tagBDSMA GOR-y Halloween

A GOR-y Halloween

byTx Tall Tales©

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What kind of slave would you be for halloween?

A Halloween 2009 Contest Entry. Hope you like it.


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Things were getting crazy.

There were three of us, couples that is, that had been holding Halloween parties for several years. It all started when we had scheduled a party the same day as the Thomases seven years back. We weren't close friends but we had many friends in common, and after some discussion, they agreed to attend our party, cancelling theirs. We would include their guest list, and the following year, it would be their turn.

By the time the following Halloween had passed, the wives where thick as thieves, and Wendy, the original mediator, wanted her turn hosting the Halloween party. Of course Dale and Erika Thomas had done their best to out-do ours, so Wendy and Victor upped the ante once more. We all had our own businesses, and the party was tax deductible, so the expense wasn't a major concern.

Each year the parties became more extravagant, the decorations more elaborate, and the costumes, well... another case of oneupmanship there. For the first 4 years the parties kept growing, with nearly 30 couples invited at the peak, as well as a few singles. In the 5th year Vic and Wendy reduced the guest list by a good quarter, and last year we reduced it even more. The parties were becoming more exclusive, with very few 'new' couples added, fewer singles, and the event became a local legend.

The costumes were getting sexier, year after year, and the women joked that they no longer worried about getting ready for swimsuit season, it was Halloween season which drove them to their personal trainers.

Last year, we upped the ante yet-again, creating the first 'themed' party, a Pirate Party. Since the first year, we'd been giving out prizes to the best costumes, by closed ballot. For the Pirate Party we had first through third place awards for the best Pirate Wench, authentic silver reales set in silver necklaces for sexiest costume and most original, and set in gold for best overall costume. As you might imagine, some of the outfits were simply unbelievable. One young lady showed up in little more than thigh high boots and a leather thong and bustier; she still only managed to pull third place. Wendy took home first place that year with a gorgeous traditional wench outfit, made mostly of see through material, and a short skirt, slit right to the waist. She wore her award necklace regularly, and every time I saw it, I remembered that outfit.

It was pretty crazy, the whole party set us back about three grand, with nearly a third of that tied up in the prizes. We had a full cemetery out front, with humorous headstones, now numbering around 30. We actually hired day labor to dig up the lawn, create the cemetery, and replace it the following Monday. The key decorations were a ship's mast, in the center of our two-story family room, and ships railings across the rear wall. The party was a huge hit, but we knew that no matter how high you raised the bar, somebody was bound to try to set it higher yet.

When we got this year's invitation, we knew the gauntlet had been thrown down.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Dallas Slave Auction by invitation only

The Master of this household is invited to the Dallas Slave Auction. You are required to bring at least one slave that will be auctioned to the highest bidder for the evening. All slaves will be freed at the end of the evening, with the best slaves being rewarded as well.

Slave control and training devices will be available, but you are encouraged to bring your own.

RSVP with any questions * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

By agreement, all invitations were sent out in September, giving the invitees sufficient time to prepare. Last year we had caught some flack for only giving 5 weeks notice. It turns out that some people had been planning their costumes for months, and our 'theme' threw a monkey-wrench in the works. This time we had about 6 weeks to go.

I immediately began to wonder just what constituted a 'slave'. A costume was one thing, but 'control and training' devices and auctioning off the women seemed to be going quite a big further. Would our friends go along with this? Or would this be the smallest turnout ever.

I managed to corner Dale and grill him about the party. He wasn't saying shit about what the plan was. He finally confessed he didn't even know the full extent, his wife Erika and her cousin Michelle were running the show. He did bemoan the fact that it looked like it was going to be twice as expensive as the last one. I finally got around to asking him how the responses were coming.

I needn't have wondered. Within a week, they had nearly a 100% acceptance to the invitations. Fifteen invites, thirteen accepted, one still trying to work it out. No fear or hesitation in this crowd.

Which was good. Life seemed to be in somewhat of a rut again. The Halloween parties were the most exciting thing all year, by far, and it would usually lead to a pretty hot night of sex, something which, I'm sad to say, was becoming more and more infrequent.

