As the work room door slid shut after Zarak's departure, Jullah stepped to the side of the bed, and, looking down on Bret splayed helplessly before him, said, "I can give pain as you now know, slave, but I can also give pleasure as you will discover."
He hoisted himself up on top of Bret's body, his own, smooth, hard, hot against the slave's skin. Bret prepared himself to do whatever this overseer demanded of him. The price of refusal had been seared into his mind and flesh, and he could not pay that price again.
-0-
MANDRASAT Chapter Two: Zarak! (cont'd).
Bret sprang to full consciousness a split second before an electronic timer triggered the ceiling lights in Zarak's workroom to burst on at full intensity. For a hair's breath of time, he was aware only of impenetrable darkness and a confusing weight pressing down upon him. The timer engaged, and the room was flooded by a tidal wave of blinding light.
During the night, his shackles had been removed, and he lay face down, burying himself in the bed, squeezing his eyes shut against the painful surge, then slowly blinking them open, his vision and memory came into excruciatingly clear focus. Images cascaded before his mind's eye, images of the horrific brutality he endured the day before, images that caused his guts to shrivel. He remembered it all, in the burning welts on his back and in the fiery pain where Jullah's electrodes had been clamped, then he felt the body lying on top of him twitch.
"Morning so soon," the overseer yawned, nuzzling Bret's neck and shoulders. He twisted himself over the slave's back, positioning himself for a good morning fuck. Not saying a word, he slid his arms under Bret's belly, pulling him up to a half kneeling posture.
"Tell me, slave," Jullah asked, "do you like the way I fuck your ass?"
He waited a moment for Bret's response, then squeezed his arms tight around his midsection.
"Do you like the way I fuck your ass?" he demanded again.
"Yes, Master Jullah," Bret answered, now on all fours, his head hung low, almost touching the mattress. "I like the way you fuck my ass."
Jullah pulled Bret back as he shoved himself forward, plowing his cock through Bret's hole and straight into his guts.
"Tell me how much you want me to fuck you," he growled. "Tell me, slave, and beg me to keep fucking you."
"Master," Bret gasped as Jullah, holding himself tight around his body, shoved his cock up his chute to the hilt, then pulled it back full length and shoved it in again. "Master Jullah, fuck me." he cried. "Don't stop, Master Jullah. Don't stop."
Bret, slamming his ass back hard to meet Jullah's thrusts forward, groaned loudly, and Jullah, jackhammering Bret's ass, fucked his cock through walls of clenched muscles squeezing painfully tight around it, his balls slapping Bret's. Then came the agonizingly sweet stiletto sharp pain, blisteringly hot, stabbing Jullah between balls and ass hole as a molten pool of cum built up pressure against his constricted cock chute. Hotter and hotter.
Sweat streamed from Jullah's body onto Bret's, and still the searing pressure built, until finally throwing his head back, his howls accompanying his cock's convulsive spasms, he blasted cords of hot white cum into the dark and secret place deep inside the slave's body.
With a final scalding thrust, his cock on fire, Jullah slammed Bret flat on the bed beneath him, his body trembling and shaking violently as the last bursts of cum shot against taut muscled walls. Then gasping loudly, the slave master collapsed on top of his victim, breathing heavily, his cock still throbbing and still jammed full length in Bret's ass.
His energy spent and his voice a raspy whisper, Jullah gasped, "Slave, that was a phenomenal fuck." Chocking and struggling to catch his breath, he continued, "Tell me, slave. Do you like the way Jullah fucks you?"
"Master Jullah," Bret groaned under the weight of the overseer's body, "I like very much the way you fuck me, Master."
Regaining his breath, Jullah decided to play a game with this slave. "Explain to me, slave, what you liked best about the way Jullah fucks your ass."
He was forcing Bret to own the fuck as much as he, to accept his role as a slave fuck hole.
"Tell me from the minute you awakened this morning, slave, tell me how much you liked everything about Jullah's fuck."
Jullah began to rub his body over Bret's, pumping his ass against his sweaty buttocks like a piston and ramming his cock, fully rigid again, deeper into his hot tunnel.
"Tell me, slave, what you like best about Jullah's fuck," he whispered.
