"Margo" - читать интересную книгу автора (Campbell F E)

CHAPTER FOUR
PUNISHMENTS

The dream died hard. But Margo placed little significance upon it. What more natural to dream of such horrors when she herself was sleeping with chains upon her feet, her hands, and her neck. The vivid impressions remained, but she sent them to the back of her mind and told no one. After all, it was only a dream.

The Rossland Academy for Young Women drew Margo Davis within itself to absorb quickly. Her collar was unlocked from the wall, but remained around her neck. Her handcuffs were removed to enable her to join the rest of the dormitory in its morning rituals. The cautious, watchful solicitude of Jean Evans remained guide. Quite possibly, she was also her guard.

The Academy constantly threw curve balls at its inmates, always the unexpected. The first of the came after breakfast in the communal dining hall. Jean diffidently said, "I'll need your hands behind your back, dear. I have to tie them."

"What on earth for? I haven't done anything." Her arms went rigidly to her sides, her fists clenched.

Jean laughed at her disquiet. "Its nothing, sweetheart. You have to take these things as they come. Remember, this is the Academy."

"But the only answer to what you've just said is a couple of cliches: 'When in Rome do as the Romans do', or 'Ours is not to reason why, but doomed to die'."

Suddenly the two girls were laughing. Margo was aware of the inconsistency of her revolt. She had sold herself, and those who now owned her could called the shots. If they wanted to tie her hands behind her back, they most certainly could.

There came then the Academy's latest recruit, a sensation and an act with which she could become increasingly familiar; the passive surrendering of herself or a part of herself to the wall of someone else. Margo shrugged, grinned, and kicked her chain as she turned and crossed her wrists behind her back. Then she stood erect, quivering as the cords encircled her wrists and were drawn tight by the hands of a beautiful girl. It was a strange sensation and a potent one. If she wished to be fanciful, she could listen to the act of the bride, surrendering herself to her lord and master at the alter. Margo's breathing had quickened. Her nostrils flared, and deep within her sex, the fire flamed anew. She said nothing, and Jean said nothing, but both were aware of what was taking place. The girl being bound emanated vibrations in waves. Jean patted the final knot and cheerfully said, "Come on, you're going into a cage."

It was a large cage in a large, birth room. The cage already had inmates: four girls. All were bound. They had the appearance of preparing themselves for a day of boredom and discomfort. They viewed the newcomer with a fresh interest. Jean locked the door behind her charge and went away. Around her lips was a quivering smile.

Margo felt shy. She felt foolish. She was actually glad her hands were tied where they were. Had they been free, she would not have known what to do with them. It was one of those moments. True, the other girls were naked, as she was naked, but compared to them, she was almost free.

The first was bound in the same manner as herself, but had been backed against the bars and her neck roped by three bands of harsh hemp to compel her to stand upright. The second offering a variation. She wore no chains, but her hands were also tied behind her back. She lay upon the floor, and one ankle had been snared by a rope and lifted high toward the top of the converging bars. It had been drawn just sufficiently high to almost raise her bottom from the floor. Margo sensed her discomfort. The third stood in a pose of languid weariness. She bore no bounds whatsoever except on her wrists. They were handcuffed. But before being joined, the cuff had been slipped around a bar above her head to compel her to stand facing in or out, as she chose. But whatever her choice, her hands would remain high above the crosspiece which denied withdrawal. The fourth stood like an exquisite butterfly impaled against the side of the cage. Her arms had been draw out and wrists bound to the bars in the totally outspread position of a bird's wings. It was very simple, very effective, and after the hours had passed, would become very cruel.

"Welcome to the club, honey." It was the girl with the bound neck who now twisted and shook her head disdainfully to ease herself and improve articulation. The ropes were snug enough to impede speech. "You're getting the quivering treatment, sweetheart. They put you in here to let you see what's going to happen to you sometime. It may be today, or it may be a week from now. None of us have done anything to warrant being fixed this way, but it's been done to us just to educate us. You should feel flattered."

Margo did not feel flattered. She felt guilty for realizing herself so much a focus of so much feminine discomfort. The girl with the raised leg laughed up from her posture on the floor.

"Don't worry about it. Your name is Margo, isn't it? We're all delinquents together, and the girls get used to this sort of thing. Ask Patsy, the one with the handcuffs. She had to stay the way she is for an entire night once. Has the master used you yet?"

