Date: Wed, 28 May 2003 02:30:08 EDT From: Pete Brown Subject: Mandrasat: Part Nine MANDRASAT Chapter Two: Zarak! (cont'd) Bret would never have believed he could have so easily fallen asleep buried under Zarak's massive body with that enormous cock rammed up his ass to the hilt, but a sudden flash from the twin ceiling lights Zarak had set to go on at that moment shocked him into a state of addled consciousness. Fear and confusion momentarily preceded thought or awareness, but all too quickly he remembered vividly the horror of his situation. He lay on his side and both saw and felt Zarak's monstrous arms and legs twisted around his body from behind, pinning him to the surface of the bed, the giant's mouth, pressed against the base of his neck, coating it with saliva; his cock, embedded deep inside his guts, stirring to life. Even the slightest movement brought a flexing of Zarak's muscles, squeezing Bret tighter in his grip, tighter against his body, and because he was half a foot taller than Bret and close to a hundred pounds heavier, he virtually encased the captive. As he began to reawaken, he moved himself up and down against Bret's body, one giant fist curling around Bret's half rigid cock, the other rubbing across his nipples. "Please, God," he groaned painfully. "Not again." But his lamentation went unheeded, and Zarak, drowsy, but beginning to stretch and rouse himself, rolled over, face down onto Bret's back and started to grind his body over his skin, slowly riding his hole, dragging his nipple rings along his shoulder blades, then, with an animal growl, savagely plowing his hips into his ass and fucking his cock further and further into his chute. "A long hard fuck after a nap," he snarled into Bret's ear, "is the best." Like a hot poker ripping its way through his anus and all the way to his midsection, a spike of raw pain throbbed within him. He begged and pleaded, but his entreaties only inflamed his captor to greater intensity. Zarak pumped his ass harder and faster, ramming his cock its full and rock hard length against Bret's tightly clenched gut muscles, growling louder and louder, drowning out Bret's own cries of pain, until he exploded with a roar of conquest and a blistering eruption of semen. He thrust himself a dozen times against Bret's helplessly writhing body, crushing him into the bed, snarling at each spasm of his cock, at each discharge into that dark paradise deep inside his body. He wanted to stay wrapped around Bret long after his cock subsided, but other pleasures awaited. After he quieted down and his cock lay stretched and dormant in Bret's deep, tight hole and after his gasps gave way to slow, measured breathing, Zarak pushed himself up and slowly withdrew his shaft from Bret's ass. The walls of Bret's guts, sore and burning, began to close in on each other as Zarak's massive weapon slid back through that warm tunnel, but a confusing and disturbing sense of emptiness hung about Bret's mind and body; a terrifying but definite desire to be impaled again on that monstrous cock swirled about his consciousness. He was at once horrified at this feeling and doubly horrified for holding it. He shuddered as the giant extracted himself completely. Zarak rolled off the bed and in one swooping motion flipped Bret over onto his back, grabbed his cuffed ankles and swung his legs around so he lay cross-ways on the bed. He snapped his ankle cuffs open, removing them and dropping them to the floor. "Sit," he commanded, leaning over and grabbing Bret by the shoulders and pulling him up so his legs hung over the edge of the bed. "First thing you are going to do is suck my cock clean. Be happy you did not have any shit up your ass; all you have to do is suck cum and you have done that many times already. Open your mouth." He held his giant stiffening cock out in front of him, its hole open like a deep fleshy drain, but Bret pulled his head back and, squeezing his eyes shut, turned away. Zarak howled furiously, swinging his massive fist and smashing it powerfully into Bret's right cheek, hurling him off the bed and onto the floor. The slavemaster grabbed Bret's steel collar and yanked him back to his feet, then threw him down onto the bed. "What did I tell you," he screamed. Bret winced at Zarak's ferocity and at the pain consuming the side of his face. He tried to pull away, but the giant had a death grip on his collar. "What did I tell you, you dirty, fucking slave?" Zarak's face was contorted into a purple mask of fearsome rage; saliva streamed out of the corners of his gnarled mouth. "I told you," he roared, "I told you that you would do what I commanded, when