A REALLY Scary Halloween

"Fine. I win."

There was a long pause as he smiled at me and I glared murder at him. Oh, how I hated that smug, self-satisfied smile. If my hands were free I would have scratched it off his face!

Instead I dropped to my knees in front of him. He smiled and fished his member out from underneath his robe, feeding it into my mouth.

His fat, uncircumcised black sausage was dirty and disgusting, but eager to win our bet I sucked on it eagerly even as he taunted me, using my tongue to gradually roll the foreskin back so I could pleasure the smelly head of his dick directly.

Abdul took out his cellphone and recorded a video of my sucking him off as he taunted me.

"That's it, Suzanne, my little red headed slave girl. Show me what a perfect little whore you are. Suck my shaft and pleasure me with your hot American tongue. No need for your uppity ways or your feminine chatter. Yes, that's it! This is why you have a mouth, slave girl: for giving your master pleasure."

"Do you like the taste? It is the taste of your submission. Now get ready for my seed. Don't swallow, but swish it around so I can feel it in your mouth. Slow down. Not so quickly, my little slave slut. I know you are eager for me to spurt my hot seed into your hot mouth, but I want the exquisite pleasure of your tongue to last."

I did not slow down; eager to end his taunting I quickened the pace and a few seconds later suffered the indignity of taking an enormous load of his copious spunk in my mouth. I tried to swallow, but his bopping member went off like a fire hose, covering the roof and sides of my mouth with his disgusting spunk.

Laughing, he pulled out. As a slave girl I knew I was not permitted to spit, so I used my tongue to clean the sides of my mouth, an exercise that only emphasized the foul taste.

"I win," I said softly. "I went through with it. All of it, and I'm not scared."

"And that saddens you, does it not?"

I paused to consider my answer. "Yes," I said finally. "I want to be scared for Halloween. I want to be really, truly scared."

"Then follow me." Curious, I accompanied Abdul back to rejoin the group.

In the presales area the black women were drying the girl with rough, coarse towels and none to gently combing out their tangled hair.

"Welcome to the Mako Market, ladies, a local market renown for it's fair prices and quality merchandise. I think you will find your treatment here to be highly professional."

"We have reached a moment of decision. If you choose, you will be released, and taken back to the hotel by my guards with no further ado. However you may also continue, and be put in the pens for inspection by the buyers, prior to your sale on the auction block."

"You mean a mock sale?" Suki asked.

"No, your sale will be quite final, and you will be sold to an unknown buyer. Which of you has the best costume? You are rich and American, so we shall let the free market decide."

"No one will take that offer," Sophie said. "No girl wants to be a slave forever."

"Perhaps, but that is not the offer. I am an honest merchant, and after you sale I will remit 90% of your sale price to your fathers, with information on your ultimate disposition, and the opportunity to repurchase you through one of my brokerage subsidiaries."

"What if our price goes up, or they can't afford the extra 10%?" Julie asked.

"It's possible, of course, but remember what you are being purchased for. Men are fickle creatures and as often as not a girl's price drops after their masters tire of their newness and wish to trade them in for fresh pussy."

"Ha-ha!" Taylor shouted. "Brittany will be a trade in."

Abdul laughed with her. "Yes, and no doubt quite the bargain. Indeed, your parents might actually make a tidy profit on the deal, assuming that they decide to buy you back."

"What if they don't?" I said.

"I'm sure that won't be an issue for all of these young ladies are so charming and sweet and pleasant that I'm sure their wealthy fathers will buy them back, no matter what their price. In the case of Julie and Sophie, who are of more modest means, I pledge that I will pay any market differential that makes their repurchase difficult."

"Ha-ha," Brittany said, laughing. "Sell them back with a coupon."

"Precisely," Abdul said, "there is no way for them to lose."

"If our fathers buy us. What happens to the money if our parent's don't buy us?"

"As per the custom, your fathers may use the proceeds from your sale as they wish, for that is the way of free markets. Is that not fair, given that they bore the cost of raising you?"

"No, that's bullshit" Stephanie said flatly. "That's not fucking fair at all."

"Not to worry, for I am sure in your case, given how perfectly delightful and ladylike you are, your daddy will happily pay to get you back, particularly after I tell him who you were sold to, and what you are being used for."

