(Posted by Pete Brown on behalf of the author. The author was subject to harassment and threats when earlier chapters were posted, and Pete is acting as "cut out").
MANDRASAT PART XXIII
At high tide, and under a scorching noonday sun, the guided missile destroyer, Everett Ralston, sailed out of Maputo Harbor, Mozambique, and into the Indian Ocean; it was the 27th of December 2001 and ahead lay a New Years Eve blow out at the ship's second Good Will Port-of-Call, Dar es Salaam, 1400 nautical miles and four days north at top speed. Sean Olivier, assistant Electronics System Mate and on board Olympic body building contender, had already begun planning raucous and riotous orgies for himself and a select bunch of his fuck buddies, "select" in terms of the amount of cash in their totes. He'd been working out the juicy details for over a month before they'd set sail on this cruise from Diego Garcia. Even during the time just now on Christmas liberty with his good bud, Jeremy Posten, fucking his way through shore leave in the luxury of Maputo's Hotel Europa, he was choreographing his next fuck fests in Dar es Salaam, and the ones later on that week in Mombasa, before the isolation of a long, monkey jerking seven day cruise to Qassir City on the Persian Gulf. "Gettin a fuckin beach house. New Year's Eve. Right on the fuckin ocean, Man," he'd squawked harshly, as the final hours of his shore leave in Maputo began , and the abrasive bite from the crisscrossed ribs of his condom sent fiery shock waves surging through his thick meaty cock and deep into ass hole. "Jesusgodfuck!" he howled, thrashing atop the hotel room's extra large bed like a wild bull, his legs rigid, spread wide and his back arched over a stack of pillows, his cock swallowed whole by the lean, tawny cunt straddling his crotch, stretching, twisting, crushing, grinding the rigid stalk deep inside her own hot muscled fuck sack. Sean's eyes crossed and saliva dribbled out of the corner of his mouth. A second creamy, cafe-au-lait skinned high assed hooker knelt behind Sean's fuck pussy, squeezing their bodies together, and reaching around, grabbing her tits and tugging at her nipples as she bucked and slammed the sailor's cock. Sean screeched loudly, his fingers digging into a third female body sprawled black flesh on white across his belly, mouthing the lips of her cunt into his right flank, just above his hip, her teeth and tongue buried in his left arm pit. "Gonna be fucked out when this trip's over," he'd growled hardly above a gasp, his straining cock squeezed tight by his whore's well trained abs and gut muscles. "Gonna need medical attention," he hissed through clenched teeth. Then, "Gotta get movin, Dude," Jeremy squealed, convulsing with laughter, plopped bare ass naked in a giant overstuffed chair across the room, legs wide open, eyes glazed over in fuck ecstasy, a beer in one hand and two huge breasted naked neighborhood whores sucking his cock and balls, a third draped over the back of his chair, her tongue stroking the base of his neck, her finger tips twisting and pinching his nipples. "Gotta be back by eight o'clock AYEMM, Dude, or we ain't goin nowhere New Years Eve PEEMM." At that moment, Sean howled in the flaming heat of his own fuck frenzy as the last of his steaming cum spit through the lips of his piss hole. His bitch collapsed face down on top of him, dragging her companion with her, over the one writhing on Sean's belly, all four gasping for air, their arms, legs, tongues, fingers, toes, digging into each other, uncontrollable sex spasms jerking their muscles, an incendiary finale to a day and a half of cum and sweat drenched orgasms. Jeremy gaped open mouthed and dumbfounded at the bodies coiling around each other on the bed in front of him, sweat glistening on hot flesh, himself barely aware of the three sets of mouths and hands assailing his own beefy cock, balls and ripped torso. "Ain't got a fuckin boner left in me," Sean panted, shoving the tangle of cunt meat aside and pulling himself to the edge of the bed. "C'mon, you bitches," he rasped. "We gonna play rub my duba-dub-dub in the shower," he leered, poking his finger into the one's cum slimed cunt, inching her off the bed. "Get your ass movin," he shouted over his shoulder at Jeremy, "got to get back by eight." "Ass what I said," Jeremy slurred, hauling himself and his whores up off the chair, "said that a hour ago. Fuck," he lurched into a table then stumbled into the second bathroom pulling his giggling train with him. "Gotta shower, Tooties." With one arm hugging the nearest whore tight against his hip, Jeremy reached into the beige marble cabinet and twisted the knob, releasing a torrent of hot water. "Grab the soap, baby doll," he screeched. "My wet ass is yours!" Fucking their hot, meaty cocks up squirming, grasping, pink lipped mocha cunts along the East