I commanded, and just the way I commanded. Did I not?" he emphasized the question by twisting Bret's collar, squeezing his throat shut. Bret, desperately trying to catch his breath, struggled to pull himself free from the giant's grip, but with his hands still cuffed behind his back and Zarak's enormous weight pressing down upon him, that was not even a possibility. As he held him with one hand by his slave collar, immobilized and gasping for air, Zarak battered Bret's face with one violent backhand after another. Finally, he yanked Bret forward and tossed him bodily onto the floor, kicking him in the guts and ribs. Bret had never experienced nor ever even heard of such deliberate physical brutality before. He lay on the floor, curled in a ball, groaning and sobbing, his mind dazed and numb from the sudden and incomprehensible fury of his beating. Pulling his mouth away from Zarak's cock was a desperate act, taken not by one repulsed at the thought of sucking that gigantic organ into his mouth, but by one mesmerized by it. Deep down inside his being, somewhere, somehow, Bret wanted to taste and feel that huge muscle in his mouth, bulging against his cheeks, to jab his tongue over its thick veins and across its tightly drawn skin, to grind his teeth along the ridge around the base of its enormous head. He was so caught up with the image of making love to Zarak's cock and the equally overwhelming sense of revulsion at knowing that was what he wanted, that he was scarcely aware of how severely the giant was shaking him. Zarak had dropped to the floor, enveloping Bret, almost smothering him with his bulk. He dug his fingers into his shoulders and throttled him nearly to the point of unconsciousness, then clamping his hands on either side of Bret's head and pulling it toward his cock he snarled, "Now you suck or I will tear you to pieces." Beaten and terrorized, Bret shook violently, knowing full well that Zarak was more than capable of ripping his body to shreds. Like a child opening its mouth to receive some sweet delicacy, he held his lips open as wide as possible and flattened his tongue as Zarak rammed his cock into his throat, making sure this was not going to be an easy suck. He twisted Bret's head roughly from side to side as he slammed his cock back and forth inside his mouth. Bret chocked and gagged each time the massive cockhead embedded itself in his windpipe, and each time, Zarak slapped him on the side of the head. He had definitely learned after his two days of agony and torture that, one way or another, he would ultimately do whatever he was commanded to do; of that there was no doubt or choice. Zarak simply groaned and shuddered as he shot his load into Bret's mouth and down his throat; he made no move to withdraw his cock until it had gone completely limp. "I want to feel tongue," he growled, his eyes blazing with rage. "I want to feel you licking my cock and sucking down every bit of cum." He finally slid his cock, huge, wet, and shiny, out of Bret's mouth, then grabbing Bret's slave collar again, Zarak yanked him to his feet and snapped, "Do you come with me now easily or do I put you on a leash?" Head bowed, his body trembling and bent like a cripple, Bret whispered, "I will come with you easily." Zarak sneered in response, cupping his fist around Bret's testicles and squeezing them together. "Try again," he snarled Gasping in shock and wracked again by a sudden and horrific explosion of pain, Bret chocked haltingly, "I will come with you easily, Master." "That is acceptable for now," he said releasing Bret's tackle and striding to the door. He punched in a series of numbers on the control panel and the door slid open silently. "Walk in front of me, slave. I will tell you which way to turn." Zarak shoved Bret through the door and into the dimly lit stone corridor. Their destination, unknown to Bret, but of one thing he was sure, more intense pain awaited him wherever they were going. -0- Shareem kept the slave population of Mandrasat fairly constant; he would have twenty-five or so auction slaves in training at any given time, ruled by forty overseers. The upkeep and maintenance of the citadel, it's estates, and of the slaves in training fell on the backs of Mandrasat's hundred Nubians; they were also the means Shareem used to bring to perfection the auction slaves' sexual versatility. Thirty armed troops from Mustafa's desert garrison were posted on a three month rotating basis under Shareem's command. This was their 'oasis' duty; they had only to be a threatening presence to the Nubians and auction slaves; in addition to much better food and living conditions