A REALLY Scary Halloween

byJoe_Doe_Stories©

Taylor did not like serving as a barmaid but the girls were so engrossed in the conversation that she immediately rendered the service requested.

"Did you actually say BRANDING?" Julie said, steering the conversation back on topic. "With a hot iron?"

"Is that even possible?" Stephanie said, clearly struggling with the idea. "I mean, a brand? On a girl?"

"It is quite possible," the Colonel replied. "Indeed, I have seen it done countless time. It's quite fun to watch, actually, although less so for the object of the iron's affections."

"Brands?" Brittany said. "You mean like Calvin Klein, or Versace? But I thought we'd be naked."

At this the Colonel, obviously amused by Brittany's blonde stupidity, laughed so hard he showered me with his disgusting snuff. "No, my dear. The brands I speak of would be permanent marks of ownership, burned into your skin. Of course, the brands might be a tad bigger than what you might use on a goat of course, more like one what might use on a horse or a cow."

"Moo-Moo" Taylor said, poking Brittany.

"What sort of brand?" Stephanie asked. "What does it look like?"

The Colonel examined his brandy in the light as he spoke. "Typically when the girls are sold at wholesale, the entire lot of them will be placed in a large branding rack and branded together, for efficiencies sake. Each girl will wear the mark of the house that traded her, as a record of her ownership, and proof of title. When dealing with a large inventory one naked slave girl looks very much like the other, and the brand makes it easy to trace the girl back to the flesh monger that originally enslaved her."

"Couldn't they just take their fingerprints?" Suki asked.

"Sometimes they do," the Colonel allowed, taking a sip of his brandy. "But branding is a part of the tradition, and this is a land of tradition. A red hot branding iron is the simplest and fastest way for a slave to understand that she is no longer a person but merely an animal, no different than a pig or cow."

"Moo-moo!" Taylor chimed in, nudging Brittany again.

"I think you'd need a particularly big brand, for Taylor's fat ass," Brittany replied.

The girls wanted to know more, but the Walrus, drunk on his brandy, staggered off to relieve himself. I am not sure if he retired to his room or fell asleep on the toilet, but he disappeared for the night.

Later that night I was awoken by a knock on the door. Slipping on a short robe and seeing it was the Colonel I concluded there might be some emergency involving one of the girls so I opened my hotel room door.

Much to my surprise the rather drunken Colonel tried to force his way into my room, grabbing my breast under my robe explaining that I was his choice since he "wanted to fuck something with a brain." I retreated into my room and he advanced, but as it was dark he did not see the pepper spray coming.

"You read-headed BITCH!" he screamed. "You'll pay for that!"

Fortunately he was blinded, which made it easy to kick his drunken ass out the door as I alternated between striking him in the face and in the balls. That was the last I saw of the Walrus, goo-goo-ga-joob.

The next morning I rose before breakfast to meet with Abdul and tell him about our meeting with The Fat Walrus. To my surprise he confirmed the details of the Colonel's tall tales, and then asked a question that surprised me.

"Did you find his tales exciting, in a Halloween sort of way?"

I told him I did not understand.

"The girls in your group are difficult to manage, spoiled and obnoxious. They are also quite racist, and treat my men badly. Surely you have noticed this?"

He was right. The girls were not merely difficult they were impossible, spoiled and whiny. Still, not entirely willing to concede, I said, "Sophie and Julie are nice," I countered.

"Yes, they are nice enough, but the rest are rude and disrespectful. Yet they are not unattractive. Does the thought of them being led naked to the streets to the slave market excite you?"

"I don't know what you mean by excite."

"I think you do. When you asked me about the branding, you had the trace of a smile on your lips. Many people have such fantasies. Taylor and Brittany can be quite unreasonable. Surely you have felt the desire to see them punished. Julie thinks she is smarter than you, and that I am leading you astray. Does the thought of them being whipped or sold or even branded please you? It is like the slave girl romance novels you read, is it not?"

"Those are fiction."

"So is Halloween. But what if it were not? Imagine for a moment that Halloween was real; that there was a day-of-the-devil, when evil ruled, and your fantasies could come true. Does such a thing excite you? You jump out of airplanes and bungee jump and simulate danger, in an attempt to feel alive. Imagine I could give you a Halloween where you were genuinely frightened, and truly scared. Would you flee or would you enjoy the rush?"

"I think you might be overestimating your abilities," I replied. "I'm a little old for trick-or-treating."

