Tarzan heard a piercing cry.

Tarzan heard a piercing cry.

It was a sound unlike anything he'd ever heard.

It was thin and soft, and rather melodic, just as enchanting as the voice of a singing bird,

whatever the creature behind the voice was.

It was one hell of a fragile creature, and it needed help. Tarzan swung into action. He leapt into the air, grasped a tree

branch with one hand, and gingerly swung to the next tree. He swung through trees, sometimes grasping branches, other times

grasping the rope stangling in the air. He slid across branches, swung himself around and

alternated between grasping tree branches and ropes with his hands and feet. The chilly morning

breeze was anything but calm. It whistled through

leaves and unsettled Tarzan's hair with each move of his strong, muscular body. Each time he swung,

his loincloth swished around him, bearing his thick, girthy cock, which was swinging along with him, his balls

dangling back and forth between his legs. The loincloth was the only thing he ever wore. It was brown

and tattered, and always did a poor job at hiding his nudity. The source of the voice he had heard was many kilometers away,

but his good sense of hearing had picked up the sound anyway.

He finally arrived at his destination

and found an elegant figure in a forbidden part of the jungle,

where ravenous wolves would not hesitate to rip her apart.

Her hair was long and brown, cascading down her back, while her fair skin glowed in the bright

morning light, starkly contrasting with his sun-tanned skin. He could stand and fight the pack of wolves,

which had already circled him,

bearing their teeth at her while they snarled and growled. He could single-handedly take them all out.

...