My Halloween Costume

It was Halloween, and the theme park was crowded with teenagers in costumes. Some of the girl's costumes were a bit more risqué than what one might expect to find in such a place, but it was nearly midnight on a hot Florida night, and this particular park catered to a slightly more adult crowd.

Unlike the other women in the park I wasn't drinking, or dressed up like a sexy pirate wench or sexy superhero or sexy policewoman. I was showing a little skin: a belly shirt, jean cutoffs, and sandals, with my toenails bright red. But the park was a 3-hour drive from my office and all the men at the company I owned were still at work on the major project I had dumped on them that afternoon so it was okay to have some fun and look sexy.

I got a lot of stares and even a few propositions as I strode through the park. I enjoy teasing men, particularly since I know they are never getting any, and all they can do is dream. When I spotted some fat, middle-aged loser staring at my ass, I'd stop and bend to adjust my sandal, then smile at him as he nervously tried to pretend he wasn't adjusting the erection in his pants. When I saw a group of pathetic college nerds starting at my pokies, I'd stop in front of them, and absent-mindedly lick my luscious red lips as I pretended to read a park map.

Score.

Enjoying every step I strutted to the African market section of the park, past the colorful stone and stucco buildings and carts with thatched awnings hawking T-shirts and beads, basking in my power as every man in the park -- and some of the women -- lusted after my body.

The merchandise for sale was crap, of course, but the theming was nice, with rhythmic African music over the loudspeakers and wooden carts and crates strewn about. Even the pavement had been carved into an ancient looking stone and painted with "dirt" to look authentically distressed.

I went into a large alcove across from the shops, where a stone stage hosted musicians or other street performers on busy days. The stage was empty tonight and this section of the park wasn't crowded, as there was no live music or beer here, just a bored looking janitor cleaning a spotless wooden table that wasn't dirty.

I climbed the four stone steps and stood at the front center of the stage. Slipping off my sandals, I closed my eyes and enjoyed the beating of the drums and the chanting natives over the hidden loudspeakers. It was a hot night and the cold stone of the auction block felt good on my bare feet. Of course in my fantasy my feet weren't the only thing that was bare. The bids were pouring in as the men lusted after my naked body.

Was I lady of wealth and privilege kidnapped off my ship by the Barbary Pirates? A relief worker who had made a deal to smuggle needed supplies with the wrong warlord? Or the daughter of a British Colonel captured in a caravan raid? It didn't matter. The set I was standing on was truly timeless, and naked slave girls had been vended off this stone auction block for centuries. I was simply another naked slave slut.

I felt my pussy get wet as I imagined the men staring at my long red hair, fiery bush, and hard nipples. Hundreds of them, wanting me, desiring me! Oh, the shame, the humiliation! However there was a strange paradox. Yes, I was a slave, but I was in control, with the power to tease, and the power to please. Alas for the men, I chose the former.

"You're not wearing costume," a female voice said.

I opened my eyes, startled to have my fantasy ended so abruptly. The woman was a cast member, obviously, for she was dressed in native garb. She appeared to be quite a bit older than the teenagers that normally staffed the park, and had white hair, a few missing teeth, and what sounded to my untrained ear like a genuine African accent.

Embarrassed, I quickly scampered down the stone steps to level ground. "I'm sorry, I was just getting some air," I said. "I need to go."

"You not forget shoes!" she said, laughing. The old woman picked up my expensive strappy sandals off the stage, and as she passed them to me I also found myself holding a simple and quite worn looking leather necklace. The pendant was two squares that had been turned on their side to look like four-sided diamonds. The two diamonds intersected to form a third four-sided diamond in the center.

It wasn't pretty, and looked very, very old -- a worn piece of leather with a loop on one end and a little hook to catch it. The pendant itself was quite crude and worn too -- two simple squares arranged to create three overlapping "diamonds".

"Put it on. It is your Halloween costume!" she said, laughing.

"A necklace isn't a Halloween costume," I protested.

The toothless old woman burst into laughter, cackling so loudly and so close to me that I could smell her foul breath. "No, this costume. YOUR costume! Put it on, and you'll see, you'll see. Necklace only costume you'll need."

"Thank you, but I don't want to buy anything tonight," I said, trying to hand it back to her.

