Mandrasat

MANDRASAT Book One. Chapter One. "A Prequel: December 15, 2001" (cont'd)

-0-

Explosions of light and echoes of garbled words spun around the periphery of Bret's battered consciousness. Nothing was comprehensible. No self-awareness, no internal dialogue, only confusion and fear as the flashes of light became sharper and brighter and the distorted sound of indistinguishable voices grew closer and louder. And pain, pain erupting on one side of his brain, then the other; no, not on his brain, not inside his head, on his face, on his cheeks, on his jaw, pain bombarding first one side and then the other, dragging him gagging and choking to the surface of consciousness.

The shattering crack of a backhand slap across his face jarred Bret to full awareness, but a powerful blow from the opposite side caused him to wince and cry out. A pair of rough hands grabbed his throat and began throttling him, slamming his head against the floor.

He screamed. His eyes springing open, but with violent and brutal hands choking him, he could not focus the kaleidoscope of images, light, shouts, and pain. Abruptly the throttling stopped and just as abruptly he was grabbed by the hair. His eyes, welling up with tears from the pain his face and head had endured, began to center, and he recognized the soldier straddling his chest, trying to rip his scalp off, as the one he had waited with in the terminal lobby, but now he wore only his desert fatigue pants; he was barefoot and bare chested.

"Keep your fucking mouth shut," he roared, grabbing handfuls of Bret's hair, twisting it as his captive howled in pain. He lunged forward to within an inch of Bret's face and snarled, "You fucking make another fucking sound, I fucking break your fucking neck." As he tried vainly to struggle against the soldier's weight and strength, Bret discovered he could not move his legs; his ankles were being held tight to the floor, but he could not see by whom, and his hands were tied behind his back, then to his horror, he realized he had been stripped of all his clothes.

In panic, he looked into the soldier's eyes, but the man shouted louder, "You fucking shut up now, or else," and he cracked Bret's head once more against the floor, then, still grasping his hair with one hand, he rolled off his chest and squatted next to him.

Bret could now see the other two soldiers pinning his ankles to the floor; they were also barefoot and stripped to the waist. On the verge of hysteria, his eyes darted around the room and fell on one person; he was stunned to see Mr. Shareem standing over him, looking down, a menacing smile on his lips.

"Do not say a word," Shareem commanded sternly. "This soldier is most adept at causing pain, and you have felt but the barest hint of what he can inflict." Bret's head and face burned and throbbed from the punishment he had just taken. "Clamp your teeth tightly together," Shareem ordered harshly, "so you won't give in to temptation." Terrified, Bret did as he was told.

Shareem glanced at the soldier grasping Bret's hair and barked, "Get him to his feet."

The soldier yanked Bret's head forward, pulling him by his hair; the other two soldiers let go of his ankles, one grabbing his right elbow and shoulder, the other, his genitals, and the three of them simultaneously jerked him violently to his feet. Bret ground his teeth together, letting his cries of pain die in his throat. He stood shaking from shock and fear, the soldiers gripping him where they had seized him, tightly and painfully.

Shareem said to the soldiers, "I want him douched and purged three times; cleansed completely." The soldiers smiled at one another and started to drag Bret back through the office door into the corridor outside. "Do not forget that he is my slave," Shareem shouted after them. "He is not yours to claim yet." They laughed and hooted and continued to drag and shove their prisoner along the full length of the corridor and into a latrine and locker room.

The place reeked of piss and sweat. Five other soldiers lounged in the locker area, two were naked having just emerged from the showers and were drying themselves. Two were sitting on benches in their undershorts, and one was leaning against a locker, clad only with a towel wrapped around his waist. They turned in amazement toward the sudden eruption through the door of four men, one white, naked, and bound, and three loud and boisterous troops, wearing only their fatigue pants.

Every cell in Bret's body, every shred of consciousness in his mind was frozen with fear. He was paralyzed as much by terror as by pain, and all he could do was tremble violently, shocked speechless. The five soldiers hailed their comrades slapping them on the back, pummeling them, and calling for an explanation.

"This is Shareem's new slave," the soldier grasping Bret by the hair said, "he told us to bring him here and douche him."

The soldiers roared with laughter, and one of the ones who had been drying off tossed his towel aside and grabbed Bret's nipples and squeezed them. "Ah, Kaliq, I think we need to take this one into the shower," he declared as Bret grimaced, "and see how far we can shove our hot cocks up his white ass."

"That we cannot do, Aban," Kaliq said as he yanked Bret's hair, snapping his head back. "Shareem forbade us to claim his slave, but after he and Mustafa have him," he sneered, "maybe they will give him to us." Kaliq then pulled Bret further back by his hair, bending his helpless, howling captive almost in half; another soldier stepped in front of him and clamped his fist around Bret's penis. "But we will wash him first," he said tugging Bret by his cock toward the showers.

Eight soldiers, all now naked, herded Bret into the showers, pounding him with their fists, his mind careening out of control under an avalanche of pain and panic. Hooting and yelling, they shoved him back and forth among themselves, driving their fists into his stomach, squeezing his testicles, and shoving their fingers deep inside his rectum.

Finally, Kaliq announced that, "It was time to douche the slave." The soldiers cheered and kicked Bret's feet out from under him, slamming him to the floor, and, grabbing him by his ankles, dragged him back through the locker room and into the latrine, cracking his head repeatedly against the floor, then shoved him up against a low standing toilet.

Four of the soldiers pounced on him, pulling his legs up and shoving his knees against his chest. They held him fast on his back while Kaliq went to a shelf on the side wall and removed a bulky apparatus, a red and yellow striped cylinder, approximately two feet long and one in diameter with a two foot nozzle-tipped hose attached.

One of the soldiers shouted to him, "Don't forget the cream, Kaliq." The other soldiers laughed and shouted their own commands to Kaliq who grabbed a large can from a shelf and tossed it to Aban, then he picked up the contraption and carried it to the spot where Bret was pinioned to the floor.

Aban dug his fingers into the contents of the can, knelt at Bret's exposed hole and began smearing a thick brown gel on the opening. Two other soldiers, Najir and Sami, knelt down with Aban and coated their fingers and began working them into Bret's rectum as well. They layered, stretched, and probed inside their screaming victim as Kaliq smeared the same muck over the nozzle of the device he'd been carrying.

Najir and Sami stretched and held Bret's hole open, almost to the width of a man's wrist while Kaliq and Aban shoved the greased nozzle completely inside his rectum. As he pushed the nozzle forward with one hand, Kaliq extracted a plunger from the top of the cylinder with the other, pulled it up, then pressed it steadily back down, releasing two quarts of foaming liquid into Bret's bowels.

The searing, screaming, obscene pain ripping Bret's body reduced him to mindless, howling agony. They held the nozzle in place and Kaliq shouted in Bret's face, "You do not fucking shit, slave, until I tell you. You fucking understand?" He twisted the nozzle violently for emphasis, unleashing a stream of high pitched shrieks from Bret's lips.

The surge of foam into his guts and the vicious cramping it caused intensified the agony consuming his already pain-racked body. After many excruciating minutes, Kaliq and Aban wrenched the nozzle out of Bret's hole, as the other soldiers quickly hoisted him onto the toilet. Kaliq grabbed him by the hair again and backhanded him across the face. "Now shit, you fucking slave. Shit," and two quarts of feces and foam exploded from Bret's anus, and the pain was horrific.

