Scared by Joe Doe

Archived from the Yahoo Strip-Search 4 group, posted on Oct 18, 2013.

This Halloween story was inspired by the following photos:
http://www.voyeurweb.com/contributions/view/3062309/

                       SCARED

                         by

                       Joe Doe

Part 1: Steve's Narrative

"So...did I scare you?"  Chloe said, laughing.  

I turned around to discover my beautiful wife, Chloe, standing
next to her friend, Monica, on the deck of the boat, laughing
and jumping up and down as she clapped her hands with glee.  

"I thought you'd drowned!" I shouted, relieved and angry at the
same time.

"Happy Halloween!" she replied cheerfully.  

It was impossible to be angry.  First, my wife always plays a
stupid trick on me on Halloween.  She always scares me, I always
fall for it, and she always laughs.

Secondly, Chloe and Monica were both completely nude, bouncing
and jiggling in all the right places as they laughed and pranced
in front of me.

Oh, what a sight they were!  Chloe, 26, was blonde and impossibly
fair; Monica was Italian and olive-skinned.  Both had long hair
above and were shaved bare below.  And both women were beautiful.  

"Did I scare you?" Chloe repeated, laughing at my distress.  

I had been napping below deck when Monica had awakened me, shouting
that Chloe had disappeared under water.  I bolted top-side, still
half-asleep, and was preparing to dive in....

It was then that I realized that my friend and African tour guide,
Dadi, had not slowed down, and we were still heading into port.  
Why was the boat still moving if Chloe had fallen off?  Dadi and
Chloe did not get along, but I knew he was my friend and would
protect Chloe with his life.

When I turned, my wife and her friend laughed at me, making me feel
quite foolish.  

"Chicken of the Sea!" my wife shouted.  

"Cluck, cluck, cluck!" Monica cackled.  "You should see the look on
your face.  Never were very bright, were you, Steve?"

"You aren't funny, either of you!" I snapped back.  

Frowning, I turned and locked the hatch leading below.  

"Hey, our clothes are down there!" Chloe protested.

"I like the way you're dressed now," I said, smiling.

Monica ran around to the other hatch, but it was also locked.

"Come on, Steve, it's not funny," Chloe said.  "Dadi's taking us
to land.  We're going to be in port in a few minutes.  What country
is this, anyway?"  

"Does it matter?" Monica said.  "It's Africa.  It's all crap."

Ignoring Monica's ignorant slur, I focused on Chloe.  "Your clothes
are locked up.  You two have been running around naked, teasing me
all morning," I replied tartly.  "I don't see why the fishermen
shouldn't have some fun teasing you."

As I spoke we passed a fishing boat, and I laughed as I watched
Monica and Chloe vainly scramble to find something to cover
themselves with as the African men on the boat hooted at the naked
white women in a language none of us knew, but which all of us
understood completely.

Chloe was starting to look seriously pissed, but already another
boat was coming....

By the time we had passed the fifth boat and on under the harbor
bridge, their attitude had changed, and, enjoying their nudity,
they both waved freely at the hooting, shouting, whistling men.  

As we pulled into port, and the girls saw the crowd in the bustling
market, their expressions changed again.

"Come on, Steve, joke's over," Chloe said.  "Give us our clothes."

"Yeah, or a towel," Monica said.  "Something...anything!"

"You're wearing your clothes.  But it's Halloween, and you're not
in costume.  Put your hands behind your backs."

Chloe, confused, turned.  She resisted for a moment when she felt
me loop the coarse yellow rope that was lying on the deck around
her left wrist.  "What are you doing?" she protested.

"I'm helping you put on your Halloween costume.  Are you scared?"

At the magic question -- "Are you scared?" -- my wife froze,
recognizing the "dare" phrase she so often tormented me with.
 She had delighted in pulling a Halloween prank on me each year
since we met, and, try as I might, I had never once been able
to scare her.  