"No, no, no!" she said, shaking her head and batting my hand away. "No sell. Gift. Gift! Gift from Africa, to rich American girl who dreams of Africa. It is gift, on night of the darkness. 'Trick-and-Treat', as you say. Ha-ha-ha!"

I stepped back as once again her foul breath burned my nostrils. "Here, let me put it on you. Your Halloween costume!"

She moved to put the necklace around my throat, but to avoid her breathing into my mouth I took the leather strips and quickly hooked the necklace closed. I blinked as the lights suddenly turned on.

The place was the same... the buildings, at least, although the prop crates now held mangos, bananas and pears, and the stuffed parrot on the ring outside of the door of the shop was now very much alive. It was suddenly daytime and the ground felt hot beneath my bare feet.

I could feel the sun everywhere. Looking down I realized that I was entirely naked, tip-to-toe, with nothing on whatsoever save my red nail polish and the worthless necklace the old African woman had snapped around my neck.

The piped in soundtrack muzak was gone, and now the marketplace hummed with the sound of African voices shouting gibberish. The marketplace was swarming with people, with vendors hawking their wares. Everything was the same, but different. The theme park had smelled like potpourri air freshener, but this incarnation smelled like a barnyard. Through the fence I could see them selling goats and pigs in a large area that had a few seconds ago been selling adorable stuffed animals. The pushcart that sold suntan oil and bottled water and baseball caps now sold colorful shirts, dresses, fezzes and sunhats.

I ran my foot along the ground; yes, my toes were dirty, and I was standing on real dirt. The park lights had been replaced by unlit lanterns hanging from hooks. The park signage was gone; the few signs I saw were hand painted in a gibberish language I didn't understand.

I looked over my shoulder. A few feet behind me a smiling man with a whip in his hand was concluding the auction of a naked slave girl. She was olive skinned, and crying, and although I didn't speak her language from the sound of her pleas I think she must have been Italian.

I smiled and watched closely, taking a moment to enjoy the end of the show. "Kuuz-wah!" the auctioneer shouted, concluding his sale not with a gavel but by slapping the weeping girl hard across her naked bottom. There was laughter as she cried out, and cheers from the sea of black faces as she was roughly shoved off the other end of the stage.

I stared, mouth agape, as the auctioneer turned to me and pointed, then CRACKED his whip in the air as a signal. I jumped from the sound, which cut through the air like a rifle shot! A few of the men laughed at my reaction, but I soon had bigger problems.

I felt a hand grasp around my neck and begin to push me up the steps of the auction block. I screamed, and tried to wiggle away, but the hand was strong and insistent and soon I saw another black hand grasp my arm. Turning my head sharply to break his grip, I felt the necklace tear away and slide down over my bare breasts...

It hadn't even hit the floor when the lights went out and I found myself once again standing in the theme park in front of the old African woman, who was cackling with glee as she picked the necklace off the ground.

"Do you like Halloween 'costume?' she asked gleefully. "Not much material, but make your fantasy come true. This costume is all you need to wear see?"

"What is that THING?" I said, stepping back as she dangled the suddenly frightening necklace in front of me. "I thought...for a minute I thought...."

"It is African slave necklace," she explained. "The two symbols are interlocking slave shackles. It fits you good-good, does it not?" she teased, laughing.

"When I put it on... I was in a slave market. They were about to sell me. But when I took it off, I was back here."

"Ha-ha! Yes, it is your slave girl costume. The two shackles are the slave symbol. When you wear it, you are slave. When you take it off, you are big shot rich girl again, running your own company, everybody's boss."

"You know who I am?" I said. "Who are you?"

"I am nobody," she replied. "You are the important one. I give you gift. It is a gift from my boss."

"Who is your boss?" I asked.

"Big boss!" she said, laughing. "Powerful boss. He give you necklace as reward, for way you treat everyone. Ha-ha! My boss make fantasy come true. Tonight. Tonight! Halloween night! Go ahead. Put you costume on," she urged, her toothless smile spreading wide across her wrinkled old face. "If you don't like, take off costume and come back," she said, dangling the necklace in front of my face.

"What is this, some sort of voodoo magic?" I said, tentatively taking the necklace into my hand for closer examination. "I don't believe in that sort of thing, you know."

