For five unending minutes, standing spread eagle, his skin seemingly on fire from the coating of hair removal gel, Bret quivered and shook until Zarak finally commanded, "Take him to the showers." The Nubians grabbed his arms and pulled him under the shower heads, scraping the goo from his body, then lathering him up and scrubbing him clean. His skin was raw and tender, as though it had just been raked over with a scouring pad. And it had turned pink; from top to bottom, front to back, he was flaming pink!
Scowling into Bret's face, Zarak demanded for a second time "Do you come with me now easily or do I put you on a leash?"
For a second time, Bret, his head bowed and eyes downcast, answered, "I will come with you easily, Master."
"Good," Zarak snapped. "Walk behind me. It is time for your next lesson."
-0-
MANDRASAT Chapter Two: Zarak! (cont'd).
Bret followed the giant slavemaster through Mandrasat's shadowy corridors in silence; at least he had not been forced to wear the wrist cuffs again; he was not, however, foolish enough to think that was an oversight. His head throbbed atrociously from the beating Zarak had given him, and would probably continue to do so for several days; his anus and intestines burned as though they'd been drenched with acid, and his bright pink skin from Shareem's depilatory gook stung dreadfully and made him feel like a sideshow freak. He suffered other aches throughout his body as well, in his buttocks, his ribs, and his guts, but, considering the extent of damage a monster like Zarak could have wreaked on his body, he knew he was lucky to be alive.
When at last they arrived at Zarak's self-styled work room, the door slid open silently; under other circumstances, Bret's curiosity might have been piqued by this phenomenon, but the hell he had suffered over the past two days, and the mind crushing terror of his captivity had deadened any interest in his surroundings. As they entered the room, the door slid quietly shut behind them.
Zarak walked directly to the toilet and discharged a mighty torrent into the bowl, while Bret stood silently in the middle of the room. Without conscious awareness of it, Bret was spellbound by the volume of piss and the force behind it gushing out of Zarak's gigantic cock. It was like watching a pressure hose letting loose with a stream twice as thick as anything he'd ever seen shoot out of his own penis.
When Zarak had finished shaking his cock and had hit the flush button, he stepped to the shelf on the side wall and removed a large, steel, bowl; Bret had not noticed it before, nor its companion which still sat on the shelf, but with his curiosity dead, he didn't question it. Zarak went and sat on the side of the bed, his thighs spread and his huge genitals spilling over the edge, and ordered Bret to kneel directly in front of him.
He looked Bret in the face and smirked, "With all the black Nubian cock you sucked today, you may not feel hungry now, but Master Shareem requires all slaves to eat this food two times a day. Here is what you eat," he said as he held the bowl under Bret's nose. "It may not look like anything you ever ate before," he snickered, "but it is a most healthy food, and the kennels have prepared it especially for you." Zarak chuckled sarcastically at his private little joke.
The sight of the bowl's contents brought a surge of nausea sweeping through Bret's stomach. His disgust must have been clearly registered by his facial expression because Zarak laughed uproariously. The bowl was filled with a swirl of greenish-yellow and brown slime. It was indeed healthy, albeit revolting in appearance, containing an computer balanced blend of vitamins and minerals, proteins and carbohydrates; it was also laced with steroids, hormones, and a powerful sedative.
"I will feed you," he said scooping out a lump of the gelatinous mess with his hand and holding it under Bret's mouth. "Suck your food out of my hand."
Revolted, Bret remained motionless, until Zarak's deep and threatening growl prompted him to bend his neck and tentatively stick out his tongue.
"Eat your food, slave," he commanded, shoving his fingers into Bret's mouth.
Chocking and gagging at the sudden invasion of Zarak's hand, he was shocked and horrified as well as excited by the feel of the giant's fingers encircling his tongue. The tasteless glop had the consistency of thick, gluey, pudding, and Zarak kept shoveling more and more of it into his mouth.
"Do not waste my time," the giant snarled. "And do not waste your food."
