all this time?”

Tarzan gave a sharp nod. “Since I first laid eyes on you.”

Jane bit her nail. “Oh. Oh dear. Tarzan, it’s been… how you must’ve suffered!”

He shrugged his mighty shoulders. “After your engagement to Clayton, I tried to—bury it down—like hunger pangs when there’s no food. No point in thinking of the taste of food… Then, when we were wed, I told myself that you were mine. That I would have you forever and so the wait to enjoying you was only a little thing, compared to that eternity.”

“Oh, Tarzan,” Jane mewled, burying her face in his hairy chest. “No wonder you were so enthusiastic…”

His voice lightened with amusement. “You think an explanation is needed, when you look the way you do?”

“My dear husband, no matter how attractive you find me, there’s… I’ve never heard of a man whose body is able to so continuously…”

“I thought you maidens didn’t talk of such things?” Tarzan cut her off, wry almost to the point of laughter. “Enough talk of love. It’s a poor substitute for what our bodies can share and we’ve rested long enough.”

“Enough?” Jane gasped. “You still want more?”

“You want more,” Tarzan informed her. “I will give it to you.”

And with her nipples tightening, her heart racing, and a similar throbbing down between her legs, Jane could not disagree. As much as he’d satisfied her, she could not stay satisfied.

Tarzan lunged to his feet, then shot a hand down to help her up. Jane took it willingly and let him pull her up, though the motion sent flickers of soreness through her tightly corded body. Making love to Tarzan was pure pleasure, but it brought with it the grueling aches of the most strenuous athleticism. Jane wondered if the course of her marriage, and their mutual determination to sate each other’s appetites, might not end with her looking like a circus strongwoman.

Not putting on a stitch of clothes and not allowing Jane to do so either, Tarzan led her out the door of the cabin, into the wilds that had been his world until he met her.

***

“What now?” Jane asked her naked husband out in nature.

Tarzan looked at her, beginning to feel the pangs of lust travel down into his limp cock. Jane stood proudly bare in the moonlight, bathed in silver with tiny shadows marking the curves of her nude body. Her nipples were ripe red cherries perched high on her snowy breasts, all coated with a glimmer of white by the all-seeing moon.

The shadow nestled between her legs pulled at him like a river’s mouth pulled at its source. Tarzan knew he needed her again; that having her had done nothing to diminish his drive for her. Now that he knew how good it was to fuck her, she was a need as dear to him as air or food or water. There was no way to go without her, as if he could ever want to!

“We go into the woods. Tonight, at least, we’re masters of all we survey. Why not enjoy it?”

Jane liked the sound of it. She imagined them settling on some large estate in America, close to nature, with no servants—they could do this as often as they liked. So far, Jane’s obscene willingness hadn’t wilted. In her present state, she wondered if she would ever put on clothes again. Hang the return trip to America; perhaps they could stay out in these woods forever.

Tarzan waited for Jane to obey him, then watched her walk ahead of him, her ass dappled by the leaves blocking the moonlight as it wiggled and twitched. He wondered how much of it was her trying to please him and how much of it was the natural, instinctive woman coming out now that she had a place and a person with which to express herself.

It didn’t matter. All he cared about was having that lovely little ass again. His cock was hardening to a throbbing stiffness, a painful state of profound erection, telling him it would only be sated by the tempting sight before him.

“This is magnificent, running around with no clothes on!” Jane called back to him. “I feel like a wood nymph.”

“No wood nymph could be as beautiful as you,” Tarzan said. He made a grab for her, but Jane danced ahead of his grasping hands.

“Wood nymphs don’t let themselves be caught so easily,” she teased, flashing an appraising glance at his half-erect manhood, then racing off into the forest.

Tarzan grunted in minor frustration, knowing he would inevitably have her, and ran after Jane. His erection lanced ahead of him in a way that made Jane laugh delightedly when she looked back. With his member so engorged, Tarzan was taking considerable care as he picked his way through the unfamiliar woods, which allowed Jane to both outpace and dodge his attempts to get hold of her. He got harder and harder as more of his grabs failed to catch her. Then Tarzan stepped into a mudhole, his leg sinking in it to the knee.

Jane stopped and turned around, grabbing hold of a tree branch above her and hanging off it so that only her toes could touch the ground. The shift in weight threw an alluring jiggle through her naked breasts.

“Can’t you do better than that, husband? You know I want you to catch me, right?”

She swung on the thick branch, enough to give Tarzan a taunting glimpse of her womanhood, then she let go of it and ran.

This time Tarzan sprinted after her, heedless of the reverberations his sharp footfalls sent up his legs and into his too-sensitive phallus. He caught up with her before the pain was too intense and tackled her. They both went end over end down a grassy knoll. Tumbling over and over, Tarzan managed to get between Jane’s legs by the time they rolled to a stop. His cockhead probed at her seething cuntlips, but he didn’t yet enter her.