How does it happen? I married a stunning woman, absolutely gorgeous, the envy of all my friends. And here I was, 10 years later, ready to pose her for one of those demotivational posters: "Reality - As good as she looks, someone, somewhere is tired of her shit."

My lust for her had all but dried up. She was the most boring woman in bed I'd ever been with, and even the slightest suggestion to open her up was met with hostility and usually a several week hiatus in lovemaking.

In truth, she rarely turned me down, but she made it seem like such a chore. And I guess it was. When we first got together, it was God's greatest gift that I could climb between her legs, and fuck her repeatedly, spending thirty minutes or more pushing us over the peak. Unbelievable that I could be with this stone-cold fox. Our lovemaking was always extensive, and exhausting. She was hard to bring to orgasm, and as the years passed, little else changed. With enough coercion she'd lay back and open her beautiful legs for me, and I would be allowed to enter her. It would often require lube, since she wasn't excited, nor was she interested in allowing me the opportunity to excite her. I was less interested in working myself to death on top of her, than in getting my rocks off, and 5 minutes later I would roll off and we'd talk about the kids.

Why? How? What could I do?

Over time I found myself initiating the act less frequently. When the guys would rib me over going home to such a hottie, and having that available all the time, I'd just laugh and agree. How do you tell anyone your dream babe is a dreamsicle.

It was only at Halloween that she opened up a bit, and I could usually expect some extra loving leading up to the event, and for a short while after. Around Halloween, lube was rarely required, she'd be ready for me, and even respond underneath me. I loved Halloween.

My darling wife Amanda had been in discussions with Wendy almost constantly for nearly four weeks, and they hadn't come up with a costume yet. That was unusual for those two, especially Wendy, who was one of those 'crafty' stay at home moms. She always made home-made cards, invitations, and gifts, and was quite talented at it. Her artistic bent usually showed up in her original costumes.

I came home to find them discussing the topic one evening, and sat with them for a few minutes. It sounded like Wendy had come up with an idea for their costumes, and when I showed some curiosity, she laughingly pulled out a folded up piece of paper and showed it to me. It showed a model with a couple of pieces of fake fur draped across her chest and across her hips, barely covering the essentials.

"Something like that, but sluttier," she giggled.

It always amazed me how these women could dress so conservatively all year long, and then just go nuts one night a year. Not that I was complaining.

I looked up at her and scanned her body with a smile, "Looks competitive."

"Yeah, we thought getting away from the expected might work, and a captured slave cavewoman seems like a winner. I can play the fearful, uncomprehending, captive thrust into a future society. Could be kind of wild."

Wendy was always a favorite going into the contest. She was quite a looker, and I'm certain I wasn't the only husband each year fantasizing about the tasty MILF. She was tall, just a couple of inches shorter than me, and commonly wore 3" heels with her costume, towering over all the other women. If that wasn't bad enough, her long legs were impeccable, her round ass delectable, and her sweet tits, always showcased and presentable. Her outfits were always designed to emphasize her formidable assets.

"So have you worked ours out yet?" I asked my wife.

At 34, she still had a dynamite body. Where Wendy might be found on the cover of Vogue, Amanda was much more likely to grace the center of Playboy. She was an amazing natural beauty. If we ever did a Baywatch themed party, Wendy could do a fair Alexandra Paul (if just a little too busty), and Amanda would be a dead ringer for Erika Eleniak (think Under Siege, not Celebrity Fit Club).

She had asked me for ideas, and I had dug out an old Gor novel for her to read. I'd run into John Norman's Gor novels in college. My fraternity had nearly the entire series in their library. It was a world where warriors were the top of the social ladder, where women were natural slaves, and technology didn't work. It created a mostly agricultural world of constant battle, dangerous beasts, flying mounts, and casual sexual usage of women. Slaves were both the lowest and highest in worth, some bought for a few coppers, others sitting beside the highest of leaders. On Gor all women are gorgeous, and the most beautiful women of Earth are commonly kidnapped and taken to this barbaric planet, where they are considered to be among the best suited for slavery. The writing is average to poor, and the sex scenes are not graphic, but they are a titillating read for a young man.

