Date: Tue, 15 Jul 2003 03:18:08 EDT
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: MANDRASAT: PART TWELVE

	"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.

..........................................................................

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>