"Stay put, slave," Zarak barked, "it is time for your first meal of the day"
He stepped to the counter, and, grabbing Katib's red telephone, punched in a series of numbers and ordered Bret's "first meal of the day."
Even though the word 'meal' produced pangs of hunger, Bret was nauseated at the thought of consuming another bowl of the same slime he sucked down the night before from Zarak's fingers. But he had survived, and that would be his mantra, "I survive."
His mantra and his sanity would be sorely tried before this week or even this day was out.
MANDRASAT Chapter Two: Zarak! (cont'd).
Bret stood by the examination table suffering more from the leakage of Zarak's and Katib's cum out of his hole and down the inside and back of his legs than from the burning soreness their cocks caused fucking his guts. Each white globule he felt dribble out was a searing and humiliating reminder of his state. He was a slave, a concubine, to be used by anyone with the power of Mandrasat behind him.
The word 'coward' reverberated through his brain. How could it not? He had done whatever he had to in order to avoid the massive punishments brought on by resistance, suffering excruciating guilt and shame as the price of his cowardice.
"You have lost the privilege, slave, to walk without shackles or leash," Zarak snapped as he pulled Bret's arms behind his back and fastened the cuffs; then, after he had clipped the leash back onto his collar, he yanked him roughly to the door, through it, and out of Katib's examination room and into the dank, gloomy corridor outside.
Mandrasat was a mountain of shadows, gray and black; no windows punctuated the seemingly endless corridors to admit the bright dessert sunlight. Low wattage electric bulbs hung by gnarled and frayed wires from the ceiling every forty or fifty feet, but made little difference in the gloom. It was in fact the set for every low budget horror film ever made, identical in all ways but one; this was real, and Bret carried the pain and bruises to prove it.
He had seen no others like himself or Zarak in any of these passageways since he arrived, no overseers, no slaves, no guards, no one. Only the seven Nubians who gang raped, douched, and washed him the day before, and Katib, of course, Mandrasat's sadistic doctor.
Isam was around somewhere; Bret caught that much from Zarak's description of Katib's next patient as the one who 'arrived' with him. As Zarak dragged him through the labyrinth of corridors, he wondered how Isam had come to be taken; had the young trooper from Colonel Mustafa's desert air base been sold by his companions, like Joseph in the Bible? Maybe he owed a gambling debt he could never repay. Perhaps he caught Shareem's eye, perhaps none of the above. This dalliance gave Bret a much needed respite, a time away, an escape from ceaseless torment and degradation, but his reverie was abruptly terminated as Zarak slammed him into a side wall.
"You listen when I talk to you," the giant roared. "You do not follow daydreams; slaves do not have daydreams. Slaves listen for their master's voice. Do you understand," he shouted as he slammed Bret's shoulder into the wall again, exacerbating his suffering.
He cried out in pain, "Yes, Master. Yes, Master. I understand. I will always listen for your orders, Master."
Zarak yanked the leash, pulling Bret up against his body, and snarled into his face, "See that you do," then shoved him back against the wall.
He immediately resumed his pace, dragging Bret along behind him. Bret had no idea where in the fortress they were; he had seen nothing familiar, nothing that even remotely resembled a marker or guide post, but somehow, Zarak knew exactly where he was going, and he was going at top speed to get there.
Just off the intersection of two corridors, another door opened magically for the overseer and his slave, leading to a chamber not unlike Katib's examination room, the same dirty, gray concrete cubicle, but with only one florescent ceiling fixture for light.
The standard deep, black, granite sink stood along one wall; a heavy, reinforced wooden chair stood next to it, and a counter with drawers below and shelves above stood against the wall opposite the door, and, to Bret's chagrin, two steel bowels sat on the counter top. It was time for breakfast.
As he unfastened Bret's leash and removed his wrist cuffs, Zarak ordered him to get the bowls and place them on the floor in front of the chair. On his way to the counter, Bret was faced with his first slave's dilemma; he was ordered to bring the two bowls, but he was not ordered to make two trips, and he had just promised he would listen always and attentively to Zarak's orders.
