Date: Mon, 12 May 2003 01:20:32 EDT
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: Mandrasat Part Eight

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.


-0-



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>