"My parents and family are dead, and I'm not married," I said. "Who would you give my sale money too, and who would repurchase me?"

"Your church group would buy you back," Abdul said. "Indeed, I already have their address." Clearly he had thought of everything.

Abigail, Gwyneth, Suki and Sophie chose to leave. After being unyoked they dressed quickly. Sophie checked the contents of her purse as Abdul watched. "Nothing has been taken," he said. "As I said, I am an honest merchant, and a wealthy man, and there is nothing in your purse that interests me."

Looking at the line of naked women he smiled. "It is only the purses between your legs that interest me. That is where the real money is."

Sophie talked directly to the naked Julie. "Why are you doing this? It's crazy to trust him."

"He hasn't lied to us yet. Not exactly. Besides, when am I going to get a chance to experience this again? It's exciting, isn't it?"

"She's right," Brittany said. "It's going to be a great adventure.

"I bet I get a better price than Brittany," Taylor said.

"Yeah," Stephanie said. "I guess that's how we'll know who won the costume contest."

"Yes, let the buyers decide," Brittany agreed.

Abdul turned to me. "Are you going to back out, Professor? Are you afraid?

I was afraid: afraid that I would never be so excited again.

The next 20 minutes were indeed quite thrilling. Our two blondes, Brittany and Julie, were placed on a large table and ordered to pleasure each other. Julie refused, but a quick crack of the whip reminded her of the price of disobedience.

Julie lied flat on her back and spread her legs as Brittany climbed on top of her and began to lick her twat. Returning the favor Julie raised her head and managed to grab onto Brittany's spread thighs in spite of her yoke. They went at it 69 style, pleasuring each other as the buyers egged them on.

"Shameless whores!" one of the native women hissed. "Show the men how hot you are."

"Yes, show us your golden twats."

"And your little butt holes too."

"Lick, lick, lick! I think they are in love!"

"All Western girls are lesbians," one of the men said. "It is part of their depravity.

"Yes, that is why they need a strong black master, with a big black cock, to show them their natural place."

"That is why they need the whip."

I must confess that I was enjoying the show as well, although my enjoyment came to an end when the Walrus ordered me to my knees to pleasure him. Taking his withered old tool, totally surrounded by white hair, was nauseating enough, but as I sucked him I also had to listen to his repulsive commentary.

"That's its, that's a good little cocksucker. Did you enjoy kicking me down in the hotel that night? Did it make you feel powerful? You don't look powerful now, with my cock in your mouth. That's it, suck it like a good little slave girl. Show your master how much you love him.

Meanwhile on the table Julie squirmed in both pleasure and humiliation as the audience catcalled her, but Brittany's tongue was relentless, and much to her shame she soon experience her first lesbian orgasm, with hundreds of people watching.

"Look at her little hole quiver. All pink and golden and juicy."

"I would pay a fortune to fuck that."

"Get your purse ready, my friend. You will have your chance soon."

I had assumed the show was over when Brittany and Julie were removed from the table, but to my horror the fat old Walrus told Abdul he wanted to "breed me properly" and so to my horror I was placed on all fours on the table with my legs spread wide.

"No, please," I begged as the Walrus rubbed his cock against my slit. "I'm...I'm not seeing anyone right now. I'm not using any birth control."

One of Abdul's men tossed the Walrus a condom. When he saw me looking over my shoulder at him hopefully, he smiled at me as he rubbed his cock against my juicy slit.

"Would you like me to put this rubber on?" he asked, obviously relishing his power over me.

"Yes. Yes, please!" I said.

"Say, 'Yes, Master,'" he ordered.

With his penis against my sex I didn't hesitate. "Yes, Master," I repeated.

He laughed as he tossed the condom to the dirt in front of me. "No, my little slave girl. The rubber might interfere with my pleasure, and remember you exist only to please me. The bastard child in your belly will not be my problem for you only a slave. Indeed, if I plant a white slave child in your belly that will be to the benefit of your master, for it will be another asset he can sell."

"Fuck you!" I snarled at him.

"No, fuck you," he said pushing himself deep inside me. He fucked me with full deep strokes, and a man with a bass drum beat alone with each thrust, as the crowd clapped along with his rhythm.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

"Please, don't come inside me," I pleaded as I looked down at the condom in the dirt. "I'm totally unprotected. Don't make me pregnant. Pull out!"