Kaliq had the soldiers drag him back to the showers and wash him clean while he himself took the cylinder to a deep stone utility sink and refilled it with warm water. When Bret was dragged back into the latrine and pinned again to the floor, Kaliq said, "We need to go easier. Shareem and Mustafa are waiting to fuck this slave. He has to be able at least to walk, so I will give him a warm douche to loosen him up and flush out the rest of the first enema."

Aban agreed that would be the best course of action, then he and Sami and Zafir massaged large amounts of the lubricant gel around the rim and inside Bret's raw and painful hole. They took their time coating him with the gook, softening his sphincter and lining the walls of his colon, then Kaliq and Aban slowly re-inserted the heavily greased nozzle, and Bret's guts were flooded with warm water; the pain was still intense, but with his rectum so heavily greased, and warm water filling his bowels, it was much less agonizing.

The soldiers hoisted him once again onto the toilet, but Kaliq merely ordered him to shit without underscoring the command with a crack across his face. Bret had an easier movement, and while he was being washed in the shower for the second time, the cylinder was being refilled in the sink with hot water.

A hot water enema, though still agonizingly painful, would completely relax all his gut muscles. Bret's anus and rectum throbbed and burned and, after this third and more thorough internal scrubbing, large quantities of lubricating cream were applied.

Kaliq then ordered the soldiers to force Bret to his knees facing the toilet and hold him there as he brought an identical but smaller cylinder back, this time with the nozzle removed from the hose. Standing behind him, Aban grabbed Bret's hair and pulled his head back; Kaliq shoved the hose into Bret's open mouth and down his throat. He choked and gagged and struggled uselessly against the strength of the soldiers holding him.

"Relax, slave. Breath through your fucking nose," then Kaliq pushed the plunger into the red and yellow cylinder, discharging a smaller dose of foam into Bret's stomach.

The hose was quickly pulled out, and Aban slammed Bret's head down into the befouled toilet bowl where the contents of his stomach were violently expelled amid fierce gagging and convulsions, including the smoked salmon and caviar First Class breakfast he had consumed only a hours before. The purgative was repeated until he vomited clear liquid.

They dragged him back into the shower, laughing and joking, taking turns lathering up and rinsing off every inch of his body. It had been just under two hours since Flight Zero-Zero-One made its `unscheduled' landing in the desert; for Bret, it had been an eternity in hell. In reality, it was not even the beginning.

-0-

He walked stiffly, tortuously, pushed and shoved, pummeled and beaten by all eight soldiers out of the showers, through the locker room, and into the corridor. His eyes were glazed, his face twisted with pain and shock; his head throbbed so loudly and he gasped so raggedly for air that he could not hear let alone process what was being shouted around him. His conscious self had retreated and was recoiling deep down inside, unwilling and unable to emerge.

The soldiers crowded around Bret as Kaliq knocked on Colonel Mustafa's office door and announced the slave's return. Shareem opened the door and after a moment's visual examination asked, "Has he been thoroughly cleansed?"

"Yes, Master Shareem," the soldier replied. "Although he may be sore at the moment."

Shareem was alone in the office; the air conditioning had been turned off and the room was sweltering, though inspite of the oppressive heat, Shareem did not appear to be discomforted in any way. Finally, he motioned for them all to come in with their prisoner. None had dried off after coming out of the showers, so they trailed puddles and wet footprints on the cement floor.

Shareem stood in front Bret, running his eyes slowly over his new slave's body, then he placed his hands on either side of Bret's head, and said in a low, soft voice, "Look at me, slave, and listen to me. Your life as you knew it is over; it is as though you have died. You will never be heard of again, or remembered.

"From this day forward you have no name. You are simply `slave,' my slave, my property, and you will remain a slave forever." He spoke slowly as though he were talking to a child. Bret swayed on the verge of unconsciousness, and Shareem motioned for the guards to hold him.

"Look at me, slave. Do not go to sleep. Listen to my words." He looked intently into Bret's glassy eyes, satisfied there was a glint of awareness there. He continued, "You remember that I told you my business is importing expensive and exotic commodities?"

Slowly, within a shock and pain induced haze, Bred nodded.

"Very good, slave, because you are now one of those expensive and exotic commodities I import. Acquiring and selling slaves is my main occupation. When one of my slavers comes across a specimen like you anywhere in the world , he alerts me and arranges the capture. Our cabin steward on the airplane, Tariq, is one of my most valued slavers, and you, slave, caught his eye this morning at Heathrow.

Smiling maliciously, he continued, "Now it is time to assess your potential as a slave."

Beginning at the base of his neck, Shareem drew his open hands across Bret's shoulders and over his biceps, reaching behind his back and tugging at the cords that bound the captive's hands.

Bret was defenseless, unable to fend off Shareem's slow, methodical inspection, nor did Shareem conceal his delight at the feel of this young, lean, muscular body. He did not speak, but smiled with great satisfaction as he drew his hands over Bret's chest, pausing to brush back his thick body hair, revealing his plump, brown nipples. Shareem leaned over, closing his lips onto Bret's left tit, grinding his teeth back and forth, causing his prisoner to shudder and eliciting a groan from deep in his throat.

He ran his fingers through Bret's thick, damp, matted body hair, prodding his stomach and abdominal muscles, coming to rest cupping his genitals between the palms of his hands. Bret moaned in fear and shock as Shareem began to finger the underside of his cockhead, bringing it to full erection.

"You are not only very appealing, slave, very attractive, you are also very lucky because I have handed you over for your retraining to an expert, to one you said could make a fortune in Hollywood or on a soap."

Shareem let go of Bret's cock and balls and stepped back dramatically revealing Tariq standing behind him.

He was still wearing his airline steward's uniform; gray trousers, blue blazer, light blue shirt and dark blue tie, black shoes and socks. He smiled the same dazzling smile he had upon their first encounter before take-off that morning from Heathrow, and it was recognized by Bret's mind; he was riveted on it as though it were a beacon as he struggled toward full consciousness, through layers of pain and brutality

"You remember," Shareem continued, "how much you admired Tariq. You said you thought he was the most handsome man you had ever seen. He has a beautiful face and a beautiful body does he not, just like you, and as you see, his is a deep, rich, brown, while yours is still pale white. All my slaves have brown bodies, tan all over, and very shortly, yours will be tan all over too.

"But for now, I want you and Tariq to become the best of friends." Then turning to Tariq, he said perfunctorily, "When you and these soldiers finish with him, clean him, shave him, then bring him to Colonel Mustafa's quarters. Do not dally; the plane will be here at eleven o'clock, and I want to depart for Mandrasat as soon after that as possible." Without looking at Bret again, Shareem turned and left the Colonel's office.

Tariq, still smiling, removed his blazer, folded it and laid it across Mustafa's desk, then staring intently at the naked, brutalized prisoner in front of him, he removed his tie placing it behind him over his blazer. Leaning back against Mustafa's desk, he pulled off his shirt, then his shoes and socks, and when he stood before Bret barefoot and stripped to the waist, a general commotion broke out among the soldiers standing around.