Unable to swallow the swill as rapidly as Zarak was depositing it, much of the slop spilled out of Bret's mouth and back into the bowl. He looked pleadingly into the giant's face, hoping to convey his distress and to slow down this rapid, assembly line force feeding. The overseer glared at him with disgust and held his hand still, allowing Bret to suck down all the gunk clinging to his fingers.
Even with a noticeable reduction in the pace of Zarak's steam shovel approach to dining, it was still difficult for Bret to keep up, but, eventually, he consumed the entire bowl, more concerned with obeying Zarak than thinking about the foul scum he'd been swallowing. Zarak wiped his fingers along the sides of the bowl, accumulating the dregs of the slop, then shoved them into Bret's mouth, keeping them there longer than necessary and playing with his tongue.
Zarak enjoyed feeling the inside of his captive's mouth; he clamped his fingers around the base of his tongue and stroked its top side with his thumb. Even after Bret had downed every trace of the bowl's contents, he kept him kneeling in front of him, his fingers buried in his mouth.
"Let me feel your tongue, slave," he growled. "Suck my fingers like you suck cock."
The blazing red humiliation and degradation on Bret's face and neck far surpassed the obscene pink covering the rest of his body. He was defenseless and debased; all the trappings of his former life mocked him. What good were they now? What good would they ever be again? Everything he valued had been ripped from him. His freedom. His pride. His future. He had been reduced to the level of a sex slave and a plaything for this deformed brute who could kill him as easily as look at him.
Zarak, giggling to himself, tickled Bret's lips and tongue for another ten minutes, then finally withdrew his fingers from his prisoner's mouth, and, handing the empty slop bowl to him, said, "Put this back on the shelf and bring the other one over here."
Bret began to stand up but received a swift and violent kick on the side of his thigh from Zarak. "Did I tell you to stand up?" he shouted.
Sprawled on the floor and stunned from the force of the impact, Bret cried out in shock and pain, "No, Master. You did not tell me to stand up, Master."
"I did not," Zarak affirmed sharply. "You will crawl on your knees over to the wall and rise just as far as you need to place the bowl on the shelf and take the other one off. You will then crawl back. And do not dare to spill anything from the bowl as you bring it here, or I will lash you for each stain on my floor. Now go!"
Bret scuttled across the floor, painfully scraping the pink, tenderized skin of his kneecaps along the way, then by half crouching, half standing, he was able to reach the shelf and replace the empty bowl and take the second one. To his horror, he discovered the new bowl was filled of water just as a cupful sloshed over the side. He heard Zarak growl at the same instant the water hit the floor, and he grimaced, knowing the giant would be true to his word, and more pain lay in store for him.
Zarak glared furiously at him as he crawled back to the bed, and Bret, fearful of his impending punishment, paid little attention to the painful scrapes on his knees. When he arrived in front of him, Zarak ordered him to turn around and face in the direction he had just come.
"Now put the bowl down," he growled, "and bend over, elbows on the floor."
Bret obeyed the order instantly, confused and frightened at his bottoms up position.
"You may hold the water bowl in place," Zarak continued gruffly, "but you may not pick it up. Do you understand, slave?"
"Yes, Master," Bret responded with a slight crack in his voice. "I understand, Master."
"Good. Now you may drink, but like a dog. Use only your tongue and lap up the entire bowl of water."
With his backside pointing toward the ceiling and his hole fully exposed to Zarak's view, Bret hesitantly lowered his face into the bowl and began to slurp the water into his mouth. Suddenly, he froze in place, his body stiff, as Zarak clamped his massive hands on his ass cheeks, still sore from this afternoon's paddling, and spread them wide.
"I did not tell you to stop drinking your water, slave. Master Shareem's order is that you drink large amounts of water every day. Keep drinking."
"Yes, Master," he mumbled apprehensively in response, but once again his actions were brought to a terrifying and abrupt halt as a new and electric sensation exploded through his body. Zarak had buried his face between Bret's buttocks and was dragging his tongue along the groove.
Bret's entire body shook; his knees buckled, and he collapsed on top of his drinking bowl, sending it spinning across the floor, splashing water in its wake. Zarak dropped from the bed to the floor and locked his arms around Bret's hips and thighs, hoisting him roughly back onto his hands and knees, jabbing his tongue furiously across the lips of his anus.
