tagBDSMA REALLY Scary Halloween

A REALLY Scary Halloween

byJoe_Doe_Stories©

I was bored. Miserably, horribly, completely bored. When the fall semester began the drunken frat party that was Halloween on my college campus was the furthest thing from my mind.

I was 28, unmarried, and teaching was getting stale. I was involved with my church group; oddly enough our occasional missions to forsaken hellholes actually provided me with a bit of the excitement and adrenalin rush I craved.

The fall semester was a dreadful slog with a dull book and a horrific syllabus, and I felt rescued when the Department Chairman asked me to help him in an emergency and fill in for a special "Co-Ed Field Studies Trip" in Africa.

I wasn't totally naive. I knew the "Female Studies Trip" would consist most insufferable set of spoiled sorority brats to waste Daddy's money, with the University skimming a fat commission off the trip.

Nonetheless the trip offered me a chance trade the dungeon of a lecture hall for Africa. As a Classical Civilization Professor I had been to Africa although not to all the countries listed on the trip. Two of the countries were actually on the watch list and were not considered "safe" for Westerners but apparently that was part of the sales pitch as it allowed the girls to go somewhere most people never went and to brag to their friends back home about their exotic adventure.

We started out shorthanded and quickly became more so. Frank and Jim got dysentery in Zimbabwe and Lisa had to leave when her mother became ill and Lucy had left after the Congo which meant that at age 28 I was the sole adult guide for two dozen college age girls touring Africa. I begged my Department Chairman for reinforcements, but as we were in the last two weeks of the trip he was uninterested in taking any action that might reduce the school's fat profit margin.

Fortunately chaperoning was not an arduous job because by the time you're 19 you can do whatever the hell you want to do, plus the guides and the security teams ran the schedule. I had a particular spot of good luck in that our native guide for the final leg of the journey, Abdul, seemed unusually knowledgeable.

I liked Abdul. He had a way about him, a sort of oily street Arab charm that made his cheerful sexism and sly ways less offensive than they might otherwise have been. Like many of his ilk he was a natural salesman and a born negotiator. He excelled at keeping the girls in line, which freed me from babysitting duties and quelling the mob. Abdul was a born promoter, and had a clever way of making tomorrow (or the crappy beaded necklace he was trying to sell you) sound like the most amazing bargain. Of course I was still bored as I had see it all before but I amused myself by watching Abdul scam the girls.

Abdul was a street hustler and a great storyteller. Unlike the bimbos in my charge I knew a lot of it was bullshit, and that Alexander the Great and Napoleon hadn't been within 1,000 miles of where we were, but I let it go because his stories were entertaining.

As part of his hustle Abdul was constantly hitting on me, and failing miserably turned his attention to my students, until my rich collection of daddy's girls made it clear to him in their typically obnoxious way that they were way, WAY, out of his league. Like most men Abdul thought he was far more attractive than he was but their openly racist comments were far move offensive to me than his clumsy passes.

Abdul grew on me, and I was particularly glad he was our guide as I was unfamiliar with the backwater country on the final leg of the tour. To begin with, Abdul kept enough men with machine guns around to actually make me feel safe, plus Abdul seemed to know not only the country we were in but also everyone in the country. Everyone liked him and treated him with respect. Plus Abdul knew where all the best food and shopping were.

Of course I knew he was steering my students towards spending way more on the crappy glazed ceramics and jewelry then they should, but what of it? The girls on this tour had money to burn and as they would never think of tipping him it seemed only fair that he make his money via kickbacks on the trashy baubles he conned them into buying.

One of the more interesting girls on the tour was Julie, a 23-year-old graduate student from Denmark. Julie had originally been booked to take a trip to study psychology in Vienna but when the trip had been cancelled she had been dumped onto our trip so her University wouldn't have to give her a refund.

Julie was more studious than most of the other girls and was actually interested in learning. When it became obvious that the trip itself would not be providing her much in the way of psychological insights she made a subject of Abdul and his methods of manipulating the girls. Abdul didn't seem to mind her pointed questioning; indeed, he seemed amused.

When the subject of Halloween first came up Abdul seemed a bit baffled as I could tell that it was not a holiday he celebrated. But the girls quickly filled him in:

"Drinking"

"Costumes."

"Sexy Costumes!"

"Costume Parades and Costume Contests!"

"Candy Corn!"