Aban spoke in Arabic over the hubbub, "The men are anxious, Master Tariq; they wish to fuck their cocks deep inside this slave's holes, but your plane arrives in a few hours, and Mustafa has not yet had his time with him."

"Do not worry, my friends," Tariq said smiling as he slid his trousers and shorts off, "there will be sufficient time for us to have our fill of this slave before we present him to the colonel." He stretched and shook his penis and testicles as he walked toward Bret. His body was a gleaming mahogany brown as Shareem had said, as lean and hard as the soldiers in the room, but unlike the soldiers, all of whom were heavy with body hair, the only hair on Tariq's body was the thick, lustrous, jet black hair on his head.

He carried no wreath of pubic hair around his cock, and his chest and belly were as smooth and shiny as glass, as were his arms, legs, and ass. His cock now semi-erect was thick and long, his balls, swaying in their sack like two plums. He was two inches shy of Bret's height, even so, standing in front of him, toe to toe, he was able to hold their bodies together, each pressed against the other's at the same spots, nipples, bellies, cocks, balls.

He wrapped his arms around Bret's neck, brushing the tip of his tongue across the prisoner's lips, then slowly drawing it along his cheekbone, whispered "I knew the moment I saw you this morning in London, that you would make a most beautiful slave." He inserted his tongue into Bret's left ear, twisting it around and over its inner ridges. He slid his arms around Bret's waist, clasping his hands over his buttocks, then sliding himself slowly down, he began sucking and chewing on Bret's nipples.

"You are lovely," he continued to whisper. "You taste so fine to my tongue and lips, but your body hurts so much, does it not? I will kiss your hurts, and then I will take your pain away."

Bret was now fully aware of everything that had happened to him and was happening to him. He was in pain as Tariq had said, extreme pain from head to foot and horrified at this act of degradation, but he was also trembling from the kissing and caressing being poured on his body. Tariq had begun stroking Bret's sides and hips and then his buttocks, sliding his fingers into the crack between them; Bret tried twisting away, but several of the soldiers pressed in on him and began rubbing their hands, tongues and bodies over his.

Bound as he still was, escape was not a possibility, and Tariq's tongue was now digging deep into his navel. The pain from the beatings was a clear reminder that he dare not utter a single word, so he continued grinding his teeth and groaning, burying his humiliation and outrage. The intense fondling and stroking of his body from so many sources had brought his cock once again to a full, hard erection, completely beyond his wishes or control.

Tariq closed his fingers around Bret's hard-on, and began to drag his thumbnail across the fleshy creases underneath the cockhead. Bret's groans came partly from the need to resist, but mostly from a fire he'd never felt before surging from the soles of his feet upwards and centering in his genitals.

He did not want another man's hands stroking his cock, but he did want it; he did not want the feel of another man's tongue on his lips or nipples, but he wanted it more than he could have ever imagined; he did not want other men rubbing their naked bodies against his, but he did want them to, and he loathed himself and his desires but was defenseless before them. His detestation was not strong enough to extinguish the flames within is soul.

His mind and will were being ripped away from the constraints of his education and training. He threw his head back and groaned loudly as the soldiers lifted his feet and pulled him onto the floor.

Instantly, Tariq's body hovered above his, their lips squeezed together, his tongue buried deep in Bret's mouth. The soldiers raised their prisoner's legs, bent them, and pressed his knees to his sides. As Bret and Tariq continued tongue fucking each other, additional mouths, fingers, and tongues were dragged over his body, and when Tariq slid his tongue out, all Bret could do was gasp in response to a tide of new and terrifying sensations surging over him.

Tariq knelt at Bret's hole and began to slide his tongue around the rim and into his rectum. Louder moans and gasps issued from Bret's mouth as two soldiers crouched on either side of his body, and bending over, began to suck and chew on his nipples. A tongue probed forcefully into his navel, others dragged across the bottoms of his feet. His cock was burning with the need to explode when Tariq bent forward and slid his mouth over its head.

A mindless cry of ecstasy and defeat erupted out of Bret's mouth as Tariq, sucking his mouth in tightly and slowly and sliding it up and down the full length of his shaft, launched Bret into the most explosive orgasm few in that room witnessed before. Spasm after spasm of convulsing muscles sent salvos of hot semen into Tariq's mouth and down his throat.

Bret's pent up fear and terror, pain and humiliation burst out of his cockhole, seemingly ripped from every cell and every nerve ending in his body. Like a great piston out of control, his back lurched against the weight and strength of the soldiers pressing his body into the floor, then he slammed back down again and again, groaning and crying out until he was finally and totally spent. Tariq collapsed panting on top of him, his head landing on his chest. Bret, Tariq, and the soldiers were drenched with sweat, gasping for air.

After a few moments, Tariq raised himself, smiled, bent down and pressed their lips together again, sliding his cum smeared tongue into Bret's mouth, giving him his first taste of semen, his own. Sweat streamed from Tariq's hair and face onto Bret's, then he hoisted himself back onto the floor and knelt between Bret's splayed buttocks.

Taking a jar from Kaliq, he began lubricating and stretching Bret's hole. When he had finished, he positioned himself against Bret's ass, the tip of his cockhead wedged at the lips of his hole. One of the soldiers knelt behind Bret's head to elevate him to a near-sitting position; with his shoulders and head raised and pulled back tight against the soldier's chest behind him, he was virtually bent in half.

The soldiers holding his ankles pulled them up and hooked his legs around Tariq's middle as he took hold of Bret's hips, and, pressing the balls of his feet against the floor for leverage, began shoving his rigid, distended cock forward into Bret's hole.

"Oh, yes. Oh, yes," he groaned as he leaned into Bret's chest. "You are perfection, perfection." He stretched himself forward, squeezing Bret's cock flat between their bellies, slapping his balls against Bret's with every thrust and squeezing their lips together, working his tongue inside Bret's mouth the same as he was working his cock inside his ass.

It was impossible for Bret to remain passive; shock waves of pain and ecstasy engulfed him beyond anything he had ever experienced; he plunged his own tongue violently into Tariq's mouth, muffled growls and groans filling his throat.

His mind and will had been devastated, totally and rapidly overwhelmed and vanquished. In his frenzy, he wanted to tear away the ropes that bound his hands behind his back; he wanted to claw Tariq's body, to crush it in his arms; he wanted to howl as he rammed his own cock deep into Tariq's ass, but, constrained as tightly as he was, those raging desires could only boil in his guts, impotent, mocking, inciting him to a higher, more feverish pitch. Only his tongue had freedom of movement as long as Tariq's mouth was crushed against his.

The soldier holding him up and pinning his body back against his own began to drive his own cock wildly up and down Bret's spine; he also clamped his mouth on the base of Bret's neck, and as he sucked a mound of flesh into his mouth, shoved his hands in between both writhing, sweat soaked bodies and dug them into Bret's crotch. The men holding his feet behind Tariq's shoulders started sucking them.

The remaining soldiers flung themselves on top of their mates and Tariq, writhing on top of and over them and using their bodies to masturbate themselves to orgasm. Tariq's hips were pumping and grinding ever faster, even under the weight of two soldiers flung across his back. He buried his tongue deep into Bret's mouth, ramming it in again and again; Bret's gut muscles clamped shut, impaling him on Tariq's cock; he twisted and thrashed on it with each forward thrust, conscious only of the inferno roaring through his body.