"Nonsense. I have six children already that I know of, now I will have a seventh. I am going to give you something to remember me by, slave girl, long after I have forgotten about you."

Boom! Boom! Boom!

"I am actually doing you a favor, Professor, teaching you a lesson you need to learn," he said pedantically. "By giving you a proper rutting out in the open I'm disabusing you of any fanciful notions you might have had of being impregnated by a loving husband on your wedding night. Goats and sheep and sows are bread out in the open with everyone laughing at them and so shall it be with you. That's why I'm taking you from behind, like a bitch in heat, ready to be bred, because that is what you are."

Despite myself the very perversity of it was getting to me, and I moaned and gasped as he picked up the pace and the drumbeat grew faster to match.

"That it's, squeal my little piggy. Bark like the bitch in heat that you are. Put you head down. I don't need to see your face, just your pussy. I want my spunk to have a straight shot and spurt right down into you. I'm going to splash an enormous load of my baby batter all over your unprotected eggs and the only thing you can do is say "Thank you, Master."

"You are hot, and tight, and fertile," he said, "I can feel a big load coming. I am going to enjoy planting my seed in your belly. Maybe I will buy you, so I can sell your bastard child myself. Or maybe I will simply ask your new master to send me a picture of you, naked and fat with my baby in your belly."

"You're going to be well seeded, Professor. I was blonde in my younger days, and the little slave bitch you pop out of the oven will be blonde or redheaded or maybe strawberry blonde. Oh, it's such a big load, and I feel it aching in my balls! Maybe I'll give you twins! Two of my daughter's are twins, you know. Twenty years from now there will be imagine two twin Suzanne's, with beautiful red hair, naked on the auction block. Two pretty slave twins up for sale, never knowing their father, cursing their mother for being a slave whore and condemning them to a life of servicing men's basest needs. What a fine price they'll bring!"

Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!

The crowd watching us applauded uproariously as he pumped his enormous load of seed into me.

"Thank you, Master!" I cried out as my orgasm rolled over me. "Thank you for letting me bear your child!"

The other girls were herded into the slave pens where they awaited the buyer's inspection. I, on the other hand, was hung upside-down in the pen like a side of beef, so the fat walruses spunk would have a chance to take root.

Taylor's black bush had been shaved off, as it provided an unwelcome contrast with the blonde curls on her head. "No black pussies on Halloween" Abdul joked.

In the inspection pens the natives were free to "feel the goods". We were quickly swarmed. The locals were particularly fascinated with the red hair on my head and between my legs, which was exceptionally accessible since I was hanging by my ankles with my leg spread. Of course with my hands locked into the yoke I couldn't even see the hands of the people who chose to assault me from behind, let alone defend myself.

Abdul had told us that for choice merchandise the slave pens were limited to serious buyers, but the guards didn't seem to stop anyone. My breasts were squeezed and my freshly fucked pussy fingered by toothless beggars as well as experienced flesh peddlers. They did limit the number of people in the pens at any given time, to keep us from getting crushed, but once inside the "customers" were always right, and given free reign to explore us freely.

Some of the well-dressed gentlemen were quite brisk and business like in their appraisals, and not particularly rough -- they felt what they needed to, made their notes, and graded our flesh quickly. There were no smiles, or lingering, playful squeezes and I could tell their interest was totally professional. In some ways they scared me the most for I feared they represented some sinister force, such as a ruthless billionaire who might buy my body for some unspeakable purpose.

I was less alarmed by the sleazy locals who laughed as they squeezed my tits and fingered my pussy. Their motives were easy to understand, and were best summed up by Abdul's "accidental" slip of the tongue.

"Step right up, gentlemen! Free feel... I mean, feel free... to examine the merchandise."

Ha-ha.

Free feel they did. Of course some of the locals were more sadistic than horny, and seemed to take pleasure in causing us humiliation and pain. One toothless old crone stuffed several fingers into my bottom hole, and would have stuck her entire fist up to her arm if one of the flesh peddlers hadn't pushed her away. She still managed to call me an "American whore" and spit down into my face.

A woman in traditional dress licked her finger and pressed it against her bottom, making a sizzling sound, as she told us "how pretty your white asses will look after they are branded." She seemed delighted by the thought.