"Candy Apples!"

"Scary stuff!"

"Scary pranks!"

"Trick-or-treat!"

"More Drinking!"

Of course in this country there wasn't much we could do to celebrate Halloween, other than get drunk, but still the girls speculated about what they might do for a Halloween party.

Julie's interest in Halloween was more psychological; she asked a lot of questions about the roles girls had assumed and wanted to know why a girl worth millions of dollars would dress up as a sexy pirate wench, Princess Leia slave girl, or a prostitute.

"So you, Jessica, Brittany, and Heather actually chained yourself together for Halloween?" Julie asked.

"Just at the ankles," Heather explained.

"Yeah, the guys thought it was really hot," Brittany said.

"It was really hot, until dumb-dumb Brittany lost the key and we had to sleep three in a row," Stephanie said. "You totally screwed my date with Steve."

"I don't remember you complaining when you were licking my nipples at 4AM," Brittany replied.

I could tell Julie was shocked as this wasn't how they celebrated Halloween in Denmark. However I could also tell that the roleplaying and power exchange aspects seemed to intrigue her and I wondered if there might be deeper waters behind her quiet façade. I also noticed that as Abdul was pretending to read his map he was eavesdropping intently.

Like Halloween, the topic of slave markets introduced itself gradually. Abdul mentioned it the day after Frank and Jim had left for the hospital. He brought it up again, mentioning that this area of the country was a major hub of the slave trade.

"Ew, filthy black people on filthy wooden boats!" Taylor said disdainfully.

"My family made our fortune running sugar plantations in New Orleans and the West Indies," Stephanie said proudly.

"A brutal business," Abdul said, shaking his head. "Much suffering. Much pain."

"Fuck that," Stephanie said, laughing. "My family made a lot of money." All the girls laughed, for if they didn't appreciate human suffering, they did appreciate money.

"Yeah, who cares about a bunch of filthy darkies, anyway? They got a free ride to America, and we gave them jobs, didn't we?" Taylor said.

I winced at their insensitivity but Abdul seemed unperturbed. "You reflect the opinions of your colonial ancestors well," he said, "however you should also know that not all of the slaves were black. Some of them were white. Some were even white women."

"Is that true, Professor? Did they really sell white women here?"

"Yeah, like the Arabian Knights?" Sophie said. "Or THOSE stories?"

I should explain at this point that I had developed something of a friendship with Sophie, based in part on our mutual love of racy romance novels. Sophie was Canadian and a truly sweet girl, kind and considerate, who liked swimming and shopping, and unlike the other girls had actually paid for the trip as she had no rich daddy to write the check.

Sophie was a bit shy, but she also had a deeply submissive side, as the abduction stories she shared with me were even more wonderful than the romance novels I enjoyed. She and her friend Patrice introduced me to an author named Joe Doe, and the adventures of a girl named Victoria in Africa, an absurd if entertaining tale that brought me numerous nights of reading pleasure.

Not wanting to spoil Abdul's tale I hedged. "The Barbary Pirates were quite active at the beginning of the 19th century," I explained, "although that was considerably North of where we are now."

"Your Professor speaks the truth," Abdul said, "and I humbly defer to her scholarship. However by your American Halloween I promise I will show you sights that will broaden your understanding of your 'peculiar institution.' I smiled at his typical "stay tuned" tease.

The next day Abdul again conflated the subject Halloween and the slave trade. "Speaking of scary things, I am sad to say that slavery is not entirely a thing of the past. There are places in this region where this barbaric custom is still practiced. However it is not a think to discuss with proper ladies such as yourself."

"Do they really sell women?" Sophie asked. "WHITE women?"

"Yeah, Brittany, you might actually be worth something," Taylor said.

"More than you, Brittany. Unless they pay by the pound."

Ouch.

"Halloween is coming soon," Stephanie said. "Maybe we should have an Arabian Nights costume contest."

It was a throwaway line but I could tell that Abdul liked the idea. "Yes, you ladies would look lovely indeed, in your traditional African slave garb," he offered. "To see you all together in your slave girl costumes would be a vision to behold."

"I'd wear red silk, to contrast my blonde hair," Taylor said.

"Yeah, fake red, since you're a bleached blonde," Brittany replied sarcastically.

The girls pressed him but Abdul refused to elaborate, promising only "further delights tomorrow."