"The master?" Margo was groping for someone to fit the term. "Oh, you mean Mr. Ross, don't you? Is that what you call him?"

"Don't kid yourself. He is one. He's the only bright spot in our lesbian lives. If it weren't for him, men would become merely a memory." There was a bitter laugh. "The trouble is, there area lot of us, and only one of him."

There was a snickering pause until the handcuffed girl added her contribution.

"Don't get excited, sweetheart. If he happens to choose you, it's a very mixed blessing. A girl can't be positive whether she gets her bottom caned or whether she gets taken to bed. Usually, it's both. He's an extremely versatile man. He's an artist with rope, and a girl can get tied up by him in more ways that you can dream of. Mostly, you'd wish he'd cane your bottom. You get it over with quicker that way. You can pretty well rely on the cane or the riding crop with Miss Harridance. She likes to get you well heated before you service her. One of her favorite tricks is to have you do the servicing while another girl canes your bottom for her. That way she gets the best of both worlds." She gave a short, sharp laugh. "Don't worry, honey, you may even get to like the place."

Everything was an object lesson. Each girl had something to each. At a later time Margo was thrust together with a girl, Patsy, who in this first instance in the cage had been attached to the bars with handcuffs and forced to stand there in idle lassitude. In this particular instance, the Academy had seen fit to place the two girls in a bare compartment, placed them with their backs to the wall, extend their far hand, and bind it to a ring. This left each girl standing some feet apart with one hand outstretched and immovably lose to them. They were then very neatly linked by taking their free hands and cuffing them together. It was a strangely exasperating bond. Neither girl could reach her bound hand to use her teeth. Neither girl could pull the other's arm sufficiently to herself to reach anything. They simply stood with one arm outstretched to either side, the other joined to her companion in distress. They went nowhere.

Patsy was philosophical. She shrugged and grinned at her companion.

"We can try to reach each other, if you like. It would be a nice way to pass some time, and I bet we've got lots of time. It would be nice if we could play with each other, but you'll find that we can't. Thee have these cute little ties figured to the last inch. Come on, try."

They tried, but as Patsy had said, they failed. Their handcuffed hands were as lost to them as the outstretched ones so tightly bound with cords. They fell back on conversation.

"You've got the most gorgeous body," Patsy enthused enviously. "The master will be picking you all the time. But then you're one of the girls he's purchased, aren't you? You're not here because Mommy and Daddy sent you." She sighed. "I only rate the master's attention about once in two months. I'm trying to work up a crush on Miss Harridance. She isn't exactly second best. She's tops in her own way, but if you service her enough, you get out of gear with things. Men start to seem odd to you, and then when one comes along, you resent whatever he does. The Academy is for the birds."

"Did Henry Ross start it?"

"Sure, he did. How else would we get the name?"

Patsy laughed without rancor. "Ross gets around. And he soon discovered there was an awful lot of rich people with daughters who were a bit of a nuisance. So he started Rossland, and in his brochures and interviews, he promised the finished product when returned home after a period decided by the parents, she would behave herself and be a credit to the family. He never told them about Rossland's efforts. And I've got a notion they were just as happy not to know. He also failed to mention this interest in what we've got between our legs."

"Yes, I can understand all that. But what I don't understand is who profits from keeping us fastened here against the wall the way we are now. I mean, nobody is looking."

"That's hard to explain," Patsy admitted. "Everything that happens at Rossland creates atmosphere, and there's a sort of brainwashing process. Both Henry Ross and Miss Harridance adore a bound girl." Patsy's laugh was now genuine enough. "Yes, really. They get a tremendous sexual kick out of seeing us handcuffed, chained, tied up, strapped up. In fact, any sort of constraint at all. That big cage we were in that time. Well, if a girl were not tied up at all, so long as she were touching the bars and looking through them longingly, you see, that's a form of restraint. And it tells its own story. Sometimes they take pictures when they think they've created something special, like with us now."

"After awhile, we'll get tired and drop a bit and look sad and weary. That's the moment when Miss Harridance will pop in with a camera." Patsy paused and gave her companion a compassionate sideways look. "Look, Margo, don't be shy about it. Be honest. You've been tied up quiet a bit now, and your feet are still shackled through the first two weeks. Haven't you felt something, I mean, a sort of a warmth or heat? I suppose what I'm really asking is don't you ever get horny?"

