(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