She'd given me enormous grief over that, asking if that was how I viewed women. Laughingly, I explained that it was the most ritualized and best described fantasy slave culture I knew of. I also reminded her that as far as costumes go, Gor presented the most choices for incredibly sexy outfits. I didn't mention the bonus fact that it was the most overtly sexual.

"Admit it. It's just another sick male fantasy, where women let their 'true slave' out, and collapse in a heap of desire from the mere touch of a real man. It objectifies women as if they were nothing but unthinking, out-of-control sperm receptacles."

"It's not just another sick male fantasy," I argued. "For many it's THE male fantasy."

"Maybe your fantasy, you pig," she answered, smacking me.

I reached for her, "YOU would be my fantasy."

She seemed almost shocked by the statement. "Liar. We all know your fantasies live inside your laptop."

I shook my head and turned away. "You were my first fantasy. You're still my greatest fantasy."

I closed the door behind me.

Days later while we were watching TV, she asked me again. She'd been studying and was profoundly curious.

I told her it was commonly how men fantasized about women, whether they'd admit it or not. I was surprised when she asked if I had any more books in the series, and I gave her the first, then hit the used bookstores for a few more.

"It's so violent!" she remarked a few days later.

"Yes. Many men still dream of being in a culture of might makes right. Competing against other men for the spoils of war," I acknowledged.

"The violence is against the women too. It's so misogynistic."

"Just the opposite, I would say. The violence against the women is usually disciplinary not violence for its own sake. The discipline is designed to let the woman expose her true self. The worst that they describe is much less violent than the real world slavery atrocities of the last few centuries."

"So it's Ok to tie up women, drag them by their hair, whip them, gang rape them, make them servants by day and whores by night?" She asked.

"What do you think? In the stories, who wins in the end? Which of the women don't end up happy with the man they want? The men are tortured, starved, beaten, teased, humiliated and often killed. It's a violent, barbaric, fictional world. In the end, often as not, the slave girls conquer the master."

"It's stupid." She announced, ending the conversation.

And yet that night, when I cuddled up to her she turned to me readily. She touched me with care and opened her legs for me. When I entered her she was ready for me, and she moved beneath me, as if she enjoyed it. She even allowed me to change position, sitting up and lifting her legs wide. It was incredible being able to look down at my cock sliding in and out of her.

"Are you looking at it?" she asked, watching me intently.

"It's amazing," I gasped. "You're amazing."

For the first time I could recall in years, she came with me.

Afterwards she lay in my arms, and I looked down at the beauty I held and wondered how I could give her up. I thought she was nearly asleep when I heard her mutter, "Grow a beard."

Unfortunately that night was an aberration.

Now, two weeks later, we were back on the subject. This time with her friend Wendy there to keep things interesting.

"I haven't quite nailed it down yet, but I'm getting close. That Gor stuff, there's like a whole culture of it on the 'net. Someone just showed me the Second-Life Gor. It's hard to believe it has so many followers. But I will admit there's a lot of good ideas there for dressing up and playing the part of the slave," she confessed.

Wendy chimed in, "I gotta say, it seems kind of weird. The books are strange enough, but then I see all these women online going along with it. I mean, I've heard of submissives and all, but this is really strange."

"I read that over 3/4ths of the players in SL Gor are women, averaging mid 30's with 2 kids. Almost half play slaves. There are something like 11,000 females characters, and 6500 males characters. They have over 600 merchant shops for the players and only a handful are exclusively for men. It's so bizarre!" Amanda said.

Wendy laughed. "I never would have guessed that that many women had even read the series."

"I wouldn't be surprised if many of them hadn't," I said.

"Tell him about David," Wendy told Amanda with a nudge.

Amanda nodded and continued. "I just heard that Kim and David might be changing things up. Alice says she's got him dressed up as a Roman fighting slave, a Spartacus thing, and she's going as a wealthy patrician owner. How does that sound to you?" She asked with a twinkle in her eye.

"It could be fun, but I figure most of the women aren't going to pass on a chance to dress as wild as this, so there won't be many female owners to bid on him. And I know I'm not going to buy him!"