"Yes." Margo made the admission grudgingly. "I just figure it's being made helpless or in the possession of somebody else. It probably stems from lovemaking in which one person or the other dominants or takes a leading role. It seems to me this is true of heterosexual or lesbian activities. Or it could go back to infancy, you know. Our mothers were absolutely and totally dominant with us. They owned us completely and did what they like with us. We had to simply accept that. Maybe it sucks around the rest of our lives. Well, anyway, there's an awful lot of the girls sort of get infected. They start getting a bang out of things done to them. My cunny positively crinkles every time I'm handcuffed. But I'll admit it's all crazy. If you're looking for logic, don't come to Rossland."

The two girls fell briefly silent, but amused themselves by pulling at each other's arms by the medium of the handcuffs. First one, then the other. They experimented with various postures and places in which to hold their arms, but always in defeat. They always returned to the original pose allowing their arms to droop and gravitate to govern the handcuffs grip. Rossland Academy was a stern mistress.

"I've been here a bit over a year," Patsy said. "I really believe I would have gone hairy, if it hadn't been for just what I told you. This whole place seethes with eroticism and sex. A girl gets to where she looks forward to being summoned to Miss Harridance's office. And, of course, the visits of the master excite us terribly. It might be easy for an outsider to see the whole place as just a bunch of girls busy eating each other, but the management watches out for that. We manage it once in awhile, but mostly we don't. Like now. How in the devil could you and I do anything? The only part of each other we can touch is our fingers. Sometimes a girl gets real grateful for that."

Margo considered what she had learned. She remembered reading about Victorian schools somewhat similar, but there the girls had been younger and more impressionable. But then, docile, obedient maidens had been much revered and in great demand as wives. She could not imagine this being true today. She voiced this thought.

"But, Patsy, when a girl is freed from this place today and goes home to her parents, I figure she's lost. Does she know what to do with herself or how to act? She'd probably run off with the first man or the first women who asked her. And this thing you speak about this getting sexually excited when bound, she'd go looking for that too! I think she'd be more of a problem than ever."

"Ah, but you're forgetting, honey, she be past the stage where she picks up babies too easily. She be wise about that. That's something Rossland teaches us. If they didn't this whole place would be littered with little editions of Henry Ross. Do you know that there have been some cases where girls have come back to Rossland and asked to reenter? For them, the inside had become better than the outside. In one or two cases, it was actually arranged."

The girl Patsy was by no means Margo's only mentor or source of comment and information. In all that was done to her during the first two weeks of initiation, she could clearly see a pattern of indoctrination.

She was exposed to difficult girls and different situations in a seeming jumble of misplaced authority. But in the end, she realized she was in some measure molded and condition by the events. One of these which she could laugh at afterwards was the cage.

When Margo was ushered into the room in which the cage was kept, it contained a single naked girl whose only bondage was handcuffed wrists. Margo herself was handcuffed and still wore the initiation shackles on her ankles. The girl stared in sudden realization.

"You sit on the edge, swing your feet over, then side down," the mistress informed her without emotion.

"I can't possibly. There isn't room." She stared in perplexity from the girl within the cage to the one who stood by her, waiting.

"That cage is made for one girl only. I can't possibly get in with her."

"Yes, you can. All you have to do is try." The tone became grim. "And you'd better try."

Shocked, shamed, and feeling silly, Margo did as she was told. Rossland was teaching her that few things are impossible. She crouched between the other girl's open knees and bent down to allow the top of the cage to be lowered and padlocked. It's what Rossland called "togetherness".

The mistress said dryly, "Well, I'll leave you two to get acquainted. Goodbye."

Margo's first impression of togetherness was girl scent. She flushed in a sudden realization that her own was mingling with the other occupant of the cage. The two girls stared at each other face to face.

The other girl was first to speak.

"Your name is Margo, I know. You can call me Debbie. The most important thing to remember is don't panic. That's the first thing a girl does in a cage. But we're both going to live. And we may even manage a little fun if nobody is watching. You won't have to kneel all the time, because I'll shift a little, and that will enable you to shift a little, and we'll sorta go around and around, taking turns in the most uncomfortable positions. It's absolutely for the birds, but it's one of the few things in this place that gives us a chance to get at each other." She giggled. "Can't you smell our pussies perking up? They've scented each other." Debbie leaned forward and bit Margo's ear with sharp young teeth. "You see, darling, we can do things. Don't be shy. Why, I do believe you're blushing! There's absolutely no need for two girls locked in a cage to do any blushing. But I do wish they hadn't handcuffed us. They just do, you know, to be mean. It makes things just that much more difficult."