When I saw him alone in the elevator that night I complimented him. "You're a wonderful storyteller, and particularly that bit about Halloween. I love the way you constantly bait the hook so they can hardly wait for tomorrow. I'm going to talk to the University about giving you a bonus."

"There is no need. I am actually worth quite a bit more money than most of your charges but a wise man does not flaunt his wealth, particularly in this country."

"Unlike my girls?"

"I would not presume," he said, demurring in that sly way of his.

Abdul's explanation of his common dress made sense but in truth it was hard to tell where the bullshit stopped with him. "If you're so wealthy why do you give tours?"

He smiled. "I saw at Breakfast you were reading one of your American romance novels. PLANTATION SLAVE GIRL, it is called?"

"Sorry, I didn't know anyone could see the cover," I said.

"You are blushing, which is most adorable. You are a beautiful woman, Suzanne, with beautiful red hair. Red is the color of passion."

"The girls in the tour are hotter than I am, Abdul. Try them."

"You have answered your own question, Professor. They are silly, foolish girls. You are a woman. Your accent... It is from the American South, is it not?"

"Mississippi," I said.

"Ah yes, a state famous for it's race relations. Your people used to buy and sell slaves, black slaves. Do you fantasize about those days? Do not be embarrassed; I know from your reading you are a woman with strong desires."

"I beg your pardon," I said, stepping back.

"Your novel is about slavery, is it not? A man makes a woman of a different color his pleasure slut? In this part of the world these are not Halloween stories to frighten children. Here, any woman may be bought and sold."

"Any woman?" I said, curious as to his meaning.

"Yes, any woman can be enslaved. However a truly great pleasure slave must be born, then carefully cultivated like an exquisite flower."

I laughed out loud. "I think you missed your boat, Captain."

"Or perhaps you have missed yours? Tell me, if I am wrong, why have you not pressed an elevator button yet?"

Abdul laughed as I felt myself blush again. I hastily pressed a button, the wrong button, actually. Trying to break the awkward silence I said. "You never answered my question. Why would a wealthy man give tours?"

"I answered your question, Professor" he replied, smiling, "but like most women you do not listen."

Puzzled I stared at him as the elevator doors closed. Feeling most uncomfortable I got off the elevator, walked down the stairs to the correct floor and returned to my room to enjoy PLANTATION SLAVE GIRL in the privacy of my bathtub, where I let my fingers do the walking.

The next morning started well. Abdul began. "Today we shall examine the local economy through something you Americans refer to as 'retail therapy.'" My group of fashionistas cheered.

Abdul continued "the tour" as we walked to the first open air market. "My country is poor, and we eat what we can hunt or grow. We extract petroleum products but that is pilfered by the government and not shared with the people. Then there are various underground markets, many of them quite unsavory."

"Slave markets?" Suki asked.

Abdul stopped, looked both ways, and with a great sense of drama pulled us into a deserted alley, with his machine gun toting guards all around us. After extracting a solemn promise from each of us he confided, "The slave markets of your Western romance novels are not a thing of the past."

I knew the "Western romance novels" crack was meant for me but as it sailed over the heads of my clueless charges I ignored it.

"There are many such slave markets in this area. But they are a place Westerners -- particularly Western women - cannot go," he said. "Not even the richest, or the smartest, or the most powerful. Of course, the great Abdul knows ways," he added cryptically. "It might make an exciting day trip, particularly on your American Halloween."

"You seem to know a lot about the subject," Julie observed. "Have you ever been to one of these slave markets?"

"A good tour guide must see everything," Abdul said.

"Have you ever owned a slave?" Julie said.

"Oh, don't be gross!" Taylor said. "Abdul's like, the help!"

"How many markets like this are there?" Julie asked. "Are they local, or international?"

"Maybe we can tag Brittany as an export," Stephanie sniped.

"More like a reject," Taylor added.

"Guys, Julie's asking good questions. Let's listen to Abdul," Sophie said. I was impressed as it was a rare moment of Sophie standing up to the "popular" girls.

Suki had Sophie's back. "Yes, tell us more, Abdul."

My spoiled students, used to getting everything they wanted instantly, DEMANDED that Abdul tell them more, but clearly enjoying the power his secret gave him he demurred.

Still, through the morning shopping his hints continued. "That scarf is like something from the harem of The Arabian nights. It could make an award winning Halloween costume. I could take you to such a place. Imagine the stories you could tell your friends! No, no. Abdul says too much. Let us get some pastries instead."