Groaning in rhythm with Jullah's thrusts against his ass, Bret moaned, "Master Jullah. I like the way you rub your body all over mine, and, Master Jullah, I like the way you shove yourself into me, the way you grind yourself against that place inside me. I like how it feels inside when you open me up."
Bret's breathing became shallow and his cock stiff. He was sweating heavily as he recounted and remembered and relived the jabs and twists of Jullah's fuck. As he spoke, he pushed his ass back to meet each of Jullah's thrusts.
"Master Jullah, I like the way you feel inside me right now."
Having been so hideously tortured continuously from the first moments of his captivity, Bret had arrived at the point where he would say or do whatever he was told. He might have been able to withstand the whippings longer, perhaps even the gang fucks, before succumbing, but Jullah's electric torture took him far beyond any level of pain or suffering he could endure. His mind crumbled at the memory of those clamps biting into his flesh and the searing soul destroying agonies they carried.
His hole, even from those first moments at Mustafa's base in the desert, had always been well greased for the cocks fucking his ass, making the brutal pain of splitting wide sphincture and muscle still extreme, but survivable, and as he was mounted over and over, he discovered the sensation of one cock after another plowing the long tunnel deep inside his body thrilling, breathtaking.
His throbbing body spasms overshadowed the pain on the lips of his anus and surged through his torso and limbs. He'd fought the delirium that drenched his mind and body, the aching lust to be impaled on another man's tool, and he lost. The feel of cock in his ass and in his mouth and the taste and smell of semen led him to care less and less about his years of schooling and training and discipline, and more and more about naked men coiling themselves around his body. In view of the agonies so far wreaked upon his person by fists and whips and electrodes, he would surrender his holes with no second thought.
"Again, Master Jullah," he cried. Then whimpered, "Again."
Jullah shoved himself as far into Bret's ass as he could, discharged a final volley, then lay silently on top of him, eyes closed, humming a folk tune he learned in his childhood days. He truly hated to release this slave, but he knew Zarak was either waiting on the other side of the work room door already, or soon would be, so with a sigh of resignation, he pulled himself out of Bret's ass.
"Come now, slave," he said, rolling off Bret's body, "you have a final duty to perform to bring this perfect night to a close. Out of bed with you."
As Bret slid off the bed, Jullah swung his legs over the edge and sitting there, planted his feet flat on the floor and said, "On your knees, slave. Suck my cock clean, and suck my balls while you are at it."
Bret immediately dropped to the floor in front of Jullah and, opening his mouth wide and wrapping his arms around Jullah's hips, buried his face in the black overseer's smooth hairless crotch, sliding his mouth down the length of his cock, jabbing his tongue into and over its taut hard surface. Jullah groaned in ecstasy at the feel of Bret's lips and tongue mouthing his tool. Even though he had little cum left to pump after a full night of fucking the slave's ass, he moaned loudly at his cock's final spasms.
In mid cry, the workroom door slid open, revealing a grinning Zarak, complete with his steel mesh chastity pouch and two slender, naked, hairless Nubian youths each carrying a steel bowl; Bret's morning meal had arrived.
"I trust," the giant laughed as he entered the room, "you fully enjoyed all the pleasures my slave had to offer."
"Ah, Zarak," Jullah responded in Arabic, "you have a treasure beyond imagination in this slave's ass. It holds paradise for any cock that fucks its way in. It is a pity we could not teach him the art of taking it up the ass while keeping him still a virgin."
Zarak laughed loudly at Jullah's comment, and, continuing in Arabic, said, "Jullah, you know well the only way to bring muscles to perfection is by exercising them. You and I are simply exercising the slave's ass muscles."
"And his throat muscles," Jullah chuckled, pushing Bret's head off his cock and standing up. "I will leave the two of you alone for the time being. May I relieve you of your escort; these two lovely Nubian lads can attend me in my shower."
"Of course. My slave has much more to learn about Mandrasat. His lessons will begin after he has eaten."
"How is your chastity pouch faring," Jullah chirped as he herded the young Nubian slaves toward the door. "Does it itch?"
"No, Jullah. It does not itch. Now take your shower attendants and go; I have serious things to teach my slave."
"Do not mar his beauty, Zarak," Jullah laughed. "I intend to ride him many more times."
He waved a farewell over his shoulder, disappearing into the corridor with his two giggling Nubian boys as the door slid shut behind him, then Zarak turned toward Bret still on his knees by the bed.