"You've been in here before," Margo accused. "I'm going to die if I stay squashed down like this."

"No, you won't, darling. You just watch me. You're right, I've been in here before."

Margo watched in amazement. She was also kicked, jostled, pushed, and prodded as Debbie performed the impossible task of turning herself around to insert her head between her fellow captive's legs and open her own invitingly. The position she had attained was simple to like on her back in an open invitation to a 69.

"Now, darling," she said softly, "bend your legs up at the knee and let yourself down onto my lips, then you'll find that the best part of me sort of is sort of staring you in the face. You do know what to do, don't you?"

Margo Davis knew what to do.

There was much talk of whips and canes and riding crops, but remarkably few scarlet bottoms. Such punishments were for emphasis only, and in any case, a girl had only so much skin to offer and once it's been used. Since what Rossland had most of was time, most punishments were designed to use it to the best advantage. A maiden who approached some form of bondage with an insouciance and lack of concern in the morning would later, when released, be a much more tractable young woman. A girl might be bound in lonely solitude or with a second girl in a similar plight. Or she might be one of a group. The Academy was infinitely resourceful.

One morning, shortly before the end of her initiation period, Jean Evans spoke.

"Just hands and arms today, darling. Aren't you lucky?"

Margo reserved judgment. She stood and got her usual thrill from the binding of her hands behind her back. It was not until the task had been finished and she was firmly knotted that she realized that they had been tied palm to palm instead of the usual crossed wrists position. When rope found her elbows and drew them slowly tighter and tighter until they touched, the initiate realized this could be one of the worst days. Her shoulders were wracked back hard and taut, thrusting her breasts into a most attractive elegance. Her nipples, for reasons of their own, chose to protrude in the same proportion and to become flint hard and immensely sensitive to the touch. When Jean Evans ran a mischievous hand across their tips, it was to evoke a startled gasp from their owner.

The girls exchanged glances. They understood.

It was strange to be so helpless and yet look down at one's own nakedness and see no single bond beyond the usual shackles. Next, Margo was lead to a square, six-inch post running from floor to ceiling.

Its vertical length seemed innocent enough. But by the time Jean had bound the already trussed arms and hands back tight against the wood, it took on a more personal connotation. The girl was, in a sense, not bound to it at all. It was her arms and hands which were tied to the wooden surface. Because they were attached to the rest of her, by virtue of her shoulders, she stand at their pleasure.

"A girl looks her absolute best when she's tied like this," Jean assured her. "You're a knockout!"

For brief moments, the structured girl was proud of what Jean had made of her. From a frontal view, she was a Venus without arms at all. Her arms ended at her shoulders and were lost from view. But she already was increasingly conscious of pain. A girl with bound elbows knows indeed of helplessness. To struggle was futile. She could reach nothing, and the pain doubled.

"Oh, Jean, this is awful. Must my elbows be tied so they meet? Must they? Couldn't you just tie them to the post in a sort of ordinary way?"

The answer was both understood and unrewarding. Jean simply patted the captive's cheeks and said, "There, there, darling. You'll have to put up with it. But do remember, while you stand like that, you are the most beautiful thing in the world. I almost envy you, but not quite! Don't bother to shout for help or tell somebody how bird it is. If you do, somebody may gag you. Bye-bye for now."

So simple. Such a joyous thing between two girls. Such rapport. But left alone, the naked girl whose only visible bonds were the leg irons on her feet soon felt close to tears. The pain was an endless nag. It was not dependent on her struggling or her position. There was only one position and that was to stand straight upright very much at attention Margo could swear her arms were bound with hot metal wires becoming increasingly incandescent. It was as though back behind the post were was a creature intent upon her torture. She tried to move, but the ropes told her curtly it would be wisest to stand absolutely still.

Miss Harridance was an unexpected visitor. By the time she had arrived, Margo was seriously debating taking a chance on screaming or calling out. Surely if her pleas and cries were piteous enough, someone would rescue her. But Miss Harridance immediately took command.

"It's bad, isn't it, dear? We do understand." Her smile was beneficent. "I'm very pleased with you through this process of initiation, but your prelude to Rossland would not be complete without the elbow tie." She frictioned the still arrogant breasts and nipples, and nodded wisely at the resultant gasps she evoked. Her hand went lower and sought the inevitable place to test, presumably for secretions. However, she made no mention of what she found there, and by the time Margo herself was unconcerned. Miss Harridance could have found a blazing fire or got herself a very wet hand for all she scared. Gaspingly, she struggled to speak.