How to carry two bowls, one filled with unappetizing slop, the other with water, and set them down on the floor undisturbed? The backs of Zarak's massive hands were waiting to punish him should he make a mistake. Zarak himself, leaning back against the wall, crossed his arms over his chest and, a smirk on his face, watched as Bret struggled to wedge the bowls into the crooks of his arms.
With the bowls cradled between his biceps and forearms, he gingerly lifted them from the counter top, turned, and, with the natural agility of an athlete, delicately carried them across the room. For this exercise to be truly a first class miracle, however, he would need to place the bowls on the floor, in front of the chair, without spilling a drop of either the swill or the water.
When he arrived at the spot Zarak indicated, and with his back perfectly straight, he performed a deep knee bend, then, his spine still upright, maneuvered himself forward into a kneeling position, bent over and placed the bowls gently on the floor. Zarak applauded slowly in mock approval, then ordered Bret down on knees and elbows to eat his meal doggie style.
It was as tasteless and disgusting as the night before, and Bret decided he never wanted to know the ingredients. Though had he known, he would have been surprised at the high degree of nutrition and energy contained in that bilge; in addition to vitamins and minerals, steroids and hormones, and a sedative a bit less potent than the previous night's, it also contained a few other things he would not have been pleased to discover, a formidable mix of herbal stimulants for increased sexual stamina and prolonged erectile endurance. Thanks to his diet, he would eventually realize that he stayed harder longer, produced more semen, and shot it farther than he ever would have imagined.
He consumed the entire bowl of slop and two refills of the water bowl from the sink, anxious all the while that Zarak might start butt play again with his cheeks and hole, but the giant contented himself simply to watch the further humiliation of his charge.
When Bret had slaked his thirst, he was ordered to put the bowls back on the counter, a trip much easier than the first.
"Now it is time for a nap, slave," Zarak said. "You may use that chair or you may lie on the floor. If you have thirst, you may use the sink; if you must piss, use the hole in the corner."
Bret watched as Zarak left the room in his usual manner, through a door that apparently opened and closed only for him. Solely out of curiosity, since he had no idea where on the face of the planet he was, he walked up to the door to see if it would open for him. It would not. Nor would it budge when he pushed and shoved against it. Something about Zarak, he concluded, triggered something else that opened and closed the doors of Mandrasat for him. He would think about that later, but at the moment, he felt an overwhelming and puzzling need to lie down and rest. Which he did, and, unawares, eased into sleep. -0-
Two hours after he had left Bret alone, Zarak returned, and to roust him, began jabbing his foot in between the slave's buttocks.
"Rouse yourself, slave." he shouted as Bret, confused and bewildered, struggled to escape the giant's enormous toe digging into his hole. "You have had enough sleep for now."
Bret managed to raise himself to his hands and knees, but Zarak kept toe fucking him in the ass, grunting and chuckling to himself, but Bret, now more awake, had learned most painfully that it was best to let Zarak do whatever he wanted with him.
Eventually, the giant tired of his game and ordered Bret to stand while he cuffed his wrists and clipped the leash onto his collar.
"Your Nubians are waiting to groom you for the day," Zarak said as he pulled Bret into the corridor.
Bret's stomach seized up in fear at the thought of another gang rape, and he involuntarily resisted Zarak's tug on his leash, but a severe growl coming from the giant's throat prompted him to immediate compliance. He was horrified, yet breathless at the prospect of his total subjugation by six or seven lean, muscled Black Nubians. The images these feelings brought before his mind's eye amplified his fear and excitement and stiffened his cock. The latter did not go unnoticed by Zarak.
"Ahhh, you like Nubian cock, eh, slave," he chirped slowing his pace so he could grab and tickle Bret's cockhead. "Well not just yet; their orders are to douche you and wash and shave you. Master Shareem has other plans for you after that. Then we will see."
After a few minutes of play with Bret's cock, Zarak resumed his rapid pace, and in a few moments, they were outside crossing the same small, dusty, decrepit courtyard as they had the day before. The heat of the day was blistering, and the cracked and broken pavement burned and scraped the soles of Bret's feet. This was one time he appreciated Zarak's speed.
