The
Sting of The City
Continuing
the “Sting of the Jungle” series
This
was previously posted in three instalments
It
had been a long flight across the Atlantic, during which Boy had not
made himself popular with the flight crew as he bounded around inside
of the aircraft, hanging from, the luggage lockers, constantly
demanding food, which he insisted on eating with his fingers, and
occasionally trying to peer up the female flight attendants’ skirts.
However,
to the intense excitement of Boy, and the relief of his fellow
passengers the plane finally landed at John F Kennedy airport in New
York.
Boy
had surprisingly little difficulty getting through customs and
immigration control. This was possibly due to the fact that his
loincloth was so short he was self evidently not smuggling anything,
and, by coincidence the staff on duty were either females or gay
males, all of whom were enchanted by his golden haired good looks and
had not had the opportunity to experience his less attractive
character traits.
Boy
had convincingly claimed that he was visiting relatives in New York
and would be returning to the jungle in a few weeks, and, although he
had no idea where his US relatives lived and had no intention of ever
returning to Africa, he had been believed and let through.
Therefore,
it was not long before he was walking into the arrivals lounge,
excitedly anticipating starting his new life in America, free of all
the jungle creatures, which all seemed intent on stinging his bottom.
Thrilled by his liberation, Boy at first failed to notice the
interest his near naked appearance was causing to those around him.
Dressed in nothing more than a skimpy loincloth, Boy certainly stood
out from the crowd.
However,
although some may have been shocked by his lack of clothing, for the
majority of observers his toned and athletic young body was an
unexpected site which engendered more feelings of admiration and lust
than disapproval.
Having
no US dollars to pay for a taxi, Boy had a long bare foot walk before
he eventually arrived in the city, and it was only then that he began
to notice the attention his appearance was causing. As he walked down
the street he suddenly realised that people were stopping to stare at
him, which made him feel uncomfortable and very exposed by comparison
with everyone else.
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Distracted
by his discomfort, and unfamiliar with navigating city streets Boy
accidentally stepped into the road and jumped with a start as a
yellow cab almost hit him and it flashed past blaring it’s horn.
A
second cab, passing in the other direction actually brushed against
him, it’s side mirror catching his loincloth and tearing it from him
as it passed.
All
of a sudden Boy was totally naked standing in the middle of a crowded
New York street, surrounded, by people all staring, pointing and
laughing at him.
Crushed by embarrassment, Boy clamped his hands
over his exposed groin, but could not cover his bare bottom, which
was now on full display.
Instantly
his jungle training came back to save him, with three huge bounds,
over the roofs of passing cars, he grabbed the side of a building,
and like the, ape trained, boy he was, began swiftly and deftly
climbing up the side of the towering structure.
Up
and up the side of the skyscraper he climbed, his well practised feet
and fingers finding tiny footholds in the seemingly sheer surface
until he was almost in the clouds, however, heights were no problem
for Boy, who had spent much of his time in the jungle canopy, he was
just happy to be out of the sight of the crowds below.
Boy
finally reached a penthouse roof garden at the top of one of the
towers where the foliage, albeit in large wooden plant boxes, gave
him a sense of home and security where he could hide from this
strange, clothes wearing world he had landed in.
Kneeling
behind a low wall, he peered over the edge watching city life rushing
on below him, and decided to wait for nightfall, when darkness would
enable him to hide from people as he hunted for some means of
covering his naked body.
Of
course, unlike the jungle, night in the city did not bring darkness,
if anything the lights from the streets and buildings made it even
brighter than daylight.
However,
Boy knew that he could not stay in his eyrie forever, and that he had
to scavenge for clothes and food, so eventually he began a careful
descent from the top of the building, climbing down the back of the
structure, where there was less direct light.
Once
reaching the ground he kept to the shadows and dark alleyways, until
he reached an empty side street leading off a larger street
consisting mainly of shops, which, as the shops were now closed, was
considerably less crowded than elsewhere in the city.
Boy
crept down the street fascinated by the array of clothes on sale,
until he saw, what he assumed to be, a very smart light grey designer
suit, which looked as it was in his size. The suit was similar to one
he had seen in a picture in an in flight magazine he had read on the
flight over.
In
the picture, the man in the suit had been surrounded by beautiful and
scantily clad women all gazing adoringly at him. Perhaps owning a
similar suit could gain Boy similar adoration from equally hot
chicks.
