A REALLY Scary Halloween

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At this sage warning Stephanie and several of the other girls who still had their purses pulled out tubes of sunscreen which they slathered all over their naked bodies before handing the cream to the girls whose purses were already bagged. Julie used it liberally; as the fairest of the girls she would need it!

"Passports and cellphones too, ladies," Abdul said, eying Suki, who still clutching her useless brick cellphone and passport as she nervously bit her lip. "Into the candy bags!" he said cheerfully.

"Why can't we keep our passports?" Suki asked.

"Slave girls require no passports," Abdul replied. "If you did cross the border you would not travel as a person but rather as an export. Do not worry, my beautiful Japanese cherry blossom. I have already prepared your titles."

"Titles?" Sophie said, confused. "You mean, like royalty?"

"That's cool!" Brittany said, overhearing me. "I'll be a Princess!"

"Princess Pea-brain," Taylor shot back.

"What sort of titles?" I asked, confused.

Abdul stopped his walk up-and-down the line and walked over to answer my question in private. "The girls need to have some sort of legal identification before we bring them into the marketplace, as a prudent precaution in case there is an ownership dispute. After all, it's not like a naked slave girl can pull out her driver's license."

Like everything else Abdul said the fact, when presented by itself, made perfect sense. "So it's a document that keeps them safe?" I said, assuring myself with his explanation.

"Precisely. Their basic information has already been entered into the manifest and is on the bill of lading in my pocket. Of course the formal title will require fingerprints and photographs so the girl can be clearly identified."

"Photographs?" I said. "But they're naked!"

"Not to worry. These photographs will be printed on the legal forms we will use to bring them to market, not their Facebook pages. They would only be used in the event of a conveyance."

"A conveyance?"

"Yes, a transfer of title," he said, using the same casual tone of voice he used when bargaining for coffee in the marketplace.

My pulse quickened and I felt a strange tingle of excitement between my legs as I realized what the word "title" meant. Slowly I let my eyes run down the line of naked girls, their clothes, wallets, and passports stuffed into the cheap Halloween bags at their feet.

There was a brief dispute as Jennifer asked if she could keep the cheap plastic beads she had bought at the market that morning from one of Abdul's friends, arguing that they were local. To my surprise, Abdul agreed, saying they shiny multicolored bead string "was the sort of cheap trinket a foolish slave girl might prize."

"I paid $75 for these!" Jennifer protested. "They're authentic African slave beads," without a trace of irony.

"75 American dollars, or the wipe-my-ass-money the locals use?" Taylor sneered. Taylor's arms were folded and her head was cocked. I was amazed; even totally naked she looked disdainful.

"They're not worth 75 cents," Suki replied, looking quite nervous as one of the men walked down the line and dumped the bag containing their possessions onto the donkey cart. The donkey brayed as the bags landed.

"Be careful, idiot," Taylor said. "My phone is worth more than your village." The man seemed to understand the insult, but ignored it. I had the strange sense that under his covered face he was smiling.

Jennifer was smiling broadly, fingering her colorful beads. "They beads are worthless, Jennifer," Julie explained. "That's why he's letting you keep them. Worthless beads for a foolish little slave girl."

I watched as Alice, unabashed by her nakedness, casually explained the dry stonewall technique used to form the ancient barriers that formed the ancient courtyard. Seeing her standing stark naked against the old stonewall you'd never imagine she was a wealthy heiress worth millions of dollars. Somehow, her standing stark naked in the African courtyard seemed natural and correct.

When all the girls were naked Abdul turned to me. "I almost forgot," he said casually. "Here is your bag, Professor," Abdul said, casually handing me a plastic bag.

I looked at the bag. It was orange with a picture of a skeleton holding a pumpkin and the words HAPPY HALLOWEEN emblazoned across the front.

"Place all of your possessions in here," Abdul said simply. "Purse and passport too."

"Place MY possessions?" I said, not understanding as I looked into the orange pit of my empty Halloween bag.

Abdul smiled. "Of course. Surely you did not wish to abandon your students?" he asked, feigning confusion.

"Of course not," I said. "I'd never do that."

"Precisely. We agreed that those who wanted to visit our slave market would have to do so in the guise of slaves, did we not?"

