Tarzan: Mating Season (Patreon)

Tarzan was despondent. The rational mind that he had been cursed with amidst his native instincts told him he had acted rightly in giving up his cherished and desired mate, Jane, to his cousin William, who could better provide for the needs of a civilized woman.

But he had been willing to give up the solitary life of jungle-lord for her. How, then, could he go back to the weaker of the exchange?

The civilized world held some small pleasures for him besides Jane. He was an insatiable reader, his intellect voracious for the diet of which it had been starved up to his discovery of Jane and the rest of the marooned. In his fathomless lust for periodicals, magazines, books, newspapers, and pamphlets of all sorts, he read of the Ubinas of Peru.

The journalist’s account of them struck a parallel with him, though as through a looking glass. He, a white man, had been robbed of his heritage and placed into savage circumstances, to master that setting. The Ubinas, already masters of their Central American province, had caught the backhand of his own fate, having the whiteness of Spanish conquistadors forced upon them by rapine and the grievous murder of their males.

But as with him, from extraordinary circumstances came extraordinary deeds. The Ubina women became Amazons of the Amazon—they fled from their ancestral lands to the remote Tambo, where they were once again struck by cruel fate. The men of their new home lacked the appreciative respect shown by their slaughtered mates, seeing women as little more than property.

The Ubinas did not care to flee the Spaniard’s rape and pillage only for ravishment to become their lot in life. They set a territory forbidden to all men, only accepting male company during the month of Toshi, in which every one of these woman warriors would do her duty to perpetuate the tribe.

This curious telling provoked Tarzan’s intrigue, its mystery challenging his sense of perception as would a ranging predator that needed to be put down. Where a normal man might dismiss this oddity or make it the subject of idle daydream, Tarzan felt compelled to ascertain for himself the truth of the matter, the same way any red-blooded male would be provoked by the crossest fighting words.

He bypassed the public record entirely. He had enough faith in the fourth estate to think that there must be some truth to the story—as there is fruit in even the most spiked punch bowl—but the journalist swearing on every saint of his religion and every decedent of his family would not convince him as would seeing with his own eyes and touching with his own hands.

Tarzan made passage to Peru, readily using the marvels of modern convenience—train, boat, carriage, and even aeroplane, until the jungle welcomed him. By canoe he made the last leg of the journey, against the warnings of natives and their assured refusal to accompany him. They mistook Tarzan for any other white man. He was not looking for bearers or guides. He wished to learn this alien jungle for himself, not have it explained to him as though a dry and dusty text.

He moored his canoe at the boundary of the Ubina land, only then finally stripping off the linen suit that stood between him and the fullest sensation of the jungle. Adorned in but a loincloth and the few tools he carried on his body, he ventured into their territory. It did not take long for him to encounter an Ubina and she lived up to their legend.

Her fit, athletically sculpted body—and this was easy to see, for she wore only loincloth and feather headdress collecting her hair—was by no means white, but was largely fair-skinned, with a bronze tan that glowed with the humid sweat of the clime. Tarzan could only imagine that the Ubina’s dalliances with the various tribes of this heterogeneous area diffused the dark skin of their neighbors, allowing the fairness of their Spanish despoilers to remain predominant.

It made for an appealingly exotic mix. Her burnished black hair was balanced with blue eyes, while her exposed nipples had the pinkness of a European despite their brackish surroundings. Her curves he found most pleasing—her ample breasts and curvaceous hips set a truly attractive rhythm to the outline of her body, which otherwise was long slender legs, toned arms, and a lean, taut torso. Her flat belly even dipped inward between the abundance of her chest and hips, reminding him of his lost Jane—and furthering Tarzan’s desire to bury her memory.

“You are a white man,” the woman said, hands tightly gripping the shaft of her spear. The ease with which she handled its heft, casually ready to deploy it against him, told Tarzan it was all but another appendage to her. “Have you come for the festival of Toshi?”

“It seems to be the only safe time to pay your people a visit,” Tarzan replied. “I am Tarzan. I come here because your rituals intrigue me.”

“The festival of Toshi is not for outsiders!” she spat. “If you have come to breed, where is your offering?”

“I was told of no offering to bring. But if one is required, I will produce it.”

The woman barked a laugh. “Ha! I have been hunting all morning. If there is no game for the Ubina, there is no game—“

Tarzan took his bow down from the prong that attached it to his quiver, quickly stringing the bow, then taking an arrow out to nock. The woman backed away from him, her spear hefted at his chest with room to spare for her to take advantage of the reach of the weapon.

But Tarzan had no eyes for her. He pulled back the arrow and, just as she noticed the rustle in the canopy of the towering trees, he loosed it. Not even a moment later, a monkey fell to the jungle floor, transfixed by Tarzan’s pinpoint accuracy.

