MANDRASAT
Chapter Two: Introduction
No part of Shareem's slave training program was left to chance; it was a tightly constructed, multi-generational endeavor, and his family has been eminently successful at this trade for over three hundred years. Each generation added to the knowledge of how to strip a slave of his self image, self worth, and self will in the same brutal fashion as he was stripped of his clothing.
The most glorious day in the history of the family took place on the Seventh of July in the year 1806 with the capture of the American Navy's battle frigate 'Portsmouth' by one of Shareem's direct ancestors just off the coast of Gaza, and the transfer of its officers and crew, naked and in chains, across the desert to Mandrasat for auction. Of the ninety or so slaves who survived that trek, only seven managed by circumstance and luck to escape after more than a decade in bondage.
Shareem was proud of his heritage, and had committed himself to preserving it and integrating it into the twenty-first century. He had assembled a vast array of 'instructional' tools and techniques to make either a bred slave or a captured slave quickly submissive and pliant. His heart of hearts was not for living flesh, but given ecstatically to leather and metal, to the circuits, chains, and pincers that would mold a slave into precisely the commodity he intended. One that he would sell for the highest price imaginable.
Mandrasat was one of six compounds scattered across the North African and Arabian deserts owned and tightly controlled by Shareem, and designed specifically for the retraining of male slaves; an additional facility in Central Africa was used exclusively for the retraining of captured Black Africans, Shareem's "Nubians." Each compound, with the exception of the one in Central Africa, serviced an adjacent "Breeding Farm," where a continuing supply of high quality infants was produced for the lucrative adoption black market. Shareem would charge as much as thirty thousand dollars per infant, and there was a ready market for each child.
A trained slave could fetch between twenty and thirty thousand dollars on average, with exceptional specimens commanding three or four times that amount. At his auctions, Shareem usually offered a pod of twelve slaves; any slave, of course, could be purchased individually or as one of twelve, depending on how the bidding went. With each facility hosting four or five auctions a year, plus the sale of infants on the international black market, Shareem could expect an annual income from his slave trade of ten to twelve million, at least.
As the year 2001 drew to a close, his most prized possession was the American priest slave he had plucked from a crowded jet liner, from that very icon of modern complacency and self-indulgence. He could not suppress a hearty chuckle at the sight of the slave struggling and crying out as his overseer, Zarak, hoisted him over his shoulder and stormed out of the disciplinary room to his private, soundproof chamber for several hours of his own brand of unbridled training. Shareem made a mental note to watch the tapes of Zarak's session with the slave later on that evening with one of his own favorite, long legged body slaves. He prided himself on never being above learning something new, especially from Zarak.
Under his tutalege, and with Mustafa's tongue spreading the news of Shareem's coup throughout Quassir, the slave's value could increase a hundred fold, which might start a new trend for slavers, haunting the book shops and chapels of Rome instead of its bars and brothels. Shareem laughed aloud. Indeed, pillaging this slave's trained mind and smooth, hard body, forcing him into total and abject submission would be as delicious as devouring the warm flesh of a desert melon.
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MANDRASAT
Chapter Two: Zarak!
The giant Zarak pounded his way along the stone corridors of Mandrasat from Shareem's torture room roaring and bellowing, lugging his Master's newest acquisition shackled hand and foot and slung over his shoulder. His captive's long, lean, one hundred and ninety pounds barely noticeable to him, locked in place as he was by the overseer's massive biceps and forearm. He exaggerated his monumental gait, swinging his hips and huge genitals wildly from side to side deliberately colliding with the hapless slave's head and face. He liked the feel of this one's warm, hairless body as it squirmed and slid against his own, and he especially liked the absolute power he had over it.
Bret cried loudly as he was jostled and slammed against Zarak's monstrous bulk. He begged to be put down and unchained, promising he would not try to escape. Zarak roared with laugher in response, squeezing his arm tighter around Bret's midsection and crushing him against his shoulder.
"We are here, slave. My work room."
Bret, gasping for breath, neither heard nor saw the door in front of Zarak slide open. In a moment, they were inside. and the door slid shut behind them. A few strides into the room and Zarak heaved Bret off his shoulder, through the air, and slammed him down heavily onto a hugely oversized bed.
Though he had never been in a fight, or even had to defend himself physically, Bret, for most of his life, had confidence in his strength and agility, but no more. Zarak had ripped that sense of security forever out of his consciousness; his huge muscles, his gigantic proportions, his violence and brutishness annihilated all of Bret's instincts and abilities. He was powerless against the giant's might, and terrified at the thought of what he was about to suffer at his hands. He gritted his teeth and tried to control the tremors of fear that wracked his body
With his head spinning and the air knocked out of him, Bret was unable to make even a show of resistance and lay motionless on his back, staring almost incomprehensively at the room around him. It was a large, dingy, dust coated stone and mortar cell without windows, illuminated by the glare from two bright ceiling lights.
