Date: Sat, 22 Jan 2005 05:22:25 -0800 (PST)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: Mandrasat, Chapter 21 (MM NC  BDSM FANT)

(the author wishes to remain anonymous.  Pete Brown
posts it only on his behalf. Contact via petebownuk @
yahoo.com).


MANDRASAT, Part 21


Bret and Ballard stood shivering violently in pain and
shock on the cracked courtyard pavement within
Mandrasat's walls, still hitched to the pony cart as
Kasim jumped from the seat, cracking his whip in the
air.

"Get these slaves unharnessed," he shouted to the
Nubians racing across the courtyard toward the cart.
"Rinse them off; they don't need to be groomed again."

As Kasim directed the Nubians to unhitch Bret and
Ballard and to wipe the grime and blood from their
bodies, Zarak strode through an arched stone portal on
the far side of the courtyard, his gold body piercings
glistening in the sun, his enormous cock
stretched almost fully erect by the ring and ball
separator affixed tightly to its base. The sight of
the huge disfigured overseer gripped Bret with a panic
that rose above the pain he had just suffered at the
hands of Kasim and his buggy whip.

"How goes my slave," the giant roared, grinning at
Kasim, the soles of his feet slapping against the
courtyard's rough pavement.

"Give me another week with them," Kasim hollered back,
cracking his whip against Ballard's right ankle "and
they'll place at the next chariot race."

"I thought you would have announced they would win,"
Zarak laughed coming to a halt beside Bret.

 "Give me two weeks with them," Kasim shouted,
cracking his whip at Ballard's left ankle, "and they
fuckin will win."

Zarak laughed aloud and began to rub the palms of his
hands over Bret's nipples. "I have not seen you in a
long time, slave. Have you missed me?"

 Bret could not answer, his jaw so horrendously sore
from the bit forced into his mouth for such a long
time and his throat raw from screaming and gasping for
air. He could only weep and choke. Tears of pain and
degradation rolled down his cheeks.

"Kasim," Zarak crowed, spreading his legs as wide
apart as possible, "have our two pretty boy slaves
forgotten to salaam?"

Kasim had only to growl and the two slaves dropped
painfully to their knees onto the rough pavement in
front of Zarak, Ballard to his right, Bret to his
left. Both bowed low, touching their lips to Zarak's
feet, ignoring the jolts of pain lacerating their
backs. Their drew their lips and tongues over and
between the giant's toes, then slowly kneeling
upright, they kissed and tongued his ball sac, then
the length of his massive cock and cockhead. Zarak did
not follow the salaam to its full completion
by having the slaves suck his cock, although he
decided that would be a pleasure he would enjoy soon.
Dismissing the image in his mind of Ballard and Bret
simultaneously sucking and mouthing his cock, he
snapped, "Next time, you had best not need to be
reminded of your duty."

The two knelt back on their heels, hands palms down on
their thighs, using the balls of their feet as fulcrum
and exerting tremendous effort in their thigh and calf
muscles, forced themselves to rise straight up from
the pavement as they had been taught,  ignoring the
pain they suffered, as they were learning.

"Ah, my pretty, pretty slave," Zarak whispered, wiping
Bret's tears with his giant fingers. Soon you will
taste your master again."

He began stroking Bret's chest and belly, fingering
his navel, then cupping his huge hands around his
slave's balls and cock, squeezing and tugging on them
. "I will keep him for the next three days," Zarak
declared to Kasim, "then we will meet up at
Katib's office."

 "For some serious training," Kasim laughed, absently
fingering his balls.

 "Of course," Zarak smiled, wrapping his fist around
Bret's cock and leading him across the courtyard and
back into Mandrasat's black labyrinth.

Kasim turned his attention to his slave, Ballard, no
less arousing despite the bruises and welts across his
body; if anything, Kasim, his attention riveted on the
crevice between Ballard's buttocks and his whip
exploding on the barren, chalky courtyard a fraction
of an inch from the slave's foot, was
inflamed by his battered flesh. "This way, slave," he
commanded, striding across the pavement toward
Mandrasat's inner sanctum. "I want to go for another
ride."

-0-

At Maputo dock, embassy limos, Navy buses, delivery
trucks, vans of all sizes, taxis, legit and predator,
hawkers of every item produced or stolen within a
hundred mile radius, pimps and hookers, pretty boys
and ashen faced waifs, all jumbled together behind a
cyclone security fence several hundred yards from the
Everett Ralston, raised an ear splitting roar into the
hot tropical afternoon. Vastly outnumbered members of
the local constabulary struggled desperately to keep
order and separate the VIPs from the surging mass of
beggars and merchants. Sean,
Jeremy, and the other crew members who pulled first
shore leave stood at the railing looking out over the
tumult and snarled traffic, laughing and waving to the
mass of screaming faces and frantically gyrating arms.


