Arab stallion to pussy slave

"Wake up!" Came the voice from the intercom. "This is not a luxury hotel here!"

Manhor wiped his eyes and tried to orient himself. He still wasn't sure if this was a dream or a bitter reality. He would have loved to brush his teeth, his throat was dry and he had a musty taste in his mouth and a furry coating on his teeth. He was thirsty, hungry and urgently needed to pee, but before he could move in the direction of the messy toilet bowl, the voice stopped him again.

“You surely want to know what I want from you!” it rang out and Manhor stopped dead. Should his kidnapper ask for money after all, he would get it somehow and then all of this would be over and forgotten. He would be free again and somehow he could get his life under control.

“You wonder what happened yesterday! Do you wish what happened to you you only dreamed of? I can assure you, that was real, that was you, the way you always wanted to be, how you were born, what u were made for! Look at the monitor "

Manhor turned his eyes a little to the left when the monitor began to flicker. Despite the darkness in the cell, he saw a very clear image of himself holding a cock in his mouth. The pictures continued to run as a slide show. Manhor, who licked the cock, Manhor, who squirts sperm out of his mouth, as he is filled with it and further and further fucked, Manhor, who licks the leg of a tranny cum-free while his hands are tied ...

At the sight of the pictures a mixture of anger and despair rose in him and yet his cock stiffened in his shorts, the pictures were so awesome.

"Do you like the pictures? There are hundreds of them, and movie clips! Many will like that! "

"You can't show them to anyone, that would degrade me, I would be a gay slut in everyone's eyes!"

"It's up to you!" explained the voice. “So listen carefully to me! If you obey me, do everything I command, I am your new master, then I could consider whether all of this should stay between us, at least in a very intimate, elite circle of friends! "

"You are totally crazy! I never call you master! "

“If not ...” the voice continued undeterred, “... then I'll start distributing the photos and recordings! Which of your contacts should I start with? Your brother Can maybe? What would he say to your parents? Or should I upload it to your Facebook and Instagram profile so that I can reach even more friends? "

"how do you think to get my passwords and access data!" Manhor tried to fend off and aggressively tensed the muscles of his upper body.

"Well, honey, you were so smart as to show me your code for your cell phone when you wanted to show off your muscle pictures. Once inside the cell phone I have all functions, look here! ”The contact details of his parents, some of his cousins and his younger brother, whom he loved dearly, appeared on the screen. Horrified, he wondered what would happen if his family saw these pictures. His father and mother would be cast out or committed suicide. His neck muscles relaxed and he slumped back into a surrendered posture.
"What do you want from me, why am I here?" He mumbled quietly, and he finally realized that it had to be this Indian from the airport, whatever his name was, Ashlan, Akshim or something.

"Speak louder so I can understand you properly, slave!"

"What do you want!" He repeated.

"What should you call me?"

"Master!"

"In whole sentences!"

"WHAT DO YOU WANT, MASTER!" He shouted angrily.

“That's better! You sure are hungry and thirsty! I've prepared a sandwich for you! "

"Where?" Asked Manhor, looking around the cell.

"Well, where could it be kept cool for a long time?"

His gaze fell on the toilet. "That ... no ... you don't mean that ... oahh, that's disgusting!" stuttered Manhor and a laugh came from the loudspeaker, while Manhor carefully approached the open toilet and looked inside ..

“Come on, it's a delicious ham and mortadella sandwich with my very special light sauce! Grab it, it's wrapped! "

In fact, a sandwich wrapped in cling film was floating next to a disposable plastic cup in the murky water of the toilet bowl. On the rim of the toilet bowl were numerous encrusted brown lumps and streaks. About 1 cm above the water level, a yellow edge had formed, where the water level must have been before it began to evaporate. The toilet seat itself was speckled with dried urine.

“Never, I can't eat that! Besides, it's pork! ”hissed Manhor and sat back on the bed and sank his head mournfully into his hands.