With a wild spray of sweat and spit, Tariq threw back his head roaring with lust and conquest as searing geysers of cum exploded out of his cockhead into Bret's guts. Bret roared along with him, as did the soldiers, convulsing on each other, and as all their salvos diminished, the room was filled with their moans and the acrid salty smell of sweat and semen.

Bret was lying on his back, his hair drenched and matted with sweat and cum, the back of his head pressed into the crotch of the soldier who had held him during Tariq's assault; other soldiers lay across each other and across Tariq's back who was still face down on top of Bret's chest. Pools of sweat and strings of cum surrounded them all, and no one moved; no sound was made until finally after long, seemingly unending minutes, Tariq began to stir.

Shareem's freeman was as physically powerful as he appeared; rising to his hands and knees, he dumped the two heavyweight soldiers to the floor who had been sprawled across his back, then slowly getting to his feet, sweat streaming down his legs and torso, he surveyed the tangle of bodies around him. The guard he was looking for roused himself, rising to his knees, as Tariq called to him, "Aban, over here."

The soldier climbed over several of his fellows and finally stood in front of Tariq.

"Yes, Master Tariq," he responded. "What are your wishes?"

"You and the rest of your men may have the slave until eight o'clock; at that time, I will meet you in the latrine where you douched him first. Undoubtedly after you have all finished with him, he will need a second one."

Aban responded with a broad grin.

"After that," Tariq continued, "we will shave him and clean him for Colonel Mustafa." Then pausing briefly, he asked, "Who is that young guard standing next to Kaliq?"

Aban turned his head in the direction of Tariq's gaze and responded, "His name is Isam."

"I do not remember seeing him on my last visit," Tariq said. "How long has he been stationed here?:

"About six weeks, Master. I remember that he arrived just before Ramadan."

Tariq pursed his lips in thought then asked, "Has he ever seen a slave before."

"Yes, Master. Once before. Little more than a week ago. Some of Master Shareem's slavers stopped here on their way from Qassir City to Mandrasat with a slave they had just captured; he was an American fighter pilot, and the slavers thought it would be amusing to toss the uncircumcised dog to the troops for the night, much as you have given this slave to us, only for a longer time."

Tariq frowned unpleasantly at Aban's thinly veiled complaint. "Have you had the young boy's ass yet?"

Aban grinned and said, "Yes, Master Tariq. Most of the squad has played with young Isam."

"Let him have his go at the slave first," Tariq said turning abruptly, "then have him report to me in the Colonel's private bathroom."

"Yes, Master Tariq." As Tariq entered the private bath, Aban himself turned toward his troops who had hoisted their captive up onto his knees and were queuing themselves up in front and back.

"Isam goes first," he called out. "He has other duties he must take care of right away." Then, grinning broadly and clapping his sweaty arm around the young man's waist, fingering the boy's stiffening cock, he guided him through the troops and stood him in front of the kneeling captive.

"Grab the slave by the hair, push his head back, shove your cock down his throat, and enjoy the ride." The knot of soldiers standing round laughed aloud at Aban's orders and cheered Isam on as he followed them. Some of them knelt around their victim, manhandling his genitals, digging their fingers into his hole and his navel, letting him know clearly that he would suffer great pain if he were not cooperative.

Isam was barely nineteen, darkly handsome, muscular and tall, heavy with swirls of thick, black, sweat soaked body hair. He shifted his weight rapidly on the balls of his feet from one foot to the other, much like running-in-place, his rigid cock fully in Bret's mouth, his ass pumping back and forth. As the youngest and newest member of the company, he knew a show was expected of him, and he was determined not to disappoint.

He twisted fistfuls of Bret's hair, alternately growling and screeching as he pumped his ass ever faster until finally he threw his head back and roared a stream of profanities, exploding barrage after barrage of hot semen. The rest of the company cheered and slapped him on the back, pinching him and poking fingers into his hole even as he was still shooting ropes of cum into Bret's mouth.

Finally, he shuddered, gasping as his orgasm diminished and his cock grew limp. He doubled himself over, sliding his upper body against Bret's back and shoulders, enjoying the last spasms of his flaccid cock and the warm, wet cave that engulfed it..

"Isam, come with me," Aban's voice cut through the boy's reverie. "Master Tariq has tasks for you," he continued, grasping the young man's buttocks, pulling him to his feet, and holding their bodies tightly together. After a few moments, Aban's sense of duty, or his fear of Tariq's wrath, overwhelmed his desire to bury his cock deep inside the young soldier's firm, sweaty ass, and he marched him to Mustafa's bathroom.

"Master Tariq," he called, knocking lightly on the door. "Isam is here."

The door opened as if by itself, but no other response was forthcoming, and after Isam had entered, the door shut quickly and the lock snapped. Aban turned, smiling, and strode back to his troops to enjoy the American slave's holes.

-0-

With a time limit of little more than an hour set by Tariq, Bret was made to take two soldiers at a time, one in his mouth, the other in his ass. There would be no opportunity for more exotic contortions or games. Whichever guard was ass fucking him would also lock his fists around Bret's cock and balls to insure total cooperation as well as a total lack of resistance.

For the soldiers cheering one another on and plowing their rigid cocks deep into their captive, this time for violent, explosive sex passed all to quickly; for Bret, it was a never ending horror. He felt as though he were being repeatedly impaled on a searing white hot broadsword, enduring remorseless, throbbing agony from his throat to his anus. His whole consciousness struggled in a sea of pain, terrorized by the thought of how these monsters were going to kill him. He trembled violently in agony and with the conviction that his throat would be slit after they tired of raping him.

At the point where he could endure no more pain, no more cockheads battering his throat, or skewering his ass and guts, he was hauled roughly to his feet and shoved through the door into the corridor once again, his legs and face, chest and belly, streaked with sweat and semen. He was half carried, half shoved down the hallway and into the locker room where all this torture had begun, and where Tariq and the young soldier they called Isam, both naked, were waiting.

"Douche him first," Tariq ordered, "then we will shave him."

The soldiers dragged Bret to the latrine, and even though the unspeakable agonies of his first `cleansing' throttled his memory and throbbed in his body, he had not the strength to struggle against the inevitable. Instead of the fire extinguisher style enema that he used the first time, Kaliq took from the cupboard a plastic bottle with a long applicator tip.

"He's got enough cum up his ass to grease half the trucks on base," one of the guards shouted. The rest hooted and laughed out loud as they doubled Bret over and spread his buttocks; Kaliq shoved the applicator in up to the hilt and squeezed out the contents of the bottle. The pain that Bret had suffered so far this day had been so horrendous and so intense that this latest violation could have almost passed unnoticed.

"This should not take long," Kaliq laughed and ordered the soldiers to sit Bret down on a toilet. In a few moments, Bret's gut muscles expelled the purging liquid along with the semen filling his bowels. His hands were then untied, and he was pulled to his feet and dragged back to the locker room where was told to lie down on one of the dressing benches. Even the slight exertion of sitting down and lying back on the rough wooden surface reignited the fires of pain deep within his body, and he groaned.