The lord of the apes quickly broke its neck and ended its suffering, then pulled his arrow free and cleaned it with some of the murky leaves that carpeted the dirt. “Purús red howler, I would say,” Tarzan said. “And it smells like good meat.”

“Who are you?” the woman insisted.

“That is a long story,” Tarzan said. “But accept that there are many jungles, a great deal like yours, and in my own, I am as comfortable as you are here.”

“But, to do what you have done, in a land you are a stranger to—on your native soil, you must be a god!” the woman gasped.

Tarzan shook his head. “Only a king, and I’ve had to fight to retain my throne.” He pulled aside his long, unbound hair to show her the scar left from his battle with Terkoz. While not detracting from the majesty of his features, it did curdle the impression of him. In all other respects, Tarzan could convince as the gentleman and English lord he was, but the sight of how he wore that scar showed that he was far more than his birthright.

It seemed to impress the woman more even than his feat of archery had. “To have survived such a blow… yes… surely you are a king, of much noble blood. The tribe will greatly benefit from your seed.”

Tarzan nodded curtly. “Good. Then you will lead me to your village and explain to them I come with no ill will?”

“Yes… shortly… I will. But I will be the first to bear you a child.” She undid the knot holding her loincloth about her otherwise bare pubis. “I am Apri. Take me. Take me as you will my sisters and mothers… after I am done.”

As tempting as her womanhood looked to him, Tarzan knew enough of mating rituals to feel that was a treat best saved for last. Instead, he stretched out his hands to her ripe breasts. His touch sent shudders of shimmering pleasure through her body; Apri gasped at the delicious feel of his grip on her chest. Her breath came in irregular gasps as she thrust her cleavage into his hands, her every expression pleading for him to caress her further.

“Yesss,” she moaned to him. “Touch them! Suck them! Oooh… play with them until they ache! Mmmm…”

Tarzan’s touch was like electricity, thrilling Apri with trembling shocks every moment he was caressing her flesh. Slowly, deliberately, he worked every sensation he gave her up into throbbing ecstasy. Just from the sight of him, Apri had thought he would be a good mate. She’d never dreamed the experience would be this rapturous—she’d never imagined anything could be this good.

She writhed sensuously under the soft exploration of his hands. Ever since they’d plucked that bowstring, she had watched those hands, wondering how they would feel on her flesh. She’d hoped his harsh lips would smile at her and that she’d see a slow fire kindle in his eyes when he looked at her. And now—she may not have spent long lusting after him, but when he touched her, it was like something she’d waited for her whole life.

“OOOOH!” she moaned, her senses reeling as he drew her to him. Her naked breasts flattened against his chest, engorged nipples so sensitive that she trembled at the feel of his chest hair. Apri lifted her face up to Tarzan’s and opened her mouth for him to claim.

“Oh yes,” she murmured. “Yes, take me! Take me for your very own!”

His tongue slid between her lips, meeting the taunting play of her own tongue. Their bodies shook with the rapidly mounting passion brought about by their collision. His erection was hot and throbbing under his loincloth—legs strong and demanding as he backed her toward a soft patch of grass.

He eased her down onto the soft surface, and when she was splayed under him, Tarzan plunged his face into her cleavage, sucking and kissing the jubilant mounds into a delirious lust. His tongue lapped at her nipples until they were hard and burning. Her breasts swelled and throbbed, the steady tempo of her desire for Tarzan seeming to fill them with each heaving breath.

Apri panted with each adoring kiss he planted on their contours, body writhing in enjoyment. Her pussy tingled, excited, while his finger explored the opening of her pussy. “Mmmph! Tarzan! I feel like I’ve been bred already!”

When he spoke, Tarzan’s voice was husky and not to be trifled with, not even by her playful flirtation. “When I’ve bred you, you’ll know it.”

His finger entered her slit and rubbed inside her, where her pleasure seemed like a whirling vortex awaiting his touch. Apri shuddered while the passion he filled her with spread out from her sex and filtered through her whole body. She closed her thighs, pinning his hand inside her, wishing for him to further stoke her tempestuous delirium.

Tarzan’s fingertip deftly massaged from the inside of her cunt to her shivering clit; Apri’s breath came in short pants when his finger neared her clitoris and finally reduced it to insensate delight. She reached under his loincloth—his rigid cock immediately filled her hand.

Apri watched the fire blaze in Tarzan’s eyes while she pumped slowly and adoringly on his length. He was as frantic as she was, Apri knew, but far better able to control his latent savagery. The fact that his cock, with all its bestial might, had not yet skewered her was proof of that. His power and masculinity shook inside his thick shaft, his manhood sensing that its time was near. His weapon was ready for whenever the chance came to conquer her wanting sex.

“Nnngh!” Apri groaned, feeling his finger run deeper into her pussy. His knuckles pressured her clit while his long, callused finger stimulated the depths of her womanhood. Her inner muscles pulsated around his digit, capturing it in the velvet softness of her sex, covering it with the juice of her flooding arousal.