Bret wailed loudly, his limbs beyond control, his mind reeling, paralyzed by Zarak's assault. He had learned about sex as all boys in boarding schools learn about sex, incorrectly from one another. Prior to his captivity, his sexual experience consisted exclusively of masturbation, followed by periods of anxiety, guilt, and fear. He could not begin to comprehend the kind of sex act being forced upon him now. His senses were hurled about, suspended midway between abhorrence and lust.
Pinned immobile by Zarak's overwhelming weight and strength, the only responses Bret could make to the giant's tongue digging into his ass were moans and body spasms, and his own cock gone rock hard rigid. With his powerful arms and legs encircling Bret's body, Zarak continued growling and snarling throughout the onslaught, pounding his tongue through his hole, manhandling his cock and balls, twisting his hips and buttocks, biting and wrestling him across the floor.
The giant knew his slave had no experience in defending himself, so he refrained from battering him with his full strength; the pleasure of pulverizing him as a furiously combative captive would have to wait until he learned how to fight back. For now, Zarak amused himself by twisting and stretching and bending Bret's body like a toy, working his tongue into and around the slave's hole, then chewing and sucking mouthfuls of skin from his belly and tits, from his inner thighs and buttocks, sucking his balls into his mouth whole, and, all the while, returning again and again for more tongue action in his ass.
Finally, Zarak totally enveloped him, his massive arms pinning Bret's to his sides, his enormous legs locking his together, and his giant cock wedged full length, thick and throbbing between his buttocks. Tears of fear and confusion rolled down Bret's face; he chocked and sobbed, trying to catch his breath, as he felt his consciousness slipping away.
Zarak bellowed like an elephant as he rolled around the floor, his captive clenched to his body, then he lay on his back, panting and growling in obvious satisfaction, holding Bret tightly stretched on top. After a few moments of bouncing him around, Zarak unpinned Bret's arms and legs and let him slide off his belly and onto the floor, then, laying on his side, chuckling and grunting, he began to jab and pummel him.
"We have many games to play, slave," he laughed, "and I will make you expert in all of them."
Bret found himself again torn in two, wanting this obscenity to end, unable to abide the thought of living at this fiend's mercy, or enduring his assaults and depravities, or losing his body to whatever debauchery might amuse him for the moment, but at the same time, abjectly craving his monstrous body, his mouth, his sex. He tried to pull away from Zarak's grip, but the giant caught him with his arm and dragged him back to his side, rubbing their bodies together, then as a sign this game was finished, he rolled Bret onto his stomach, straddled his thighs, and administered several forceful open hand slaps to each buttock.
"You have been a disobedient and clumsy slave, and I must teach you to be a dutiful and attentive one. Am I not right?" His question drew two more painful, open hand slaps across Bret's ass.
"Yes, Master," he moaned weakly in response. "I must be taught to be an obedient and attentive slave, Master."
Zarak, got to his feet dragging Bret with him. He could see the sedative his captive had consumed along with the bowl of slime taking effect. In spite of his burning, reddened ass, his eyelids were fluttering and his breathing heavier. Most apparently, he stopped struggling and was going limp. With one huge arm wrapped around his waist, Zarak pulled him to the bed and let him fall across it, then, hoisting his legs, he let him roll across to the wall before climbing in beside him. Bret was unconscious before Zarak hit the control panel extinguishing the ceiling lights.
The giant lay in the dark, on his side next to Bret, his right arm underneath the slave's shoulder blades and his left resting on his chest, his tongue sliding across his face. He liked the feel of this slave's body; it was smooth and firm, strong, but not hard yet; for the next several months, Zarak's delight will be to transform this crying baby into an agile, aggressive, perfectly muscled gladiator slave, able to use his cock as well as his fists.