The darkened latrine they entered was as foul smelling as he remembered it, and his throat chocked up as though he were about to vomit; worse, the waiting Nubians snatched the leash from Zarak and pulled Bret into the overwhelmingly suffocating stench from a line of shit holes along the far wall. Half a dozen arms grabbed and pulled him down in front of one of the holes, the side of his face flattened against the floor.
Several pair of hands spread his ass wide open, and excited fingers played with his hole, then he felt a warm, sticky fluid splatter down the crack between his buttocks, over his hole, then dribble down and around his ball sac. Fingers worked the lube around the lips of his anus and into his ass.
After a few minutes of coating the ring and walls of his hole, a tapered, plastic tube was inserted and shoved several inches into his guts. The discomfort from the discharge of the enema was minimal, though he was still sore from his earlier fuck session with Zarak and Katib.
A couple of minutes after the tube had been removed, the Nubians squatted him down over a shit hole, then one of the them knelt in front of him, and, reaching in between his upthrust thighs, grabbed and began to squeeze and knead his belly between his navel and his cock until his guts expelled their contents. They douched him twice more, and each time he grimaced and moaned as the soreness in his guts became sharper, and the rim of his hole burned hotter.
After his douching, he was dragged to his feet and yanked into the shower room where his leash and cuffs were pulled off. The Nubians lathered him all over, then like a tribal dance, began gyrating and rubbing their bodies against his; he was encased in a wall of smooth, hard, black flesh.
Many strong fingers grasped at and pinched his buttocks and slid down the crack between them, jabbing at his hole and playing with his scrotum. Cocks, hot and rigid, rubbed against his hips, between his leg pits and testicles, and up against his own pulsing cock. He groaned aloud in despair and surrender as mouths closed and sucked on his nipples, his underarms, his neck and his throat. He wanted the heavy Nubian taste in his mouth again.
Zarak shouted from the entry to the shower room in the language Bret did not understand. "Make sure he does not shoot his cum, slaves," he barked, "or you will feel my whip shoot across your balls. And do not fuck him. There will be time enough for that later."
The Nubians pulled Bret down spread eagle on the floor, and under the blast from the hot showers, dragged razors over his scalp, face, and body.
Zarak hollered to Bret over the noise of the showers and the giggling Nubians, "You will have your second hair removal treatment later, slave. In case you thought I forgot." Then after a dramatic pause, he said, "I do not forget anything."
In spite of the steam engulfing him and his grooms, an icy chill of fear cupped Bret's genitals at Zarak's last words.
After his shave and shower, Bret experienced one of Mandrasat's unique forms of humiliation. His teeth were flossed and brushed, then his toenails and fingernails were clipped much to the amusement of Zarak and the Nubians. His face burned crimson as a tall, heavily muscled young Nubian worked his fingers and a length of dental tape into his mouth, then mimicked how he wanted Bret to spread his lips and clench his teeth for brushing.
"Remember our motto," Zarak laughed, "dogs, horses, and slaves do not groom themselves."
Still chuckling over the sight of a naked white slave having his teeth flossed and brushed and his nails clipped by a naked black slave, he ordered Bret to stand with his hands behind his back as he cuffed his wrists and reattached the leash, while one of the Nubians busily lubricated his hole.
If for no other reason, Bret thought, it was a great relief to be out of that stench pit and he didn't care where he was taken next. They crossed the courtyard the way they came and reentered the corridor inside; from that point on, Bret was totally lost as he was dragged along one side passageway after another, eventually coming to a double steel door which parted silently and swiftly for Zarak.
Though it was the same gray cement floor, walls, and ceiling as the other cubicals, this one was the biggest he'd entered so far. Three large circular light fixtures hanging from the ceiling illuminated the room and revealed a sight which tied Bret's guts up in knots of fear.
Almost directly under the middle light fixture, a man hung naked and shaved head to foot, constrained upright and spread eagle by chains drawn tight from his wrists to the ceiling and from his ankles to rings in the floor, forcing him to support his weight on the balls of his feet. He was gagged and stretched so tightly his navel was a vertical slit in the middle of his belly.