"Nothing you do scares me," she said defiantly as she let me knot
the rope around her wrist.  The right wrist was next, and then I
lashed them together.  With Chloe's hands knotted behind her back,
I cut of the rope I didn't need and turned to Monica.  

"You shared the trick," I said quietly, holding up the remaining
rope.  "Now you share the treat."

Monica, haughty as ever, stared at me defiantly.  Even buck naked
on the deck of a boat with a dozen men on shore hooting at her,
she still acted like she was a queen presiding over her court.

"Come on," Chloe urged her, "Are we all on the same boat, or not?  
If it's good for one, it's good for all, right?"  Monica hesitated
for a moment, then turned and crossed her wrists behind her back.  
I enjoyed the sight of her sweet, round ass as I lashed her hands
together.  

Both girls recoiled a bit when Dadi appeared on deck.  They had
been parading around naked on the deck all day, smearing themselves
with oil, but Dadi had been preoccupied with the boat.  

In port, they were naked before toothless fishermen, but they KNEW
Dadi, which made it infinitely more embarrassing.  

Tough.

Dadi had saved my life on more than one occasion, and I knew he
would never let either woman come to harm.  But they did not know
him as I did, and, throughout the trip, the darkness of his skin
and the thickness of his accent led both Monica and Chloe treat
him not like my hired guide, but as their social inferior.

Dadi knew the two white women regarded him as subhuman, so it was
with no small amount of pleasure that he fastened a leather collar
around Chloe's neck, and snapped on a dog leash.  

"What do you think you're doing?" Chloe protested.

"Live-stook not let run wild in mahrkt place," he replied, smiling
broadly.  

Chloe stared at him.  It was clear that she had no idea what he was
talking about.  

Dadi collared and leashed Monica, then turned and quickly ran out
the plank.  "I don't understand," Chloe said, looking at me.  "Is
Dadi going ashore?"

I did not reply.  Still stung by her cruelty to me earlier that
morning, I stared at her, expressionless.

By way of reply, Dadi took the girls' sunglasses off and tossed
them onto a chair.  Both women squinted in the blinding summer
sun, but their inability to see made it easier for them to be
controlled.  Chloe resisted as Dadi yanked her leash, but,
half-blind, bound, and naked, she was easy enough to lead around.  

"Steve, this isn't funny," she said, as she stepped onto the
makeshift gangway leading her off the boat.  "I'm naked!"  
I'm totally naked!"

I did not reply, choosing instead to stare at her through my
sunglasses.  She quickly turned her attention where she needed
to -- toward the man holding her leash.  Squinting, Chloe watched
her pretty bare feet as she was made to "walk the plank" to shore.

Looping the end of her leash to a post as if she were a dog, Dadi
left her and retrieved Monica.

"Steve, I know you're pissed at me," Chloe said.   "I'm sorry we've
been bitchy this trip.  We were just having fun.  I'm sorry, but I
don't understand this.  Where are we going?"

I did not reply.  Instead, I watched impassively as Dadi led the
two leashed girls off the dock.  

The marketplace in the port city was crowded, and progress was slow.
I remembered past trips to the market on which Chloe and Monica had
giggled like excited teenagers as Dadi and I, bored, trailed behind.
Every trinket, every piece of fruit, and (especially) every colorful
garment or bag was utterly fascinating to both girls.  Every "odd"
native was pointed at and made fun of.  Today, however, it was Dadi
and I who were enjoying the trip, and the sight of the two beautiful
naked women moving through the crowd.

The streets were paved, but it was blistering hot, and I could tell
from the way the women were stepping that the pavement was easier
on my leather shoes than it was on their bare soles.  Still, Dadi
kept them moving, tugging them along.  With their throats leashed
and their hands tied behind their backs, they had no choice but to
keep pace.