Zarak sighed in anticipation and dragged his arm slowly down Bret's stomach, resting his fingers on his genitals. He lay in the dark, enjoying the feel of his captive's cock and balls, stroking them and rubbing them. Eventually he rose up onto his knees and, guided by the lighted control panel on the wall, he reached over and punched in a series of numbers. The ceiling lights came on dimly, though bright enough to see the outlines of the room.
Assuring himself that Bret was deeply asleep, he slid off the bed and lumbered over to the door which opened silently at his approach; before exiting the room he punched in another set of numbers on the doorway control panel that would bring the lights to full intensity in seven hours then he stepped into the corridor outside, and the door closed behind him. -0-
Bret awoke with a terrifying jolt as the ceiling lights burst on fully bright. It took but a few seconds for his startled mind to focus and his brain to tell him that his body throbbed from head to foot. He tried to raise himself onto his elbows, but even the thought of movement triggered painful spasms and brought forth agonized groans from his lips, and he fell back onto the bed. He had no recollection of getting into bed; his last memory was of Zarak throwing him around on the floor, assaulting his body, and digging his tongue into his ass.
Bret shuddered in disgust at the vivid images in his mind, but his cock rapidly grew stiff and hard. At that moment, the door slid open and Zarak strode into the room. He chuckled at the sight of Bret's hard on, and stepping to the side of the bed, reached down and fingered his ballooning cockhead.
"I see you are up and ready for the day."
Bret remained silent in his humiliation, and grimaced as Zarak began raising him to a sitting position by tugging on his cock. His body was still a flamboyant pink, but the raw, burning sensation had diminished considerably. The major centers of pain in his body were his head, his face, and his buttocks.
"Out of bed," Zarak commanded. "I take a shower now, and you will attend me."
Apparently some kind of signal was sent from Zarak's facial expression to Bret's subconscious that prompted him to respond, "Yes, Master," and he was puzzled and frightened at how automatically the words sprang from his lips. He eased himself off the bed and stood in front of Zarak, his cock pointing up stiffly, waiting for his orders which came quickly and decisively.
"Get into the shower and turn on the water. I like it nice and hot."
The shower was wide open, no curtain, no walls, simply an immensely oversized shower head protruding from the ceiling, directly above a drain. Two knobs mounted on the wall controlled the flow and temperature of the water; a recessed soap dish held a large, dark brown bar of soap, it's edges worn smooth by use. Bret stepped under the shower head and twisted both knobs simultaneously and was instantly drenched with a cascade of ice water. His cock fell swiftly limp.
Zarak laughed loudly watching him writhe and twist about under the torrent of cold water, frantically turning the knobs trying to adjust the temperature. The overseer stepped under the shower, knocked Bret's hands aside and set the knobs to his accustomed temperature. The deluge pounding out of the enormous shower head was more than adequate to engulf both slave and slavemaster completely.
Shoving the bar of soap at Bret, Zarak shouted, "Start with my head and neck and wash down."
As he began his task, Bret tried to maintain a distance of several inches between them, but Zarak would have none of that and grabbed Bret by the hips and pulled him tight against his body. He smiled menacingly but said nothing, rotating his hands over and digging his fingers into Bret's wet and shiny body. Their cocks were beginning to stiffen against each other as Bret stretched to rub his soaped hands over the giant's head, neck, and shoulders. He ran his hands underneath the giant's gold collar and over his shoulder blades, then under each arm, amazed at the thickness of his muscles, then he worked his hands onto Zarak's chest.
He was mesmerized by the giant's nipples, large to begin with, they were incredibly distended from the weight of his gold rings and hardened by the buffeting shower, they were just below eye level for him, thick fleshy tubes, pierced midway between rigid tip and rich brown aureole.
Clasping a hand on the back of Bret's head and pushing his face into his chest, Zarak rasped, "Suck on them, slave. I want you to suck my nipples."
Bret tried to keep his lips closed as his mouth was forced onto Zarak's swollen, rigid nipple, but the overseer applied an eye-popping, painful grip to the back of Bret's neck ending all resistance. Held tightly against Zarak's body, with his nipple stuffed into his mouth and staring directly at the giant's bulging right pectoral muscle, Bret felt as though his sanity had fled, that reality had disintegrated, and that all was madness.