The Nubians had placed the bowl of slave slop and the bowl of water on the floor next to the overseer's feet; he now ordered Bret to crawl over to the bowls and lap down his breakfast on knees and elbows, doggie style. Zarak stood over him, making sure he sucked down all the swill.
"To build up your strength," he snickered.
Another day of horror was about to begin. -0-
After he had finished consuming the bowl of slime and the bowl of water, Bret was ordered to his feet and marched in front of Zarak out of the workroom and once again through Mandrasat's bleak and dismal corridors, ultimately passing though a set of heavy wooden doors and into large paved courtyard. What Bret saw on entering the courtyard terrified him almost senseless.
The yard was filled with black Nubian as well as auction slaves of all colors, with overseers flailing whips of thin knotted cords over them, and soldiers in fatigues and combat boots, stripped to the waist, carrying cattle prods like the one Dr. Katib had used on him the previous morning; Bret shuddered at the memory of it and of the possibility of feeling its bite again. There were also a number of carts in the yard of varying sizes from large four wheeled field carts down to rickshaw type two wheeled buggies, and slaves were being yoked and harnessed to them as draft animals.
Zarak pushed Bret forward toward a group of Nubians standing by one of the large four wheeled farm carts.
"Wait here, slave, while I assign you to your morning's work."
Bret was wide eyed with fear as Zarak shoved him into the band of Nubians; these were not the lean and beautifully athletic Nubian grooms who douched and washed and fucked him in the latrine. These were huge barrel chested, muscle bound giant slave beasts, grinning and drooling as they reached out to drag him, too terrified to resist, into their circle.
One of the monsters grabbed him by his shoulders and pulled him tight against his body. This Nubian was bigger and uglier than Zarak himself; his nose had long ago been smashed across his face, and teeth that were not missing were broken or filed to sharp points. He smiled malevolently, dragging his enormous tongue across his upper lip. He squeezed his arms around Bret's body, pinning his arms to his sides, his enormous cock stiffening between their bodies. He began to pump himself against Bret's belly, growling as his massive shaft slid along Bret's smooth flesh.
Encased in slabs of muscle and crushed against the black giant's rock hard body, Bret, petrified and unable to think or even have his cock harden, groaned as the Nubian grabbed and spread his buttocks. In a minute, he was working a finger into Bret's hole, then he inserted a second, then a third, his growls rumbling around Bret's head.
Suddenly and without warning, the giant spun Bret around a hundred and eighty degrees, to face the other Nubian slave beasts clustered around him. He shook violently and tried to pull away when he felt the monster's gigantic cockhead wedged at the mouth of his asshole. The Nubian doubled Bret over by doubling himself over on top of him, giving his huge cock full access to his hole.
Bent in half, crushed in the giant's vise grip, Bret stared directly into a bulging cockhead, inches from his mouth, topping the thick, rigid, black cock of a second Nubian. He was going to be fucked at both ends at the same time, only it would be rougher and a lot more painful than any before.
The slave standing in front of him gurgling and hissing, clamped his hands on either side of Bret's head and moved his cock straight for his open mouth; the slave at his ass tightened his grip around his belly, ready to fuck himself forward, when the whistle of whips through the air and the howls of slaves exploded around him.
The Nubian holding Bret abruptly dropped him, and he fell like a sack to the pavement. He was surrounded by a cyclone of screams and shouts and the crack of whips; he crouched on the ground, his arms covering his head, remaining that way even when the maelstrom around him subsided.
A kick to his right buttock sent him sprawling on the dusty pavement; looking up into the bright morning sun and squinting, he could see the naked body of of an overseer, whip in hand, then shading his eyes, he saw that he was looking at Kasim.
"Get up, slave," the overseer shouted. "It is time you earned your keep. It costs Master Shareem a fortune to feed and train you slaves. Get up and stand with the rest of these slaves." Kasim brought his whip down across Bret's chest to urge him on.
Crying out in pain, Bret jumped to his feet and ran to huddle with the Nubians, ending up right next to the one who'd been set to fuck him in the mouth. Several other overseers joined Kasim, including Zarak, but Kasim seemed to be the one in charge.