The enormous bed on which he lay, occupied easily one half the room's space. A toilet and a black granite sink stood next to a fully open shower in one corner, a storage shelf ran along one wall, a telephone and digital control panel were mounted next to the bed. A second control panel was affixed to the wall beside the door, and, bolted to the ceiling at opposite corners of the room, were two motion sensitive TV cameras, each trained on the bed and each equipped with night vision lenses. There were no other furnishings.
After taking a long and loud piss into the toilet, Zarak climbed onto the bed and straddled Bret's hips, pressing his massive cock and balls into Bret's, rocking himself back and forth over them, bringing both organs steadily to full and rigid erection. Growling under his breath, a broken, snaggle tooth smile distorting the grotesque features of his face, he dragged his huge, rough paws slowly over Bret's chest, pinching and tugging his nipples until he groaned in pain; he dug his fingers, as long and thick as an average man's penis, into Bret's stomach muscles, then, clamping his gigantic fists around both their cocks and squeezing, he began masturbating them against each other.
Leering at Bret, a string of spittle dribbling out of the corner of his mouth, he snarled, "I know who your were, slave, and I know what your were. I know all about you. I know," he continued, his jaw clenched from eruptions of heat rising within him, "that you gave your mouth to one of Colonel Mustafa's guards, to Kaliq and his cock, so he wouldn't hurt you any more."
Zarak's breath was labored and sweat glistened across his body; the feel of Bret's cock pressed into his own, the rough stroking of his fists, and the sight of a strong, young body lying helpless in front of him stoked the furnace blazing in his guts.
"Know this, slave," he growled, bending over and sneering into Bret's face, sweat streaming off his body and onto his prisoner's, "I can hurt you worse than Mustafa and all his guards together," he gasped as fire and ecstasy ripped the length of his monster cock.
Bret cried out as Zarak squeezed his fists tighter, jerking faster, until the friction generated heat and pain searing their cocks was more than either could withstand, and both slavemaster and slave roared as ropes of hot cum exploded simultaneously out of their distended cockholes.
Long cords of semen arched above Bret's belly, splattering on his face and chest; both cocks shot volley after volley, accompanied by their owners' convulsions, growls and moans until the last of the discharges bubbled out over their cockheads and ran down Zarak's fists and onto Bret's smooth abs.
Zarak fell full length on top of Bret, cradling his arms around Bret's head and dragging his mouth and tongue over the slave's cum smeared face. The weight of the giant's body crushed his captive into the bed, forcing the air out of him, then Zarak rammed his tongue into Bret's mouth, driving it hard across its roof, raking its fleshy sides, jabbing it into his captive's tongue and sucking it into his own mouth and luxuriating in the feel of the body struggling helplessly beneath him and the groans of fear and rapture locked in its throat.
Zarak's teeth and tongue, lips, hands and fingers would come to know every inch of Bret's body intimately. His boast, that blindfolded and with just the tip of his tongue he could identify his current slave's cockhead from any number of others, had been proven true many times over to the skeptics of Mandrasat, and had many times over won him an astonished body slave for the ensuing twenty-four hours. Money had no value at Mandrasat, but the firm buttocks and beefy genitals of another overseer or visiting slaver were too easy a wager for Zarak not to take
He slid his mouth over Bret's trembling body, chewing and sucking his already tender and sensitive nipples, using his tongue as a weapon, jabbing it into his navel, then attacking his cock, thrusting his mouth forward on top of it, swallowing it whole, grinding it with his teeth, jamming it against the side of his mouth with his wildly flailing tongue, growling, digging his fingers into the pits on either side of the slave's balls. Bret lurched and twisted on the bed, struggling uselessly against his captor's onslaught and soaked in his own sweat.
Zarak wrapped his arms around Bret's waist and buttocks, lifting his ass off the bed, working his fingers into his rectum, assaulting his prostate until his cock erupted for the second time, his shoulders raising up then slamming back down onto the bed with each salvo he shot into Zarak's cavernous mouth. He lost his awareness, his reason, in spasms of excitement and horror.
Spent and exhausted, he lay panting until Zarak raised his hips off the bed again and sucked both his balls and cock into his mouth, sliding his tongue back and forth along the base of his scrotum and flicking it into his hole. In a powerful, unspoken, subconscious way, Bret knew that neither his body nor his life would ever again be his to command. The sheer dimensions of this giant whose mouth and tongue and hands and arms were igniting the fires of terrifying pleasure swirling through his body were beyond his ability to resist, even were his hands and feet not constrained.
Zarak let Bret's body slump back onto the bed and knelt up straight, stretching his arms above his head, reaching toward the ceiling and growling. He looked down on the captive beneath him, smiled his gnarled smile again and said, "One more game then we sleep." He rolled off the bed and walked to the shelf mounted on the opposite wall, retrieved a metal can and ambled back to the bed, his cock jutting out in front of him like a handle.