"Indeed you are. I ask only that you keep an open mind. When I did this tour last year your tour company did not give me the final half of my payment. I am a small African vendor and they figured it would be convenient not to pay me. The commission on even one of your girls would more than make up for it."

"More bullshit. White women for sale in Aisle 3?"

Abdul laughed out loud. "You dismiss what frightens you. That is your choice, but I warn you: Halloween is coming."

"Boo," I said dismissively.

At breakfast Taylor was all over Abdul about the brandings.

"Is that even... you know... a THING?" she asked.

Abdul was as laconic as ever.

"Do you put tags on your luggage?" Abdul asked.

"Yes," Taylor replied.

"Why?"

"Because I own my bags."

"Exactly. In America, do you brand your cows and horses?"

"Yes," Taylor said. "The horses at my daddy's ranch have brands."

"Ah, a young lady with experience!" Abdul said brightly. "So you branded your horses to show your ownership, did you not?"

"Yes, I guess so."

"Are slave girls owned?" Abdul asked, closing the trap.

"Yes... I suppose so," Taylor admitted reluctantly. "At least in this country."

"Then you have answered your own question," Abdul said. "I love this coffee. It has a delightful hint of cinnamon, does it not?"

"Uh, yeah, great coffee," Brittany said.

"So do they use like, a hot iron?" Julie asked, obviously hoping for some type of tattoo gun.

"A cold iron would have little effect," he said, chuckling.

Ignoring the diversion Stephanie took over. "So slave girls are branded with a red hot iron?"

"Some things are best hot," Abdul replied taking another sip of his coffee. "The coffee is excellent, is it not?"

"Where are they branded?" Sophie asked

"Typically at the slave market, or sometimes in their master's slave pen."

"No, I mean... Where on their bodies?" Sophie said, looking more than a little nervous.

"It varies. Sometimes on the shoulder, the thigh, the breast, or the bottom. Sometimes they are branded on their shaved pubis. A slave girl is branded wherever it pleases their master to leave his mark."

"I think your ass would look cute with a brand, Taylor," Brittany teased.

"My ass would look fine with anything," Taylor bragged. She had bravado about her, but I noticed her tensing a bit as Abdul smiled at her in that disturbing way of his. Although there was never an explicit threat there was something about his manner that made it seem like branding her ass was not all together out of the question.

On October 30th we toured one of the old slave forts on the coast, an experience the girls found quite fascinating given that Halloween was tomorrow. They pressed Abdul for details, and asked him if they still whipped slaves, and chained them together, and loaded them onto ships for transport.

"What's past is prologue," he said, walking over to Taylor. Looking at Taylor pointedly he said, "Your ancestor ran such a business, did they not. The slaves would be packed in tightly, with little light and air. The wenches would be taken onto the decks and used by the crew."

"What do I care?" Taylor said indifferently. "You said yourself that slaves are merchandise." Abdul smiled.

Julie and Sophie and Suki were more studious than the other girls and actually took the official tour of the slave fort while the other girls treated it as yet another goof, teasing one another as they played with the shackles and posed on the auction block in way that was most disrespectful to the history of the location.

I think we were on the verge of being thrown out, at least until Abdul whispered something to one of the guards. The guard smiled and nodded, and the girls were allowed to continue their horseplay, although I did notice that as the word of what Abdul said to the first guide spread across the staff the girls were all subjected to a plethora of whispers, suggestive smiles and leers.

Julie, Sophie, and Suki's were deeply unnerved. "This country is TERRIBLE!" Sophie exclaimed. "They treated the girls like animals."

"No ethics whatsoever," Julie added.

Abdul regarded them pleasantly. "Slaves are animals, chattel to be bought and sold. As for ethics, they are a product of your time and place, are they not?"

"No," Julie said. "I understand the concept of situational ethics, thank you very much, but some things are just wrong."

"How delightfully provincial of you. Spoken like a true EU member! You and Sophie are good friends. Have you ever slept with her?"

"No, of course not," Julie replied, as a blushing Sophie looked away. "I'm not into girls."

"So you've never kissed a girl?" Abdul asked.

"At a party," Julie admitted reluctantly, "but I was drinking and..."

"Exactly my point. The group you were in determined your ethics. If you were a slave girl in a place like this you and Sophie might be required to do far more than kiss, and I might very much enjoy watching."

