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.