Coast of Africa surpassed any and all fantasies for Sean and Jeremy. Their grueling, daily unending body building regimen enabled them keep every fiber of their being, sexual and psychological, deliberately focused, including on the volatile, fuck maddening triangle of wrinkled skin on the underside of their cock heads, up until now. After more than thirty-six hours of pounding sanity out of their consciousness in throbbing spasms of gut wrenching ecstasy, their balls were on empty and their cocks on heavy dangle. Since the two sailors and their six whores had been naked their entire time together, Sean and Jeremy had little packing to do. They'd brought trinkets for the girls, some noxious smelling French perfume they'd bought back at the PX on Diego Garcia, faux jewelry, and a wad of US dollars that would make any working girl happy to start all over again. After they all had showered and dressed, the girls gave Sean and Jeremy passionate farewell but soon to be forgotten kisses. With a scant hour to make it back to the dock and onto the Everett Ralston before their leave was up, the two young sailors by-passed the hotel's antique elevators, and scrambled down five flights of stairs in less time than one of the gilded carriages would have taken just to reach them on the fifth floor. In a flurry of laughter and high-fives, they checked out of the elegant dowager hotel, scurried across the marble lobby floor and burst through the staid entrance, exploding into the torrid brilliance of a sun blasted Christmas morning. "Njonjo, my man," Sean bellowed at the sight of the hotel's chauffeur. "Right on time. Good for you."
-0- Zarak wrapped his fist tightly around Bret's cock and pulled him out of the latrine; the Nubian slave grooms circled around the door, giggling and jerking their thick, black fuck poles so recently buried deep the white slave's ass and throat. Bret groaned at the intensity of Zarak's grip on his cock and at the sharp pain still stabbing him from the fiery brand scrawled across his right buttock. Three days before, Kasim had declared the scars burned into Bret and Ballard's asses works of art as he traced his finger along blackened lines of raw seared flesh, impervious to their screams of anguish. Striding ahead, Zarak refrained from speaking as he dragged his slave through Mandrasat's maze of corridors. The giant overseer enjoyed the feel of this slave's cock squeezed tightly in the palm of his hand; when this day's proceedings were over, he would again enjoy his lean, hard body, a tasty fuck toy with warm throbbing holes at either end. Zarak decided to increase his pace to their destination, forcing Bret to swallow his pain and sob inwardly. "Silence you fucking slave," Zarak roared, twisting and yanking Bret's cock even harder. "I will have none of your moaning and groaning. Slaves do not moan or groan when they do their master's bidding. Do you hear my words, slave?" Bret ground his teeth together and with tears rimming his eyes, nodded silently, desperately trying to match Zarak's gait and keep from surrendering to an overwhelming need in his cock to blow the huge load of cum boiling at its base and along the length of its fuck tube. Eventually the overseer slowed and came to a halt in front of a door that quickly slid open for him Still gritting his teeth, Bret squeezed his eyes shut, not just for fear of looking into this new room, but because of the pain raking his ass and the fire burning the length of his cock. Suddenly, jerked violently into the room and abruptly released from Zarak's grip, Bret gasped loudly, his eyes popped open, and terror once again tore at his guts. The room was one of Mandrasat's typical grey cement vaults with four florescent lights hanging from the ceiling and motion detector cameras at the top of each corner; what was not typical was the intense heat in the room and the two metal dentist chairs anchored in the middle of the floor, facing each other, ten feet or so apart, their backs arched behind their seats at a forty-five degree angle. In spite of his pain and the heat beginning to envelope him, Bret was wrapped in cold, clammy sweat. He shook as droplets ran from his arm pits, his forehead, his chin, down his belly to the tip of his cock, mixing with a strand of precum suspended from his piss hole. "Over there," Zarak snarled, shoving him toward one of the chairs, the one opposite the one occupied by his fellow slave, Jonathan Ballard. Ballard was strapped to the bare metal, his arms drawn up and back tightly above his head, wrists clamped to the top of the chair's extra high back; a heavy leather strap across his mid-section held him in place, his legs were spread wide in front of him, elevated above his hips, feet pointing up at the ceiling, strapped at thighs, knees, and ankles to wide, rigid appendages, jutting out from the sides of the chair, his