Sophie and Julie eyed each other nervously, then clearly embarrassed looked away. Abdul, pleased to have thrown my two best students seriously off their footing, smiled broadly as he walked away in triumph.

On the morning of the 31st Abdul piled our group into a large bus. The outrageous become expected, and there were titters of nervous anticipation when he told us he was taking us to "a special Halloween parade, and then a special Halloween party." The girls all expected something was coming and we made the short trip to the walls of the old city in a nervous, anticipatory silence.

The bus stopped at an ancient and dusty courtyard outside the 50-foot high ancient walls of the old city. As the girls got off the bus Abdul handed them empty plastic bag Halloween bags decorated with pumpkins, grinning witches, ghosts, black cats, and jack-o-lanterns.

"Happy Halloween" he said as he handed out the bags, alternating it with a cheerful, "trick-or-treat".

"Why is my bag empty? Shouldn't we get candy and shit?" Jessica said.

"I hope you're not expecting us to garbage pick this dump," Taylor said, looking around disdainfully.

"No, ladies," Abdul explained. "I am keeping my promise to you, and I am taking you to the slave market. It is time for you to put on your costumes."

"You mean..." Suki's voice trailed off.

"Yes. The trick-or-treat bags are for your clothes."

The announcement was met with applause and cheers. "All right! Way to go Abdul!" Taylor said.

"See? I told you he could pull it off."

After the prolonged buildup the girls were eager to finally see the slave market firsthand. All of the girls began to undress, Sophie and Suki a bit more reluctantly than the rest.

Julie, arms folded, remained frozen in place. "Do you need help?" Abdul said. "What is the Danish word for naked?"

"Nøgen," she replied. "What's Arabic for fuck you?"

Abdul laughed. "There is no need to be shy, my little Danish. I have imagined you naked many, many times."

Julie squirmed a bit as Abdul, looking her up-and-down, laughed. "I'm not like these other bubble heads, Abdul. I'm a psychology major. I know what you're doing. I understand gradual conditioning and exposure therapy. Your tricks don't work on me."

"Really?" he said, still smiling. "Then why are you still here? And why is your little friend Sophie still stripping?

Sophie, who had taken off her shirt, immediately stopped as she awaited Julie's cue.

"We have been building to this point for several weeks, but still you did not leave, or attempt to escape. If the idea of being naked in a slave market does not intrigue you, why did you wait, until it came to this?"

"Take off your clothes, Julie," Brittany said.

"Yeah, quit acting like your Danish ass is so much smarter than everyone else's."

"Why isn't she stripping?" Julie said, pointing at me.

"She is the teacher. You are the student. You are here to learn."

I smiled at Julie triumphantly. She did not smile back. Power has its privileges.

"My men could simply undress you," Abdul said.

Julie said nothing. She simply stared him down, unfazed.

"However that will not be necessary. You are free to go."

The girls stopped stripping as everyone turned at this unexpected development.

"You mean... I can leave?"

"Me too?" Sophie said. Suki too stopped stripping.

"Yes, you are free to go. Of course my men will need to stay here, and guard the group, because this a very dangerous section of the city, controlled by warlords. A white woman walking alone would be an attractive target; two or three white women would be an even greater prize. If you are lucky you may beat us to the slave market, where you will be sold. I will be able to do nothing for you, for you will no longer be under my protection."

"Or perhaps you will simply be killed my brigands or killed by soldiers as you walk down the street. A waste of valuable merchandise, as I think you would fetch an excellent price. I will regret your death, but it will be unavoidable. I will tell you parents that you foolishly left the group."

Abdul turned and walked away, leaving Julie to her fate as if it were no great concern.

The other girls, Sophie included, continued stripping.

Julie looked at me, hoping for deliverance. "Don't you see?" she said. "This is what he wants. He's playing us off against one another."

I smiled and shrugged, relishing her predicament.

Eventually, Julie began unbuttoning her blouse. I grinned as she glared daggers at me.

"About time," Brittany sneered.

"Yeah, hurray for the Great Dane!" Taylor said, wiggling out of her cutoff shorts.

As the girls stripped Abdul walked the line, urging them on.

"That's it, my fine ladies. Everything off! You can bring nothing to the slave market. No purses. No smart phones. No watches, rings, or jewelry. No hairbands. That's it... panties too! Do not be shy. You must look the part. You must be as naked as a goat, or horse, or any other animal that can be bought and sold."

"Do the guards have to watch us?" Sophie asked, pointed to the masked, machine gun toting black men.