Cracking his whip on the pavement, Kasim ordered four Nubians to stand in a row in front of the farm cart. It was an open bed type of cart set on four large truck tires; wooden slats and platforms were stacked on the cart; a tall, muscular, black overseer climbed onboard and was standing at the front of the vehicle behind a railing, cracking his whip on the floor of the cart. Bret was terrified beyond reason.
Kasim and Zarak were lining Nubians up on either side of a long, heavy wooden shaft extending out in front of the cart, two slaves on either side. Two other overseers were securing wooden yokes around the necks of each pair of slaves; manacles were then clamped onto their ankles with enough chain between to allow the slaves to move freely, but not enough to allow them to run away.
It finally became Bret's turn to be yoked as a draft animal; he had been matched with a Nubian of more or less the same height as he. One overseer placed the yoke on the back of the slaves' shoulders while the second held the front part of the yoke open; the two parts were then secured together with eight locking bars, two on either side of each slave's neck. The final degradation was affixing the manacles and chains to their ankles.
Bret was the 'inside' slave in the middle row, standing next to the wooden shaft that supported three long, evenly spaced horizontal stays which the slaves would use to push the cart forward; the force of their leg muscles straining against the ground would be the mechanism to pull it. Leather straps ran through rings at the 'outside' end of each yoke from the first line of slaves to the driver's hand who would use them for steering.
The weight of the rough hewn stock that yoked him to the Nubian at his left forced them both to bend over, bracing their hands against their knees. A Nubian slave stood in front of the team of draft slaves, facing them, and on an order given by Kasim, he bent down and raised the pole, steadying it in place as Kasim ordered the slaves to take hold of the wooden staves in front of them.
Bret grasped the stave and watched the Nubians to see how they held theirs, and tried to do the same as they. Without warning, the overseer on the cart lashed out with his whip. Bret screamed in pain and leaped forward as the whip clawed across his back from shoulder to buttock. While the driver crisscrossed his whip over the naked backs of the slaves in front of him, other overseers where wielding their whips over a dozen or more slaves pushing the cart forward from the sides and behind. As the cart lurched forward and began to rumble across the courtyard, the second set of slaves were pulled back by their overseers, and the dozen slaves yoked and shackled in front pushed the cart forward with their arms and pulled with the force of their legs.
The overseer used his light weight lash expertly, cracking it several fractions of an inch above the slaves' flesh, enough to cause searing pain and raise welts, but not enough to cause scaring or permanent damage. Slaves were too valuable for that. Team and cart departed the courtyard through a wide gate in the wall and continued on a dirt road leading from the citadel to farmlands several kilometers away.
Bret screamed hysterically, traumatized by pain and the insanity of being harnessed to a cart as a draft animal. He could not endure the horror of it all, and so he screamed, even when the whip was not being laid directly across his back, he screamed. All of the yoked slaves screamed, as their legs pounded the ground and their arms pushed forcefully against the staves they clutched. It was the road of the damned.
Bret's lungs were on fire; his muscles burned from the terrible exertion of dragging the heavy field cart and bending over the stave as he ran; the soles of his feet grated against the pebbles and sand of the roadway, and the driver's whip cracked almost continually overhead. His pain was beyond agony; his only hope, to avoid, even for a moment, the lash that raked his shoulders, back, and ass.
When the cart's overseer driver wanted the slave team to change direction or speed, he would use a combination of whip, harness straps, and shouted commands. He had to know when to begin to slow down and when to begin a turn, otherwise the whole thing might cartwheel, injuring or killing its team of slave animals.
After twenty minutes of screaming his throat raw and suffering horrifically from the whip and the ordeal of hauling the cart at full run, Bret was only peripherally aware of a change in momentum. His body had never experienced nor had he ever contemplated such physical abuse; the pain was like a second skin; from the grating of the wooden yoke on his neck and shoulders to the grating of the road on the bottoms of his feet he was ablaze with pain and certain he would not live to see the end of the day.
As the cart slowed, the driver guided it off to the side of the dusty road, bringing it and the team to a gradual stop. At a standstill at long last, Bret began to tremble uncontrollably, then collapsed over the wooden stave he'd been grasping, an avalanche of darkness falling upon him. The giant Nubian standing behind him released his hold on his own stave and grabbed Bret by the hips before he could fall to the ground.