Monica and Chloe always drew attention in the market, because of
their beauty and the whiteness of their skin, and today was no
exception.  Being naked, tied, collared, and leashed, they now drew
catcalls, as well as stares of amusement, lust, and disgust from
some of the older women, who obviously regarded them as whores.  
But no one made any attempt to interfere with us as Dadi rapidly
led them down the bustling street.

This changed when we went into a narrow alley, filled with dark
faces.  The narrow passage was stuffed with textiles, fruit baskets,
and bags of grain, and, as they attempted to pass through, Chloe
and Monica had to brush or press themselves against countless
bystanders.  When they were lucky, people moved out of the way, or
they passed before the pedestrians realized they were helpless and
nude.  When they were not lucky, laughing men reached out to cop a
feel of their bouncing breasts and bottoms.  A few even tried to
slide a finger between their legs, but Dadi jerked them along so
rapidly that their admirers got only a quick squeeze of their
shaved honeypots.

I didn't know the language like Dadi, but I recognized a few words.
One of the men who fondled Chloe's breasts used the local word for
"apples."  A man who got a good feel between Chloe's legs described
the blushing woman as "juicy-sweet."  I couldn't agree more.

The girls looked stunned.  How quickly their world had turned.  A
few minutes before they had been enjoying their luxurious vacation
on a yacht.  Now they were bound, naked slave girls being groped by
strange black men as they stumbled barefoot through a crowded
market.  

Beyond the indignity of it all, what shocked them -- and me -- the
most was that no one objected to their outrageous mistreatment in
any way.  I'm not sure how Dadi had found this port, but it was
certainly everything he promised me it would be.  

Occasionally Chloe would turn to look back at me.  I kept my
distance, and sometimes she couldn't find me, which seemed to
panic her.  When our eyes met, I would simply stare at her,
remembering both her cruelty in faking her death and how often
she had told me about her slave girl fantasy.  

Now, wearing her "Halloween costume" of a leash and a rope around
her wrists, she was living those fantasies...for real.

It WAS real, and we both knew it.  None of the men who fondled her
knew that she was a successful professional woman.  They were
groping a beautiful blonde slave girl with a shaved pussy, perky
breasts, and an ass too hot not to squeeze.  The panic in her eyes
betrayed her terrified surprise that, in this place, her new
identity was all she was.

As they exited the alley, they disappeared around the corner.  I
jostled my way through the crowd to keep up.  I didn't want to
lose them.  Not yet.

I emerged into a long street filled with pens containing camels,
goats, cows, and sheep.  I scanned the pens and headed towards
the ones in the distance that contained livestock that stood on
two feet: naked women.

Even with her fair skin, it took me a few minutes to locate my wife
amidst the other inventory.  By the time I got there, Dadi was
already talking with the trader who ran the place.  I watched as
one of the minions took Chloe's leash and led her into a wooden pen
that housed maybe 4 other girls, all attractive, three fair and one
Japanese, probably a tourist picked up by local pirates.

Monica, who was of Italian descent, and who had proudly been
working on her all-over tan on the boat, met a different fate.  
Her curly hair and dark skin landed her a place in the pen with
the native girls.  She was lighter-skinned than many of them,
but still dark enough to be considered native.  

The irony amused me.  Monica felt herself superior to the natives
and made racist comments about the "darkies" and "spear chuckers."  
Now she was to be sold as one of them.  Despite her wealth and air
of self-importance, Monica was simply another barefoot, naked slave
girl waiting in the pens to be sold.

I turned and looked up.  As Dadi had promised, the large building
across the street had a rooftop bar with a perfect view of the
slave market.  He had told me that the local wine was sweet,
delicious, highly alcoholic, and perfect for a hot summer day.  
Ignoring Chloe's panicked cries for help, I turned and walked
toward the building.

        ******************************

Part 2: Chloe's Narrative

Although I shouted as loud as I could, Steve couldn't hear me
through the din of the marketplace.  In a few moments, he
disappeared into the crowd.  I stood alone in the slave pen,
naked except for the collar around my throat and the rope
binding my badly chafed wrists.