“Well, your decision! Message to Can Sokkar ...! "

"OK; one moment! ”Manhor stopped his kidnapper. "I'll do it ... Master!" He added quietly and moved back towards the toilet. Reluctantly, he reached into the toilet bowl with his right hand and took the sandwich out of the water. He shook off most of the water droplets over the bowl and set the sandwich aside. Then he took out the cup in a similar way, which he placed upside down on the dusty floor so that as much water as possible could run out.

"What the heck, I'm hungry, it can't be that bad!" He told himself as he unwound the foil. He didn't think of wiping his wet hand, which had just fished twice in the toilet water. It didn't matter at all, because the foil wasn't tight, which is why the bread was damp and wobbly from the toilet water. However, if he held it together with both hands like a burger, it should be easy to eat. Reluctantly, he took a bite and chewed on it. In terms of taste, it wasn't that bad at all. The sausage was very salty, which drowned out the remaining flavors well. Feeling the taste of the sauce on his tongue, he dropped the sandwich from his hands. He tried to choke up the chunks he had already swallowed, but was admonished by the voice.

“If you spit anything out, just a crumb on the floor, the message will go out! That's right, you have the honor of having your sandwich served with my cum sauce. I deviated from it while you sucked the tranny. That was soooooo awesome! Eat up nicely. A bite for your master, come on! "

He had no choice but to pick up the tattered bread again and, since it could no longer be held properly, he had to eat it with his outspread palms like an animal from a food bowl.

"Lick your hands clean and then have a cup of water! I'll be right back! "

Manhor did as he was told, licked his hands from the remnants of bread, semen and toilet water and dipped the mug into the toilet bowl. He brought the milky broth to his lips and drained it in one gulp. He was so stunned by the whole situation that it only occurred to him after emptying the cup that he could have rinsed off beforehand.

“They will be looking for me. My family will find me! ”He muttered and got up from his crouch in front of the toilet.

“You are wrong, my dear! Nobody misses you yet! I've sent messages to your closest contacts and favorites that you've been promoted and are on your way to Dubai. You were so proud and happy that you couldn't really say goodbye, but you would get in contact when the stress had subsided a little. Oh yes, and nobody should worry! "

"That's crazy!" Manhor cursed. “You can't just tear someone out of life like that. That must be noticed! I can't be stuck in a cellar as the slave of an Indian laborer! "

"Oh yes, the unskilled laborer is past by the way!" Echoed over the loudspeaker. "I now have your job, you worked it out for me last night or let's call it “blown” it out, hahahahah! Small agreement with Harfmüller, if I manage to have the lawsuit withdrawn, and voila, everything will be fine this morning, I might even become a shift supervisor. Oh, I'll have a lot of money and benefits with you! "

A flush of anger rose in Manhor's face.

"You wretched wanker! You can't steal my life from me! "

“You stole your own life. It's your fault that you haven't established any real social contacts, there are no friends who would hold out their hands for you, no member of the family still trusts you, and you only took advantage of the chicks you had, you know that. You have never been there for anyone, you have taken responsibility for nothing ... And you want to complain? You didn't have a life that could have been stolen from you! "

Furious, Manhor kicked the bars with his bare feet and hobbled painfully to his cot, where he massaged his foot. When the pain subsided, he stood up and rattled the iron bars, hoping a weld would come off. He tried to bend it until his muscles vibrated. Then he yelled for help as loudly as he could. The basement couldn't be so lonely that no one could hear it.

"Help, HEEEEEEELLLLLP, help meeeee hehehehe!" Giggled from the loudspeaker. "Shake and shake only as much as you want, that's good technical work, even if it doesn't look like it, I prepared it myself for such an opportunity for a long time!"

Manhor's fist hit one of the walls and he chafed his knuckles in the process. “Fuck!” He shouted, “What a shit! I want to get out of here!"

A click of the loudspeaker indicated that it was switched off. He took the mattress off the bed and threw it in the corner. Then he grabbed the bed frame with both hands and hit the cell door with it, stuck the bedpost through the grille and pried on it, but nothing moved. This was his personal gaytanamo.

Tired and sweaty, he put the bed down again and dragged the mattress onto it. He lay down and before he nodded off he hit the bars next to him with his forearm, so that the bars were red on his skin.