Wendy chimed in, "You wouldn't have to buy only him. It sounds like there's going to be several more slaves than masters. The invitation allows a 'Master' to bring more than one slave. I know that Alice is bringing her sister. And of course Erika's cousin Michelle is in. Now that Teri and Bill have separated she's looking to latch on with another couple, rather than try to find someone else to go with her as a slave. We thought about bringing her with us, but Vic was just a little too interested."

Wow. I don't know a man that wouldn't like to have Teri as his slave, her slender, firm body his to conquer. She'd been coming to these parties since the very first one. Why she and Bob ever broke up was a real mystery. Shit. What was I thinking? I was considering doing the same, or worse. Everyone would think I was fucking nuts.

I smiled for Amanda. "You interested in being 'first slave'? Having your own servant working under you? I don't imagine you would want to be a slave to a slave."

"You are such a pig!" Amanda snarled. "Is that what you want? One slave isn't enough, you need a harem?"

I was surprised at her response. "Hey! I'm just looking to help you out. You could be a pleasure slave, set her up as a household slave. Maybe I could sell you both as a package deal, to some poor unsuspecting fool," I teased. When I saw that I was further irritating her, I backpedaled. "Who're we kidding anyway? You know I'm leaving this in your hands. In the end, you'll only be as much of a slave as you want to be."

Little did I guess just how much that might be...

* * *

With two days to go before the party, I came home to a locked door with the house alarm set. We never set the alarm during the day.

"Is that you, Jack?" I heard my wife call, as I hurried to disarm the alarm.

"Who else?" I said, a little irritated by the rigmarole I was going through. I set my briefcase down and headed to the bedroom to get casual.

I walked in to quite a sight. Amanda was standing, wearing the simplest of costumes, a rough poncho-like outfit that barely covered her. The sides were open, and a rope belt held the sparse material tightly against her delicious form. The end of her outfit hung about half way down her thighs. From the front it was almost respectable. From the side it was absolutely pornographic. All of her amazing curves were on display, her soft, tender flesh very exposed. She had a leather collar around her slender neck. That was all she was wearing. It was an image right off the cover of a Gor novel. She would have done Boris Vallejo proud.

As I stepped forward, turning the corner, I saw what I hadn't been able to see at first. Teri Griffith was kneeling beside my wife, wearing only a loincloth, and a scrap of nearly transparent silk stretched across her breasts. The loincloth was made of white material hanging from a silver chain that encircled her tiny waist. Her legs were together with her hands crossed in her lap. She was sitting back on her heels, her back very straight, her head down. Her long black hair was hanging loosely over her shoulders. A collar around her neck was attached to a leash my wife held.

I was struck speechless, but my wife wasn't. "Nadu!" she barked.

Teri was instantly in action. She spread her legs widely, her hands opened and turned palm down on her thighs. She raised her head, tossing her hair back, and turning her head slightly, exposing her neck and shiny collar. It was the Gorean command for the slave to assume the pleasure position, and Teri had responded to it perfectly.

I stood in place, in shock. My eyes were drawn to our neighbor's open legs, the loose piece of cloth all that covered her womanhood from my view. A single piece of thin material was drawn between her thighs, tight against her crotch, then looped over the chain circling her waist, both front and back. From where I sat it was translucent and I could see the outline of her thighs and that precious 'V' between her legs. The outline of closely cropped dark brown pubic hair was clear. She seemed to tremble holding the position.

I tore my gaze away, back to my wife who had dropped down to a matching position. Her outfit wasn't able to cover her completely, and I now saw she was wearing the smallest thong possible, an inch wide shred of cloth barely covering her. My breath caught in my chest.

The outfits suited them perfectly. My wife was the more voluptuous of the two, and the rough cloth seemed only to accentuate her curves. Teri was slender, bordering on skinny, but the outfit she wore let her dark nipples peek through the material, hinting at their nature. The loincloth, hanging about 4 inches below her crotch, and only about 6 inches wide drew the eyes to the subtle curves of her hips and the space between her legs.

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byTx Tall Tales© 33 comments/ 112354 views/ 78 favorites

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