Damn Dadi!  

Now that Dadi wasn't jerking me along like a puppet on a string
I had a chance to concentrate on trying to free my hands.  
Unfortunately, I couldn't see how the knots were tied, and the
coarse rope was thick and tight.  I picked at it for several
minutes, but, after breaking two nails, abandoned the effort as
futile.

I scanned the bustling market for Monica, but could not see her.  
There were countless black men around my pen, looking in and
pointing at the naked bodies of me and the other three women.  
Although I could not understand their babble, I knew from their
expressions and the way they were manipulating their own bodies
as they laughed at us that they were saying the rudest of things.

The crowd grew, and I felt like a wounded zebra being circled by
a pack of laughing hyenas.

The Japanese girl was in tears and sobbed softly, clearly humiliated
and horrified by her plight.  The other women were quieter, with
looks that ranged from miserable to stunned to resigned.  I
wondered how I looked to them.  Stunned, probably.

With so many unfamiliar black faces staring at me, I was almost
relieved to see Dadi standing at the fence, looking me up and down
as he licked his lips and smiled.  One of the workers in the "stock
yard" (or whatever you call it) opened the gate and let Dadi enter
my enclosure.

He smiled as he walked over to me and opened his palm.   "Coins I
get for you." he explained.  "Deposit.  I get many more after
auction."

"What auction?" I said, still struggling to comprehend what was
going on.

"See brand on ass?" he said, pointing at one of the other girls.  
I turned and noticed that one of the women did have an unusual
scar on her bottom.  A small, circular line, which Dadi identified
as a "slave brand."

He chuckled at me as I surveyed the brand in horror.  "Use coin
from advance to brand you big ass.  Dadi like watch you scream."

"You can't!  Get me Steve! I demand to talk to Steve."

"Steve stupid.  He gone.  Dadi in charge.  Dadi brand your ass."

I pulled away as he playfully wet his finger, then pressed it
against my bare bottom cheek as he made a sizzling sound.

"Please, no," I cried, genuinely panicked.  "Don't brand me."  
I was not sure of how crazy he really was.

"That not how slave girl begs.  On your knees."

I sank obediently to my knees.  My suspicions of what was coming
next were confirmed as the smiling African unzipped his pants.  
Dadi had a short fat member, and I didn't pull away as he wiped
the tip of his penis off under my nose.

"You're disgusting!" I shouted.  "Get me Steve.  I want to talk to
him now."

"Steve gone.  He stupid.  Leave Dadi in charge.  Dadi brand your
ass.  Take it, slave bitch.  Suck it like momma's titty, or Dadi
will brand your ass."

What choice did I have?  I had disliked Dadi when I first met him
and hated him even more now that he had betrayed me.  But, eyeing
the brand on my sister slave girl's ass, and believing that Dadi
would indeed enjoy seeing me scream, I took his fat tool in my
mouth.

It tasted musty, sweaty, and disgusting, but I sucked hard,
fighting to suppress my nausea and make him come as quickly
as possible.  

Dadi's pigeon English commentary only made things worse.  "That
good, white ho.  Suck good.  Suck or Dadi burn brand on your ass.

"Steve good man, but stupid.  He deserve better.  He think we teach
you lesson.  He not know I make you suck.  Will get him drunk, an'
you be sold."

His prick in my mouth, I stared up at him in stunned disbelief.  
This wasn't happening.  Steve and I were going home in a week.  
How would he find me if I was sold?  My mind whirled as Dadi
smiled down at me.

"Suck," Dadi repeated. "Suck good.  You be sold.  Steve never find
you without me.  Good...move tongue.  Tease tip.  Steve leave soon
when visa expire.  You lost...forever.  Feels good.  Suck me.  Suck
good, slave girl.

"You humble now.  You good cocksucker.  On knees.  In dirt.  Bound.
Naked.  You good cocksucker.  You make new master happy.  Maybe he
not whip fat ass.  Maybe.