"Believe or no believe," the old woman countered. "Necklace nothing. Necklace not matter. SPELL matter. Spell says you come back if you not wear slave symbol."

I examined the simple necklace with new respect. It was nothing more than a leather strip, an ancient, crude pendant, and a small hook. It was easy to get on, and easy to get off. It was simple, yet complex, cheap but valuable, useless, but powerful.

One doesn't get to be the head of their own company by being timid. Deciding to give it a test, I tentatively put it around my neck. As soon as the two pieces of the necklace touched, I was once again blinded by the light as the world changed around me and the rough hands pushed my naked body up another step. Fortunately, I had not locked the necklace and as I fell forward the necklace slipped off, returning me to the old crone at the theme park.

"See?" the old woman said, laughing. "Easy to come back. Go! Enjoy costume. Play! Have fun! Halloween, Halloween! Never get chance again. Trick-and-treat!"

She was right. The necklace was flimsy and it would be easy to tear it off. I had always fantasized about being auctioned off in this "slave market." This chance would never come again.

Swallowing hard, I hooked the little loop of the necklace around my throat.

I didn't struggle as the black hands pushed me up the stairs. Turning to face the sea of hungry black faces surveying my naked body, I smiled and shook out my long red hair.

The crowd cheered my lusciousness nudity. I had them transfixed. I noticed there were no cell phones, no watches, and no sign of radio towers or cars or engines or any sort of modernity. I had not only been transferred to another place, I had been transferred to another time, a time when naked white girls could be bought and sold with total impunity.

Speaking of impunity, I realized that I was about to play the best Halloween prank EVER. I would be able to prick-tease literally hundreds of men with my naked body. I would make every ding-dong in the marketplace hard as steel, then, when I had driven them all into a frenzy, I'd vanish like a lily white snowflake on a hot African day right before their eyes. It would be the ultimate prick tease.

The auctioneer, eager to get started, said something to the crowd as he ran his dirty black fingers through my beautiful red hair. I smiled at him and licked my lips. He seemed surprised, but pleased.

I didn't resist as he bounced one of my breasts up and down with the tip of his whip. Following the auctioneer's lead, I jumped up and down, bouncing my breasts, as the men laughed. The auctioneer, pleased to find a piece of merchandise so eager to sell herself, stood back and accepted the bids as I bounced in a circle, shaking my butt for the rowdy bidders.

In the rear of the alcove a man started beating a drum to keep time with the rhythm of my bouncing breasts and bottom. Picking up on the cue, I began to dance along, and the drummer boy picked up the pace.

BOOM-DA-DA-DA-DA-DA-DA-DA BOOM! DA-DA-DA-DA-DA-DA-BOOM!

The pace of the drumbeat was insane but I kept up laughing as I undulated my arms and hips and shook my breasts and hair to the command of the drum. The men were transfixed as they ogled my naked, squirming body.

If it were a dance contest, I would have surely won. But it was not and too soon the auctioneer, tiring of my performance and eager to move the merchandise, grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and pushed me to the front of the stage. Tapping the inside of my creamy white thighs with his whip he commanded me to spread my legs. I obeyed.

He lifted my arms and brushed my hair back so that it was no longer covering my breasts. I felt my face go flush as the laughing, vulgar villagers made a crude assessment of my naked charms in their gibberish language.

I felt myself flush. Was there an element of humiliation in my fantasy? Definitely. In real life I was always in charge and in control. In my fantasy I could pretend that I wasn't, that I was a helpless slave girl, stripped naked for the men's inspection and appraisal. My pussy moistened at the thought.

I decided to regain control. "The men in this shit-hole village are CHEAP!" I shouted, laughing at their eager faces. "I want to suck your big black cocks," I said, licking my lips and sticking out my tongue. "I long to taste your seed in my mouth! Bid on me, masters, so this poor slave girl can pleasure you with her tongue."

Strutting across the stage I pointed at individual buyers. "Are you man enough for me? Are you? What about you, fatso? Can you satisfy an insatiable slave slut?"

I wasn't sure if any of them could understand me, and I certainly couldn't understand what the laughing, lust filled men were shouting at me, but as I waggled my tongue at them I realized that our non-verbal communication was excellent. A few of the men had reached under their colorful robes to jerk their cocks like the disgusting monkeys they were. Ignorant, illiterate natives who couldn't even speak English, they didn't realize they were bidding on a multimillionaire that owned her own business and had hundreds of employees at her beck-and-call. But they knew quality pussy when the saw it.