Every slave yoked into one of Shareem's drayage teams had to suffer through the monstrous agonies of rebuilding his body for life as a beast of burden. Bret had a beautifully proportioned, lean and muscular body, but it had never been hardened for slave labor. The only measure of physical change is physical pain, and on this day, Bret's body was assaulted with the demands of massive physical change and had no option but to endure massive physical pain, suspended in the dusky void between semi-consciousness and oblivion.
The Nubian yoked at Bret's side was unable to be of any direct assistance to him, other than bearing the weight of the spar in front of them by himself. The construction of the yoke made it impossible for slaves yoked together to turn sideways; only the Nubian behind him could keep him from collapsing.
The two slaves yoked together behind Bret were the largest draft slaves in the team; they were massive beasts and the weight of the heavy wooden yoke around their necks did not impede their movements or prevent them from standing up straight.
A dozen laughing and shrieking Nubian field slaves, carrying buckets of cold water, ran up to the team of slave animals and hurled the water over their bodies. It was a painful relief from their agonizing situation. The icy dousing brought Bret back to consciousness, but his mind was still reeling, his body shaking and sapped of its strength.
The drenching continued for ten or fifteen minutes as teams of field slaves ran back and forth with their buckets. Other field slaves jumped onto the cart, took wooden panels stacked on its floor and, sliding them into grooves along the sides, transformed the slave drawn flat bed cart into a slave drawn freighter.
Bret was oblivious to the hectic goings-on around him; he was still wrapped in a thick, traumatic haze of pain and confusion. He was barely aware of the two huge rough hands scraping his sides, his hips, and his buttocks. He heard but did not respond to the growls and rumblings coming from the throat of the Nubian slave behind him. But with a shocked and sudden intake of breath, he did feel and recognize the Nubian's cockhead poking his hole behind.
As his mind cleared, Bret sensed the Nubian fondling him was the same one ready to fuck his ass before the overseers hitched them all to the cart. The time seemed ripe for him to try again. One of the giant field slaves took hold of the cart pole, and the slave team released the staves in their hands. The giant eased the pole onto the ground, and Bret was open and powerless before the Nubian at his rear. With the aggressive slave no longer holding him up and the weight of his yoke pulling him down, Bret had no choice but to bend over and brace his hands against his knees.
The Nubian's fingers tightened around Bret's hips, as he slowly inched him backwards, shoving himself forward. Still shaking from muscle spasms, his pulse throbbing at his temples and roaring in his ears, Bret gritted his teeth waiting for a massive Nubian spike to be driven home. It came suddenly and explosively, and Bret gasped aloud, not trying to muffle his cries.
The black slave's cock plowed its way into Bret's chute, driving through gut walls and muscles. It felt thicker and longer than Zarak's, embedding itself in a tunnel of hot, convulsing muscles. From the sheer force of the giant's twists and thrusts the Nubian yoked at Bret's left was forced to scramble backwards as well and twist his neck against the splintery edges of the yoke's hole.
Bret gasped not just at the pain the enormous size of the Nubian's shaft was inflicting on him, but mostly because of the depth to which the monster had sunk it. He could feel it pounding at the very epicenter of his body; without the pain and madness, it might have been a sensation he'd prefer to extend.
The Nubian clamped his fist around Bret's cock and began hard jerking it, bringing sharper gasps and groans from his lips. He squirmed on the Nubian spike like a worm pinned to cardboard. He felt as though he were somehow dissolving, melting, as spasms like bursts of lightening cascaded through his body, spiraling around the throbbing, conquering monster rammed so deeply into his flesh that it felt a part of him.
The giant Nubian slammed against Bret's ass like a machine gun, roaring as tight muscles prepared to launch wads of searing hot cum into Bret's gut; Bret in turn was rolling and pitching, his own gut muscles clamped tight around the huge battering ram deep within him, then both cocks erupted. Bret was thrown about violently as the Nubian shot one massive blast of cum after another, and Bret's discharged thick hot cords that splattered on the heels and ankles of the slave yoked directly in front of him.