Moments
later the shop window shattered as a garbage bin, which boy had
easily broken free of it’s attachment to a nearby lamp post, smashed
through it. Boy jumped into the window, deftly avoiding the broken
glass, and quickly stripped the suit from the mannequin, before also
grabbing a shirt, tie and shoes which were also on display.
With
the stolen clothes under his arm, Boy sprinted off into the night.
***********
Once
he had clothes and with his innate guile and good looks, it did not
take Boy long to find a room in a shared apartment with a middle aged
man called Wesley Ritter, who was prepared to wait for the rent, if
he could watch boy showering. Boy thought this odd, but assumed it
was a “city folk thing”, and went along with it in exchange for
somewhere to live.
In
addition to housing Boy on the promise of future rent, Wesley used
his contacts to get Boy a job in brokerage firm in Lower Manhattan,
which was how Boy was to start his brief, and ill fated, career in
high finance.
Rechristening
himself as Guy, and wearing his stolen grey suit, Boy, with his
handsome blonde looks, and boyish charm was initially welcomed warmly
by his fellow workmates, especially with the females and gay men.
However,
it was not long before the less attractive side the Boy’s character
began to show itself. Free from the moderating influence of Tarzan’s
firm, hard. hand and even harder paddle, it was not long before Boy’s
arrogant, selfish and downright nasty behaviour had totally alienated
his co-workers.
Boy’s
bad behaviour extended to his leisure hours, when he wasn’t pursuing
women at city bars and nightclubs, he was using his jungle learned
athletic prowess to bully and humiliate weaker and less able people.
Being almost totally self interested, Boy did not realise how
unpopular he was making himself.
Among
those who had originally welcomed “Guy” warmly, but soon learned
better were Marc Temple and Kamil (Kam) Nowak, two gay men who, after
having met through work had recently moved together. Being gay, Marc
and Kam had initially been delighted by the newcomer’s handsome
appearance and athletic young body, however, this did not last long,
and they soon developed a strong dislike for their new co-worker,
albeit, while still considering him totally hot.
They
also soon realised that Guy was up to no good, as he was clearly
spending far more money than he could possibly be earning. Kam
worked in the firm’s IT department, so he was able to view Guy’s
computer records and discover that the young villain was syphoning
company funds into his own bank account.
“Ha!”
cried Marc when Kam showed him the evidence “Now we get to teach
that jerk a lesson!!
“Yes!”
smiled Kam, he is going to get what he deserves!”
***
It
was early Friday evening and most of the staff at the brokerage firm
where Boy now worked had left for the weekend. Usually Boy would
have been one of the first out the door, keen to spend his wages,
rent money, and undisclosed additional income in the clubs and bars
of the Upper West Side, enjoying the company of the scantily clad
girls and women who always crowed around him due to his good looks
and lavish spending habits.
However,
this Friday Boy had stayed late in the office, he had received a
mysterious memo instructing him to attend a special out of hours
meeting on the executive floor. Boy was curious to know what the
meeting was about, and why he had been invited. Arrogantly, and with
a startling lack of self awareness, he wondered if he was in line for
a promotion or bonus. Although, in truth, his standard of work could
hardly warrant a reward of any sort.
Had
he been so tardy and careless with his chores back in the jungle,
Tarzan would certainly have toasted his little bottom, however,
nothing like that was going to happen in the city, or so Boy thought.
Just
before six thirty boy took the elevator to the 18th floor,
the executive floor, where the meeting was due to take place, he
glanced at himself in the mirror, and was pleased he looked so hot
and handsome in his new, black, designer suit.
When
he was in the jungle, Boy had no interest in his appearance, but
since he had been in the city, and discovered how women responded to
his handsome looks, he had added personal vanity to his long list of
character flaws.
He
smiled to himself, confident that his appearance would impress the
bosses he was about to meet with.
What
Boy did not know, was that all the company executives were attending
a weekend team building seminar in Colorado, and the executive floor
was, therefore, unoccupied that evening.
When
the elevator arrived on the 18th Floor, Boy made his way
to the office where he had been told the meeting was to be held.
Expecting the room to be full of company bosses, he knocked on the
door rather than walking straight in.
“Come
in” said a strangely familiar voice.