"You like taste?  Look at me.  I like you look at me when I squirt.
Get ready.  I squirt big load.  Big load in pretty mouth.  Mouth
filled with scum.  I wash it good.  You taste.  No swallow.  Show
me first.

"I see hate in eyes.  Good.  Look at me, slave girl.  Look at me
while I squirt my stuff in your mouth."

As I expected, his load was thick, ropey, and disgusting, but,
knowing I had to show it on my tongue, I fought the urge to
swallow.  He moved his shaft in and out over my lips as he
orgasmed, using the pressure of my lips to pump out the last
few smelly white drops.

When he finished, he ordered me to open my mouth wide and show him
his repulsive white load on my tongue, teeth, and gums.  Seeing it,
he laughed.

"Remember taste, slave girl," he said, zipping up his pants.  "And
remember Dadi enslaved you, when on the block, and later, when new
master burns brand into your ass."

"You said you wouldn't brand me," I protested.

"Dadi won't," he said laughing.  "New master will.  Ass too cute
not to brand.  Goodbye, slave girl."

Dadi slapped me hard, laughing as I felt backwards into the dirt.  
"Goodbye, slave bitch," he said, walking out of my pen.

I was pleased to see Dadi disappear into the crowd, and relieved
that I had escaped the horrors of the branding iron, at least for
now.  

My relief was short-lived.  A man holding a small whip opened the
gate of my pen and allowed the buyers to swarm in to examine us.  
"Buyers" was a euphemism, as several of the toothless beggars who
groped me did not even have the money to wash themselves.  Their
stink was overpowering.  

For the next 30 minutes I was groped, fondled, and squeezed.  My
teeth were checked, my orifices displayed and fingered.  Naturally
my bald pussy was a subject of particular fascination, and I was
gruffly rubbed to see how responsive I was.  Although I was stunned,
terrified, and mortified, the rubbing and the perverseness of it
all did cause me to respond.  Much to my shame, the juices were
soon dribbling down my legs, and I had to endure the additional
indignity of men wetting their hands on me and then showing their
glistening fingers to their friends.  A few even put their wet
fingers up to their noses or even into their mouths, sampling my
juices like I was a dipping sauce in the supermarket.

"It is a supermarket," I thought bitterly.  Around me the other
women were being fondled and molested.  My hair was stroked, my
skin checked for moles and blemishes.  My breasts and bottom cheeks
were squeezed, hoisted, and bounced like choice melons.  And, though
I could not understand the language, I comprehended just enough that
I squirmed in shame as the men discussed the price they were willing
to pay to fuck me.

The customers moved freely from girl to girl, and in and out of the
pen.  I eyed the gate longingly, and fantasized about making a run
for it, but I knew it was ridiculous.  I would never reach it, and,
even if I did somehow get out of the stockade, where would a white,
blonde, stark naked slave girl with her neck collared and her
wrists bound behind her back run in the middle of a slave market?  

As the men groped me, I scanned the market, searching for Monica
or Steve.  I saw only brown and black faces.  I pictured Dadi and
Steve at a table, enjoying their wine.  "No hurry, boss," Dadi
would say as he poured my husband another glass.  "Enjoy wine.  
Enjoy wine."

I looked around the market and saw various raised platforms.  
Sometimes the girls or goats and chickens were sold off a stone
block, other times off the back of a cart.  After about 30 minutes
of groping, a donkey cart pulled up in front of my pen, and the man
with the slave whip grabbed my leash and the leashes of the other
girls.  I was relieved that my public molestation was over, but
shamed and mortified because I knew what the donkey cart was for.

It was a simple cart, with large rubber tires, a single axle, and
a wooden frame.  A ledger on the back of the cart allowed the
auctioneer to record the sales.  The ledger was removed and the
Japanese girl was hoisted into a standing position on the back of
the cart.