For Bret, there was only one reality, the giant Nubian cock pounding his insides. He heard nothing, saw nothing, felt nothing else; it filled his whole being, and he squeezed his gut muscles tightly around it, imprisoning it, making it his own, a part of his body. The Nubian held him in place as the last bursts of cum ripped through his cockhole. He didn't move even after the spasms ended and his cock softened, but kept it buried deep in that hot, tight hole until the feel of Bret's smooth white flesh against his own bulk stoked the furnace in his belly, and he fucked his way again to the prize. -0-
Lines of Nubian field slaves trooped to the cart, carrying crates of produce balanced on the tops of their gleaming bald heads. Slaves working on the cart took the crates and expertly and efficiently stacked them in three tiers, starting at the front and working to the rear. The process took less than twenty minutes, and the cart was filled with several hundred pounds of melons, tomatoes, sweet peppers, leeks, and onions. During these twenty minutes, the Nubian slave beast fucked Bret twice more in the ass, then as the black overseer driver jumped onto the front of the cart, he shoved Bret forward, pulling his cock out of his hole.
The driver shouted at a field slave to raise the cart pole, then cracking his whip to its greatest effect, ordered the slave team to grab the stays and move out. Field slaves assisted by pushing the cart from the sides and rear.
The lashing of the whip and the straining of muscles were deadening enough to his senses to prevent Bret from realizing that this time he was not on the point of collapse; he was enduring. It would be of little comfort when he did see this; it would mean simply that he had sunk even deeper into this nightmare. -0-
With his whip and shouts, the overseer drove the cart along the dirt road through other fields being harvested by numerous pods of slave animals. Bret's body was functioning independently of his conscious mind which was not functioning at all. Bent over the stave in front of him, straining against it, gasping air into his burning lungs, pounding his feet against the road beneath him, sweat burned his eyes and bit into the welts crisscrossing his back and buttocks. He plowed on, automatically. Even torture becomes routine, anesthetized.
The road led in a straight line to a gate in a walled compound through which the cart and screaming team rumbled. Straining at the reins and bellowing orders, the overseer brought the cart to a halt before the first row of slaves slammed into a loading dock. The compound was enormous; an 'L' shaped single story warehouse with the loading dock attached, and ran the full width and length on one side of the enclosure; two high masonry walls, the front one with the gate, completed the quadrangle.
As the slave team gulped air into blazing lungs and cried aloud over their pain, a dozen slaves ran to the cart and began unloading its cargo of fruit and vegetables, tossing the crates onto the dock where other slaves loaded them onto dollies for transport inside the building.
The transfer would take less than fifteen minutes, so the overseer kept the slave team bent over their staves. It only took a few second pause for Bret's mind to focus, for awareness to return, and he saw for the first time what had been loaded onto the cart back in the fields.
Wooden crates filled with produce and displaying a startling message, "House of Shareem. The Finest Fruits And Vegetables For The Finest Tables. Quassir City." He was suffering outrageous pain and degradation on Shareem's truck farm to bring the finest fruits and vegetables to the finest tables in Quassir City. The caustic humor of it all did not escape him but was beyond any effort he could rouse to respond. That was when he first felt hot breath caressing his ass.
The sheer enormity of the Nubian behind him enabled him to bend far over the stave in front of him and place his mouth on Bret's buttock. He got Bret's attention by panting over his ass, then sensing him shudder, he extended his tongue and began to lick the cleavage between his buttocks. Bret was unable to do much more than shuffle his feet as the giant's tongue prodded his hole.
Bret tried to clench himself shut, but the Nubian jabbed his tongue through the hole just as he did his cock. Bret trembled, not because of this invasion which he detested, just as he had with Zarak two nights before; he trembled because the Nubian's massive, rough tongue was detonating feelings and sensations that propelled his own cock rigid and rock hard.
When the last of the crates had been transferred from the cart to the dock, and with the help of the warehouse slaves pushing from behind, the overseer bellowed his commands, cracking his whip again over the backs and bare buttocks of the slave team. He guided the cart skilfully into a circular turn and back through the gate in the far wall.
The cart made three trips between the fields and the loading dock, and at each stop by the fields, the giant Nubian fucked his cock up Bret's ass twice and sucked his cum out of Bret's hole at each stop by the dock. After the third trip, the overseer lashed the team to greater efforts returning to Mandrasat, and the team veritably plowed down the road, screaming, saliva foaming from their mouths, mucous from their nostrils, their feet frantically beating the ground.