"Yes," I replied. Abdul was smiling, toying with me like a fat cat toying with a cornered mouse. In retrospect I'm not sure why I was surprised; it made sense that I would need to go to market naked as well. However in our conversations we had always spoken of "the girls" and I had always excluded myself from their ranks. It was obvious now that Abdul saw no such distinction.

We both knew where this was going, but he took his time, savoring the growing tension as he ever so slowly tightened the noose around my neck. "As their chaperone you are duty bound to keep a close watch on them, are you not?" he said.

"Yes, of course," I agreed, not liking one bit where this logic was taking me, but helpless to deny the facts as he presented them.

"So to fulfill your duty you must assume -- temporarily, at least - the guise of a slave," he said. "If you wish to keep them safe."

"I don't want to abandon anyone, but..."

"You are not wearing a costume. It is Halloween, is it not?"

"Yes."

"And on Halloween you Westerners like to wear costumes, do you not?"

"Yes, but..."

"You are a clever fox!" Abdul said, reaching forward to playfully tweak my nose. "But sometimes even the cleverest fox can get caught in her own trap. It is time for you to put on your costume, like the other girls," he said, indicating the naked girls behind him.

"Of course if you're scared, and want to simply call it off, you are welcome to leave."

"With a guard?"

"Actually, all of them. I will have the girls dress, and we all go back to the hotel and have the girls exchange spooky stories at the bar all night. Halloween will be over and you will all be quite safe."

"Don't you dare!" Taylor said. "I didn't take off all my clothes for nothing!"

A few minutes ago I had been teasing them and watching smugly as they all stripped. Now I was the one who was blushing. Seeing the chance for payback, the other girls piled on.

"Come on, PROFESSOR!" Brittany said, "Time to put on your costume!"

"Yeah, we want to see you all dressed up!" Stephanie said, laughing.

"Time to put on your birthday suit!"

"We should all go back," Julie said. "This is our chance! Don't you see? He's playing us off against each other. Divide and conquer."

Now that I was on the receiving end I realized that Julie was right all along, as I recalled all of the subtle tricks that Abdul had used to undermine the trust between us. But it was too late now, and soon even Sophie and Suki joined in for the calls for me to strip.

I was quickly surrounded by twenty-four naked girls unzipping, unbuttoning, and undressing me. It was then that I realized Abdul's genius. If he had ordered me to strip with the other girls I might have called the entire thing off. By stripping the other girls first he had created a momentum that was truly irresistible.

"Let's get those panties off!" Brittany said.

"Yeah," Stephanie said. "Let's see the rest of her costume!"

I gasped in humiliation as my panties were unceremoniously yanked down to my knees by a half dozen pair of hands.

"Her rug's even redder," Taylor said.

"Yeah, a real fire crotch!" Brittany said, laughing. I blushed as the locker room nickname that had been used to torment me in High School found me once again.

I tried to cover myself with my hands the best I could as the girls stepped back so that Abdul could take a look at me.

"Can I at least have shoes?" I asked, hopping from foot-to-foot. "These stones are hot!"

"Yes, the pavement is heating," Abdul agreed, "which is why we must hurry, and get you to market."

"Yeah, let's get into the truck and get out of here," Stephanie said.

"Don't forget our clothes!" Sophie said pleadingly.

"One thing remains. Even naked, slave girls in the marketplace are never allowed to wander about freely. You must be restrained."

"Restrained?" Patrice asked suspiciously, "What do you mean by restrained?"

At that moment the question was answered as several of the guards began unloaded some very old and very worn looking black boards. They looked a little like cutting boards, but were larger, and had three holes in them. I didn't realize what the boards were until one of the guards opened it at the hinge, and fitted it around Brittany's neck. After pulling her long blonde hair free he quickly brought her wrists up and fitted them through the two wrist holes next to the hole for her neck.

After closing the stock down over her neck and wrists he slid a black iron barrel bolt to join the stock, locking the two pieces of wood together. As a final step he turned the knob on the barrel down, pushing it into a precut groove on the board, tucking the unlocking mechanism neatly inside the stock itself.

The yokes were thick but not long: "petite" or "midget stocks" as one of the girls called them, and they held Brittany's hands close enough to her head that she could scratch her ears. The ever-foolish Brittany didn't seem to realize she was locked into place until she tried to move her hands away from the side of her head. Her hands were almost touching her ears but they were quite immobile.

"How do I get this off?" she said stupidly.