every muscle glistening with sweat. Nothing barred full access to his helpless, naked body. With his own fear virtually blinding him to his surroundings, Bret did not notice the streak of angry red skin encircling the flange of Ballard's cockhead, and even when his eyes registered the sight, his mind was so paralyzed he did not comprehend that his fellow slave had been circumcised. Spread eagled as he was and affixed tightly to the chair, Ballard's newly clipped cock hung over his elongated ball sack like a thick meaty faucet, swollen and purple. His rapid, shallow breathing pummeled the air. Several Nubians were clustered about each chair, giggling and fingering one another's cocks and balls, twitching in anticipation of what was to come. Without a word, Zarak shoved Bret into the chair across from Ballard, and the three Nubians around it held him down as the overseer strapped him securely in place. His eyes wide with fear, his own rapid and shallow breathing matching Ballard's, he slowly became aware of his situation and the oppressive heat in the room. Now streams of sweat poured from his body. It was all part of the brutal process he and Ballard were about to undergo. Bret's eyes were ultimately drawn to Ballard's cock and balls directly across from him, and, as he began to realize that the man's foreskin he had so ecstatically sucked had been sheared away, exposing a reddened mushroom head, the door to the room slid open and overseers Kasim and Jullah, and Dr. Katib burst noisily into the room. "Ah," Katib loudly proclaimed, "our two baby slaves are ready for their next beauty treatment." The overseers laughed along with Mandrasat's sadistic medic. "Yes," Jullah concurred, his black muscled body already beginning to gleam with sweat from the excessive heat pouring into the room. "I think this is going to be a delightful experience for us all." Katib kicked off his sandals and let his ankle length brown sleeveless caftan drop to the floor; he wore nothing underneath, and stood as naked as the overseers next to him. Turning to Kasim and Jullah, he said, "Get everything ready, let's get this done quickly before we melt in this fucking heat." The two overseers stepped to a black topped counter that ran the length of a side wall; several sets of cupboards were arranged above, and as they began to place instruments onto metal trays, Katib went and stood in front of Ballard, bent over and slid his hand under the slave's thick limp cock and held it up for inspection. "Very good cut if I do say so myself," he said grinning cruelly, fingering the crimson scar encircling the cockhead as Ballard twisted against his restraints and cried aloud, begging, "No, Master, don't. Please don't, Master" over and over. "Shush, baby slave," Katib mocked Ballard's pleas, "When you're up on the block, this big smooth hunk of slave meat will get our customers hot and hard and ready to bid high." Then turning to Zarak he hissed in their own language, "Gag them." With a jerk of his head, Zarak communicated Katib's order to the Nubians who scurried to the counter to retrieve two strips of cloth from one of the wall cupboards. In less than a minute, the gags were forced into the slaves' mouths and tied tightly in back of their heads. The gags' function? Simply to prevent any words erupting from the victims' throats, not to bridle their screams. Jullah, holding a tray with the implements of torture, stood on Katib's right. The doctor bent over Ballard's chest, and cupping his hands around the slave's tits, began to suck and tongue his nipples, smearing them with his saliva, drawing them up hard and erect and eliciting deep moans from the slave. He took a four inch clear plastic cylinder with a suction cup on one end from Jullah's tray and affixed it securely on top of Ballard's left nipple. He repeated the process with the right nipple. When both vials imprisoning Ballard's stiffened nipples stuck out from the slave's chest, Katib took a hand pump from the tray and, attaching its rubber tubing to the open end of one of the cylinders, began squeezing the pump's handle. Ballard squirmed as forcefully as he could against the restraints pinning him to the chair, crying loudly into his gag as the vacuum Katib was creating began to suck his nub gradually and searingly painfully up the cylinder's length, and when the distended nipple reached almost halfway to the top, the doctor quickly detached the pump's rubber tubing and capped the cylinder, leaving the trapped vacuum to continue its work. He repeated the excruciating torture on Ballard's right nipple; in the end, each would be agonizingly stretched the full length of the cylinders. Pain, like a white hot poker, gouged Ballard's tits, plunging into his belly and grabbing his genitals. In spite of the torment slashing his mind and body, Ballard's cock began to rise and