We were auctioned in no particular order.  The men who bid on us,
as opposed to the men who had fondled us, seemed to be a slightly
more prosperous lot.  Alas, none seemed particularly attractive to
me, and my fantasies of being bid on by Fabio were shattered by the
shame and humiliation of being sold off the back of a donkey cart
in an African livestock market.

The Japanese girl wept the whole time, and the auctioneer had some
trouble getting her to assume the poses he wanted, much to his
annoyance.  He switched her across her bottom and thighs several
times, causing the bidders to laugh.  Finally, he simply manhandled
her, bending her over, kicking her legs apart, spreading her bottom
cheeks to make sure the buyers saw everything.

My view wasn't as good as the bidders, since I stood next to the
rather bored-looking donkey.  Each time the girl was switched, she
screamed, and the men laughed, and the donkey brayed in unison.  
At least he was enjoying the show.

It took only about 3 minutes to sell the Japanese girl, and I think
that was longer than most because she was so upset and had such a
difficult time following directions.  When the final bid came in,
the auctioneer marked the close of the sale, not by pounding a
gavel, but by delivering a stinging blow from the crop directly
across the freshly-sold slave girl's naked backside.  It was cruel,
perhaps, but a good introduction to her new life.  She was now a
slave.

The market, crude as it was, had a grim efficiency to it, and, after
thousands of years of practice, the art of moving the merchandise
quickly had been perfected.  I wondered how long it would take for
me to be sold.  I did not have long to wait.  The auctioneer jerked
on my leash, and I stumbled forward.  I was the next to face the
humiliation of the donkey cart.

The first bid came in even as I was being lifted onto back of the
cart.  I don't know how much a "bur" -- or maybe "birr" -- was
worth, but the first buyer thought I was worth 500 of them.  But
I think it might have been a joke, because the auctioneer just
laughed.

I realized I didn't even know what country I was in.  It didn't
matter, of course.  A donkey or camel has no passport, and neither
does a naked slave girl.

Fortunately, the auctioneer spoke a little English.  Remembering
what the Japanese girl had been forced to do, and the price she
had paid for disobedience, I quickly moved through my paces.  

To control my panic, I pictured myself at work, wearing my sharpest
power suit.  "Yes, I'm ready for the Reynolds presentation.  It's
ours to lose," I thought, as the auctioneer used his whip to bounce
my breasts for the laughing buyers.

I turned and showed the bidders my ass.  "No, I'm not going to sign
that until Legal reviews it.  Tell my secretary to forward the
contract to Walter."

I turned again and squatted, spreading my knees so the buyers could
see my bald pussy.  "That's my final offer.  Take it or leave it."

The auctioneer tapped my pussy with his whip, rubbing me to show
my juiciness, pointing out how my wetness made the tip of his whip
glisten.  "Yes, sir, my firm's services are worth every penny.  And
I have several offers on the table."

The auctioneer rubbed my sex again.  Deciding to raise my price, I
licked my lips, and the crowd went wild.  

I hopped on one foot, in a circle, causing my breasts and bottom to
bounce.   Left foot, hop, hop, hop, hop.  Right foot, hop, hop, hop!

"Don't worry, sir.  The deal is as good as done."

I bent over, spreading my legs wide.  The men laughed and hooted as
my bare pussy and bottom hole were exposed for their examination.
The donkey brayed.

Feeling a bit creative, I squatted down a bit lower and crossed my
feet until they touched.  It was an interesting variation on the
standard pose, and the crowd loved it.  I could tell from the look
on the auctioneer's face that he was pleased.  Seeing the whip in
his hand, I was pleased too.

I rose and turned.  I stared down at my dirty brown feet, but, as
the bidding reached its peak, the auctioneer lifted my chin high
with his whip.  Humiliated beyond words, I was forced to look
squarely at the smiling crowd of black men bidding on my naked body.

WHOOSH!  The pain across my ass was like a bolt of lightning.  I
must have screamed, but didn't hear it.