The buyers examined me freely, and many of the men who had been forced to watch as I candied their fruit were now able to put their fingers inside my mouth, anus, and wet twat.

I was finally cut down when it was time to sell me off the block. The enormous auction block was stone, and the sand felt hot between my toes. As in the goat market the bleachers afforded the buyers and excellent view of my naked body.

My time on the block was brief, but unforgettable. Yoked and aware of the auctioneer's whip I obeyed each of his humiliating commands.

I skipped around in a little circle, jiggling my breasts and bottom for the laughing buyer's appraisal.

At the auctioneer's command I smiled. I pouted. I squatted, spreading my legs. I turned around, spread my legs wide, and bent over, exposing myself for everyone to see.

Abdul did not bid; the Walrus, in the front row, bid on me but could not afford my hot, red slave pussy. The winning bid came from a man in the back. He was well dressed, and looked like a merchant or a broker. I wondered if he worked for a sheik, or a brothel, or larger market that would resell me again. I wondered when I would be available for re-sale.

After my sale I was led off the block, fingerprinted, and photographed, front, sides, back, and once with my legs spread wide. I was ordered to smile. Humiliating, yes, but necessary for a "conveyance" and for my title to change hands.

Abdul promised to send the pictures to my church group, "so they can see what they are buying." I blushed as I imagined my friends passing my pictures around.

Taylor and Brittany did not seem pleased that their fathers would soon be examining pictures of them bent over with their legs spread wide, or their smiling faces and wet pussies, surrounded by a sea of black men. Perhaps they were worried their doting daddies might not buy them back?

Abdul dismissed their objections. "Do not worry. If you find you are hot for your collars, and discover that you are natural slave meat, I will arrange for your buyers to send films of you debauching yourselves for your master's pleasure. I am sure that will discourage your fathers."

I blushed as I imagined my church group looking at pictures of me with my legs spread wide and an idiot grin on my face with black hands stroking my wet pussy. My church friends were fine people, but I knew some of the old biddies were jealous of my youth and beauty. If my price appreciated would they be willing to raise money to buy me back? Even if my price dropped, would the spiteful old crones argue that in selling myself I had gotten what I deserved, and the funds from my sale might better be used for some other worthy cause? The church needed a new roof. Despite my fear -- or perhaps because of it- my pussy tingled at the thought.

Taylor, Stephanie, and I were led to the back and bolted into place with a dozen other girls from my coffle to await our brandings.

"You don't have to do this," I said to Abdul as they fitted the straps and yokes over me to leave me immobile. "You have my fingerprints."

Abdul's response was terrifying in its cold indifference. "Indeed we do not. It is simply the tradition."

In my yoke it was easy enough for them to force a stick into my mouth, a precaution to keep me from biting my tongue off.

Abdul knelt next to Taylor. "Your ancestors made a fortune in the slave trade, did they not? Soon you will learn the ways of your family business from the bottom up. You are to be packed tightly into the hold of an old wooden ship with hundreds of other girls, shoulder to shoulder, with only the rats to keep you company. It will be a long journey, but it will seem like forever."

Abdul, holding my trick-or-treat bag, knelt down next to me. With the stick pressing down on my tongue I couldn't speak, so he did all the talking as he playfully stroked my red hair.

"Do not worry, my little fox. I will take special care of you. I will send your church group a picture of your branded ass, and a video of you eagerly sucking my cock, and licking your lips as you licked up all my cream like the little slave slut that you are. Naturally I will have to inform them of your conversion to Islam as well."

I tried to object but with the stick in my mouth it came out as a hopeless garble. Abdul laughed. "Don't be shocked. Your church group comes to Africa to convert Africans, does it not? It is natural for slaves to assume the religion of their masters. Otherwise how will you be able to continue to serve him in paradise? I just hope your church group in Mississippi is open minded." I knew they were not.

Kneeling with my ass raised high for the iron, I watched Abdul added the bag containing my passport, clothing, and identification to the enormous fire being used to heat the irons that would be used to brand our bottoms.

"It's a Halloween bonfire," Abdul said, laughing as he watched my precious possessions burn. "It is a Halloween tradition, is it not? We will heat the iron to a bright Halloween orange, and use it to brand your round slave bottoms."