===========================
What kind of slave would you be for halloween?
A Halloween 2009 Contest Entry. Hope you like it.
===========================
Things were getting crazy.
There were three of us, couples that is, that had been holding Halloween parties for several years. It all started when we had scheduled a party the same day as the Thomases seven years back. We weren't close friends but we had many friends in common, and after some discussion, they agreed to attend our party, cancelling theirs. We would include their guest list, and the following year, it would be their turn.
By the time the following Halloween had passed, the wives where thick as thieves, and Wendy, the original mediator, wanted her turn hosting the Halloween party. Of course Dale and Erika Thomas had done their best to out-do ours, so Wendy and Victor upped the ante once more. We all had our own businesses, and the party was tax deductible, so the expense wasn't a major concern.
Each year the parties became more extravagant, the decorations more elaborate, and the costumes, well... another case of oneupmanship there. For the first 4 years the parties kept growing, with nearly 30 couples invited at the peak, as well as a few singles. In the 5th year Vic and Wendy reduced the guest list by a good quarter, and last year we reduced it even more. The parties were becoming more exclusive, with very few 'new' couples added, fewer singles, and the event became a local legend.
The costumes were getting sexier, year after year, and the women joked that they no longer worried about getting ready for swimsuit season, it was Halloween season which drove them to their personal trainers.
Last year, we upped the ante yet-again, creating the first 'themed' party, a Pirate Party. Since the first year, we'd been giving out prizes to the best costumes, by closed ballot. For the Pirate Party we had first through third place awards for the best Pirate Wench, authentic silver reales set in silver necklaces for sexiest costume and most original, and set in gold for best overall costume. As you might imagine, some of the outfits were simply unbelievable. One young lady showed up in little more than thigh high boots and a leather thong and bustier; she still only managed to pull third place. Wendy took home first place that year with a gorgeous traditional wench outfit, made mostly of see through material, and a short skirt, slit right to the waist. She wore her award necklace regularly, and every time I saw it, I remembered that outfit.
It was pretty crazy, the whole party set us back about three grand, with nearly a third of that tied up in the prizes. We had a full cemetery out front, with humorous headstones, now numbering around 30. We actually hired day labor to dig up the lawn, create the cemetery, and replace it the following Monday. The key decorations were a ship's mast, in the center of our two-story family room, and ships railings across the rear wall. The party was a huge hit, but we knew that no matter how high you raised the bar, somebody was bound to try to set it higher yet.
When we got this year's invitation, we knew the gauntlet had been thrown down.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Dallas Slave Auction by invitation only
The Master of this household is invited to the Dallas Slave Auction. You are required to bring at least one slave that will be auctioned to the highest bidder for the evening. All slaves will be freed at the end of the evening, with the best slaves being rewarded as well.
Slave control and training devices will be available, but you are encouraged to bring your own.
RSVP with any questions * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
By agreement, all invitations were sent out in September, giving the invitees sufficient time to prepare. Last year we had caught some flack for only giving 5 weeks notice. It turns out that some people had been planning their costumes for months, and our 'theme' threw a monkey-wrench in the works. This time we had about 6 weeks to go.
I immediately began to wonder just what constituted a 'slave'. A costume was one thing, but 'control and training' devices and auctioning off the women seemed to be going quite a big further. Would our friends go along with this? Or would this be the smallest turnout ever.
I managed to corner Dale and grill him about the party. He wasn't saying shit about what the plan was. He finally confessed he didn't even know the full extent, his wife Erika and her cousin Michelle were running the show. He did bemoan the fact that it looked like it was going to be twice as expensive as the last one. I finally got around to asking him how the responses were coming.
I needn't have wondered. Within a week, they had nearly a 100% acceptance to the invitations. Fifteen invites, thirteen accepted, one still trying to work it out. No fear or hesitation in this crowd.
Which was good. Life seemed to be in somewhat of a rut again. The Halloween parties were the most exciting thing all year, by far, and it would usually lead to a pretty hot night of sex, something which, I'm sad to say, was becoming more and more infrequent.
How does it happen? I married a stunning woman, absolutely gorgeous, the envy of all my friends. And here I was, 10 years later, ready to pose her for one of those demotivational posters: "Reality - As good as she looks, someone, somewhere is tired of her shit."
My lust for her had all but dried up. She was the most boring woman in bed I'd ever been with, and even the slightest suggestion to open her up was met with hostility and usually a several week hiatus in lovemaking.