The men cheered, and the donkey brayed.  I was sold.

I could tell from the smile on the auctioneer's face that he was
happy with the price I had brought.  But his happiness did not
save my bottom from the whip.  Nor did it save me from what was
coming next.

My buyer was a bald, obese, toothless black man in his late fifties.
He wore a colorful robe, but was otherwise unremarkable.  I was
surprised that he could afford me.

My owner barely looked at me as he led me by my leash through the
compound.  My bare feet seemed to find every pebble, but that
discomfort displaced by horror as we rounded the corner just in
time to see a brand placed on the shoulder of a blindfolded,
tightly bound mule.

I watched in horror as my master dropped a coin into the hand of
the man holding the iron.  He smiled at my master, then, still
holding the smoking iron, turned and smiled at me.

I tried to run.  I panicked.  I screamed.  It took two men to lock
me in the wooden stocks.

Blocks of wood were fixed around me, so my ass was high in the air,
and I was totally immobile.

The blacksmith was a talented sadist.  He showed me the tiny iron,
already heating in the small forge, and already red hot.  It was a
sort of squiggly line, and, although I didn't know the alphabet, he
thoughtfully tapped my right ass cheek to show me exactly where it
was going.  

I gasped for air.  I struggled, but could not move.  It did not
matter.  In a few moments, I would be a branded slave.

Smiling down at me, he let the fumes from the hot iron fill my
nostrils, and he brushed my blonde hair out of my eyes.  I wept
openly, and I could hear the men behind me laughing as I lost
control of my bladder, pissing like a racehorse in anticipation
of the searing pain.

My master inserted a rubber bit into my mouth, presumably to
prevent my biting off my tongue, and buckled the strap around
my head.  He stroked my hair gently as the smith disappeared
behind me with the iron.

As the iron touched my bottom, I bit down hard and screamed lustily.
Behind me, I heard peals of laughter.  

Familiar laughter.    

After a stinging SLAP across my naked ass, my laughing husband,
Steve, with Dadi and Monica (still naked and collared, but with
her hands free), appeared in front of me, laughing.  

Steve was holding, not a branding iron, but a pair of tongs with a
large piece of ice in it.  

He could barely contain himself as he guffawed over my fake
branding.

"Did I scare you?" he asked.

It took a moment to wrap my head around what was happening.  My
naked butt was sticking sky high, and it was totally immobile,
but there was no pain.

I was shocked, relieved, and furious.  As soon as Monica took the
rubber bit out of my mouth I shouted, "Fuck you!  Fuck all of you!"

Everyone kept laughing.  "Were you scared?" Steve teased.

"No!" I shouted.  

"So why you pee in dirt?" Dadi asked.  Everyone laughed, and I felt
my face flush.

Recovering a bit, I tried to join in on the joke.  "A little scared,
maybe.  Now I just feel gypped.  All that build-up for nothing."

"What are you complaining about?" Steve teased.  "I'm the one who's
out the 2 coppers I paid to have you branded."

Dadi joined in the fun, holding up the still hot iron.  "That
nothing, Steve.  How sad iron must be, missing chance to burn
her fat ass."  Again, everyone laughed.

"Put it back in the fire, Dadi," Monica said.  "We need to keep it
hot, in case Steve decides to get his money's worth."

"That made her butt cheeks tighten!" Steve's voice said.

"I'm just uncomfortable, that's all," I said.  "I can hardly move
in this branding brace."

"That's the general idea, love.  Oh, come on, it's not so bad,"
Steve said, laughing.  "I know you're enjoying some of it."  

I gasped as I felt Steve's hand between my spread legs, teasing and
tickling me in just the right way.  Despite the audience, I groaned
in pleasure.

"She slave-hot," Dadi said.

"Yes, in heat," my new black "owner" said.  "She will serve her
master well."

My objection to their characterization turned into a guttural moan
as Steve teased my button.