Boy
entered the room and to his surprise, instead of seeing a room full
of a room full of company executives and bosses, as he had been
expecting, the only people there were, as he would put it, “that
weedy Marc Temple guy from the office and the Polish faggot from IT”.
Boy
was angry, he had stayed late in the office on a Friday hoping for a
reward or promotion, not to have a meeting with two insignificant
jerks. “What do you morons want?” he sneered.
“Ah
Guy!” smiled Marc “Thanks for accepting our invitation, we have
something we would like to show you.”
“Can’t
it wait until Monday? I have plans!”
“I
think you will want to see this now” replied Kam, pointing at a
computer screen.
Making
no effort to hide his irritation Boy stomped across the room, and
looked at the monitor Kam was indicating. At first the jumble of
data made no sense, but then as what he was looking at began to
become clear an icy chill ran down the handsome blonde lad’s spine.
The
data Kam was showing him detailed each time Boy had secretly syphoned
funds from the company account and paid them into his own bank
account. He had thought he had been so clever, by only diverting
small amounts each time, but Kam’s report had highlighted every time
he had done it.
“That’s
quite an amount you have been stealing from the company Guy”
grinned Kam, “Just under $30,000 in two months, …. you being so
greedy made it easier to spot”
“I
would guess that would be worth about five years in prison!” said
Marc, unable to hide the glee in his voice “Probably more given
your betrayal of trust!”
“Prison
won’t be fun!” murmured Kam “What with you being such a pretty
boy and all!” he laughed “Your little butt will get screwed by
every con in the joint!”
Boy
was stunned, he couldn’t believe that his genius plan had been so
easily detected. His initial reaction was that this was some sort of
shake down, and he began calculation how much of his ill gotten gains
he could offer these grinning fags to keep them quiet. The evidence
was to clear to deny, so he had to make a deal.
“Okay,
okay Guys!” he snapped, furious at being caught out, whilst trying
and failing to sound reasonable “how much do you want?”
“We
don’t want your money Guy” replied Marc “We want your butt!”
“Fuck
off!” Boy almost snarled “I’m not like that!”
“We
don’t want to fuck you fella’! … well, maybe another time”
laughed Kam “Right now we are going to spank you!”
Boy
stepped backward, as if struck, those were words he had hoped never
to hear again. “No chance you ….. you … fuck!!” he stammered
“That’s not happening!”
“Either
we spank you, or you are going to jail Guy!” sneered Marc
“Where
all the cons will be after you as their bitch!” added Kam
“Guys
… guys … lets be reasonable about this!” said a now very
nervous boy.
“Drop
your pants!” relied Marc picking up a wooden ruler from the desk,
and sitting down on a conveniently paced chair next to a desk overlooking Central Park “and then get over
my knee!”
Boy
could see from Marc’s expression that he was deadly serious, that
ruler looked as if it had the potential to inflict a lot of pain, but
there didn’t seem any way of avoiding being spanked with it. To his
horror he saw that Kam was holding a rubber soled carpet slipper,
which he had clearly brought with him for the purpose of spanking
Boy’s butt. Tarzan had once spanked him with an old slipper, and he
knew how much they could sting.
Reluctantly
Boy unbuttoned his suit pants and let them slip down to his knees.
“And
your underpants!” ordered Marc “drop them now”
Marc
and Kam looked on in barely concealed delight, as the now very
miserable Boy pushed his thumbs into the waistband of his white
cotton underpants and slowly lowered them, exposing his cock and
balls as he did so.
Marc’s
sadistic instincts were conflicted, whilst being impressed by the
size of Boys equipment, he had secretly hoped this blond hunk would
have a small cock which would add to the humiliation of its exposure,
yet, at the same time he relished the prospect of belittling and
punishing such a perfect, and well proportioned, specimen as the
beautiful young man, now standing before him with his underpants
around his knees.
“Now
get over my knee!” he snapped
“You
can go over mine next!” laughed Kam, smacking the slipper against
the palm of his hand.
“You
bastards will pay for this!” snarled Boy as, knowing he had no
other option but to obey, he shuffled angrily towards the sneering
Marc, and laying face down across his knee.
The
two men then took it in turn to spank Boy’s bare and, as ever, very
tender, bottom.
First
Marc gave him twenty four swinging swat with his wooden ruler, as Boy
struggled and kicked over his lad, and Kam stood watching.