He didn't know how long he'd been asleep. It could have been minutes or hours, here in the cellar there was no sense of time, except that he could tell whether it was night or day. He had to piss and poop. The pork sandwich with its extra ingredients was squeezing in his intestines. So he got up and went to the toilet bowl. He stood in front of it, undecided, and looked at the soapy toilet seat.

"I never sit on it!" He pressed out, his shorts down and let them fall to his ankles. "I've done enough squats in my life that I can do it standing up!"

With his left hand pressed against the wall, he stabilized himself over the bowl, slowly kneeling down until his ass hung about 30 cm from the bowl. Then he began to loosen up and the first yellow stream of piss shot out of his cock into the bowl, bounced off the edges and wet the toilet seat again. Then he began to squeeze lightly and his turd slipped slowly, bit by bit, out of his anal duct, dangling briefly in the air and splashing into his piss, which whirled up in a high arc back over the edge of the toilet onto the toilet seat and the floor and even syringe up to his buttocks.

"Ahhhhh!" He groaned, since the shit was a relief for him.

"You made everything dirty!" he suddenly heard from the loudspeaker while he wiped his bottom with two scraps of paper from the roll standing on the floor.

"So what, wanker, what do you want to do about it, send a cleaning lady or come in yourself and clean this bastard!"

“I think you still don't understand me! I don't have to send a cleaning lady, just a text message! Hahaha! And YOU are the bastard here, slave! So kneel down and clean up your mess! And woe to you if you use your hands or feet! "

"And how is that supposed to work then?"

"... to work then...? I hear?"

"How is that supposed to work, master!" Manhor squeezed out.

"Take your tongue, you piece of dirt!"

Reluctantly, Manhor sank to his knees in front of the dirty toilet and stared at the yellow encrusted porcelain, which must have last seen a rag more than a year ago. He wondered who had been in the same predicament here before him and who might have made these splashes of urine. His own shit swam in the water and drove the stench into his nose, which is why he first flushed.

"I said no hands, last warning!"

Humiliated, Manhor stuck out his tongue and began to lick the tip of the plastic toilet seat. Its own splashes, which were still very fresh, were easily removed, but the dried-on stains did not come off. He stuck his tongue out further and let its entire width glide over the surface, drooling as best he could and actually managed to get the rim clean after a little more than 5 minutes.

"Done!" He triumphed.

"Not really, what about the seat from below and the porcelain rim, do you think your piss did not splash there? It probably looks a lot worse there, and remember, no hands! "

Manhor followed the request, grabbed the toilet seat with his teeth and lifted it. When it was up he saw the mess. There were even small brownish splashes where his piss had probably mixed with his poop before it was sprayed high. Fortunately, Manhor no longer noticed the stench that emanated from this, his nose had inhaled the aromas too long and too close for that.

"I ... I can't," he stammered. "... don't let me ... do this ... Master! I have to ... throw up! "

"If you throw up, you eat your vomit out of the bowl, so go on, slave!" It was unmistakable. Resistance was pointless. If he wanted to get out of here at some point, he would first have to obey and play along.

And so Manhor began to lick, up and down, until the toilet seat below gleamed white and clean again. Then he worked on the edge of the china. Here pubic hair, which was certainly not his, hung in dried-on yellow piss crusts. He licked the first strange pubic hair, felt how it tickled his tongue but did not come off. He used spit and polished the area with his tongue, but one end of the pubic hair stuck stubbornly in the crust. He used more spit, so that the dry piss liquefied again and finally the hair slipped into his mouth together with the urine of a complete stranger. He felt the pubic hair cling to the roof of his mouth, wanted to spit it out, but it didn't want to come out, and only wandered from try to try in the direction of his throat.

"One done, four more to go!"

The camera had to have a good resolution so that the Indian could see every single hair. "Or did he even put it there himself?" Manhor asked himself and went to the second challenge without further resistance.