"This is too awful. I can't stand it. I'm terribly sorry, Miss Harridance, but I really can't stand it. Please give me a break."

"One of the nice things about being a captive girl, such as yourself, is that no one pays any attention to anything you say," Miss Harridance explained evenly. "You will discover a reaction in yourself to thins being ignored. I'm quite sure you are certain you will die, or that you will lose your arms, or some other disaster will befall you. You want, in some way, to impress upon me the enormity of these hazards and your own horror at what you foresee."

The headmistress smiled and patted a flushed cheek.

"Forget it, dear. Just simply forget it. You are going to stand like that for the period of your sentence, and I'm not going to tell you how long that is. The experience will be a memorable one for you. We usually confine the elbow tie to a girl in transit. It keeps them tractable and humble. A girl with bound elbows has little thought for anything except to be untied. It is a most admirable control. After you have endured it and been released, you will agree."

"But it's still too awful. I didn't bargain for anything like this with Mr. Ross."

"Obviously not, or you would not be here."

Miss Harridance's logic was irrefutable. Her next remark was pure Rossland.

"Would you like me to introduce an orgasm for you, dear?"

The bound nakedness gasped in astonishment. While she was gathering her wits to reply, the headmistress blandly continued.

"I refuse to compete with shackled ankles, dear. But a woman's hands are tremendously potent, or don't you know?"

"No, thank you."

"I do understand, dear. Your embarrassment is reaching main waves. You are quite delightful. I asked you a question, but it was purely rhetorical. You have nothing to say about what I may or may not do to you. Let me give you an example."

The hand was potent indeed! From the moment it sought her most private place, the agony of her arms was forgotten. Margo gasped and gasped again, and stared to find the eyes of authority very close to her own. They were searching, totally in command and soon took on the absorbed air of erotic possession. Margo herself closed her eyes and delivered herself to sensation. The hand provoked her flesh in ways she had never dreamed. Miss Harridance was a female of versatility.

She was moreover exactly that: female.

It was hard to be alone again. True, the influence of the headmistress remained long after she was gone. The bound girl stood in a daze of mesmerized possession, a glowing aftermath of female joy. But then, little by little, her elbows once more took possession and sang their litany of anguish. But their owner now was willing to believe she might survive.

There was also the memory of the bare room and the two girls who kept her company. It was extremely simple and had a certain decorative quality about its punishment. All three were hanging froth the ceiling by bound hands, their toes only inches from the floor in an exasperating temptation to continually search for it. One link of the connecting chain would touch the floor below when she hung limp. Care had been taken to preserve their wrists. They had been bound with bandages, which made a neat, tight bond which was circled by the tethering rope and drawn high. The greatest distress each girl suffered was wracked shoulders and strained arms. Left alone after first being raised from the floor, each one of them essayed to struggle and explore the limits of her bonds. In so doing, each maiden was able to see herself mirrored in the naked distress of her companions. Whatever she was doing, they did too, until in the end each one of them hung limply and passively in resignation to their day.

"And I never did a damn thing," said the red-headed girl. "It's that bitch of a mistress. She doesn't like me. I bet we're here for the whole day too."

"It's news to me. We have to do something to be punished," the brow-haired maiden contributed unhappily. "The last three times I've been punished, it was for absolutely nothing. Just because somebody got the notion it would be amusing to give me a bad day."

Margo felt they looked to her for her own assessment, so she said, "I suppose it's because this is within my first two weeks – the initiation. I haven't done anything either."

They were unquestionably beautiful. Miss Harridance had visited briefly and had commented on the symmetry of the arrangement, the slenderness of their nudity was vastly enhanced by suspension, bowed heads and hair falling awry added to the effect. They could not move other than gracefully. And in almost any given moment, one of them would make some tentative effort, which was no more than a mental prompting to do something. It is hard on female flesh to remain immobile when in pain. If it is not bound tight it moves. Margo was willing to believe they made an attractive and appealing trio, an exquisite tableau. Miss Harridance honored them by using the camera.

When Penny Pendleton made her appearance and brightly announced her mission, Margo could have wailed aloud in protest.