Two soldiers grabbed his ankles and two his wrists and stretched his body taut. Tariq, bending over him on his left and Isam on his right, each holding a pair of hand clippers, and, as soon as the soldiers had Bret pinned immobile on the wooden bench, began to shear away the heavy swirls of black body hair, first from his chest, then his belly, then his crotch and pubs.

When he had been sheared from the neck down, the soldiers twisted him onto his stomach and in the midst of explosions of pain, the process was repeated on his shoulders, back, buttocks and legs. Then they pulled their dazed captive into a sitting position and both Tariq and Isam ran their clippers over his head.

"We will finish the task in the showers," Tariq said handing his shears to Isam. Aban and Sami gleefully retrieved soap and razors from two of the lockers as they headed toward the showers.

As the guards pulled Bret up off the bench, Tariq said to him, "You began your life naked and hairless from your mother's belly; now you will be born into your life as a slave in the same way. What you were before is no more a part of you now than the hair I have cut from your body." Then with a nod of his head, he motioned the soldiers to shove Bret ahead of him to the showers.

The small shower room held seven shower heads, and the soldiers turned on all seven, setting the temperature to hot. Steam quickly filled the confines of the room, and Bret was forced to his knees. As Tariq and the soldiers pressed in around him, one of them took soap, knelt down next to him and lathered his head, then Aban drew his razor back and forth across the captive's scalp until it gleamed under the hot shower.

Next, he expertly shaved Bret's three days growth of facial hair, shoved him to the floor and, inside a circle of legs, had him pinned spread eagle and lathered completely, then he and Sami dragged their razors down the full length of his body from neck to ankles; his legs were bent up at the knees and pressed back against his chest, and he grimaced in pain as his hole and the tender inflamed circle around it were lathered and shaved.

"Now do his back," Tariq ordered, "and make sure you do his ass crack well. Our Colonel Mustafa likes to make a smooth landing." he grinned and the soldiers guffawed. Bret ended on his knees and elbows, under the pounding of the showers, his ass upended and his buttocks spread wide apart, as the crack between them was shaved clean.

"Check him for any wild hairs." Tariq indicated he wanted Bret pinned to the floor for this examination. Dropping to his knees, Kaliq straddled the prisoner's crotch and, bending over, almost lying on top of him and leering down at him, began rubbing his hands slowly over Bret's head, then his face and neck, his chest, sides, flanks, belly and finally over and around and under and between his cock and balls.

"Lift his legs up and spread them," Tariq ordered, and Kaliq continued his slow, methodical inspection until every inch of Bret's body had been checked.

"Smooth as glass," Kaliq smiled. "Now we wash him."

The soldiers pounced on the prisoner, hauling him to his feet and lathering and rinsing him off several times, slapping him and shoving their fingers brutally into his asshole. After they dragged him into the locker room, they scoured his body with rough toweling. He kept his teeth clenched throughout his ordeal, knowing full well what these fiends were capable of if he resisted.

Tariq and Isam stood in front of him, Isam holding a small ceramic pot into which Tariq dipped his fingers, massaging a dab of amber colored liquid over his hands. He stepped directly in front of Bret and slowly began to rub his hands over Bret's head, face, and neck.

Suddenly, Bret threw his head back, flaring his nostrils, his eyes wide open. He had instantly responded to the odor of the liquid Tariq was spreading over his body; it was balsam, the chief ingredient of Chrism, the oil used by the Roman Church in its most sacred rites.

In a massive explosion of light and sound inside his mind, Bret was entering the great Basilica of St. Peter's in Rome for his anointing with Chrism to the priesthood. Under massive chandeliers and soaring vaults, the pageantry, the pomp, and the circumstance of a thousand years thundered down upon him.

With measured and practiced step, the procession of Church dignitaries moved ahead of him along the main aisle, amid the clash and peal of pipe organ and the rising crescendo of the Papal Choir. Centuries of Vatican artists and architects had accomplished their task of reducing munificence to insignificance under the Eye of God.

Just as suddenly as the first, a second explosion detonated inside Bret's head, blasting away images of glory and promise, and raining down a torrent of brutality and pain. Screaming his revulsion, he knocked Tariq's hand away and grabbed him by the throat before the soldiers reacted and hurled themselves upon him. Curses and fists fell as he kicked and struggled, howling in fear and defiance.

He could not, would not abide a continuance of the horrors he had undergone. He fought back wildly, but was no match for Tariq and eight trained soldiers in peak physical condition. A violent eruption of fiery, unimaginable pain ripped through his body as he was thrown to the floor, his legs wrenched apart, fists grabbing and twisting handfuls of flesh and crushing his penis and testicles as he writhed in agony, screaming his pleas for mercy and release.

"Slave!" Tariq roared, slapping Bret repeatedly across the face. "Slave! Stop this! Stop fighting. You cannot escape. You have no place to go. You are a slave."

"Then kill me," Bret shrieked. "Kill me. Kill me. Kill me"

Tariq nodded to Aban and Kaliq to increase the pain to Bret's genitals, and his screams intensified in pitch and volume.

"I will not kill you," Tariq shouted, grabbing Bret by the throat "but I will have you tortured like this every hour of every day for years to come. Is this what you wish? To suffer like this?"

Bret's screams and agonized contortions were his only response, and Tariq motioned to the soldiers to continue. Two other troopers joined in, viciously pinching and twisting his nipples, until finally, on a mountainous crest of pain, he howled his surrender.

With a wave of his hand, Tariq halted the torture, and said in a calm and even voice, "Slave, you do not want to go through that again, do you?."

Tears streamed down Bret's face, his body wracked by hysterical sobbing.

Kneeling next to Bret's chest and hovering just above his face, Tariq smiled understandingly, stroking the prisoner's cheeks, "I must know, slave, if you want Aban and Kaliq and these other soldiers to continue causing you this indescribable pain. I do not think you do; you are suffering too much right now, but you must show me you want the pain to stop. Do you want the pain to stop?"

Bret squeezed his tear filled eyes shut and sobbing aloud, and nodded his surrender. Tariq bend down and kissed him lightly on the lips.

"I believe you, slave," he said solicitously, "but you will need to convince Kaliq, and Aban, and Isam, and all these other soldiers who have worked so hard today to start your training as a slave. You will have to show them that you appreciate and honor what they have done for you and that as a slave you will always remember everything they have taught you. Will you do that, slave?" Tariq cradled the back of Bret's head and whispering softly, asked him again, "Will you show them your gratitude?"

Bret continued squeezing his eyes shut, tears streaming down his face, his shoulders straining against the strength of Tariq's guards as he sobbed uncontrollably.

"Will you show them your gratitude, slave?"

Bret whimpered his reply, sobs catching in his throat, for he knew what was being demanded of him and the unspeakable, excruciating pain if he refused. Tariq then nodded toward Kaliq to kneel on Bret's chest, over his face. With a flash of his eyes he also ordered Aban to apply less than gentle pressure to Bret's testicles so this wretched slave would know how close more crippling pain hovered.

Kaliq sneered at the hairless, whimpering prisoner beneath him and pinned his head squarely between his rock hard thighs. "Open your mouth hole, slave. You must invite me in," he growled.

Aban increased the pressure on Bret's testicles, and he reflexively opened his mouth. Kaliq leaned over, holding his rigid cock straight out in front of him with one hand, and shoved it deep inside Bret's mouth.

