A REALLY Scary Halloween

"Like the fortune nookie in the middle."

"Sweet ass on her friend."

"I'd fuck her up the ass."

"You'd fuck her anywhere."

I was not exempt from their assessment and my face burned with humiliation as they admired my long red hair and "cherry crotch."

"Red heads are hot. They're all sluts."

"All American girls are whores."

"Yes, but red heads are the biggest whores of all. They have snappy hot ovens between their legs, and their pussies sizzle when you fuck them."

I had thought I could not be more mortified, but I was wrong. My pulse quickened as I heard a familiar and most unwelcome British accent behind me.

"Well done, Abdul; 25 hot pussies, ripe and ready for sale!"

I picked my face out of the water and looked up. The Colonel, aka "The Fat Walrus" spotted me instantly. Instinctively my hands jerked down to cover my breasts, only to instantly scrape against the wooden yoke holding my hands next to my face.

"Ah, Professor!" he chuckled. "You are looking well today. I love your Halloween costume!" he sniggered, clearly relishing my embarrassment as he ogled my naked body.

The Walrus grabbed me by the hair, lifting me up to my feet. The chain separating me from the other girls was short enough that it forced them to stand to, and the girls next to them to crouch. Such is life in the coffle, where we all moved as one.

"Yes, a most excellent costume," he purred, ogling my naked body up-and-down and running his fingers through my long red hair as my hands balled into tiny fists of helpless frustration by my head.

"You're dressed precisely like a helpless little slave girl on her way to market. You wear your costume well."

Reveling in my humiliation he used the cane to jab the side of my breast. "Excellent. Nice hooters, not particularly large, but more than a handful is a waste."

He grabbed my breasts with both hands and massaged them as if he had every right to do so. "Your pink nipples are warm and sensitive, soft and sweet." I felt sick and he lowered his head and gave my right breast a playful suck. "Delicious. This is even better than the feel you gave me the other night, you randy, redheaded slut."

"Did you enjoy the pepper spray too?" I shot back. "Look Colonel, games over. Fuck off and get your hands off me or when we get back to the hotel I'll call the police and throw your ass in jail."

The Colonel laughed at my threat. "What an imagination you have. The whip will cure you your pretensions. As for the police, there is one over there. Would you like me to call him over? Perhaps he'd like to give your melons a feel as well."

The Colonel squeezed my breasts harder as I tried to twist away. "We agree the game is over. Now head down and spread your thighs, so I can have a better look at that snappy red pepper patch between your legs."

Placing his walking stick on the back of my neck he forced me to my knees. Naturally I squeezed my thighs together tightly in a desperate bid to protect my girlish modesty. This foolish resistance was quickly overcome by the simplest of methods. Looking over my shoulder I watched in bewilderment as the Old Walrus lifted his cane up and let it slide down his hand so the little brass tip on the bottom of the cane was facing him.

The cane had a rubber tip on the end, with which a few turns he unscrewed and pulled off to reveal a wicked little steel spike which effectively converted the cane to a walking stick for rugged terrain or, if need be, a weapon.

Pocketing the rubber tip, he twirled the cane so the tip was once again pointing down and let the elegant wooden shaft slide down his hand.

"Legs apart, slut!" he commanded, jabbing me in the thigh with the knife like point. "We'll have no modesty from a juicy piece of slave tail like you."

"Abdul!" I called. "Help!"

Abdul nodded to one of his men, who immediately moved into assist. Much to my surprise the masked man did not lay a finger on the fat old man assaulting me, but instead grabbed the yoke and bent me over farther, raising my bare ass high in the air. I tried to rise, but the brute put his foot on my yoke, forcing my face into the mud around the pig trough.

The Walrus, walking behind me, again jabbed my thigh with the steel sharp knife of the tip of his cane.

"Spread!" he commanded. "Show us all your slave flower."

Our confrontation made me the center of attention in the crowded animal trough center of the market place, and I could feel dozens of eyes on me. With the crowd watching last thing I wanted to do was bend over, stick my ass in the air, and spread my legs. However I didn't so much obey as react: to escape the sharp blade pressing into my thigh I move my left knee to my left. Chuckling, the Fat Walrus jabbed my other thigh, causing a similar impulsive reaction, before once again jabbing my legs still wider apart.