Kam
then took Marc’s place and began whacking Boy with the rubber soled
slipper, as Marc watched, laughing and calling out encouragement as
he did so.
Boy
was seething with anger, he had left the jungle to escape from Tarzan
and the thousand different creatures which kept hurting his bare
bottom, and now here he was on the 18th floor of a New
York skyscraper, 4,000 miles from the jungle, getting his bare butt
spanked by two sniggering gay boys!!
After
he had finished spanking Boy with the Slipper, Kam followed by Marc
gave Boy a firm hand spanking, which, in both cases, culminated in a
rapid fire series of fast hard slaps to reinforce the message.
Throughout
the ordeal Boy was ordered to remove various items of clothing, until
at the end he stood totally naked before them clutching his sore and
well spanked bottom.
He
had hoped that, by escaping to the city he would never have a sore
bottom again, how wrong could he be?!!
“Have
you done?” he mumbled knowing, despite the growing fury in side him
that he now had no chance of regaining any dignity in front of these
two.
“Done?”
echoed Kam “Have we done?” the note of mockery in his voice so
obvious that Boy’s initial, and barely controlled impulse was to
knock his teeth down his throat.
“No
Guy” smiled Marc, “We haven’t ‘done’ … not close!”
“W…what
…. but you just spanked my ass!”
“One
little spanking, won’t cover what you’ve done!” he paused to enjoy
the pleasure of watching the horror spread across Boy’s handsome face
“We plan to spank you whenever, we feel like it, wherever we decide
to, and with whatever we chose!”
“And”
added Kam “I think we are going to feel like it quite often!”
“No!
You can’t do that …..!!” spluttered Boy
“Your
choice fella’” Replied Kam with a shrug “Either you take the
spankings, or you are going to prison!”
Of
course, Boy had no option gut to submit to the couple’s demands, and
over the next week he would receive at least on text or e-mail from
Marc or Kam instructing him to either stay late after work or meet
them in some unoccupied room within the office, such as one of the
the basement stock rooms, where he would receive yet another stinging
spanking.
Within
days boy’s behind was so well spanked and sore that the sting never
faded, and he literally could not sit down without discomfort.
By
the following Friday evening, as Boy lay face down on his bed trying
to cool down his burning bottom with fans and ice cubes he knew he
was going to have to take drastic action to bring this situation to
an end.
Boy’s
bad luck had followed him across the ocean, he was being blackmailed
by two men with genuinely sadistic instincts, and limited compassion.
The guys were clearly enjoying their sadistic pleasures and also
having such extensive power over him. He knew they would not stop and
that if he didn’t obey their orders they would make good their
threat, and enjoy doing it.
His
only option was to stop them, permanently.
************
Despite
the gun laws in New York, it had proved very easy for Boy to obtain a
gun. Even though he had only been in the country for a short time,
he had made some very shady acquaintances, including people happy to
supply him with a weapon and not ask any questions.
Therefore,
early the following Sunday morning, when he guessed that Marc and Kam
would still be in bed, he made his way to their down town apartment,
with a gun in his hand and murder on his mind.
***
Breaking
into Marc and Kam’s apartment was easy for Boy, because of his long
practised climbing skills he was able to reach an open window, which
would have challenged the most nimble cat burglar. However, he did
not have the common sense, or cunning, to match his ability to climb,
so it did not occur to him that there might be items on the window
sill, which would clatter noisily if knocked over, or that the two
men might have been expecting him.
Having
made enough noise to alert the most unsuspecting householder that
there might be an intruder, Boy crept into the hallway, hoping that
the men might be asleep and he still had the element of surprise. Of
course, he was out of luck.
Boy
froze as an amused voice behind him spoke “Good morning Guy!, I
wondered if you would pay us a visit. Now if you could drop that gun
I might not have to shoot you!”
Boy
turned round and saw a grinning Marc Temple standing behind him,
holding his own gun which was pointing straight at his groin. Boy’s
first instinct was to try and shoot Marc first, but realised just in
time that, before he had even had time to raise his gun, Marc would
almost certainly have time to fire a bullet into him, and from the
angle Marc was aiming it would be his much prized manhood which took
the impact.
Reluctantly
he loosened his grip on his gun and let it fall to the floor.
At
that moment, Kam appeared at the doorway, having apparently been in
the shower. “I see we have a visitor!” he said.