A yellow cord was wrapped many times around the man's scrotum, crushing his balls into its base; below his balls, the cord was looped through and fastened to a short length of chain which supported two free swinging metal discs. In addition to stretching the scrotum several times farther than it would normally have hung, even on the hottest and sweatiest of days, the weights also forced his cock to protrude straight out from his body, like a lead pipe.
An overseer stood next to him, naked and hairless, balanced on one foot, the other crossed over in front, his right arm resting across the back of the prisoner's shoulders, a leather strap looped around his left hand, his gold ear and nipple rings glinting as he shifted his weight. And he was the most beautiful man Bret had ever seen. He was in every way as handsome as Zarak was in every way ugly, and Bret hoped that neither overseer heard him gasp when he caught sight of this incredible figure.
He was the same height as Bret, and even though Bret was well muscled, this man was a phenomenon. He looked to have thirty pounds at least of dense muscle tissue on Bret, with every ridge and every valley of every muscle etched sharply on his body, from his neck to his toes. Bret fought to keep his jaw from dropping and his breath from gasping as he tried to eye the man's body fully.
He had never before seen anyone tanned all over, no pasty white patches from swim suits or shorts, no grub worm gray cock; this man's skin actually glowed everywhere a golden, reddish tan. His bronze hued cock, long and thick, was a perfectly proportioned torpedo. The head did not flare out grossly from the shaft as Zarak's did, but continued the lines of the shaft into the semicircular tip, focusing attention on its slit. Bret could not control a deep sigh, but clenched his teeth to muzzle it. He felt like a swimmer caught helplessly in a rip tide, being swept to his doom.
The two overseers were conversing in English, "Yours is the slave we have all been hearing about," Zarak's colleague said with a slow drawl. "By the look of his face, he's been acting up on you, Zarak."
"He owes me a large debt," Zarak growled, "first for disobedience, continuing to insolence, then to lack of attention to my orders. He will not sleep soundly tonight, Kasim, of that I can assure you."
"Master Shareem sent word that you would stop here today to examine my slave. Has this anything to do with his disobedience to me a couple of days ago?"
"Everything," Zarak responded. "Your slave and I have a date the day after tomorrow in the disciplinary room. When Shareem sentenced him to spend five days stabled with a pack of Nubians as their fuck toy, he promised that at the end of that time, the slave would demonstrate to me what he had learned from his black stable mates."
Bret realized now that the man in chains was the unfortunate one he had watched being tortured in Shareem's diabolical neural electrical device, and was identified to him by Shareem as a captured US Navy fighter pilot. Another disturbing realization detonated inside Bret's head at the same time; this Adonis of an overseer spoke with a Texan drawl.
A whirlpool of despair and hopelessness swirled around Bret's mind and spirit at this epiphany and dragged him deeper into the abyss of despair. "What chance does anyone have," he thought. "They can take whoever they want, whenever they want, and keep them forever. There's no escape."
Kasim, laughing loudly said, "He has learned a lot. I chose the fifteen longest, thickest black cocks in the pack and ordered them to teach him well."
Bret was drowning in his dark thoughts, "They took this fighter pilot on his early morning run; they took me off a crowded jetliner; how did they snare this young Texan overseer? Where's Isam? How many more captives do they have here?"
Zarak smiled broadly, his head nodding in approval. The two overseers continued talking, then suddenly, the palm of Zarak's massive hand slammed into Bret's shoulder. "Answer Master Kasim, slave," he roared, yanking on the leash.
"Please, Master," Bret cried, "I...I did not hear Master Kasim speak."
"As if that comes as a surprise," Zarak shouted. "I have proven ways to make sure your brain does not wander again into the mountains and the valleys. Now, beg Master Kasim to repeat his words to you."
Bret's mind and body were seized with fear, his stomach clenched in terror. He knew first hand the agonizing punishment Zarak could mete out upon his person, but two of them together, one holding a leather strap, would inflict far worse.
"Master Kasim," Bret mumbled, "I beg you please, Master, repeat your words to me."
Kasim looked at Bret for a few moments, a smirk tarnishing the stunning beauty of his face. "I said, slave," he responded in a cold methodical voice, "why are you looking at me so oddly?"