"Do not worry. You are quite secure," Abdul explained. "The yoke will not come off after it is locked unless you have the exact tool," he said, holding up the wrench in his hand. It was black, and looked very old, like an Allen wrench designed by the Flintstones.

"Wow, this is totally steam-punk!" Brittany said, fingering the wooden collar around her neck. "It's like, a zillion years old."

"Yes, it has brought countless girls to market over the centuries," Abdul said, "and it is a genuine antique. I had one tested, and this one dates back to the time of Alexander the Great. Who knows? Alexander himself might have locked this around the neck of one of the daughters of King Darius, before he enslaved and fucked her."

"Wow!" Brittany said. "Do you hear that, Taylor?" Brittany said proudly. "I'm wearing the slave costume of King Dairy's daughter! This is the coolest costume ever."

"Indeed, Abdul said, looking the clueless blonde's body up and down from tip-to-toe as he made his appraisal. Your costume is exquisite."

"Geez, you really can't get this thing off," Taylor said, shaking her head and straining at the yoke. "It's wood, but it's like metal."

Abdul laughed. "Yes, despite it's age I think you will discover it is still quite functional and perfectly suited to its intended purpose."

"It's not very comfortable," Stephanie noted. "The hands are too close to my head."

"Alas it is designed for convenience, not for comfort. A larger yoke would allow you to maintain a more natural position, but this yoke is lighter and thus better suited to running, and traveling through crowded spaces."

"Uh, yeah, but I can't get it off. My fingers can't reach the little key hole thing-y."

"Indeed," Abdul said, smiling at Brittany's blondness, even as the men fitted the other girls into their yokes. "In that sense your costume is quite authentic."

I was so busy laughing at Brittany dancing around in a circle trying to get her yoke off that I didn't notice when the two men lifted my arms and the third fitted the wooden yoke around my neck.

The edges of my yoke were worn but the dark, black wood was thick and heavy and in an instant my wrists were soon bolted in place on either side of my face.

Most of what Abdul said was bullshit, and although I had no way of verifying the wood through carbon dating it did indeed seem to be quite old. I wondered how many other slave girls had worn this before me, before catching myself. After all, I wasn't a slave. This was simply a costume and nothing more.

With my hands out of the way it was impossible for me to cover myself as the smiling Abdul drank in the sight of my pink nipples and bright red bush.

"HEY!"

I turned in time to see Brittany stumble forward as the man attached a heavy orange chain to her collar and yanked her toward Stephanie. In a few seconds the chain was led through a bolt on Stephanie's yoke, and so on, until each of us were separated only by a dozen links of a heavy, orange chain that looked better suited to chaining an anchor to a ship than one naked girl to another naked girl.

"Black yokes and an orange chain," Abdul explained happily. The Halloween colors, are they not?"

Straining my pinky finger I searched for the recessed slide bolt that held my yoke together. I felt I could almost reach it, and turned, but soon I found myself turning in a circle like a dog chasing it's tail, or worse, idiot Brittany.

Sophie put her foot on the orange chain, and was trying to pull it apart or perhaps break it from her yoke by yanking her head away, but as the chain and yoke were both quite thick I knew her slender neck would snap long before her bonds would.

Seeing our struggles Abdul called out to the group. "Ladies, please do not tire yourself with foolish attempts at escape. The yokes have been holding slave girls for thousands of years, and I've used that orange chain to pull semis out of the mud. Save your energy for your trip to the marketplace. I assure you that you will need it."

As the man threaded the chain through Suki's yoke she cried out: "Please, don't chain me. I don't want to be in the coffle."

"What's a coffle?" Brittany asked.

"I think it's one of the drinks around here," Taylor replied.

"Is there a Starbucks nearby?" Stephanie asked hopefully.

"It's very uncomfortable," I said, trying to divert Abdul's attention from my bare breasts and crotch. "Why not just collar us?"

Abdul smiled. "The yokes leave the merchandise completely exposed, and enforces your sense of helplessness. Some vendors leave the girls in the yoke and chained to the coffle when they put them up on the auction block, so the buyers can see who is next. Keeping the livestock yoked and chained together can lead to highly efficient sales, particularly when there is a large quantity of inventory to be disposed of. There is enough slack so the girl being sold can still jump-up-and-down and jiggle, and squat and spread her legs, and bend over and spread her butt cheeks wide. A skilled auctioneer can sell an item in less than 30 seconds."