Some of the next stains could be removed better and Manhor even managed that two pubic hairs did not end up in his mouth but directly in the toilet bowl. But he failed with the penultimate pubic hair, it was completely embedded in a thick crust of urine and also seemed to be stuck with one end in the hinge of the toilet lid. His mouth was dry, he couldn't make enough saliva to soak the stain. After a short thought, he gathered up all courage and bent his head into the toilet bowl, careful not to hit the two brown smear strips on the side.

"Fuck it, it's freshly rinsed!" He muttered to justify his decision. He stuck out his tongue and just reached the water level.

“Wow, nobody will believe me! The big macho-muscle-Arab hangs his head in the toilet bowl voluntarily! "

"That is not voluntary, you ar ... um master!" He countered and began to distribute the absorbed water on the stain with his tongue.

Slurp, slurp, slurp

“But it looks very different from here. I have some nice photos of it for posterity, hehehe! "

"Yesss!" He triumphed when the stain finally loosened and the pubic hair was exposed and did not let himself be irritated by the loudspeaker voice. He pressed his face very close to the opened toilet seat and tried to catch the pubic hair with his teeth. It took a while of countless unsuccessful attempts, but finally he managed to fix the hair between his incisors and, with a quick movement of his head, loosen it from the hinge. Now the frizzy, wet hair hung from his lower lip. Even blowing and spitting couldn't solve it. He tried his tongue and was horrified. The hair was no longer stuck on the hinge of the toilet seat but between his incisors and would annoy him until he was allowed to use his hands again.

Angrily, he hit the dusty floor in front of him with his fists, but remembered in time: "No hands!" And so he swallowed his anger down as he had swallowed so much else in the last few hours.

Disgruntled, he went to clean the rest, the sooner he would get permission to remove the hair. And so he licked the top of the toilet bowl like a man possessed, fetched water two more times with his tongue from inside the bowl and then looked proudly at the work he had done. The toilet was now so clean, at least in the usable area, that he could sit down at the next urge.

"Now only the ground remains!" Commanded the voice.

"OK!" replied Manhor, that should be easy after this ordeal at the toilet bowl. He eagerly went to work and licked the drops around the toilet up to the corner, licked the dusty concrete surface free and in the process took in numerous hairs and even a section of toe or fingernail that he had not noticed before in the dust. But it didn't bother him anymore. Whatever could be disposed of, he spat into the toilet, whatever was stubborn, he swallowed.

“Well done, slave!” rang out the voice, audibly amused. "You have earned a break as a reward!"

He heard a low hum in the ceiling above him and a small motorized hatch, a maximum of 8/20 cm opened. A joint and a matchbook with an Indian restaurant print fell through it. Before picking up the joint, he gripped the pubic hair between his teeth with two fingers and jerked it off. For a brief moment he looked confused at the long, deep black hair, which curled in front of his lips and wiggled between his fingers, until he noticed that he was unconsciously playing with it by twisting it between his fingertips. With a snap he put it in the toilet bowl and did the dishes frantically, as if he were afraid that the hair would crawl out of the depths of the toilet like a worm.

Relieved, he took the joint and the matches and relaxed on the mattress. He lit the marijuana and enjoyed the calming effects. Fear and anger at his precarious situation gave way to relaxed indifference. At least that condition lasted as long as he was under the influence of the drug.

"Oh yes, that's good!" He groaned in satisfaction on his dirty bed, which at least didn't bother him at this point. "Manhor is really chilled!"

Exhausted, he closed his eyes and dreamed of the day of his resignation, which did not seem to have been 24 hours ago but what felt like 24 days. He saw the face of his ex-boss and imagined how much better everything would have turned out if he had just left his dick in his pants or at least taken Harfmüller's speech seriously. He played through the situation in which he agreed with Harfmüller, apologized from the bottom of his soul, Harfmüller patted him on the shoulder with his rough hands in reconciliation and looked at him with compassion.

“We're all just instinctual men!” He said in Manhor's imagination of a better past and smiled at Manhor with his big white teeth.

“I screwed up such shit! Shit! ”Manhor mumbled sleepily from the drug. His arm fell sideways from the bed and the rest of the joint fell to the floor, where it went out after a few seconds.