than they had back at their base, they also enjoyed a constant supply of fuck slaves from both groups Slaves destined only for hard labor did not stay long at Mandrasat nor were they put up for bid at Shareem's gala auctions. Even though some were handsome enough, in an ocean of exceptionally good looking and physically conditioned slaves, they possessed no extraordinary qualities that would entice collectors to compete with one another for ownership over them; they needed merely to be broken as wild horses needed to be broken and to learn how to use their holes as their masters commanded, a process which would take no more than five or six weeks. When they were deemed 'ready,' they were shipped to clandestine markets throughout the Middle East, North Africa, and Central Asia and sold for the price of a small luxury car. Captured slaves who could not be broken or who fought their training, or who were simply not worth the effort, were sold in short order for a flat rate to organ harvesters in Mexico and Central America. In conjunction with para-military groups in those countries, harvesting centers were constructed in remote areas under the guise of ecological or medical research facilities, complete with vivisection rooms, refrigerated storage lockers, and air strips. The bodies of even marginally healthy slaves could be translated on the black market into sixty or seventy thousand dollars worth of hearts and lungs, kidneys, livers, and corneas. Carcasses were butchered and shipped to fertilizer and animal feed processing plants. But slaves whose bodies and dispositions could command the highest market price were kept much longer at Mandrasat for additional training. They were destined to become renowned gladiators and expert body slaves, insatiably addicted to every sexual extreme. Shareem was certain even from first glance that Bret and the American fighter pilot and even beautiful brown skinned Isam would make excellent gladiators and body slaves, and he planned that after six months of conditioning, there would be no sexual nuance they would not have mastered. -0- Zarak used his fists angrily to drive Bret from his work room through the empty, cold corridors of Mandrasat, steering him down several side hallways until they reached a heavy wooden door at the end of one passage. With a vicious kick, he smashed the door open and as it rattled and swung wildly on its hinges, he shoved Bret through and into a small barren courtyard; it was the first daylight he had seen since his capture. The heat and bright sun told him it was mid-afternoon, just about forty-eight hours since he deplaned Flight Zero-Zero-One in some other universe. Zarak pushed him harshly across the courtyard, toward a door in the opposite wall. His face throbbed from the beating he had taken, and it was hard to hold back the tears; his holes ached from the abuse they'd received from Zarak's giant cock, and the courtyard's hot, broken pavement burned and grated against the soles of his bare feet. His former life of privilege and favor held no knowledge of such brutality and degradation; before, he had only endured the refined pain associated with athletic competition; never in thought or imagination could he have pictured the depravity and anguish of his present situation. Another vicious kick sent the second door bursting open, and Zarak's massive hand between his shoulder blades propelled Bret stumbling into a dank and dark cubicle. Even with spears of light piercing the dark through cracks in the battered door, it took a minute for Bret's eyes to adjust to the gloom hanging in the corners of the room. The place had a rank smell to it that immediately brought to mind the agonies Mustafa's troops subjected him to in their latrine and showers. Then he saw that he and Zarak were not alone. "These slaves are your grooms today," Zarak spat, still angry. Vague silhouettes, barely visible against the curtain of darkness, moved slightly, then stepped into the center of the room. What Bret saw turned his guts to ice. Six large, young, muscular, black men stood facing him; none was shorter than his six foot four inch height, and none taller than Zarak's six foot ten; most were in between. They were completely naked except for steel slave collars and nipple rings; they were hairless from head to foot and had steel cinches looped around their genitals, dividing their scrotums, separating their balls and forcing their cocks out in front, semi-erect. They giggled, bouncing and weaving, their jet black bodies glistening with sweat. "Like dogs and horses," Zarak continued, "slaves do not groom themselves. That is what