The next jab into my right thigh was harder, and I winced. Against my will with each jab I spread my legs more. The sharp jabs continued until my knees were spread as far as they could spread, past my shoulders, to maximum extension. Only when he jabbed me and saw that I could indeed present no more to him did the pain stop.

"Now that's Grade A Prime slave pussy!" The Colonel said, chuckling as he ogled my naked sex. "A juicy, furry red twat! That's it, head down, girl," he said, tapping my wooden yoke three times loudly with his stick, "Eyes in the dirt! Show your masters the parts of you they care about. Let's see your assets!" he chortled. I winced as he slapped me hard across the naked bottom.

I gasped as I felt the wicked spike slowly run down my sex, not piercing the skin but rather gently scratching a place that very much had a terrible itch. How much that itch needed to be scratched became apparent as I heard the fat old letch snickering above me.

"My, she is wet down there, isn't she? I can smell the stench of her and I don't think that's sweat dripping out of that furry red gash between her legs."

"Indeed," Abdul says. "Colonel, you have placed this little slut in the perfect position to celebrate an American Halloween tradition. Brittany, did you not say that in America you eat candied corn on Halloween?"

The thug lifted his boot off my neck, allowing me to raise my head up slightly to watch the proceedings. Brittany, still imprisoned, lifted her absurd pumpkin head out of the water, the stupid expression carved on her pumpkin face making her look all the more ridiculous.

Brittany said nothing, at least until one of the men lightly kicked her in the side with his boot. "Answer, slave slut," he said, in thickly accented English.

"Yes," Brittany replied, her voice echoing inside her pumpkin. "We eat candy corn at Halloween, Master."

The word "Master", tacked onto the end surprised me, but conscious as she was of the stripe across Taylor's naked bottom she no doubt thought it to be a prudent addition. I heartily agreed.

"I brought a bag of corn for our Halloween today, Abdul said. Abdul snapped his fingers impatiently as one of his men instantly presented him with an extremely colorful ear of African maize. The ear had a smaller diameter than a typical ear of sweet corn, and the kernels were a colorful assortment of orange, red, white, yellow, and black.

"Orange and black," he said, holding the colorful vegetable up for the crowd to see. "The colors they use to celebrate your American Halloween, is it not? It has been cooked, and all that remains now is to reheat it, and to apply the special Halloween candy sauce."

I gasped as he cupped my exposed sex in his hand. "Ah, a red hot cooking pot, wet and oozing candy juices. The corn will be even tastier heated and soaked in candied marinade. On Halloween Americans like to eat candied corn, and candied apples. It is only right that we allow Africans to enjoy both."

"Put it in her oven!" a man called out, laughing.

"Yes, let's taste her delicious spicy marinade!" another man said, as the crowd laughed along.

I still had no idea what he meant to do, for the indignity he was suggesting was beyond my comprehension. It wasn't until he rubbed it the corn up and down against my pussy that I realized what was about to happen.

"The fruit is dry, so it will absorb her hot, spicy marinade easily," he said, causing me to gasp as he rolled the cob over my exposed sex, treating my pussy like it was a mixing bowl. "They key is to roll it smoothly, with a firm but even pressure, and give it a good rub, so her sticky, tangy juices have a chance to soak in."

Unfortunately for my dignity but fortunately for my pleasure "Giving it a good rub!" meant positioning the ear of nubby corn directly over my clitoris and rubbing vigorously. I am embarrassed to say it was a kitchen technique that quickly got my "candy juices" flowing!

I groaned with equal parts shame and pleasure as he openly masturbated me for the crowd's pleasure. I pushed back and rubbed myself against the colorful ear of maize, trying to orgasm even as he continued his humiliating cooking show commentary.

"Some people prefer a vegetarian kabob, but I prefer meat on the of my stick. Of course a good compromise is to simply use a meat marinade, which allows you to enjoy the full flavor of the meat without actually offending any vegans at your table."

"The taste of the marinade will depend greatly on the livestock chosen. I find chicken rather flavorless, and prefer a pork or beef preparation. I suspect this little piggy in particular will be quite tasty, and will produce a wonderfully tangy smoked bacon flavor, particularly after we cook it in her tight little oven."

What oven he meant became quite obvious as he stopped rubbing meant pressed the end of ear against my gapingly exposed sex.