Abdul's choice of nouns chilled me to the bone: "merchandise", "stock", "inventory", and "items". His refusal to acknowledge us as anything other than goods to be sold was particularly unnerving since I was chained naked to a slave coffle.

I remembered the goat auction a few days before. The rapid pace of the bidding had excited us all. I tried to imagine the bashful Suki and the proud Patrice standing naked on the block as the bids poured in and they were sold in 30 second flat. Would the auctioneer take longer with me, to extoll the beauty of my lovely red hair? Or would it simply make me sell all the faster?

Reading my worried expression Abdul allowed his eyes to roam freely over my naked body. "You are prime stock, Professor, Grade A, and the buyers will be anxious to get their fingers into you. Your lot will be sold on Block 37 at 1PM, but we will get to market early, to give the buyers a chance to feel the merchandise before the sale."

I leaned forward and whispered into his ear. "We can call this off whenever I wish?"

"Of course," he replied, "If you don't mind losing our wager."

Our wager! No, no, no. I was not going to lose our Halloween wager! My smile of defiance ended as I was jerked back by the slave monger fitting my orange chain to the long, long coffle.

The smiling Abdul ogled my naked body as I was chained to the coffle. "It is said that a girl doesn't really understand what it's means to be a slave until she's feels the sand of the auction block under her bare feet, and hears the auctioneer's whip crack, and listens to the men bid on her naked body."

"Wait," Julie said. "We're going to see the market, right? You're not going to SELL us?"

"Of course not, my little Danish," Abdul said, stroking Julie's cheek gently as he talked to her in the most patronizing and sexist tone imaginable. "Unless, of course, that is what you wish."

Abdul looked her up and down as Julie futility jerked her hands against her yoke to try and hide her nakedness. "Your chest is like a boy's," he said, brushing the nipples on her small breasts, "But you are beautiful and there are men who like that. Perhaps they will dress you in a school uniform and turn you over their knee, or dress you as a cabin boy, and enjoy the tightness of your bottom hole."

Julie tensed as Abdul ran his hand over her stomach and slowly let it drift down to her crotch. She tried to pull away as Abdul wormed a finger between her legs and gave her a good rub. "Ah, your golden honeypot is wet with your nectar," he laughed, fingering her as she squirmed helplessly in his grasp. "Your intelligence and protests of modesty will make owning you all the more delicious. You will doubtlessly attract a master who will enjoy breaking in a smart, strong willed girl."

"Leave her alone," Sophie said.

Abdul stopped, smiled, and walked toward Sophie. "I am simply examining the merchandise," he said innocently. "This is what the men will do at the market. Tell me, my little Canadian beauty, if I examined your freshly shaved twat, would I find your Canadian maple syrup dripping from your hot pussy?"

Sophie, shamed and frightened, stared at her naked feet. For a moment I thought he was going to finger of her, but satisfied at shaming Julie he turned his attention back to the business at hand.

Abdul picked up the Halloween bag with my clothes and carelessly tossed it onto the back of the old wooden cart. The little donkey brayed an appreciative response.

Abdul's men led some camels into the courtyard and Abdul and some of the guards mounted up. I, and the other girls jumped at something that sounded like a pistol.

It was the whip cracking in the air.

"Let's us begin, ladies," Abdul said. "Your lovely Professor has put us behind schedule. The buyers are waiting. You will make up the time, or your naked bottoms will pay the price."

"We're walking?" Taylor said, echoing everyone's surprise that we would not be taking the bus.

"Is the slave market close?" Stephanie asked.

Abdul smiled. "Do not be concerned for me. I will not tire since I will be riding a camel. As for you, closeness does not matter; you are slave girls and you will be driven to market in the traditional way, naked and barefoot through the streets, so the merchandise can be seen. You will walk as long as you need to walk."

Taylor was not pleased. "I am not parading through the streets naked in front of a bunch of dirty, grubby Africans!"

Taylor's rebellion was cut short as from behind her one of the guards approached her with one of the jack-o-lanterns that had been carved at the hotel bar. The bottom of the pumpkin had been cut out, and two bolts attached to the side, making it easy to slide over her head and fasten to her yoke. By luck, perhaps, or perhaps because they were ready for this moment, Taylor was wearing the pumpkin she had carved: triangle eyes and a wicked, scary, saw tooth smile.

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