harden, and the scarred tissue ringing its head began to ooze blood. "Bandage it up a bit," Katib said to Zarak, indicating Ballard's cockhead. "It won't leak for long." Then the doctor, stroking his own hard on, went and stood between Bret's outstretched legs. Jullah turned and positioned himself again on Katib's right. "Ahhh," he sneered, bending over the helpless wretch, a ruthless smile twisting his face, "Master Shareem's priest slave from Rome. Hear me well you piece of dog shit; it does not matter what any fucking slave was before being delivered into Master Shareem's hands, you are just fuck toys, and cock is now your god, and you best not forget that." Katib then rolled Bret's cock and balls between the palms of his hands, delighting in the hefty feel of the slave's genitals. "We're going to take you one step closer to the auction block today, my sweet, luscious monk, and when we finish with you, even your whoring pope would rush to bid for your body." Bret's eyes bulged with terror as Katib bent over his chest and closed his mouth over his left nipple. The doctor took more time sucking Bret's tits than he had with Ballard, and he dug his fingers deeper and harder into his pecs. In spite of the terror he felt watching Ballard's suffering, his cock hardened quickly to its full rigid length, now quivering against Katib's who leaned into his body. The doctor remained pressed against Bret, biting, chewing, and sucking on his nubs, their cocks, lubricated with sweat, grinding against each other, and when Bret reached the edge of the precipice, straining to loose a massive barrage of boiling cum, Katib suddenly stood up straight, a vile smirk twisting his face, and pinched the base of Bret's cock hard, sending a lightening bolt of pain smashing into the slave's guts, and withering his hard on instantly. Denied release, liquid fire burned the length of his cock, even the ring of his ass hole burned, but these were nothing compared to the stretching of his nipples that Katib had initiated. Pulling and straining against the straps binding him to the chair just exacerbated the pain from his branded ass. He was consumed with pain. "You just sit there a little while, my sweet priest slave," Katib smirked as he finished capping the second cylinder jutting out from Bret's chest. "I have another patient to take care of," he howled gleefully, then turned his attention back to Ballard. A snear spread across Kasim's face, and his eyes glistened with cruelty as he held his tray in front of Katib; the doctor removed the loose bandage from the end of the slave's cock and dropped it onto the tray top, then took a set of three intersecting rings from the tray, bent over the helpless Ballard, smiled and whispered, "Now we make you irresistible." He slid the first ring over the tortured head of Ballard's cock and forced it down to the base, then slid his hand under the slave's ball sac, elongated as all their ball sacs were by the intolerable heat in the room, and, with a malevolent grin twisting the corners of his mouth, he forced Ballard's right ball through the second of the intersecting rings, flattening it as he shoved it along. Unable to do more than twitch impotently against his restraints, Ballard screamed into his gag as his balls were flattened and squeezed through the rings of his genital cinch, then Katib snapped the rings together, between Ballard's ass hole and his scrotum, forcing his balls to bulge out on either side of like two swollen, red pontoons. As incomprehensible as the pain was surging through his body, mercifully, Ballard did not know that he'd barely crossed the threshold of suffering. The pain from his circumcision battered his cock, his balls were on fire as also were his nipples, still imprisoned and distended within the two plastic cylinders. Bret strained uselessly against the leather straps binding him as the cinch was fitted onto his cock and balls, and to the delight of Katib and the overseers, his screams increased ever higher in pitch when his testicles were flattened and forced through the rings of his genital cinch. When the cinch was snapped into place, his cock, like Ballard's, was fully erect, rigid and throbbing, precum bubbling out of its piss hole. The crushing pressure on his balls was excruciating, his consciousness pounded by the horrific fear that they would split wide open. "Jullah will give you a nice massage," Katib grinned, "while I attend to my other patient." The black overseer took his place between Bret's outstretched legs and began to stroke his own cock until it too was fully erect and rigid, then bending over the slave's pain wracked body, he whispered, "You know I love your body, slave. Every curve, every ridge, every dimple." Jullah drew his hands over Bret's hips and thighs, slid his fingers into his crotch, and all the while rubbing his cock up and down the