"I've been ordered to hobble each one of you until I've gotten you all excited and ready to pop, then I have to leave you cold," the nymphet pronounced with obvious relish. "Isn't that mean! I wouldn't do it if I hadn't promised you a whipping if a I failed."

"If you come near us, we'll kick you, Penny," the brown-haired maiden warned. "Go away. Tell them you've done it. They'll never know the difference."

"Yes, they will," Penny vowed vehemently. "I'm not taking any chances. Anyway, haven't you noticed what I'm carrying?"

Margo's eyes, in company with two other pairs of equally disturbed orbs, focused on the riding crop in Penny Pendleton's small fist.

Disgustedly, they said no more.

The nymphet, delighted with her assignment, went to work with gusto. She soon had her first victim, hot and flushed and gasping. She then went to the second girl and repeated the process all over again. It was so easy for her to push apart the suspended legs, that because of the riding crop, there was no protest. When it came Margo's turn, it was all too evident the young mouth was highly experienced. Trying to be clever, she made the mistake of making her motions too loud, too soon. Penny was not deceived and smilingly delivered a sharp, swift cut with the crop across a suspended bottom.

"See, I told you so," she said wisely, shaking an admonishing finger. "Don't try and fool me. I know when a girl is ready to pop and when she isn't. Jeepers, I ought to!"

It was no more than an interlude. It was a bothersome interlude, leaving them with jangled nerves and unsatisfied yearnings. The three of them agreed it was punishment in itself. But they bore Penny no malice. Each girl in Rossland did what she was told. Quite often, it entailed being unkind to another girl. But that went with the territory.

Before leaving, Penny surveyed her three flushed, irritated victims while extracting from between her lips the hairs she had collected in the process of her duty. Laughing, she went away.

The day wore on.

Most of Rossland's punishments were designed to irritate, frustrated, or by a process of attrition, wear a girl out. She might not be hurting in the least by the time her punishment had progressed for several hours, she would willingly give anything she had, or exchange the punishment for something corporal in order to be free. One of the simplest of these was known jokingly as "the Hall".

Rossland boasted a large main hall. There was considerable coming and going there, since it lead to almost anywhere you wanted to go in the building. Some of the classrooms opened directly off this hall. From its high ceiling, a rope dangled at the end of which was a plain ordinary snap. On the last day of her two-week initiation, Margo made its acquaintance.

Jean, with all the familiar words and gestures, bound Margo's hands tightly behind her back. She lead her to the dangling rope and to the snap. And with a single motion, snapped the ring in her victim's collar.

"There you are, darling – no hurt at all. You can even step this way or that, maybe a whole stride. It's not too tight. That's it. I'm going to leave you now. See how you enjoy yourself."

It was deceptively innocent. The naked Margo stood as she must.

Sometimes she took a short step this way or that. Since they proved nothing, she became satisfied only to stand. The tether on her collar held her in a compulsion she could do nothing to counter. She must stand as she was for as long as the Academy desired. She could speak to those who passed or bespoken to. Everyone spared her a sympathetic glance and after a couple of hours, she understood their sympathy. From irritation her punishment moved on to frustration and this was followed by dismay. The human machine is not made to stand still. It can do so, but it will makes its own complaints. At the end of a couple of hours, Margo Davis was longing either to sit down or to ran – anything that would give her movement instead of this passive, motionless stance and the casual greetings with those ho passed. Any one of them could have set her free by unsnapping her collar from the tether. It was an act a child could have performed, but no one did.

Margo stood and stood.

There was some camera work. Miss Harridance congratulated her on the manner in which her nakedness graced the great hall. She said that Margo was so much an asset to the place that it was a pity she could not be left to stand there forever.

Penny came and offered an orgasm, but this was indignantly refused by the tethered girl. She might secretly have longed for it, but in so public a place…! She told Penny she should be ashamed of herself, and Penny blithely agreed. The nymphet was one of the happy ones, even though tomorrow she might stand were Margo now stood.

On the day the leg irons should have been taken from her legs, Margo made a mistake. She slapped a mistress's face. Looking back afterwards, she realized the mistress had provoked the instinctive act, but that brought her nothing. Margo must be punished.

It was decided that she and three others should share a day's hard labor. They would not be whipped or painfully bound. They would simply work their little butts off, and to this end, they were herded down to a hitherto unexplored basement.

It was a black cavern of a room. In its center was a massive hub of a wheel from which radiated four huge spokes, on each of which was firmly fastened a shackle and short chain. The place itself and thing it contained imparted an obvious malicious intent.