Shouting above the pandemonium engulfing them, Sean
hollered to Jeremy, "Now you see why I took care of
everything before we even left Diego Garcia?"  Gawking
wide-eyed at the bedlam before him, Jeremy shook his
head, smiling appreciatively.

Sean always traveled first class on land and with the
least amount of hassle. Not only had he made
reservations for them at the Hotel Europa right in
downtown Maputo, he'd also arranged for a car and
driver to be waiting for them at the dock entrance.
The only problem at the moment would be plowing
through the mob swarming like hungry bats at the gated
entrance to the dock. The Everett Ralston's horn
blasted three times signaling the completion of
docking procedures and the start of shore leave. Sean
had situated himself and Jeremy at the head of a herd
of their shipmates milling around the disembarking
station. Protocols complete, Sean and Jeremy saluted
the flag and raced down the gangway, straight toward
the human hurricane  waiting to devour them. The
Maputo cops were some help, but not much, and Sean had
made sure Jeremy had his cash, ID, and credit
cards stuffed into the pouch of the jock strap he wore
under his levis. That arrangement was uncomfortable
enough to keep both sailors conscious of their
'valuables,' and to swat groping fingers away from
their crotches. They also used their sport
duffels as shields only, remembering Captain Turner's
warning not to attack or antagonize the locals.

As more sailors hit the pier running, the mob
regrouped around the increasing number of targets
offering wood carvings, homespuns, fresh fruit, and
their younger brothers and sisters. With their whites
in disarray, their jerseys twisted up to their chests
and under their armpits, and sweat streaming down
their faces and exposed bellies from the heat of the
day and the gauntlet they'd just run, Sean and Jeremy,
clutching their duffels and caps dove through the mob
at the entrance gate and toward an aging cream colored
Mercedes with a sign in the windshield reading, "Sean
Olivier." The Europa Hotel had come
through for them with flying colors.

Njonjo, their driver, welcomed them effusively as they
jumped into the back seat amid a swirl of arms and
hands grasping at them and waving all manner of
souvenirs. "You like a beer," the driver asked,
leaning back over the front seat and offering them
two iced bottles with a great, toothy grin.

"My man," Sean crowed, pulling his jersey down over
his pants and taking one of the bottles from Njonjo
and handing it to Jeremy, "you are a life saver."

"You like a woman," Njonjo asked with an equally
toothy grin.

And grinning back, Sean replied, "All taken care of,
my man. All taken care of."

Their black chauffeur turned around, started the
Mercedes, and began inching his way through the throng
of hucksters and hawkers still slapping their hands
against the car and leaning over the hood. Sean smiled
with satisfaction as he clinked his bottle to
Jeremy's. It was December 23rd, 2001, and they had
thirty-six hours of drinking and fucking ahead of
them.

-0-

His fist still firmly wrapped around Bret's rigid
cock, Zarak pulled him into his quarters where he had
first fucked this sweet, white piece of ass, and led
him straight to the side of his massive bed. "On your
knees, slave," he commanded and Bret fell to the floor
again, almost instinctively. "Stay," he oordered,
stepping to the utility shelf on the side wall next to
the sink and retrieving a large steel feeding bowl.
"Here," he said, slapping the overflowing bowl down in
front of Bret, "eat your fill." And Bret almost
fainted from the hunger pangs that rolled through his
body.

As Bret dropped on all fours and began greedily
sucking down the slave slop, Zarak pulled another bowl
from the shelf and filled it with water at the sink.
By the time he placed the second bowl in front of
Bret, the slave had lapped up almost half his slop.
The giant overseer grunted to himself, knowing the
large quantity of drugs and herbal sedatives ladled
into the gummy protein mix would begin working shortly
on Bret's central nervous system. He refilled the
ravenous slave's food and water bowls and waited for
the first signs of drowsiness. Bret consumed two bowls
of slave slop and two bowls of water, then dropped his
head and slumped to the floor.

Zarak picked him up as easily as he had always done,
and, stepping to the bed, laid him face down in the
middle of the gigantic mattress. He spent the next
half hour coating the unconscious slave's back from
neck to ankles with a thick analgesic cream. Over the
following twenty-four hours, as Bret lay virtually
comatose, Zarak continued to apply the lotion
regularly every four hours. When he finally stirred,
barely conscious, Zarak placed him back on the floor
in front of another bowl of sedative laced slop and a
bowl of water. After twelve additional hours of drug
induced sleep and four subsequent layerings of
analgesic cream, Bret was allowed to rise to
consciousness slowly, on his own. He raised his head
from the bed, his mind heavily fogged from the drugs
and sedatives he'd consumed, and looked around the
room in total confusion. Zarak sat on the side of the
bed, rubbing his hands over the small of Bret's back.