“A
visitor who was planning something very nasty!” replied Marc
looking down at Boy’s discarded gun “But, don’t worry Guy, we
forgive you, don’t we Kam?”
Kam
raised an eyebrow quizzically, not sure what Marc had in mind.
“In
fact”, continued Marc, “To prove there are no grudges, we are
going to give you a tennis lesson!”
“What
the fuck are you talking about?” sneered Boy, keen not to show any
fear.
“You’ll
see!” replied Marc “but first, you won’t need your clothes …
now strip”
Reluctantly,
and glowering furiously Boy obeyed, removing his t-shirt, shorts and
sneakers, leaving only his jockstrap and socks.
“Great!”
laughed Marc “Now lets go play tennis” he motioned with his gun,
pointing to a door at the end of the hall.
“Don’t
start without me!” chuckled Kam hurrying into the bedroom to get
dressed, “this should be fun!”
A
very unhappy and apprehensive Boy walked slowly towards the door
which Marc had indicated. Upon opening it he saw a narrow staircase
leading downwards.
“one
real bonus to our apartment! Said Marc “is that we have sole access
to and use of the basement which we intend to convert into our …….
er … games room!” he again gesticulated with his gun “The
janitor is not around at weekends, so we will not be disturbed. Go
on, you can lead the way!”
Boy,
followed by Marc, walked down the stairs, which, after passing three
sealed doors to other floors in the building, led into a large and
mostly empty cellar.
“Roll
that barrel into the middle of the room!” ordered Marc, speaking
with a newly dominant tone, and pointing to an old wooden barrel by
the wall.
“What
for?” asked Boy grudgingly
“Do
as you are told, if you don’t want a lead implant!” shouted Marc
aiming the gun at Boy’s groin again.
The
barrel of the gun and the clear threat in Marc’s voice was all the
incentive Boy needed to do as he was told. He tipped the barrel on
it’s side and rolled it top the centre of the room. As he was doing
so they were joined by a barefoot Kam, who had hastily donned a
T-shirt and jeans.
Once
the barrel was in place the men ordered Boy to lie face down over it
and then proceeded to tie him over it with ropes which were
conveniently lying by the wall. While doing so, they tightened the
ropes around Boy’s legs, so that his jockstrap framed bottom was
spread and exposed. Boy could feel the cold air on his most intimate
parts and cringed knowing his light anus was now fully visible to
these two gay men.
“Ever
heard the expression ‘we’ve got you over a barrel’ Guy?” asked Marc
with a grin “well, now it’s for real, and we can do whatever we
want!”
Boy’s
mind raced, imagining what they might have planned for him, every
option which occurred to him more frightening and unpleasant that the
previous one. None, however, came close to what the men actually had
in store for him.
To
his horror, Boy heard a rumbling sound, as some large contraption on
wheels was pulled across the room. In vain he tried to peer over his
shoulder in order to see what had been placed behind him, but because
of the way he was tied down he was unable to look back far enough to
see what was there!
“W…What’s
that?” he asked, unable to control the tremor in his voice “What
are you doing?”
“It’s
a tennis ball machine!” replied Marc “we use it to help improve
our swing!”
“You
have probably noticed we have quite effective swings!” added Kam
“It’s
a clever little machine, it shoots out tennis balls which we have to
hit with out racquets”. Explained Marc, “You have to be fast, as
the balls travel at a speed … especially when I turn it up to
maximum! ….. allow me to demonstrate!”
He
pressed a button on a control pad, and a ball shot out of the
contraption behind Boy and hit him with a hard “WHAM!” on his
upraised behind.
“AAAOWCH!”
yelled Boy
“See
what I mean!” smiled Marc “Now we can play a game, however, as
you haven’t got a racquet, you can use your butt to stop the balls!”
He pressed the button again sending another ball hurting towards Boy,
and bouncing off his bare bottom with a loud “THWACK!”
“As
I said I can vary the speed, and if I set it on automatic it will
shoot out a ball every five seconds!!” he pressed the button again
and another ball whammed into Boy’s butt cheek, leaving a circular
red mark next to the previous two. “However, we might do that
later, for now we will keep the controls on ‘Manual’ so we can test
our aim!”
“Stop
it you Bastards!” yelled Boy “That fucking hurt!”