Bret felt his neck and face blaze crimson and sweat form on his forehead and body. He was paralyzed with fear and an answer was not forthcoming. Zarak jerked sharply on the leash.
"Answer Master Kasim you sniveling dog," he shouted.
Bret, his eyes cast down at Kasim's feet, opened his mouth and forced out the words, "You're an American."
Kasim's face instantly darkened like the sky taken by a sudden thunderstorm, and he stomped over to Bret and slapped him hard twice across the face.
"I am Master Shareem's slave," he snarled. "And you are Master Shareem's slave. I don't live in the past or the future, nor have you a past or future. A slave lives only in today, in this minute, to please and do his master's will. Do you understand that, slave?"
Tears of pain and humiliation welled up in Bret's eyes as he shook his head and gasped, "Yes, Master Kasim. I understand, Master. There is no past or future. I live to please and do my master's will."
"See that you remember that every waking minute of your life, slave." Kasim delivered a powerful chop to Bret's left shoulder, then, containing himself, turned to Zarak and said, "Would you like to inspect that slave before your playtime with him?"
Leering at the prisoner, his cock hardening in front of him, Zarak growled, "Yes, I would very much like to inspect that slave, top to bottom." And he handed Bret's leash to Kasim.
Walking up to the captive, he spread eagled himself tight against the slave's taut and trembling body, and looking into the his eyes and seeing a mix of fear and contempt, he smiled and squeezed their cocks tight between their bodies and began rubbing himself up and down against the fighter pilot's smooth flesh and agitating the weights suspended from his balls. The only sound, an agonized cry locked in the slave's throat.
"Remember my cock, slave? How well you sucked it? How good it tasted? How it saved you from twenty days of torment in Master Shareem's discipline room?"
The prisoner moaned and squirmed against the giant's onslaught, against the fire at the base of his cock burning slowly through his chute toward the twitching head, against the searing pain of his balls crushed into each other, against the bulging veins and tubes and hot distended skin of Zarak's mighty cock scraping against his.
Bret watched spellbound and horrified at the obscene ballet being performed in front of him. Zarak had literally wrapped himself around the prisoner's body, rhythmically raising and lowering himself on the balls of his feet, his tongue deep in the slave's ear, his hands fondling the curves and muscles of his body. From even a few feet away, it would look as though Zarak the giant was cunt fucking a female slave.
Then abruptly, he let go of the captive, stepped back, turned to Kasim, and, extending his hand, took back the leash. Yanking on it, pulling Bret to himself and roughly uncuffing his wrists, he snarled, "Now it is your turn, slave. On your knees in front of him and suck his cock."
Bret, dumbfounded at Zarak's sudden command, stumbled forward and dropped to his knees before the prisoner. He felt electric jolts of excitement, breathless and thrilling, accompanied by the shock of realizing that more than anything else at this moment, he wanted to close his mouth around this blood red, hot, monumental, piece of meat jutting out rigid and twitching in front of him.
Opening his mouth and taking a deep breath, Bret zeroed in on the throbbing, tortured cock; closing his lips and sucking in his cheeks as tightly as he could against the thick muscle filling his mouth, he savored the fighter pilot's rigid shaft, ringed below the head by its distended foreskin and streaked with veins straining to burst through its surface.
Bret was in ecstasy, on the verge of delirium, mesmerized and aghast at the pleasure the feel of this cock in his mouth gave him; he was like an addict who loathed his addiction, but at this point, he didn't care. As he slid his mouth along the cockshaft; he automatically raised his arms and began stroking the prisoner's torso from under his arms to his hips; he dug his fingers into the man's muscled flanks as he whipped his tongue around the surface of his cock. Suddenly, Bret's ears exploded and the prisoner thrust forward violently, slamming his cock into the back of Bret's mouth and down his throat.
His mind reeling, he braced his hands against the captive's hips, instinctively shoving himself back, expelling the cock from his mouth, chocking and coughing. Zarak jerked the leash angrily, ordering him to continue sucking the fighter pilot's cock. It took a moment for Bret to catch his breath, and then another ear shattering blast split the air in half, and the prisoner, crying loudly into his gag, thrust forward again against his restraints. Kasim was flailing the prisoner's ass with his leather strap, and the slave's cock was as hard as if not harder than it was before.