He was standing naked under a pounding shower, pressed against the body of an Arab giant who'd raped him and beaten him and tortured him and whose ringed nipple had just been forced into his mouth. With no thought in his mind and his face squeezed into Zarak's chest, Bret began to laugh. His whole body shook, and it made perfect sense to him to laugh at the absurdity of his situation, and his laughter grew louder.
Zarak stepped back and stared into Bret's face curiously, but he continued laughing, tears streaming, but invisible under the powerful shower. The overseer's face gradually twisted in anger and he took hold of Bret's shoulders and began to shake him.
"You think you have something to laugh at," he snarled. "You do not. You are a slave. You are a naked, hairless slave, and for the rest of your life you are a slave. This is no game. Master Shareem has commanded me to prepare you for auction, and prepare you I will by killing that person you used to be and making you into a slave ready to perform whatever your master wishes. Do you think this is funny?"
Bret stood for a moment in silence as the shower beat down on both of them, then, with head bowed and the place of laughter inside him dark and dead, he answered lifelessly, "No, Master. I see nothing funny, Master".
"Wash my belly," Zarak snapped. "I will tell you how to do the rest."
Bret rubbed the bar of soap over Zarak's granite stomach; it was a strange sensation for him to say the least; the idea of dragging his hands across anyone's naked body was totally alien to his mind and sensibilities, but inspite of his efforts, his cock went granite hard and rigid itself. When he had reached Zarak's hips, the giant turned about face, spread his legs, bent over, and reaching back, grabbed his butt cheeks and spread them.
"On your knees, slave, and do my crack first," he growled, "then my hole."
Bret, slumping to his knees horrified at the prospect of rubbing his hands between Zarak's buttocks and near hysterical realizing he'd been ordered to clean his hole as well, broke the cardinal rule of slavery and spoke without permission.
"Please, Master. I can't do that. Master, don't ask me. Please, please don't ask me."
Then Vesuvius erupted. As torrents of water exploded off his body, and roaring at the top of his voice, Zarak swung around, fists raised above his head, towering full height over Bret, his face almost black with rage. His slave had not only disobeyed his direct order, he had also violated the basic tenet of his belief and the cornerstone of his conditioning, that enslavement of the many was inevitable and that slaves were predestined to be slaves regardless of how their lives may have developed. Destiny would ultimately hand them over to their masters.
In Zarak's mind and psyche, there could be no alternative to predestination nor any allowance for compromise. Slaves who break any law, or any part of any law, must be punished severely and immediately, and this slave cowering at his feet had broken the primal law. The giant overseer stood frozen in place, his leg and arm muscles bulging, his fists ready to crush bone, but a mighty battle was being waged inside his mind.
His instinct was to unleash his power and beat the slave senseless, but he knew how valuable a piece of property he was to Master Shareem, and if he crippled this slave, his punishment would be equally destructive. He had watched as other unfortunate overseers had been executed in most horrible ways, some lingering in agony for many hours, some even for days. Such graphic atrocities were Shareem's only control over his band of powerful overseers, that and constant indoctrination that permanently damaging a slave was not worth an agonizing death.
Growling and shaking with anger, Zarak reached behind his back and turned off the shower and stood over Bret as the remainder of the water streamed down his body, over the curled form of his slave and onto the floor. For a full five minutes he glared down at his prisoner, thunder rumbling in his throat.
Finally, in an angry and foreboding voice, he pronounced sentence on Bret. "For your brazen disobedience, I will punish you myself at the end of this day, harshly, beyond any punishment you have ever endured before. If that punishment does not remind you that instantaneous obedience is the life of a slave, then I have much more painful methods. And if I ever hear you speak again without permission, I will drag you to the kennels and have the grooms burn out your vocal chords. I may do that anyway as a gift to your future master. Now get to your feet; we have tasks to attend to."
-0-
MANDRASAT is very much a 'Work Under Construction,' and I would appreciate hearing your thoughts and suggestions should you choose to continue reading through the story. Please email your comments to Pete Brown petebrownuk@yahoo.com