“And
this will hurt even more!” replied Marc as he pushed the button
twice in succession, sending two balls hurtling out out of the
machine, one after the other and hitting Boy’s behind on the same
spot, a fraction of a second apart.
“what
you were planning to do to us, with that gun, was a lot worse than
we are doing to you!” shouted Kam “so you deserve this!” He
turned to Marc, “Give me the control, it’s my turn!”
Marc
handed him the control, and Kam, who, in turn, fired a series of
tennis balls at Boy’s now very sore bottom
“And
you present such a tempting target!” added Marc
“I
spot an even more tempting target!” laughed Kam, pointing at Boy’s
little pink anus which was exposed due to the way boy’s legs and butt
cheeks were held apart by the ropes. “How do I aim this thing?”
“use
the blue dial, next to the red button!” replied Marc “it controls
the angle of the pipe the balls come out of!”
Kam
moved the dial slightly, as instructed, and pressed the button,
sending a hard round tennis ball, shooting towards Boy and hitting
him hard in the middle of his right butt cheek.
“Damn
Missed!”
He
tried again, but this time succeeded only in hitting the top of Boy’s
thigh, just where it connected with his left butt cheek, this was an
especially sensitive area and Boy screamed in pain.
“Here,
give it to me!” said Marc “let me do it!”
Taking
the control from Kam, Marc fiddled with the dial and again pressed
the button, but aiming the device at such a small, tight target was
more difficult than he thought and again, one tennis ball missile
after another whammed into the reddening cheeks of Boy’s bare bottom.
“Damn
thing!” he muttered “It’s designed to shoot the ball out at
different angles to challenge the player, but I should be able to aim
it!”
He
tried again, gently moving the dial to one side, and held it still
while he pressed the button with a free finger. This time the ball
was right on target, it shot out of the funnel at the front of the
machine, hurtled through the air and collided with Boy’s delicate
puckering portal with a bruising “BAM!” sending an electric like
shock of pain shooting through Boy, from his prostate to his jaw.
Boy
yelled in agony, as the two sadists cheered in delight. “Bullseye!”
yelled Marc “He will have felt that!”
Let
me have another try laughed Kam, reaching for the control.
Boy
now realised that Marc and Kam were enjoying themselves, and were not
going to stop, he was either going to get out of this situation, or
these men were going to do him serious injury, or maybe worse. He
knew that many young men went missing each year in America, and
frantically wondered how many of them had fallen victim to the likes
of these two.
Summoning
up all the strength in his arms, developed over his years growing up
climbing trees and swinging on vines, he strained his muscles and
pulled on the ropes attaching him to the barrel.
At
that moment, Kam pressed the controls and sent another tennis ball
flying at Boy’s behind. Although this ball, again missed his anus,
it bounced off his left cheek with a violent “Thud!”. The blow
sent a searing surge of pain shooting through his body and, as if by
a miracle, the impact, gave him the extra strength he needed to break
the ropes holding his wrists and ankles and freeing him.
He
leapt to his feet and swung round to face the men, and, as he did so,
realised that Marc no longer had his gun in his hand. Confident that
Boy could not escape, Marc had placed it on a table at the side of
the room, and now both Marc and Boy dived for it.
By
far the more agile, Boy reached the gun first, grabbing it he turned
to face the other two.
“I
should kill you bastards!” he hissed
“Do
that, and you really will go to prison Guy!”
“No
I won’t, I am going home!” snarled Boy “fuck this damn city!”
he paused “Give me your wallets!”
With
the weapon pointed at them, the men had no option other than to obey
and handed over their billfolds. Boy quickly rifled the wallets with
one hand, whilst keeping the two angry men at gunpoint with the other
before stuffing a wad of notes and two credit cards into the front
pouch of his jockstrap.
He
then ordered Kam to tie up Marc, before tying up Kam himself, he
couldn’t allow the guys to call the police before he had made his
escape.
Leaving
Mike and Kam tied to chairs, where they would remain until the
janitor arrived the next day, boy climbed out of the basement window
and ran off down the street, causing a lot of surprised glances given
his scanty attire and bright red bottom.
Two
hours later. Boy was at the airport, holding a one way ticket
purchased with one of the men’s credit cards, and queueing for the
first flight back across the ocean to the relative safety of the
jungle.
________________
The
Sting of the jungle will continue.