In truth, she rarely turned me down, but she made it seem like such a chore. And I guess it was. When we first got together, it was God's greatest gift that I could climb between her legs, and fuck her repeatedly, spending thirty minutes or more pushing us over the peak. Unbelievable that I could be with this stone-cold fox. Our lovemaking was always extensive, and exhausting. She was hard to bring to orgasm, and as the years passed, little else changed. With enough coercion she'd lay back and open her beautiful legs for me, and I would be allowed to enter her. It would often require lube, since she wasn't excited, nor was she interested in allowing me the opportunity to excite her. I was less interested in working myself to death on top of her, than in getting my rocks off, and 5 minutes later I would roll off and we'd talk about the kids.
Why? How? What could I do?
Over time I found myself initiating the act less frequently. When the guys would rib me over going home to such a hottie, and having that available all the time, I'd just laugh and agree. How do you tell anyone your dream babe is a dreamsicle.
It was only at Halloween that she opened up a bit, and I could usually expect some extra loving leading up to the event, and for a short while after. Around Halloween, lube was rarely required, she'd be ready for me, and even respond underneath me. I loved Halloween.
My darling wife Amanda had been in discussions with Wendy almost constantly for nearly four weeks, and they hadn't come up with a costume yet. That was unusual for those two, especially Wendy, who was one of those 'crafty' stay at home moms. She always made home-made cards, invitations, and gifts, and was quite talented at it. Her artistic bent usually showed up in her original costumes.
I came home to find them discussing the topic one evening, and sat with them for a few minutes. It sounded like Wendy had come up with an idea for their costumes, and when I showed some curiosity, she laughingly pulled out a folded up piece of paper and showed it to me. It showed a model with a couple of pieces of fake fur draped across her chest and across her hips, barely covering the essentials.
"Something like that, but sluttier," she giggled.
It always amazed me how these women could dress so conservatively all year long, and then just go nuts one night a year. Not that I was complaining.
I looked up at her and scanned her body with a smile, "Looks competitive."
"Yeah, we thought getting away from the expected might work, and a captured slave cavewoman seems like a winner. I can play the fearful, uncomprehending, captive thrust into a future society. Could be kind of wild."
Wendy was always a favorite going into the contest. She was quite a looker, and I'm certain I wasn't the only husband each year fantasizing about the tasty MILF. She was tall, just a couple of inches shorter than me, and commonly wore 3" heels with her costume, towering over all the other women. If that wasn't bad enough, her long legs were impeccable, her round ass delectable, and her sweet tits, always showcased and presentable. Her outfits were always designed to emphasize her formidable assets.
"So have you worked ours out yet?" I asked my wife.
At 34, she still had a dynamite body. Where Wendy might be found on the cover of Vogue, Amanda was much more likely to grace the center of Playboy. She was an amazing natural beauty. If we ever did a Baywatch themed party, Wendy could do a fair Alexandra Paul (if just a little too busty), and Amanda would be a dead ringer for Erika Eleniak (think Under Siege, not Celebrity Fit Club).
She had asked me for ideas, and I had dug out an old Gor novel for her to read. I'd run into John Norman's Gor novels in college. My fraternity had nearly the entire series in their library. It was a world where warriors were the top of the social ladder, where women were natural slaves, and technology didn't work. It created a mostly agricultural world of constant battle, dangerous beasts, flying mounts, and casual sexual usage of women. Slaves were both the lowest and highest in worth, some bought for a few coppers, others sitting beside the highest of leaders. On Gor all women are gorgeous, and the most beautiful women of Earth are commonly kidnapped and taken to this barbaric planet, where they are considered to be among the best suited for slavery. The writing is average to poor, and the sex scenes are not graphic, but they are a titillating read for a young man.
She'd given me enormous grief over that, asking if that was how I viewed women. Laughingly, I explained that it was the most ritualized and best described fantasy slave culture I knew of. I also reminded her that as far as costumes go, Gor presented the most choices for incredibly sexy outfits. I didn't mention the bonus fact that it was the most overtly sexual.
"Admit it. It's just another sick male fantasy, where women let their 'true slave' out, and collapse in a heap of desire from the mere touch of a real man. It objectifies women as if they were nothing but unthinking, out-of-control sperm receptacles."
"It's not just another sick male fantasy," I argued. "For many it's THE male fantasy."
"Maybe your fantasy, you pig," she answered, smacking me.
I reached for her, "YOU would be my fantasy."
She seemed almost shocked by the statement. "Liar. We all know your fantasies live inside your laptop."