Three of the delinquents were naked, but one was a mistress, who was obviously annoyed with herself and with the system. She was clothed as a mistress is clothed, but was disrobed to total bareness before her right wrist was shackled to one of the spokes. Each girl in turn was similarly chained to the thing upon which she would exert her efforts throughout the day. When Margo's turn came, there was some debate about her chained feet, but it was decided the efforts of the four of them would turn the mechanism slowly enough toe enable her to cope, even with short hobbled steps. If her ankles were chafed in the process, so what! Her arm was raised, and the shackle clicked tightly around her wrist.

The overseer – the girl who would supervise – was not even a mistress. She was just one of the girls and was given a whip with which to enforce commands. Any one of the four whose footsteps and efforts lagged was to receive the full force of its bite upon her bent back. The maiden herself, who seemed entirely bored by the whole thing, announced they could not start pushing like crazy to get the mechanism underway and thereafter would maintain its momentum. She cracked the whip to emphasize her order. It was not amusing. Each of the four girls was compelled to exert every ounce of muscle she possessed to get the wheel going with a sufficient momentum to it that they could maintain the round about without falling by the wayside from fatigue. None of them knew what the mechanism achieved. Perhaps it achieve nothing at all, other than their distress. But if that indeed was its purpose, it achieved it well.

It would be difficult to design hard labor any more conveniently. To each of the toiling young maidens was added the indignity and frustration of being secured by so slender a thread as a metal band on one wrist only and a few links of chain. But the rest of their personage was free to toil. For the first minute, until they had achieved a moderate speed, each of them was obliged to put her shoulder to the spoke and dig in her heels upon the earthen floor. They did this with one eye upon the whip. But the girl who held it was not disposed to use it unless compelled to do so.

After they had found their pace, their overseer spoke.

"Look, girls, we know each other. We know the system. It's up to you; I will whip any one of you who plays the fool or pretends she can't keep up. You don't have to run. Just push for all you're worth."

Quite soon, the smell of maiden sweat was heavy in the cavern, and their breathing became labored. The clink of Margo's irons made metallic mockery as she took each step punctuated by the girls straining as they made their rounds. Their overseer reminded them, "No talking. You have to work your little asses off in silence."

Until she reached her second wind, Margo was quite prepared to risk whatever punishment she must in order to rebel. True, she could not escape because of the shackle on her wrists. But if she stopped punishing, perhaps there est would have to too, and maybe some attention could be given to their distress. Quite soon, the labored breathing eased, as each girl fell into a natural rhythm and coped with the labors she must perform. Quite possibly, the ugly cavern had been given its dim light and indeterminate form as a depressant to the spirit.

It was illuminated only by smelly flares which gave a ghostly illumination to the straining torsos of the naked girls.

Margo remembered reading of such places, where in ancient times men and women had truly labored. But then they produced corn or some other useful substance. For all any of this quarter could tell, they produced nothing other their sweat.

It was inevitable that the whip be used. Whether it was earned or not, it was implicit to the scene. And whether they earned its cuts or not, each one of them received its bite. Not often, but enough to maintain their interest. They pushed in dismal silence – none dared speak. One girl did manage a few words, but was rewarded with the whip. After awhile, each delinquent girl allowed her head to rest against a bare arm as she worked and lived within the imagery of her own mind. They shut the cavern out. Their only consciousness of it or the wheel was the continual threat of the thong. It was an extremely simple arrangement. No doubt Rossland was proud of it.

Toward the end of the afternoon, each girl was sweat stained, and the cavern was pungent with girl scent. Perhaps some of them had thought erotic thoughts, but no doubt the exercise was good for healthy young females and conducive to their libidos. But most assuredly, each girl, when her shackle fell free from her wrist, was ready to vow to anyone interested their total fealty to the place and principles of Rossland. They would have done anything or said anything which might have freed them from a return to the wicked spokes. It was a sad, sorry quarter which made its way to the bath to be hosed down.

The loss of her leg irons was to Margo a mixed blessing. It automatically elevated her to the rank of mistress, a position for which she felt she was entirely unsuited. It also ensured a greater severity of punishment should she earn one. It was implied she was big girl now and should know how to behave. Miss Harridance who performed the final ceremony was cheerfully informative.

"There." The headmistress unlocked and tossed aside the shackles which had gained their heat from Margo's legs for the past two weeks.