"Slave, you must do this correctly," Tariq warned. "Suck your mouth tight around Kaliq's meat and rub your tongue underneath the tip, like you are sucking on a honeycomb." He reached across Bret's face, pressing his cheeks tight around Kaliq's cock. "That is right, slave. You are performing your act of gratitude well."

Bret choked and sobbed as he tried to follow Tariq's instructions.

"Now raise your hands and rest them on Kaliq's sides. That is correct, slave; now rub your hands all over Kaliq's buttocks." Tariq continued as though he were giving a simple, mundane lesson in housekeeping. "Keep your eyes open, slave. "You must look directly at Kaliq. You must use your mouth and hands to make him smile."

Kaliq rode Bret like a piston, ramming his cock back and forth in the warm, soft pocket sucked tight around it, and he moaned, gritting his teeth as Bret dug his tongue into the fleshy, wrinkled underside of his cockhead. With his hands clamped tightly on either side of Bret's head, Kaliq's body stiffened, his back arched, and with a final lunge, he roared as his hot semen ripped out of his cock again and again into Bret's mouth and throat.

The soldier held his prisoner's head fast as his gasping subsided and his cock softened, and when his body relaxed completely, he let go of Bret's head, allowing it to slap the floor, then balancing himself on his fingers and knees, raised himself straight up and stepped away, his cock soft but semi-erect.

"You have done well, slave," Tariq pronounced. "Do not forget this lesson; you will always in the end do as you are commanded to do; how much pain you suffer along the way is up to you, none, a little, or a horrendous amount. When you finally comprehend that, you will also comprehend that the life of a slave is exactly the life you have always been destined to live."

He motioned the soldiers to lift Bret to his feet, then dipped his fingers into the ceramic pot Isam held and began to work the fragrant oil over Bret's body. The aroma of the balsam would evoke no further memories.

Bret's soul was void and black, overwhelmingly defeated, not by Shareem or Tariq, not by these soldiers, but by his own cowardice; the pain searing his soul was far deeper than anything these monsters could wreak upon his body. His guilt and his shame hung around his neck like a wreath of fire. When he discovered that pain was not the price he was willing to pay to maintain his integrity, he knew he had betrayed himself and his church, and for that sin, he would remain desolate and dark, like a city without light, forever.

Drawing his oiled fingers lightly over Bret's skin, Tariq sensed the profound despondency in his demeanor. "Slave," he said looking deeply into Bret's eyes. "I am not anointing your body to make you more appealing to Colonel Mustafa; you are more than appealing as you are, right now, straight from the showers. No, I am anointing you because your body is a gift, a gift for your master.

"You were conceived a slave in the womb, and you were born a slave; every day of your life drew you one step closer to your destiny as a slave. All the gifts your life has given you, all the talents you have been drawn to develop were for one purpose and one purpose only, to please your master and to fulfill his commands.

"Do you think it was by accident or coincidence that you and Master Shareem and I came together on that airplane this morning? It was not. All of the forces controlling your life and leading you came together this day and presented you to Master Shareem. You are exactly where you must be, and you are exactly what you must be, a slave. Today and tomorrow and forever, a slave."

When he had finished anointing Bret, Tariq ordered three soldiers to accompany him and the slave to Colonel Mustafa's pleasure suite; Aban, Kaliq, Sami, Najir, and Isam were to remain and police the locker room, latrine, and showers, then report back for their regular duties. Tariq stared forcefully into Aban's eyes as he gave these orders, then he guided Bret through the doorway and into the corridor.

-0-

Mustafa had spent the previous half hour in his private rooms preparing himself for the fullest of pleasures from Shareem's new slave; he had showered, shaved, and generously applied pheronome laced musk fragrances to his face and body. Now he lounged back across an excessively oversized bed, its four corners especially equipped with straps and chains; Shareem sat opposite him, across the room, in a plush, overstuffed chair .

With a white towel wrapped around his waist, Mustafa commented to his friend, "My playmate is late, Shareem. Time grows short, and I would hope nothing has happened to him,"

"Do not worry about the time," Shareem answered with a reassuring chuckle, shifting his weight attempting to achieve a more comfortable position. "You will have all the time you want or need. We will not leave until you have tasted deeply the nectar this flower holds for you. It is after all less than an hour's flight to Mandrasat."

"You have had a golden plum drop in your lap, my friend," Mustafa continued. "As unkempt and as excessively hairy as he was, I knew immediately he would make a superb body slave, and that alone would command a princely price, but a Christian priest as well? Who knows how high the bidding will go?"

"Yes, who knows?" Shareem tapped his fingertips together and sighed with satisfaction. "From ancient times, young monks from Europe have always been highly prized as sex slaves. My father's grandsire acquired two, Macedonians, I think, captured by the Turks in that ill advised Second Balkan War of theirs. I've seen old,old photographs of them, standing naked on either side of my great grandsire seated upon his couch; they were beautiful; almost like twins, marble white, tall, graceful, muscular. My father told me that he was told by his father that bedding the two of them was like bedding two wild stallions. I intend the same to be said my priest slave."

A sudden knock on the Colonel's door terminated their conversation. "Enter!" Mustafa called.

The door swung open, and Bret stood before them, six foot four inches of sharply defined muscles, long, powerfully developed thighs and calves, skin taut, shorn of all hair, glistening with the gleam of balsam.

"Oh, Shareem," the colonel whispered, almost reverently, drinking in Bret's physical beauty and strength, "he is magnificent, a true thoroughbred for your stables." He stood up, allowing the towel around his waist to drop to the floor. "And I told you his cock would look so much bigger after he was shorn."

Tariq entered the room behind Bret with the three soldiers behind him. Shareem rose out of his chair and said, "I will leave you, Mustafa, and your soldiers to your amusement. I will be back in an hour or so to see how you have progressed. And remember, no permanent damage."

Tariq followed Shareem out of the room, indicating to the three soldiers to do whatever the Colonel required of them.

Mustafa did not respond to Shareem's parting comment, so intoxicated was he by the sight of Bret's long smooth body, highlighted by the gleam and aroma of balsam. He slid the palms of his hands over Bret's glistening chest and down his sides, massaging his buttocks and brought them to rest encircling the youth's beefy genitals; after long moments of pleasure, stroking and fondling them, Mustafa ordered his soldiers to, "Affix the slave to the bed on his back."

Two soldiers grabbed Bret by his arms and pulled him across the room to the bed, spun him around and shoved him down onto the mattress, stretching him tightly by his wrists and ankles and shackling him spread-eagle to the corners of the bed. They stepped aside as Mustafa approached, and, standing along side his bed, feasted his eyes on the banquet laid out before him.

"Shareem has been correct from the start," he said climbing onto the bed. "Beautiful slave boys like you have only one function in life, to pleasure us with your deep, warm holes, and Shareem's function in life," he continued as he lay himself full length on top of his captive, "is to find every one of you for us. Now I will taste your nectar," he whispered, grinding his mouth roughly onto Bret's, shoving his tongue deep inside, aroused by the still heavy taste and smell of Kaliq's semen.

Mustafa stood exactly six feet tall, a block of solid muscle. His weight bore down on Bret, pressing him into the mattress, but not crushing the life out of him. His thick sheathe of body hair grating against Bret's newly shaved body ignited a fiery awareness of his power. His cock, massive and already squeezed tightly against Bret's, fought its way rigid, hardening into the battering ram he intended it to be.