"Screw the cookies," Brittany said.

"Yeah, tell us about the slave market," Taylor insisted. "Are the girls hot?"

"They're way hotter than YOU, Taylor," Patrice sniped. "Otherwise no one would buy them."

"Indeed they are most beautiful," Abdul replied, suavely diffusing the catfight. "Some of the most beautiful women on the continent, or any continent, are sold there."

"Western women?" Sophie asked, clearly taken back by the idea.

"Indeed."

"Asian women?" Suki asked.

"Yes, of course," Abdul said. "They are beautiful and they are prized for their intelligence." Suki smiled at the compliment.

"Suki's our math geek."

"That means her tits are small."

"Yeah, like our little Danish over there," Brittany said, pointing to an embarrassed Julie. "Miss Bee-stings."

"She is a blonde," Abdul said, "and her skin is very fair. She would trade well on the markets." I smiled as Julie blushed.

"I'd get the most!" Taylor said. "I'm a blonde."

"But not a NATURAL blonde," Brittany corrected her. "I'd get more than you."

"Yeah, Taylor's an aviator blonde," Patrice teased. "Blonde on top, with a black box!"

There was some laughter at this but Abdul's attention soon focused on me. "Redheads also bring excellent prices," he said. "Especially girls with stunning, curly, auburn hair, and piercing green eyes."

"The Professor's blushing!" Patrice cackled, "He thinks she'd make a hot slave girl!"

I quickly turned the tables. "Abdul will sell anything, including stories, to any girl foolish enough to buy them."

"What do you think of the slave trade, Abdul?" Julie asked.

"It exists. It is like asking me what I think of Halloween."

Julie pressed on. "I mean, what do you think of it, morally? Would you bid on a naked girl?"

"A naked WHITE girl?" Sophie said, sharpening the question.

"I do not see the difference," Abdul said, "white or black, blonde or redhead, they are all slaves, are they not? You in America think too much of race."

"I'm from Denmark, and you're not standing on the moral high ground," Julie said. "You're a merchant. Do you buy and sell women?"

The directness of Julie's question surprised me. I knew Abdul was involved in the local markets but in truth until that moment it had never occurred to me that he might actually be a participant in the slave trade.

"If you go into a McDonalds, are you a butcher?" Abdul said. "Wednesday exists, and I exist in Wednesday, and that is the way of things. But your Professor is right, as always. Abdul tells too many stories. It is time for our jellab. I have no Halloween Candy Corn for you; the jellab will have to do."

The jellab was indeed delicious. Of course once again the subject of the slave markets came up, only to my surprise this time Abdul did not dissemble.

"I could get you into the slave market," he said, "a place no Western woman has seen, or at least, seen and returned to tell the tale. There is one way. But for another time."

"Tell us NOW," Patrice said.

"You said Westerners weren't allowed," Sophie said, confused. "How would we get in?"

Abdul nodded. "You are correct. You would not be going as Westerners. However on Halloween you are permitted to pretend to be something that you are not? To wear a costume?"

"Yes..." Patrice said tentatively, knowing where this was going.

"Excellent. On Halloween I could bring you in as slaves."

Peculiar as it may seem after the long buildup the suggestion seemed perfectly logical; indeed, most of the girls had thought of it themselves. Abdul's talk of white slave girls had triggered the girls to talk of each other as slaves and argue on who would fetch the better price. Once introduced, the outrageous became rational, its normality ingrained by daily repetition, like water wearing down a rock.

We wanted to get into the slave market. The only way Western women were allowed into the slave market was as slaves. Halloween was coming up: "the day of masquerades" as Abdul said. He had never explicitly connected the dots for us, but he didn't have to. Abdul had carefully led us inside a logical syllogism that could not be escaped.

Not everyone was equally impressed. "He's conditioning you guys," Julie said. "He's breaking down your resistance by gradually exposing you, a bit more each time."

"Yeah, his stories get hotter every time he tells them," Heather said.

"I'm serious. He's manipulating you, bit by bit. This is how they cure phobias."

"Thank you Dr. Julie," Brittany said. "Do mean phobias, like fear of your little tits?"

"All brains, no boobs," Taylor sniggered.

Julie, embarrassed by the alpha girls bullying, fell silent.

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