“Take me. Go on! You got me fair and square. I’m yours to do with as you please,” Jane cooed, batting her eyelashes, as submissive a mate as could be imagined—if not for the fact that everything about her, body and soul, was demanding Tarzan satisfy her as quickly and as thoroughly as possible.

“As I please?” Tarzan questioned. “How about a little punishment for keeping your husband waiting?”

He twisted her around so that she was bent over his knee while he half-knelt. Jane’s lips formed his name questioningly, but before she could finish her question of asking if he was serious, he opened her hand and slapped her lovely ass with his palm.

There was an audacious clap, as if someone watching deeply approved of the deed, and Jane’s deftly rounded buttocks compressed inward, flattening almost to the bone before rebounding back to their juicy fullness. Now a pink flush marked her bare bottom. Tarzan gave her another stinging spank on the opposite side and Jane yelped, tears gathering in her eyes.

Now that Tarzan had dispensed a punishing blow to either of her cheeks, he stroked the bubbly flesh, and found Jane mewling heartrendingly as she felt both the pleasure of his touch and the pain of it being on her inflamed and reddened buttocks.

Tarzan gave Jane’s ass an agreeable pat and then loosened his grip on her. Jane wiggled free, onto her hands and knees—she tramped away a few paces, then stopped, looking over her shoulder to show him with her eyes that it was deliberate, how she’d stopped with her well-spanked ass presented for his inspection. She stayed on her hands and knees, even wiggling her little ass to be sure he got the message.

“Have I been punished enough?”

“Not nearly,” Tarzan answered, his cock snapping rigidly to attention, erected to the highest rank of lust by how willingly Jane asked to give him more pleasure and reap her own.

The sight of her ass, red and rosy and almost still quivering from the force of his spanking, made him almost lose himself without even touching her. He could see, between her slender legs, the darkness where his prick could enter his body. The tiny strands of her thatch poked out enough to mark the opening beyond a shadow of a doubt. Soft and wet and wanton, a perfect fit for his manhood. And it should be. He was the only man ever to have claimed this prize.

“Tarzan, you took my maidenhead—“ Jane grinned to herself, blushing at how wide her own smile was when it was hidden from Tarzan’s questing eyes. “And I doubt it’s ever been more freely given in all the annals of marriage. But there are still other parts of me that are virgin. Won’t you be good enough to lay claim to them as well? I want to be your wife in every possible aspect.”

“Perhaps I’m worn out from that run,” Tarzan taunted her gleefully.

“Really? I feel well-rested—very well-rested indeed. All my muscles are relaxed, expect one. Would you like to relax it? It may try to keep you out at first, but you are Lord of the Jungle… my Lord…”

“Jane, you seem determined to live out thirty years of marriage within a single day!”

“Why not, when I see such a return on my investment? I’ve had all the pleasures of a lifetime tonight, with no heartbreak save that I can’t have still more.”

“If you’re brokenhearted, allow your husband to mend you.”

Jane felt her heart swell at how he meant it. The misty tears that had been summoned to her eyes with pain now fell with joy. “Oh, Tarzan, I swear on every inch of me that no one has ever had me but you and I will never be anyone else’s but yours! I’m not even my own anymore! All of me belongs to you! You have my heart! You have my soul!”

The man in Tarzan had spoken, but now the animal would have its say. He crouched down behind her kneeling body, in this peculiar arrangement that Jane was becoming so fondly accustomed to, and his hands sought out her breasts. He clamped his fingers down on them hard, the pain of it shooting into her body. He was really touching her too firmly for her delicate constitution, but Jane couldn’t bring herself to care. She could withstand all the tortures of the Orient if only she could have his manhood again, partway to her womb, where it belonged.

Tarzan put his hands on Jane’s trim waist, but instead of pulling himself into her, he pulled her back to him, while rolling back onto his ass so that his legs slipped underneath her and she landed in his lap. Only she didn’t exactly sit on his lap. She sat squarely on his turgid erection, so squarely that it vanished right into her sex.

They both gasped at suddenly being merged, deeply and instantaneously, his cock mated to her pussy from his balls to the very tip. Jane came as she crashed down on his sizable erection, her eyes crossing in a woozy haze as her pleasure skyrocketed and then crashed back down into a lust for more. Tarzan reclined down onto his back, leaving Jane straddling his loins.

Jane twisted from side to side, relishing the feel of having him inside her, but soon she needed more. She needed to be fucked. And in their current position, there was nothing to stop her from fucking herself, with his generous contribution to her efforts.