these Nubian slaves are for. They will make you presentable, but first they will take turns fucking your holes." Stunned at these words, Bret's immediate instinct was to run, but, with his arms cuffed behind his back, his breath taken away by shock and fear and with equal sensations of excitement and terror lacing his body, he was rooted to the spot. Zarak clamped his enormous hand around the back of Bret's neck, enumerating what the Nubians would be doing, "After they have all a chance to fuck you, they will douche your ass, shave you, head and body, and scrub you clean." As he shoved Bret forward, he motioned for the Nubians to come and take him. "I will return in two hours," he shouted to them, "and I expect to see this slave shining." Bret dug his heels against the floor in resistance to what he knew was about to happen; this pointless show of defiance resulted in a series of loud and painful cracks across his buttocks from Zarak's giant open hand. The Nubians chirped and guffawed, dragging him to the floor, rolling him flat on his back. As Zarak exited the room through the same door he had shattered on entering, Bret cried out in pain and fear while the Nubians twisted his legs and torso into the exact position they wanted. Two of the biggest pulled his legs up then spread them as wide apart as they could, wrapping their own legs around his so they could masturbate themselves on the backs of his knees and calf muscles. Two grinning Nubians, squatting on either side of his head and balancing themselves on the balls of their feet, pressed their weight down on his shoulders, while a third knelt on all fours over his face, chest, and crotch, a final one crouched behind his outstretched legs, took hold of their victim's balls and squeezed, and a bolt of pain shot shot through Bret's body from his testicles to his scalp, a reminder that he would comply with everything the Nubians expected. All six assaulted him at once; the one kneeling over his face and torso dropped on top of him, swallowing his cock completely and using his hips and thighs like pile drivers, crammed his own into Bret's mouth. The Nubians wrapping their arms and legs around his legs began ramming their rigid cocks on the backs of his thighs and knees, and the giant crouching at his hole, braced himself by grabbing Bret's hips yanking himself forward and shoving his enormous cock full throttle into Bret's sore and burning hole. Bret was engulfed in a mass of writhing, hard, black bodies, and he felt as though the glue holding the cells of his body together was melting away. The Nubians were expert in their field; inflaming Bret's mind and senses by stroking his body, sucking their mouths over it, licking it, kissing it, caressing it, and all the while, taking turns plowing his mouth and ass. One after another, they buried themselves in his holes, and Bret, writhing on the cocks splitting his rectum and sucking almost hysterically the ones jammed in his mouth, went far beyond coercion or mere compliance. His only conscious thought, his only desire, was to have his body stretched taut, massaged and explored by Nubian hands and teeth, lips and tongues, and speared at both ends like a pig on a spit. There would be time for remorse and self-loathing later. Now he wanted the fire consuming him to be fed. An hour after the first two Nubians had sunk their cocks into his holes, they all lay scattered around him, sated and grunting. His hand cuffs had been removed and tossed somewhere in the gloom, and he lay spreadeagled on the gritty floor; a Nubian lay prone between his outstretched legs, furiously mouthing his cock. A second lay beside him, his chest across Bret's, their lips pressed together, moaning as their tongues struggled with each other. Then, as though a signal had been given, the Nubians all stood up, pulling Bret to his feet and ushering him into into an adjoining room; it stank. It was a latrine, and Bret's body went rigid as he remembered Zarak's command for the Nubians to douche him. The horrific douching he had suffered twenty-four hours previously burned vividly in his memory; the agonizing pain and humiliation, the total subjugation of his mind and body to Mustafa's troops was more than he could bear a second time. He dug his feet into the stone floor once more, crying aloud his recalcitrance, but six strong giants from Central Africa were more than a match for this one American tri-athlete. They dragged him to the far wall, in front of a line of drainage holes, and, twisting his arms behind his back and shoving them up between his shoulder blades, bent him over. As they spread his buttocks wide, a