"How are you feeling?" the overseer asked, his voice
void of any emotion or feeling.

"Stiff," Bret groaned. "Sore."

"But not as painful as before," Zarak continued.

"No," Bret whispered.

"No?" The question was sharp.

"Master," Bret gulped, seized momentarily with panic
at his forgetfulness. "No, Master. My body is not as
painful as it was before, Master."

"Good," Zarak responded slowly drawing a finger
between Bret's buttocks. "Now get off the bed and
stand in front of me," he commanded, and Bret grimaced
as he began to move his body, using muscles that had
stiffened from days of abuse and thirty-six
hours in one position. He gasped as he swung his legs
over the side of the mattress, putting weight on his
branded buttock.

 "Off the bed and stand in front of me," Zarak
repeated his command more sternly than at first.
"Right there," he pointed to a spot between his
splayed thighs. "Spread your legs. Hands behind your
head."

Grunting from stiffness and wounds that still stung
and throbbed, Bret assumed the position. Zarak leaned
forward and began to run his hands over his slave's
body starting at his shoulders and moving down over
his chest. He worked his heavily muscled fingers into
Bret's tits, twisting his nipples and tugging them
forward. Bret moaned and breathed deeply, trying to
control the spasms rippling through his body. Zarak
smiled slightly at Bret's attempt to remain motionless
under the prodding of his enormous hands. As he ran
his hands slowly down Bret's sides toward his hips,
Zarak glanced down at the slave's crotch and watched
his lovely pinkish brown cock twitch and
begin to thicken. He bent further forward, and,
grasping Bret above the hips, shoved his face into his
midsection, digging his tongue into his navel. A loud
groan escaped Bret's lips, and his cock sprang fully
rigid, slapping Zarak on the throat, just
below his Adam's apple. Zarak maneuvered down Bret's
hard belly, sucking on his flesh and rubbing his neck
and chest against the slave's hard pulsing cock. He
licked his tongue around its smooth hairless base,
then began to mouth the shaft, sucking on it and
working his lips toward the throbbing head. Under the
onslaught of Zarak's mouth over his cock shaft, and
sweat starting to slick his body, Bret squeezed his
eyes shut, trembling and digging his fingers into the
back of his neck, swaying back and forth.

Zarak's aim, to force Bret's orgasm as fast as
possible. Digging his tongue into the rigid cum tube
straining against the underside of Bret's cock, he
grunted as he sucked the silk smooth steel hard spike.
Bret gasped in response, feeling all his strength
rushing from his limbs and torso straight into his
tightening ball sac. With Zarak's massive hands
clamped tight around his buttocks, the giant's fingers
digging into his hole, squeezing his flesh and sending
jolts of pain streaking from his
branding scar, Brent slumped forward over the giant's
shoulders and back, dropping his arms to the mattress
in beneath of him, and, with a long, low moan, shot a
huge load of cum into the behemoth's mouth. Zarak held
Bret firmly in place as his hips pumped back and forth
and wads of cum shot from his cock hole.
Bret groaned at each spasm until he was spent and all
he could do was gasp for air.

Zarak rose from the bed, forcing Bret to stand upright
also. The giant's cheeks bulged, his mouth full of
Bret's cum; he hadn't swallowed a drop; he had other
plans. He wrapped one huge arm around Bret's shoulder
and the other around his waist, squeezing their bodies
and lips together, forcing his tongue into Bret's
mouth, spilling the great pool of cum into it. Bret
struggled in vain against Zarak's powerful embrace,
thrillingly electric and dizzying sensations surging
through his head and guts as he
gulped his own cum, Zarak's tongue twisting around his
and plowing his mouth.

The apprehension and fear and panic he always felt in
the giant's presence evaporated in a blaze of desire.
It had been ten days since his capture, twenty-five
since he had been made a Roman priest, but only the
moment consumed his mind and his soul. He crushed
himself against Zarak's body, furiously shoving
his tongue into his mouth, moaning as he sucked the
giant's tongue. The Twenty-Fifth of December held no
meaning for him, nor any space in his conscious mind.
He wanted only to lose himself in the burning heat
Zarak ignited in his body. He would not dwell on other
things.

End Of Part 21