"No, please!" I gasped, groaning with shame and humiliation as he ever so slowly pushed the corn against the lips of my sex. "Don't do to this to me. Please!"

"Now let's put it in the oven," he said, ignoring my protests as he pressed it forward. We'll get the corn all hot and toasty, and bake those juices right in, to make an irresistible Halloween treat."

My sex was wet and ready and he didn't have to push hard to get the long, slender ear deep inside of me. I gasped with shame and humiliation as he rolled the kabob around inside of me, "baking it" and "soaking up the candy juices."

Abdul turned my little red toaster oven over to the Walrus as he handed out the corn and apples. The apples had been cut in half, and as they were passed out the men skewered them onto short wooden sticks so they could be "cooked" and "candied" inside the slave girls more easily.

The corn and apples were distributed and soon each of the slave girls around the trough was giving up her heated marinade in the name of feeding the hungry Africans. The other girls moaned and groaned in shame and humiliation, but my attention was focused on my own predicament as the Walrus cheerfully fucked me from behind with the colorful corn. "That's right, you red headed whore! Candy my corn. Bake it in the oven. Kick me, will you? Call me a dirty old man? I am going to enjoy seeing you on the auction block, squatting for the buyers with your legs spread wide!"

Horrified as I was by the moans from the other girls, the fat old man's incessant rubbing of my clit and the sensation of being porked with the corn had me humping along.

"That's it, you randy little whore. Make your pussy twitch and spasm around my supper. Work your juices in! Show me what a little pig slut you are."

I did, grunting and squealing like a pig as my orgasm rolled over me, even as the tears of humiliation poured down my cheeks. At last the corn was removed, cut into three pieces, and handed out to the crowd.

"Hot and juicy!" the Colonel said, sampling my "candied" corn. "You are truly a delicious slut, Suzanne, and your master will enjoy that hot red twat of yours. Prissy, stuck up bitches like you make the finest slave sluts: hot, wet, and eager to please."

"I wish I could fuck you right now, but there are hungry villagers to feed. Let's try some baked candied apples in that red hot toaster oven of yours, shall we?"

I groaned in shame and pleasure as a thick apple slice slid into my wet slot. For the next twenty minutes the girls and I served as toaster ovens for the hungry crowd. The Walrus turned me over to some locals, who chatted happily as they Shish kebabed me with a wide assortment of corn, apples, chicken, dates and pears. They seemed particularly fascinated with my red hair and I felt scared and disgusted as a crowd of laughing African women ran their fingers through both the long tresses on my head and my very wet "fire crotch".

There was a festive, party mood, as laughing villagers crowded in to eat the food and watch as we were systematically masturbated and milked for our juices. When the crowd began to press in too tightly the police moved in, not to save us, but to set up a few sawhorses and some orange ribbon to form a barrier between the spectators/diners and the "chefs" who were fucking us with the candied apples and corn.

And so the Halloween party continued. Humiliated as I was misery loves company and I was relieved that the other girls were as wet as I was. Apparently running naked through the streets with pie-eyed Africans commenting on our bodies had left all of our pussies hot, wet, and oven-ready.

Abdul led a spirited discussion of our various "marinades" commenting on the hotness of my "Mississippi Delta BBQ sauce" the "ginger" in Suki's "Oriental Soy Sauce" and the "rich aloofness" in pumpkin headed Taylors "Tangy Kentucky bourbon". Julie's "Danish rémoulade" was deemed "fishy, like her country", much to her embarrassment.

An ad-hoc contest was held, and much to her shame Sophie won first place, for her "Canadian Maple syrup". Abdul had come prepared, and after she won a "First Place" a Halloween ribbon, orange with black trim, was literally stapled to Sophie's ear, like she was a prize sow at the county fair.

As he stood Sophie before the laughing, jeering, applauding crowd tears streamed down Sophie's face. I wasn't sure if the tears were caused by the pain from the electric staple gun piercing her ear or the shame of hundred of villagers laughing as the men masturbated her like a farm animal to extract more of her sweet pussy juice.

The bashful Suki "won" second place and Stephanie third, and so they too were given the "prize" of having a 2nd and 3rd place ribbon stapled to their ear and a long moment of shame in front of the jeering crowd. Suki, ever modest, took it especially hard.