The wheels of the cart clattered wildly on the stone pavement as it stormed into the courtyard from which it left almost four hours before; when the overseer reined the team to a halt, only the sound of twelve loudly gasping slave animals filled the air. Even the Nubian giant behind Bret was gulping oxygen into his screaming, burning lungs. Zarak, Kasim and half a dozen other overseers jogged across the courtyard toward the cart and joined the driver as he jumped to the pavement.
"Let us get the team unhitched," Kasim called out. "They have other duties to perform today."
As soon as Bret was unyoked and his shackles removed, he collapsed into the fetal position, his limbs jerking, his body shaking violently. Zarak ran and crouched down beside his slave and rolled him onto his back, raising one leg at a time and stretching it, digging his fingers into the granite hard muscle cramps. Bret clenched his teeth, stifling cries of pain in his throat.
With help from several other overseers, Zarak worked on Bret's feet and legs for most of an hour; they took turns massaging, twisting, and pulling Bret's legs, until Zarak finally said, "I think he can make it to the latrine now."
After pulling Bret to his feet, Zarak commented flatly, "We will get you douched and washed. Your grooms will be much better behaved than they were yesterday. I have forbidden them to fuck you for three days and put them all in chastity pouches like mine."
"Right now, they are all unhappy," he laughed, "but you will all enjoy yourselves so much more afterwards."
He poked an unresponsive Bret in the shoulder, walking behind him as he limped across the courtyard and through the large wooden doorway, back into the dark passageway inside . The bedlam from the courtyard died away as Zarak and Bret made their way deeper into Mandrasat's innards, entering the latrine through a different door, from a different direction.
As Zarak had said, Bret's grooms were subdued, very solemn, and all sporting steel mesh chastity pouches. If it had not been for that morning's horrendous experience and the cramping pains in his legs, Bret might have chuckled at their appearance and demeanor as they led him to the line of shit holes to be douched.
The procedure had almost become routine for Bret, bend over, grab his ankles, grimace as the enema's long applicator was shoved into his ass, squat, shit, repeat the procedure. At the moment, he was glad to be rid of all the cum he was sure clogged his guts, from both Jullah and the giant Nubian slave beast.
The grooms did not manhandle or roughhouse with him as they had done before; now, to ease the discomfort from his welts and bruises and cramps, they stood him outside the direct blast from the showers, and, soaping their hands, massaged away the morning's dirt and grime. They were well versed in laying a warm glaze of pleasure over painfully abused flesh, and Bret surrendered himself to them.
He didn't flinch or shuffle his feet when fingers slid into the groove between his buttocks or massaged his hole; five pairs of hands swirled over his body, stroking and caressing where whips had slashed and burned. After the grooms had rinsed his body clean, they brought their lips and tongues to bear, dimming memories of pain and brutality, sucking and mouthing his nipples, navel, cock, balls, and anus. Bret trembled in a delirium of ecstasy, stroking his hands over smooth, black skin and regretting he could not wish away the grooms' chastity pouches.
They led him back to the open locker area where Zarak waited with two thick slop brushes and two buckets of Shareem's special hair remover.
"The third time," he said. "From now on, your hair should be gone for good. I will check, of course, and coat you again if needs be."
He handed Bret the snap on goggles and the buckets and brushes to the grooms who began applying the concoction to Bret's head, working their way down to his feet. When he had been completely coated with the gook, Zarak reminded him to stand with arms and legs spread until ordered to go back into the showers.
The depilatory still chilled his skin, but thankfully did not turn into the wrap of fire it had on first application. "That was only three days ago," Bret thought, "but it seems like I've always been here." He hadn't forgotten his former life in only five days, of course, but had been so battered and overwhelmed by the grisly assaults on his body and person, that he had no time to think, and the image of Jullah's electric torture kept him from wanting to think about or remember anything.
When the depilatory lotion had been washed from Bret's body, and the grooms had planed away the excess water with the heels of their hands, he was led back to Zarak who turned about face and ordered him to follow as he exited the latrine. He was suffering no little amount of distress, but after the ministrations of his grooms, he felt able to keep up with Zarak, hoping he would not cross the overseer and suffer more painful consequences.
He wished he could have some time alone to contemplate his situation; the ghastly experiences of these few days of his captivity had shown him that escape was impossible and rescue improbable. No one he knew from his former life would even think of looking for him, and if they did, he had left no directions on where or how to be contacted. He had ceased to exist anywhere other than at Mandrasat.
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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