"Their presence is for your own safety. Do not fear. These men are my most trusted assistants."

"What's with the whips?" Brittany asked, pointing at one of the coiled leather whips on the security guard's belts.

"It's part of their costumes, STUPID," Taylor shot back.

"Yeah, duh, like... It's HALLOWEEN!" Brittany said.

Abdul smiled and nodded. "Yes, quite right. There costumes are quite authentic!"

I noted the gun toting men in the black robes did indeed have coiled whips on their belts, which certainly added to their sinister appearance.

Abdul, smiling, continued walking the line. "That is right... absolutely naked. Put everything in the Halloween bags! Trick-or-Treat! Yes, your sandals, too. Slave girls must go to market barefoot. Hurry. There is no need to be bashful."

I stood next to Abdul, arms crossed, smiling smugly as my girls stripped. I have to admit that I was a bit surprised at how much I was enjoying the pre-game show. The girls were a handful and it wasn't exactly unpleasant watching them being ordered about.

Brittany, Stephanie, and the other girls seemed quite cavalier about it (or at least they tried to act that way) but I could see that Taylor didn't like stripping in front of the black men, and Julie, Suki and Sophie were clearly embarrassed. They were the nicest of the bunch, and I suppose I might have felt sorry for them, but as they were still part of this group it was right they pay the penalty.

"Earrings too," Abdul commanded. "Anything that can be snagged during transport and which can be removed must go in your bag."

I felt a strange sense of power being the one fully clothed woman in front of a line of nearly naked young women. "Come on, girls, it's Halloween," I called out, joining in on the fun. "Let's get those costumes on," I said, laughing.

Abdul and his men laughed too. As the girls stripped, I allowed my eyes to leisurely run up-and-down the line, admiring breasts, legs, and pussies. Some of the girls were shaved and some were trimmed. Sophie and Suki had their natural bushes. All were young and attractive.

I felt a distinct sense of satisfaction as I watched the overpriced Abercrombie & Fitch shorts and stylish Gucci sandals and diamond pendants and bracelets and expensive silk lingerie disappear into the childish trick-or-treat bags.

"That's right, girls, put on your birthday suits!" I teased. "The men at the slave market will want to see you in the costumes God gave you. Time to dress up like Eve... or Lady Godiva!" I chortled.

There was a bit of a delay with Jessica, as she wanted to keep her earrings.

"DUH!" Brittany said, tweaking Jessica's earlobe with her finger. "Uh, like slave girls shop at Tiffany's!"

"More like she got them on E-bay!" Taylor said, laughing as she slid her lacy red panties down her long legs and used one foot to playfully dangle them over the pumpkin candy bag at her feet before dropping them in with the rest of her clothes.

"Way to spread your legs, Taylor," Brittany said sarcastically. "Like, you just gave black guy behind you a total beaver shot."

"Oooh, don't be gross," Taylor said. "He's not a GUY. He's like... the Halloween-bag-guy."

I had been a bit surprised that Taylor had actually stripped in front of the black men, but her dismissive attitude made her motivations clear. The robed, masked men around us were not, in her mind, men at all, but servants. It was no different than sunbathing in front of the pool boy.

I watched as Patrice wiggled her underpants over her shapely bottom, bending over to pull them off her feet one at a time. The man behind her tapped the whip in his palm impatiently, lovingly running his fingers over the whip as he eyed her curvaceous bare cheeks. The keffiyeh over his mouth covered most of the smile on his face, but the way his fingers teased the wicked black lash spoke volumes.

"Everything off, Ladies," Abdul said, in a voice both encouraging and insistent. "The day is only getting hotter, and we don't want to burn your alabaster white skin."

One of the men led a donkey pulling a rickety, empty cart into the courtyard. The cart looked positively stone aged and was far to small for twenty girls to ride in, let alone all the men.

"Oh, he's cute!" Amanda said, petting the donkey.

"I think he likes you Brittany," Taylor said.

After the initial delay Julie stripped quickly, obviously anxious to get it over with. She was the fairest of the group, quite pale, and indeed had small breasts. Embarrassed, she stood in the line with her hands folded over her chest, staring at her naked feet.

Perhaps to delay the proceedings Sophie went over to pet the donkey but as she was the slowest of the strippers one of the men blocked her way and pushed her back into line. This was not a petting zoo. The donkey watched impassively as the girls stripped off the rest of their clothes.

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