Wrapping his heavily muscled arms around Bret's head, Mustafa began to draw himself slowly down the length of Bret's body, tonguing, sucking, and chewing on it as he slid lower and lower. Helpless and shackled as he was, Bret's only response to Mustafa's aggressive attack of mouth, lips, and tongue was to writhe underneath him and groan aloud in despair and in ecstasy.

Mustafa worked Bret's cock to a hard and burning erection, the veins and muscles of the shaft streaking its tight and shiny coat. The Colonel's mouth hovered barely an inch above the mushrooming cockhead, his saliva dripping into its cockhole and mixing with beads of precum. He closed his mouth over the head and, sucking his mouth tightly around it, slid down the shaft to the smooth, naked flesh surrounding its base.

Bret's arm's and legs twisted and his body contorted as though raked by electric shocks; he gasped as Mustafa rammed his tongue along the underside of his cockhead, mouth-riding it, digging his hands into the his thigh pits on either side of his balls, until his entire body went rigid, and, arching his back and wildly scraping against his wrist and ankle cuffs and crying out, a blistering discharge exploded out of his cock.

Mustafa took all the barrages, but swallowed none, and when the convulsions subsided, he threw himself once more full length on top of Bret, and again pressing their mouths together, shoved his tongue into Bret's mouth, filling it with his own thick, hot semen.

Their tongues writhed together in the bath of cum until Bret reflexively swallowed. He didn't choke. He didn't gag. His passions inflamed by Mustafa's assault on his body, his soul crippled by irredeemable guilt and depression. Mindlessly, he wanted Mustafa's body wound around his, squeezing it, constricting it, all the while detesting himself for these feelings and for wanting them..

As Mustafa chewed Bret's lips and then his nipples, his soldiers unshackled the captive's ankles and raised his legs, bent and spread them, then pressed them against either side of the Colonel's body. Mustafa knelt at Bret's ass and took a jar of body lotion from one of the soldiers and began applying it to his cock and to Bret's hole.

Leaning over and pressing his hands on either side of Bret's chest, and smiling down on his face, Mustafa whispered hoarsely, "I have thought of nothing else since I first saw you naked and lying on the floor of my office this afternoon. I can think of no greater ecstasy than this," and as Bret cried out in pain and in an ecstasy of his own, Mustafa rammed his massive and rigid cock straight into Bret's asshole.

Bret thrashed about wildly on the spike impaling him, and Mustafa slammed himself again and again deep into Bret's ass. Eventually, raising his head and shoulders and roaring at the top of his voice and discharging volley after volley until he fell fully spent across his prisoner.

The soldiers released Bret's ankles, letting his legs fall on top of Mustafa's, and only the sound of the Colonel's ragged breathing and vocal shuddering filled the room. Bret squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth as explosions of pain shook his guts and geysers of thrilling and breathtaking spasms surged through his body, and images of loathing and lust ripped his soul.

Mustafa was the perfect rapist; Bret's body belonged to him by virtue of his power and the enormity of his sex organ, and Bret had succumbed to that power, had given himself over to it and wanted more. The scrape of muscle and body hair across his naked skin was more than he could fight, or would fight; he wanted Mustafa's flesh crushed against his more than he wanted an end to the brutality and depravity heaped upon him.

Mustafa slowly drew himself along Bret's body, raising himself into a kneeling position over his victim's face. "Open your mouth, slave," he whispered, "it is time for you to taste all that I have to offer."

One of the soldiers climbed onto the bed and squatted over Bret's legs and digging his hands into Bret's crotch, took hold of his balls, pulling on them and squeezing them together. The message was clear, and Bret remembered all too vividly the horrific genital torture he endured just a short time before. He opened his mouth, giving free passage to Mustafa as he slid himself forward along Bret's tongue. He clasped his hands behind Bret's head, his entire body shuddering as Bret sucked his cheeks tight and began jabbing his tongue along the hot, rigid, massive rod in his mouth.

Inspite of the pain he had suffered, the degradation and helplessness, the black, abysmal despair, Bret had never known such high voltage, thrilling excitement or the lust he felt more than he did at that moment, with Mustafa's cock buried in his mouth, helpless against his onslaughts. Again he felt all the shame and humiliation of a coward and traitor, but what he despised most in himself was what he most wanted.

Mustafa owned him and he was insatiable in his thirst for his master's cock. The colonel threw his head back, squeezing his eyes shut and groaning loudly as Bret unleashed a pounding assault, violently sucking the massive cock and squirming and thrashing under Mustafa's wild bucking and lurching ass.

The soldier Mustafa ordered to squeeze the prisoner's balls now held Bret's legs up, spread wide, and, lunging back and forth himself, rammed his own cock deep inside Bret's hole. Bret's cock was rigid and rock hard, slapping his belly and dribbling precum. The infernos inside each of the three roared together into one cataclysmic eruption; Mustafa howled as cum, like fiery napalm, ripped the length of his cock and burst into Bret's mouth. The soldier cried loudly at the searing ecstasy of his orgasm, and Bret writhed on the bed, flinging himself about against his wrist restraints, nearly splintering the headboard.

Mustafa fell backwards and sideways off Bret's chest, his cock popping out of Bret's mouth; the soldier, keeping his cock embedded in Bret's hole, wrapped his arms around Bret's hips and bending over, began to lick Bret's cock. The two soldiers who had been watching the three way orgy had masturbated and were dripping their own and each other's cum.

Only the gasps, and groans, and heavy breathing of master, slave, and soldiers punctuated the silence in the room, and a full five minutes had passed before Mustafa raised himself on all fours, and said to the two soldiers standing beside the bed, "Take the slave. Enjoy yourselves." Then snickering, he said "Remember, Shareem doesn't want him damaged."

The soldiers whooped and hooted, grabbing at Bret, unfastening his wrist cuffs, dragging him off the bed and onto the floor.

"And one more thing," Mustafa said raising himself on the bed to his knees, "do not stain the carpet."

-0-

It was after eleven o'clock when Shareem returned to Mustafa's pleasure suite; he found him sitting on the edge of his bed, feet flat on the floor, with Bret, his hands tied behind his back, kneeling on the bed and straddling the colonel's lap, impaled on his cock. One of Mustafa's soldiers, the largest and one with the most muscular physique, stood immediately behind Bret, his arms wrapped around the slave's chest and his cock also rammed fully into his hole with Mustafa's. The colonel and the soldier were furiously masturbating their cocks against each other inside Bret's ass, while Bret gasped loudly, crying out and pitching and rolling wildly.

The soldier matched Mustafa's guttural roar as both cocks erupted simultaneously, accompanied by Bret's high pitched, prolonged shriek. Shareem stood at the doorway, just inside the room, his hands folded behind his back and waited for the orgasms to pass. After a few minutes of gasping and manhandling Bret's body, the soldier pulled himself out of the slave's hole then dragged him off Mustafa's lap. He wrapped his arms around Bret's waist and pinned their bodies tightly together, waiting for the next order.