If you think we might have been allowed the chance to rest after our shameful ordeal you have precious little understanding of what it means to be a slave. Although we were all dirty, sweaty, exhausted, and stinking with our own juices, the slave mongers charged with driving us to market were rested and well hydrated after having enjoyed time in the shade and numerous bottled drinks, not to mention the "candied" fruits that had been marinated in our hot, wet pussies. So it was that the Abdul mounted his camel while we, on "Halloween parade" were once again driven naked through the streets, cattle on our way to market.

The flies found us in force, attracted by our sweat and the musky juices of our pussies. We were too exhausted by our orgasms to fight them off.

The pace quickened on this final leg of the journey. Certainly the morning sun was hotter, and the men, impatient with our sluggish jog, were much freer with the whip. The first stroke across my naked ass was like being touched with a blazing hot electric wire. I was so focused on the pain and the crack of the whip that I didn't hear myself scream, although I'm sure I did, for girls under the whip always scream and I could feel the strain on my vocal cords as my senses gradually returned. The searing pain or my humiliation at being whipped like an animal did not matter, of course: my pace quickened, and the lesson was learned. My obedience was all that mattered.

Laughing, Abdul came up behind me, admiring the tramline across my ass that I, locked in my yoke, could not see. "You have a luscious bottom," he said, looking down with obvious pleasure at my bouncing globes as I trotted in front of him. "Do not worry that I will not get a fit price for you; most buyers find a whip mark across a girl's naked bottom amusing, and you will perform better on the block when you know the meaning of the whip."

The reference to my "fit price" reminded me that the slave market was growing ever closer. As much as I hated my run I was scared for it to end.

Although I had been naked all morning I have to say that I was no more comfortable running naked down the street now than I had been when I had first undressed in the courtyard that morning.

It was a curious sensation to be a naked woman -- and a naked white woman at that -- in a sea of colorfully dressed Africans. There colorful robes and dresses made me all the more conscious of my nudity, as did the sensation of my bare feet running along the now blazing hot pavement, so hot that I actually looked forward to running through the occasional muddy trough. The leers and the lewd comments and laughter -- from both the men and the women -- were an endless source of shame, as were the jokes about my "burning bush" and "hot red pussy."

Fearful of what might happen I felt little relief as we ran through the slave market. We ran past an auction block where several native women were being sold. I watched them with a curious detachment, as if they were the goats being vended, but I did not have long to linger on their fate. Our coffle led into a backstage area where to our relief we were freed from the orange coffle chain that held us together.

One-after-another we were forced to stand in metal wash tubs while a group of toothless, laughing native old women used coarse bristle brushes and freezing cold hoses to scrub the dirt off of us with the same care one might use to scrub out a filthy trash can. I particularly did not appreciate having my face, mouth, and the red welt on my butt scoured with stiff bristles, but as my head and hands were still locked into the stocks there was nothing I could do but sob as Abdul and his men laughed along with the cruel old crones.

My scrubbing was a bit quicker than the others as I was separated from the group and taken to see Abdul in his private tent. He sat in his chair sipping his sweet tea and freely ogling my naked body as I stood before him.

"You can take this yoke off now," I said.

Abdul smiled. "Have I kept my word to you, Professor? Are you scared?"

I was having none of it. "No. I'm exhausted, and disgusted, and more humiliated than I ever thought possible, but I am not scared."

"Nonetheless, I have given you a taste of what it is like to be a slave. You should thank me."

"What did you have in mind?" I said flatly.

"Your slave kiss would be appropriate," he replied, pointing at his crotch.

"I'd rather bite it off."

"You could. Of course then you would have to be punished. A rope around your neck would be a just penalty for such an offense. I wouldn't even have to take off your yoke; I could just haul you up and watch you kick. I think we'd both be better off if you simply pleasured me with your slave kiss, for hanging you would be a waste of your life and far worse, my money."

"You don't scare me," I said.

Abdul laughed. "Perhaps not, but you haven't won our wager yet. I have given you the opportunity to see how slave girls are treated, but you have not yet demonstrated that you are up to the challenge. You can absorb punishment without breaking, but can you then crawl back, with a whip in your teeth, and offer yourself for your master's pleasure?"

"Fuck you," I said, "or more appropriately, go fuck yourself."