full length of Bret's. "You and I will have many hours of ecstasy together. Just like this," and he closed his lips over Bret's swollen cockhead and, sucking his mouth tight around its shaft, slid down to its base, assailing it with his tongue. Bret groaned and cried aloud as his ball sac shriveled and squeezed his testicles hard against his cinch's rings, and his cock exploded in the warm tight envelope of Jullah's mouth. Again and again, in the frenzy of his orgasm, he shot volley after volley of hot thick cum, pent up, denied release, and aflame for so long. Seemingly every muscle of his body convulsed with his cock to blast every thread of cum down Jullah's throat. For just a moment, Bret was lost in explosive wonders of his orgasm; it fully consumed him, but just for a moment. The hot, oppressive air in this torture chamber was ripped apart by screams no gag could muffle. Jullah continued sucking Bret's cock, but Ballard's screams had annihilated the euphoria Bret had drifted into. The cinch kept his cock semi-erect, but its rigidity was gone, and he was besieged by wave upon wave of inhuman howls and shrieks from across the room. When Jullah released Bret's cock, stood up, and stepped aside, all Bret could see in front of him were Katib, Zarak, and Kasim, naked and huddled over Ballard's body. Terror of the unknown agony awaiting him seized his guts, and Bret began to moan into his gag out of mind mangling fear. What Bret could not see, the overhead cameras captured in every detail; they recorded Katib removing the plastic cylinders from Ballard's distended nipples by uncapping and blowing into them, then taking a pair of forceps and a piercing tool, like a large ice pick, stretching each nipple further out, then driving the pick through the base of each one. Katib worked the pick like a corkscrew, twisting it and shoving it back and forth through Ballard's flesh. Zarak blotted what blood splattered from the wounds with pieces of bandage; when Katib was satisfied with the width of the bore, he put the ice pick and the forceps back on Kasim's tray and took a large, heavy gauge steel ring from it. As Kasim returned his tray to the work counter, Katib opened the ring by pulling back on it, releasing a miniature precision spring mechanism within and snapping it open. Kasim returned almost instantly with a cannister of antibiotic lubricant which he sprayed liberally all over the ring as Katib held it. "I knew from the moment I first saw this slave's nubs," Katib laughed, "that they would take the rings perfectly. Watch this," and he shoved an open end of the ring into and through Ballard's tormented left nipple, his renewed screams cracking the air. Katib snapped the ring closed and rotated it through the nipple several times. He then repeated the entire ringing procedure on the right nipple. When both rings hung heavily from Ballard's nipples, Kasim again returned to the work counter, placing the lubricant and a few other items on his tray before rejoining Katib. Ballard was drenched in sweat, his face reddened and bathed with tears. The unbelievably brutal assault on his body and his person by these fiends had left his mind teetering on the edge of sanity. How much more pain and degradation could he take; his manly, military self sufficiency had been ripped out of his psyche by almost four weeks of torture and depravity, yet for him and Bret, the eternity of hell had barely started. Kasim held his tray out and Katib removed a hand held hole punch from it, bent close in to Ballard's body, slid the punch over the slave's left earlobe and squeezed the trigger A white hot spike of pain ripped through Ballard's head as a shaft of sharpened steel pierced his earlobe. A second later, the same agony was wreaked on the right one. Again, heavy gauge steel rings were inserted into the puncture wounds, rotated and sterilized. When the bleeding from Ballard's earlobes and tits had been reduced to a minimum, the doctor and his two overseers stepped aside, revealing in front of Bret's eyes the full horror of Mandrasat's ancient barbaric manner of gouging out humanity like a depraved demon would a man's eyes, and in its place, brutally fashioning a hellish curiosity to adorn a madman's pleasure halls or torture pits. Ballard's agony had been passed down through generations of slave masters; he was but the latest in an endless line of shattered human beings, still born as slave meat, property for the perverse amusement of their owners. Bret's mind refused to accept what his senses were telling it, and as Katib stepped in front of him with forceps and piercing tool in hand, Bret slumped against his restraints and passed out. "Oh," Katib pouted, "this is the one I wanted to hear scream. He screams so well." Then turning to Zarak he said, "Have the Nubians get some buckets of ice water. I want to have my fun now."