Expelling a long and contented sigh and smiling, Mustafa said in Arabic, "Oh, Shareem, you have a treasure beyond belief in this one. I could feel his fire. He gave his holes to me, Shareem. Gave them to me! He writhed and bucked and rolled beneath me, but he never fought against me. I think we have unleashed a wild stallion such as your grandsire spoke of, and I hope he is still with you at Mandrasat when I next visit."

"You are always welcome to sample my wares," Shareem smiled.

"Even though I could not afford to purchase even one of their toe nails," Mustafa chuckled.

"Even though," Shareem smiled again, the brought his hands around in front. In his left hand he carried an unfastened, steel slave collar. "We do need to depart, Mustafa, before the slave forgets what he has learned here tonight." Then he stepped in front of Bret and snapped the ring onto his neck.

"This steel ring," Shareem said staring intently into Bret's eyes, "is one of the ways I have of making sure you never forget you are a slave. You will discover the other ways in the days to come. Now I am taking you to my compound in the desert known as Mandrasat; it is a training camp for slaves. You will also discover, slave, that I have a long and detailed memory, and retribution for any breach of slave conduct is inevitable and exceedingly painful. That is all you need to think of at the moment."

Shareem ordered to the soldiers to untie Bret's hands, take him into the bathroom and clean him thoroughly in the shower. "Be quick about it, and take particular care," he snipped, "that you finger his asshole empty of cum. I do not want him leaking all over my airplane."

Mustafa roared with laughter at this comment.

After the soldiers had lathered and rinsed Bret off a couple of times, they took turns shoving their fingers into his hole and otherwise violently manhandled him. Bret was learning how to deaden himself to these agonizing bestial attacks at the hands of Mustafa's soldiers. At this stage of his training, however, he could have no idea how important that mental technique would shortly become.

When they brought him from the shower, all were soaking wet, the prisoner and the guards. Shareem eyed them coldly and said, "Tariq is waiting for you in the hallway," Follow his instructions."

Mustafa stood by his bed, legs wide apart, cock fully erect, watching the prize he could never posses depart his presence; he then stretched, grunted, and growled, flexing his gut muscles, hands clasped behind his head, twisting his torso side to side. "I do not jest, Shareem," he said sauntering into his bathroom. "This one will bring you a king's ransom." Then entering the shower cabinet, he turned on the hot water and pulled the door shut. Shareem nodded, turned, and left the room.

-0-

When the soldiers escorted Bret from Mustafa's rooms, Tariq embraced and kissed him "It is time for you to begin your new life, slave, but first we must prepare you for your journey." He dismissed the soldiers who had been Mustafa's orgy mates and directed the three guards accompanying him to secure Bret's hands behind his back.

The soldiers with Tariq were dressed in the same battle fatigues and jack boots Bret had seen worn by Mustafa's troops when Flight Zero-Zero-One landed this afternoon, and Tariq was again in his airline steward's uniform. Bret's mind could not process any more than an indistinct recognition of these articles of clothing, otherwise he surely would have been horrified to realize that barely seven and a half hours before, he was a free man, on his way to an exciting adventure of his own choosing. Now he stood stripped naked, completely shaved head to foot, a slave collar around his neck, being knocked about by three soldiers. His wrists were quickly cuffed behind his back and pushed up toward the steel collar he wore, then attached to a collar ring by a short chain.

The soldiers roughly propelled him forward, and, with Tariq leading the way, marched him through several dimly lit corridors to the open lobby where he had waited almost eight hours previously while Shareem had gone off to find his friend with the air conditioned office. The room was dark, save for the illumination from lights on the tarmac and runways outside. The desert heat still hung in the air, oppressive, but not crushingly so as it had been that afternoon.

They steered Bret through the lobby and outside into the night by gripping his shoulders and pushing and pulling this way and that; the high pitched whine of idling jet engines made the soldiers' roughhouse banter impossible to be heard, so they amused themselves by swatting Bret's ass to move him along faster. The sand and pebbles covering the asphalt bit into the soles of his feet, but he knew instinctively that to stumble or fall would invite a violent and brutal response from his guards.

The jet was a twin engine stretch, its large cargo hatch at the rear of the fuselage wide open, awaiting the night's shipment. Tariq led Bret and the guards to the rear of the plane, right under the deafening roar of the its jets, and Bret's eyes widened in terror at the sight of a large cage sitting on a wooden pallet that was resting on the spears of a forklift.

"Into the cage, slave," one of the guards shouted as the others pushed Bret forward and onto the wooden pallet. One of the guards jumped into the forklift's driver's seat as the other two forced Bret into the cage.

"Now sit and be still," the guard commanded. Then he and the other guard snapped cuffs onto Bret's ankles, shackling them to the bars on the front sides of the cage.

After his ankles were securely pinned in front of him, he turned his head and looked back at the field's darkened cinder block terminal and saw a group of five soldiers trotting out of the building and toward the plane; they were dressed as his guards were, in fatigues and boots, but they ran shoving and punching a man who was totally naked. As they approached the plane, Bret saw that the naked man was bound and gagged in the same manner as he, shaved from head to foot, and struggling against the strength of his guards. And a moment later, he saw that it was Isam.

"You remember this young slave, do you not?" Tariq shouted to Bret.. "Like you, he has a body that is too beautiful to waste. You and he must go to masters who will appreciate and know how to use your bodies to their fullest. When you are expertly ridden by a master skilled in all shades of pain and ecstasy, you will know what I mean, and you will remember my words."

The soldiers grappled with Isam, wrestling him onto the pallet and into the cage facing Bret. They shoved him down onto the cage floor, then, pressing him flat against Bret's chest and belly, they pulled his legs forward, over Bret's hips, and shackled his ankles to bars at the rear of the cage. The prisoners were tightly squeezed face to face against each other; Isam's eyes were wide with terror and he was shaking violently.

Laughing and hooting riotously, a couple of the soldiers forced their arms through the bars of the cage and shoved them between the prisoners' bellies, grabbing at their cocks and pulling them erect. Isam's shoulders heaved as he began crying into his gag out of terror and sheer helplessness in defending himself.

"One of the guards shouted, "just rub your cocks up and down against each other, and you can shoot your load all the way to Mandrasat." The rest of the guards roared with laughter.

Tariq pushed the soldiers out of his way and walked to the cage. "You will not have to worry about doing anything on your trip to Mandrasat, my pretty slaves," he yelled. "Like any good airline steward, I'm going to give you something to help you sleep," and he withdrew a small, black packet from the inside pocket of his steward's blazer. It contained two hypodermic needles and Tariq injected their contents into each prisoner's upper arm.

The soldiers squatted around the cage, reaching through the bars and stroking and patting the two captives inside as though they were battalion pets until both had slumped forward onto each other's shoulder. A quick nod from Tariq brought the soldiers leaping from the pallet and running to the plane's front stairwell. The forklift operator gunned his engine and began to raise the pallet under Tariq's watchful eye. By the time the pallet was level with the floor of the plane's cargo bay, the other solders had arrived at the open hatch and maneuvered the cage into the hold and secured it with heavy cables. A lever was thrown and the hatch slid shut, locked in place by one of the ground crew.

Shareem arrived as the soldiers piled down the stairwell, and, as they jogged off toward the terminal building, he and Tariq climbed aboard. It was not Flight Zero-Zero -One, but Shareem luxuriated in the day's accomplishments and the pleasure of the days ahead.