"Your initiation is now officially over, dear girl, and there are a few things I want understood between us now. This is the last time you will ordinarily stand before me naked. Here."

She tossed a small pathetic bundle of mistress garb across the desk.

"You can put this on after I've finished talking to you. If you stand before me again, pain will follow."

Margo longed to kick her heels in elation, but deemed it unwise. Instead, she carefully raised one of them as far as she decently could and then lowered it again. The absence of a metallic accompaniment to the act was reward enough. She had crossed Rossland's first hurdle.

Somewhere in the distant future awaited the check. She wanted to tell Miss Harridance of the intention to do her best to hold out and get that slip of paper, but that was silly. She had no choice. For her, there was no out. She as firmly a prisoner as a girl could be.

The headmistress had been watching the play of emotion on her pupil's face. Seriously, she said, "I know what you're thinking, dear. It's a long road ahead and a short one behind. When you leave this office, it will be with the dignity of a mistress – a title which will save you not a single punishment, but it does bestow a pleasant authority. Girls not so designated must obey you. But mistresses are forbidden to use pupils. You will invoke no girlish lips or hands between your thighs. Do you understand?"

"I think so. I belong to you and the master. Is that so, Miss Harridance?"

"No, not exactly in that order. But perhaps I may change that one of these days. Be assured, Margo, that when I have you, I have you completely. There will be no mental reservations or loyalty to any man." Mildred Harridance sighed. "I have been hoping Mr. Ross would tire of this establishment and sell it to me. Perhaps this day may come. In the meantime, he is totally the master. He will violate you and thrash you as he pleases. But I'm sure he has told you this. I will not repeat it. You will keep what I have told you to yourself. You will not speak of it to the girls. If you do, I will find out and you will be punished. I find myself possessed of a particular desire. You are less vapid that the daughters of the rich and less indoctrinated with loyalty to Henry Ross than most of the merchandise he places in my care. Margo, do you think you can view yourself as solely mine?" It was a condition Margo could have done without. But in Rossland assent was easy. There was nothing else for a girl to say, unless she wished to be instantly whipped. She made her tone as bright as possible.

"I will try. This whole thing is so new to me. I think you're telling me you wish me alone to service you?"

"Don't use the word service. It implies some monetary exchange. You will call it making love, and when we are alone as now, you will call me Mildred. I will call you Margo. We will dispense of titles." The eyes of the headmistress focused forbiddingly. "I do hope you understand. I'm conferring an immense privilege."

"I understand… Mildred. Do you wish me to make love to you now?"

"No. I intend to make love to you. I've been hungry for you ever since I first saw you. The thought of you in these silly situations of initiation has bothered me. From now on, your agonies will be mature. Have you any subject on which you believe yourself a sufficient enough authority to teach?"

"Yes, I have considered literature. I think I could do well for the girls in that."

"Good. Now put on that dress."

Wonderingly, Margo obeyed. As usual, Rossland was way ahead of her. What this woman had just said was shattering. Had she been free, she would have run. But even without her shackled feet, there was no freedom for Margo Davis. She would simply graduate from one captivity to another. In silent obedience, she donned the tight neat slip of a dress with its authoritative band around its waist, then stood.

"We all have our fantasies, dear girl. You must get used to mine. The first of them I'm about to perform upon you now. Don't you dare say a word."

Margo Davis stood silently as her legs peremptorily thrust into a wide separation by strong hands. Then, to her astonishment, the headmistress knelt between them, lifted Margo's recently donned skin, and dived underneath its sheltering gloom. A moment later, her hungry mouth was glued to the girlish sex and was feeding avidly. In a mixture of fear and astonishment, Margo stood absolutely still. When she climaxed, the lips refused to stop. The hungry mouth was unappeased.

Which Mildred Harridance finally emerged with some signs of satiety, the older voice was glowing in its praise: "My dear, you are quite marvelous. You have the most amazing flavor. I knew you would have. I could sense it. All we needed was a little time to do the thing properly. You will not make love to me here in the office. I will call you to my bed chamber at my convenience and we can feed upon each other without urgency. You now have my permission to take over your duties. You can use any room you choose and gather around what girls you can. Mostly, you will find them amenable. A class is far less painful than other things so easily arranged."

A little dazed and a little shattered by the assault of the hungry mouth, Margo Davis walked out into a perplexing new world.

She was now a mistress!