As Bret sucked the cock back into his mouth, he pressed his hands against the pilot's flanks, above Kasim's strike zone, to balance himself. The salty taste of precum filled his mouth and sent shivers down his spine; his own cock was blisteringly hot and hard. Another crack of the leather strap, another spasm from the prisoner, and Bret pressed cock between his tongue and the roof of his mouth. The strong salty taste flooding his mouth and the pungent vapors filling his nostrils made him frantic, and he lashed the prisoner's cock with his tongue as forcefully as Kasim lashed his buttocks.
Straining against his chains as furiously as he could and crying out as loudly as his gag would permit, the fighter pilot's cock exploded with salvo after salvo of searing hot cum into Bret's mouth; his chute and cock hole burned as agonizingly hot as his ass. Kasim timed his every lash to each spasm of his slave's cock until at last he slumped against his restraints, drenched with sweat.
Bret keeled over onto his side, swallowing wads of cum, exhausted and also drenched with sweat from his wild and feverish ride on the prisoner's cock. Gasping and trembling, he tried to curl up into the fetal position to rest, but Zarak gave a violent tug on his leash shouting, "It is not over yet. Get on your feet, slave. Kasim has a surprise for you."
Bret climbed to his feet, his head spinning; in a daze, he followed as Zarak led him behind the prisoner. He was shocked to see the large, raw, red blossoms on each of the man's buttocks. Zarak roughly shoved their two sweat soaked bodies together. The pilot groaned loudly at the added agony of Bret's body rubbing against his beaten ass, then Kasim, stepping behind Bret, pressed himself tightly against his body, and Bret felt his cock harden between the fighter pilot's buttocks.
"Find the slave's hole just like I'm finding yours," Kasim commanded.
Bret's cockhead had already found the prisoner's hole, but he was coming apart at the seams emotionally because the overseer's steaming body was pressing him into the pilot's like a slice of ham squeezed between two pieces of bread. He felt Kasim's cockhead wedged into his hole as he was maneuvering his into the same position. He could hardly breath, not because the air was being squeezed out of him, but because of the feel of Kasim's hard, rippled body against his backside. Still, he tried to call himself away from what he was about to happen.
"I can't do this. I can't do this." The words spun around inside his mind like a hollow barrel. He was on the verge of screaming that he could not fuck another man in the ass, but Kasim had already begun to shove his cock up Bret's chute, and as he shoved himself deeper into Bret's ass, his momentum and Bret's rapidly loosening grip on resistance drove his cock up into the prisoner's tightly clenched gut muscles.
As his cock fucked its way through muscles squeezed together, Bret wrapped his arms around the prisoner's waist and took hold of his cock with both hands, one encircling the base and the other, in a fist, dragging back on its full rigid length.
Kasim, his cock fully embedded in Bret's ass, was grinding himself round and around hard up against Bret's hole, shoving himself forward by strenuously pumping his hips. He pushed his arms under Bret's, and, reaching around both slaves, took hold of the prisoner's nipples and pinched and squeezed and twisted them, delighting in the rapid succession of muffled cries.
Bret knew the explosive end was near; Kasim's ass was pumping faster, and he was gasping heavily. Bret surrendered himself to Kasim's powerful thrusting thigh muscles, his own cock shoved deep in the dark places of the prisoner's body strained desperately against the massive muscles clamped tightly against it, and the prisoner himself convulsing wildly, with Bret hard jerking his cock. Then the white hot eruption. Cum ripping through Kasim's cock chute and exploding out of his cock hole into the deepest and most hidden spot within Bret's body, and as though Kasim's cock and Bret's cock were one organ, one shaft, Bret unleashed barrage after barrage as the prisoner shot long white ropes of cum out of his own burning tormented cock.
Violent spasms rocked all three men; sweat streamed down their bodies, gluing them together and puddling around their feet. They gasped and convulsed for several minutes after the last of their cum had been spent, then Kasim dragged Bret to the floor, rolling on top of him, seeking his mouth. Bret was now past redemption.
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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