Holding the can in one hand, Zarak easily rolled Bret over onto his stomach, climbed onto the bed and straddled his legs. After a few moments, Bret stiffened as he felt the shock of an icy jab at the lips of his anus; having undergone this act of degradation before at the hands of Mustafa's troops, he knew instantly that Zarak was coating his rectum and colon with some kind of lubricating gel, and he knew why. As the image of Zarak's huge cock exploded in his mind, Bret moaned and began to plead with the giant not to do this.
"Quiet!" Zarak punctuated his command with a sharp crack across Bret's buttocks. "Slaves do not speak unless they are ordered to, and I did not order you to speak." He slapped Bret's ass again hard enough to tinge the curves of his cheeks red. Bret shuddered and moaned as Zarak worked two, and then three, fingers into his hole.
He paused for each moan and each quiver of Bret's body to administer sharp, blistering slaps across each buttock; Bret's ass was soon fiery red, burning as though through to the bone.
"Every time you make me stop greasing your hole," the giant barked, "your ass will pay. I can make it red all over; I like fucking a hot, red ass." He underscored his threat with two violent cracks on each side. Clenching his jaw tightly, Bret buried his face in the bed hoping his sobs weren't audible.
Zarak tossed the can onto the floor, sending it clattering towards the open shower in the corner, then delivered five additional searingly agonizing open hand slaps to each of Bret's buttocks.
"For all your disobedience," he shouted, and administered another three.
Bret groaned, his buttocks ablaze, tears of pain and fear and humiliation running down his face. He cried out in despair as Zarak grasped him above the hips, his fingers digging into his flanks. The giant hoisted himself up, straddled Bret's crimson ass, sucked in an enormous volume of air, held it in his lungs for a heart stopping second, then, bellowing like a wild beast, plowed his cock straight into Bret's hole.
With his own howls drowned out by Zarak's roars of triumph, Bret pitched and rolled in pain and shock, screaming and thrashing about, impaled on that massive cock. Unnoticed by him in all the noise and fury was his own rock hard, rigid, cock; its skin tightly drawn, veins and head bulging, squeezed tight between his belly and the bed.
Zarak rode Bret's ass mercilessly, lunging back and forth, twisting and grinding his hips, his swollen cock scraping and stretching the lips of Bret's hole and the walls of his colon, ramming himself deeper into clenched gut muscles, claiming the slave unequivocally as his own.
Bret's mind had abandoned him; he was conscious only of Zarak's monstrous weapon embedding itself further and further into his body and into his very being; he hung convulsing on it, pushing and pulling it, clamping his muscles around it, riding it. Master and mount were plunging and writhing together as one. With his mouth gaping and howling like a primal beast, Zarak unleashed barrage after barrage of hot cum into the sanctuary of Bret's core.
Awash with pain, moaning and sobbing, expelling for a third time what semen remained to him, Bret knew he died at that moment; Zarak would take whatever he wanted, and there would be no choice for him but to submit.
Zarak kept his cock wedged inside Bret's ass long after his final eruption, sitting astride his buttocks, dragging his hands over Bret's shoulders and sides. In the midst of his sobbing, Bret could feel Zarak hardening inside him, and terrified, he pleaded with the giant not to use him again.
"If my cock wants to fuck you again," he growled in reply, "it will fuck you again. I will not beat you now for your insolence, slave, but your ass will pay. Oh, yes. Your ass will pay."
He then touched the control panel on the wall next to the bed, and the overhead lights blinked three times and went out. Utter darkness and Zarak's hard mass fell on Bret at the same moment. With his cock still buried deep inside Bret's ass, Zarak wrapped his arms and legs around Bret's body and began to drag his tongue over the smooth bald curves of his head, then down the sinews and muscles of his neck. The pitch black room, the feel of Zarak's hands and tongue exploring his body in the dark, and the giant's cock jabbing and grating deep inside him left Bret breathless and petrified.
It was useless for him to try to struggle; he had no place to run and no way to get free even if he could run. He felt hollowed out by his fear and cowardice; he was defenseless, totally at the mercy of this giant whose massive arms and legs tightly ringed his own, pinning him to the bed. Zarak's hands came to rest cupping Bret's cock and balls; he squeezed them, rubbed them together, tickled the underside of his cockhead, pawed and man handled them, then grunting, he licked Bret's neck and cheek as he fucked his mammoth cock deeper inside his ass.
Ultimately Zarak fell silent and motionless, and his breathing became deep and steady, and Bret released a long, lingering sigh of desolation. As best he could judge, this was only the second day of his captivity. The first day brought the terror and trauma of Shareem, and Tariq, and Mustafa, and his troops into his life, and continued with him and Isam caged and chained together and drugged for a flight here to Mandrasat.
His next memory was of regaining consciousness, strapped into Shareem's torture device and the horrendous pain he sadistically inflicted with it, then of Zarak carrying him off to this room and raping him. Two days! Overcome by dread and despair, he began to sob uncontrollably, and Zarak shifted his weight without awakening. Two days, and Bret knew deep in his soul that this horror had only begun.
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