seventh Nubian entered the latrine, carrying three enema bottles. With the rush of blood pounding in his ears, Bret continued to wail as a long tipped applicator was shoved into his ass and the contents of the bottle squeezed deep into his guts. They held him bent over for more than five minutes. With his consciousness almost overwhelmed by the pounding in his head, Bret was spun around by his grooms and pulled into a squatting position over one of the drainage holes. Two Nubians held his arms above his head, and third squatted in front of him, grabbing him around the waist, kneading and squeezing his gut muscles until a large quantity of semen and lubricating gel was loudly expelled. The procedure was repeated twice, then he was led into a room with several open shower heads protruding from the ceiling, drenching the walls and floor with hot water. Bret offered no resistance as he was led under the deluge and pulled and twisted, his arms and legs stretched and razors quickly and smoothly removing even the shadow of hair or beard. He was lathered and shaved twice head to foot before Zarak entered the shower room. The Nubians ran their hands over Bret's body, making sure no hair escaped their notice, but enjoying the feel of his smooth wet skin under the hot shower. Zarak ordered the Nubians to stand Bret in front of him and hold his arms out from his sides. He performed his own inspection, making sure no square inch of Bret's body escaped his hands. "Bring in the buckets," he snapped at the two Nubians standing closest to the doorway. As they scurried from the room, Zarak turned his attention back to Bret and said, "Master Shareem owns many businesses around the world, including businesses that make medicines. One of his companies in far off Germany makes a lotion only for his slaves here at Mandrasat and at his other training camps. The Nubians will smear it all over your body three times, right now, and twice tomorrow. You will stand spread eagle until I tell you to go back under the shower. After the third time, you will never have to worry about your beard or your hair ever again; like me and the Nubians and all the other slaves, your hair and your beard will never grow back. In spite of the pain and suffering and humiliation that had been heaped upon him, this latest revelation shocked Bret. He felt as though a noose had been drawn tighter around his neck. Not only was his life no longer his to command, his bodily functions were being torn away from its control as well. He knew before Shareem and Zarak finished with him, no link to his former life would exist, and he would indeed be fulfilling Shareem's prophecy of never being heard of again or remembered. Darkness and despondency fell upon him like a shroud. The Nubians reentered the shower room carrying two buckets filled with a greenish-yellow glop, three sopping wet paint brushes, and a small black case that one of them handed to Zarak. "You will put these on now," he ordered as he pulled a pair of snap-on goggles out of the case. Bret took the goggles hesitantly, but Zarak's guttural warning prompted him to respond quickly and with no reluctance; he fitted the goggles over the bridge of his nose. "Spread your arms and legs wide, and keep your mouth shut." Zarak then nodded to the Nubians to begin applying the lotion to Bret's body. Bret stiffened at the first swipe from one of the paint brushes down his backside; the glop was ice cold, and the three Nubians applied it quickly, coating him from head to foot. Then as suddenly as the icy sensation had stunned him, the slimy coating began to burn his skin. Remembering Zarak's words about keeping his mouth closed, he clenched his teeth lest he cry out at the scorching heat cascading over his body. He groaned at the thought of how this stuff would burn the inside of his mouth. For five unending minutes standing spread eagle, his skin seemingly on fire, Bret quivered and shook until Zarak finally commanded, "Take him to the showers." The Nubians grabbed his arms and pulled him under the shower heads, scraping the goo from his body, then lathering him up again and scrubbing him clean. Surprisingly, he felt almost refreshed and his skin, now a bright pink, tingled all over. Scowling into Bret's face, Zarak demanded "Do you come with me now easily or do I put you on a leash?" Bret bowed his head and shut his eyes and responded submissively, "I will come with you easily, Master." "Good," Zarak snapped. "Walk in front of me. It is time for your next lesson." ......................................................................... 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