Why should these chattering monkeys have all the fun? Spreading my legs wide I reached between my legs and began to rub myself, inserting several fingers inside of me as I groaned with pleasure.

"Oh, Masters! Do you want to fuck me?" I teased, running my free hand over my erect nipples. "Do you want to fuck my furry red snatch? My little red fox is so wet and eager. I want to feel you inside of me, all of you!"

I removed my hand and held my glistening fingers up in the sunlight. "Are any of you man enough to master me? Is there a real man among you? Do any of you know how to use the whip to bring me to heel? Are any of you man enough to satisfy your hot, red haired slave slut?"

Kneeling down in front of the auctioneer, I put my hands behind my back, and used my mouth to grab the end of the handle of his whip. As the crowd laughed and jeered, I sucked the whip handle like a cock.

The auctioneer apparently didn't like me getting his whip handle wet with my slobber, and after a few good strokes pulled it from my mouth and dried it with my long red hair. He motioned for me to rise and show myself to the men, but I shook my head and tried to reach for his whip handle with my mouth.

Much to my shock he pulled the whip away and cracked it in the air. My heart skipped; I was so close to him that I could actually feel the wind from the whip in my ear, and the horrible thunderclap chilled me to the bone. Genuinely frightened, I lurched backwards, trying to rise but falling on my naked bottom. The crowd laughed heartily.

The auctioneer, not pleased, pointed at the front of the stage with his menacing whip. I was far enough away from him for him to use it, if he cared to. I had total control of the situation, of course, but he still had the whip. If he cracked the whip, would I be able to tear off my necklace in time?

Eager to avoid the whip I took my place at the front of the stage and resumed hawking my wares. I considered myself an expert in sales, and had made presentations to theaters much larger than the courtyard I was standing in. I had been dressed in a neat business suit then, in charge, and in control.

For a moment I imagined myself back on the stage in the convention center, dressed in my smart power suit with a thousand listeners eating out of my hand. "In the final analysis, it's my entrepreneurial vision that allowed me to destroy my competition and seize control of the market. My staff is useful, but I never let them forget who's in charge."

Now I wasn't selling my company, or an idea. I was selling myself. Spreading my legs I inserted both hands into my crotch, using one hand to massage my pussy while the other rubbed my engorged clit.

"Oh, Masters!" I groaned, "My red crotch burns with desire! Will any of you buy me? Will you pleasure your helpless slave girl? I am so hot and wet for you! I will devote my life to pleasing your cocks!"

I held up my hands, showing my glistening wetness to the crowd. They laughed and cheered. The alcove was packed with people now, as the normal to-and-fro was replaced with new men arriving but no one leaving. Everywhere there were black faces and eager white eyes. There were men on the roofs, watching the show. A few of the more nimble 18-year-olds had climbed the wooden support posts and were sitting on top, perched like birds. Others were sitting on the tree branches, which were bending from their combined weight. Merchants were standing on their carts; a few enterprising men were standing on overturned orange crates. One skinny teenage boy who looked to be about 19 was actually wrapped around a tent pole, and was rubbing against it, jerking himself off in time with my own self pleasuring.

I groaned in pleasure as I edged closer to orgasm. The bidding was fast, but I wanted more.

Turning around I spread my legs and bent over, reaching between my legs to continue masturbating myself for the crowd. As I bent my butt cheeks spread wide, revealing my tight little bottom hole to the crowd.

"Oh, Masters, do not forget my bottom. It is tight and warm and in need of stretching! You must use your red headed slave slut everywhere, in all of my holes!"

Behind me some of the pigs for sale began to bleat, and I noticed a few of the men turning away from me to see what was happening. Annoyed, I spread my butt cheeks wider and groaned with pleasure as I "winked" my butthole at them.

Much to my annoyance the other animals picked up on my sounds. The chickens clucked, the goats bleated, and the pigs squealed. The men laughed as I competed with the noisy animals, which only made me angrier. "Why are these fucking assholes selling fucking LIVESTOCK in the same market as me?" I thought. "Fine. They want pigs. I'll give them pigs."