"I don't know what you're complaining about, Chloe.  I got it a lot
worse than you," Monica said.  

Monica turned around.  On her right butt cheek, I could see the
squiggly line raised in an angry welt.  She was a freshly-branded
slave girl.

"Oh, Monica, I'm so sorry!" I said, still groaning as Steve teased
me.

"Yeah, Dadi didn't get to me in time...or so he claims."

Dadi laughed and Monica continued.  "Of course, now that I've been
branded, I can't leave unless they get an export license for me,
like I'm a damn commodity.  They said it will take at least a
month."

Steve's fingers were driving me nuts, and I struggled to focus.  
"But we're leaving Africa next week," I said.

"I am a broker," the man who bought me said.  "I bought for Steve.  
But I sell again, with a buy-back agreement.  Sort of like a loan."

"Yeah, with me as the collateral," Monica said dryly.

"No worry.  Deal in writing.  I find you a good master."

"I hope so," Monica said.

"I'm glad you're taking this so well, Monica," Steve said.

"It is the way of market," the broker observed. "Inspection,
auction, branding.  It makes slave girls docile.  See how
your wife juices on your fingers?"

I blushed a bit as the conversation shifted easily from my branded
friend to me....

"I find you a good master," the broker said, looking at Monica.
"One who knows how to break in white women, put them in their
place.  Will not whip much, if you obey."

The broker turned and looked down at me.  "This one is hot and
juicy.  I get more for two.  Sell 'em as a matched pair."

Monica smiled down at me.  "You said we were in the same boat,
right?  And what was good for one was good for all, right?"

"I guess," I said, paying more attention to my approaching orgasm.
"But...."

"Well, then maybe we should strike while the iron's hot," Monica
said.  She poked the branding iron around in the brazier and then
pulled it out.  The tip was glowing!

The sight of the branding iron in Monica's hand, combined with
Steve's knowing fingers, pushed me into the most uncontrolled
orgasm of my life.

Even as my pussy quivered in waves of pleasure, Steve's fingers
relentlessly drove me on.  "Are you sure about this, Chloe?  We
can stop if you want to."

Monica blew on the tip, causing it to glow hotter.  "Oooh," she
purred.  "It's perfect!  Just perfect!"

Steve quickened his pace between my legs as I cascaded into my
second orgasm.  Focusing entirely on his teasing fingers I gasped,
"No, Steve, keep going.  Don't stop!  Don't stop....  DON'T STOP!"

I orgasmed again.  The pleasure was unbelievable.

Monica handed the iron to the blacksmith, and then, to my surprise,
she stuck the rubber bit into my mouth.

"What are you...dethnge?" I said, the last part of my sentence
turning unintelligible.  

I tried to shake the bit off, but Monica pulled the strap tight and
buckled it into place.  "Easy, slave girl," she said, calming me
like I was a feisty puppy.  The bit is for your own good.  This is
going to hurt, and we don't want you to damage those pretty white
teeth of yours."

Realizing what was about to happen, I shouted into my bit.  "You
don't understand," came out as "thaah onnn uhhdahand."

Monica smiled and stroked my hair.  "Hush.  Don't worry, we'll both
be standing on the donkey cart soon.  Together."

The blacksmith eyed his tool with a practiced and professional eye.
"Iron ready now," he said.  "Should I do full burn?"  

"Yes, 3 seconds," Dadi replied.  "Slowly.  Make official."

"Yes, good for her," the broker observed.  "Let her feel it."

I tumbled into my third orgasm, but, before I could start my
fourth, Steve withdrew his hand, and the smith disappeared
behind me.

Closing my eyes, I bite down on the rubber.  It was Halloween,
and I was scared.  I was very scared.  

        ******************************

HAPPY HALLOWEEN FROM JOE & LAKEWOOD

Edited by C. Lakewood

Submitted November 05, 2019 at 03:46AM by searchem https://ift.tt/2Ne4Md3