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

CHAPTER SIX
KIND KIDNAP

The feminine voice had a familiar sound, but was hard to place. It was, moreover, in the next room and difficult to hear. Margo, tied spread-eagle on the cot, was still dazed and bewildered by the swift succession of events but was straining every nerve to pick up the conversation which might be her only clue to why and what was happening. A short, sharp struggle with the cords on wrists and ankles had already convinced her she would not escape their clutch.

"I sure hope you're right with the facts." It was a male voice, brooding, uncertain, but still holding a forceful tone. "The damn girl's a beauty, all right, but with a school full of 'em the way you say the asshole has, I don't see why he'd be all that excited." There was a male guffaw. "With that college full of cunts he's got, I wouldn't figure him as getting excited about any single girl. If he's not interested in this one, I won't charge her nothing for screwing her the first time." There was another immense guffaw at this bit of male wit.

The more cultured female voice intervened: "Leave her alone. She's not to be harmed. She's merchandise, Bernie. Remember that. If Ross doesn't come across, we've got a market for her somewhere else. It won't be as much money, but it'll be more than expenses."

Straining to listen, the bound girl knew she had heard the female voice before, but where and in what connection. It was a very ordinary female voice, without regional inflections.

Margo tensed against her bonds and listened to the man.

"Wouldn't be figuring you could get along without me now, would you? I wouldn't put it past you, now that you think you've got it made."

"Don't be ridiculous, Bernie. I can't handle this alone, and I don't want to. It's time you got yourself to a telephone box and made the first contact. We don't want to stick around this dump any longer than we must."

Then came a sound of male rumblings and complaints.

"You ain't gonna be fool enough to let any part of her loose, are you? From what you've told me about her being tied up, she's probably an escape artist by now."

"Bernie, stop worrying. If I do untie any part of her, I'll replace it with the handcuffs." There was a lilt of girlish laughter. "Personally, I prefer her tied. I enjoy tying her, and I'm going to continue doing it. I'm probably better at it than you are." There was another chuckle.

"I get a charge out of tightening the cords around her wrist or ankle, and watching it sink deeper and deeper into her skin. I like to feel her tension while I'm doing it. I like to put a second strand, and then a third, and make them neat and very, very tight before I knot them. You wouldn't understand this, Bernie. I guess it's a girl thing. But leave it to me."

"How much do you figure we can get for her if Ross don't come across?"

"Goldstein offered twenty thousand. That means he'll pay thirty. If we fix her up a bit maybe present her naked, he might go higher. She's a valuable piece of merchandise, don't you kid yourself."

Bernie did nothing silently. The sounds of his departure were distinct and defined. He appeared to be a man much subject to complaint. After his departure, the female member of the abduction team did not immediately appear. From the sounds, it was evident she was cleaning up a few dishes. When she did enter the room in which the captive Margo lay, recognition was instant.

"Bea! Bea Maxwell!"

The girl bound to the bed looked up in astonishment. She had next expected to be kidnapped by Henry Ross' own personal secretary.

Bea smiled down at her in open friendliness.

"Hello, Miss Davis. I feel like a terrible bitch. You'll never forgive me, I'm sure." The secretarial smile was still there and quite potent.

"I simply have to hope you won't hate me too much."

"But why? Why you, and why me?" The queries sprang instantly from captive lips.

"Money, darling. Why else? We do everything for money, don't we? Henry's a bit of a dear, but he still never pays a secretary enough to make her independent."

The thin little laugh came again. It came very readily to the ripe red lips of this girl who did not belong in this setting.

"Even when he slept with me, he seemed to regard it as a bonus for me instead offer him. He gets away with that sort of thing. I suppose all millionaires do. That's the reason they're millionaires."

"But what are you doing with me?"

"It's called kidnapping."

"Bea, you shouldn't! You could go to prison."

Bea shrugged a pair of lovely shoulders. "I doubt if he'd send me there. Even if Bernie and I blow the whole thing and get arrested, which isn't likely, I'm sure Henry would make good use of his advantage. I'd get my bottom well whipped and do the good old phallus worship. Bernie might go to prison, but I doubt if I would. Anyway, this whole thing's a cinch for me."

"Then you know all about… the fun and games? You know about Henry Ross – what he does with girls?"

"Darling, don't be naive."

Once again, the silvery laughter filled the room, giving its drabness light and life. "Any girl Henry Ross has honored by his bed is gong to learn a thing or two. I certainly did. The morning after my first night with him, I had a damn bad day sitting on my seat. He'd whipped it to a fare-thee-well." She laughed again. "But, of course, that's never all. You can't be sure whether he'll fuck you before or after he uses the cane or the crop. But one way or another, he certainly will get around to it. Along with my smarting feet, I had the most prodded pussy in the place. I'm sure you know the drill."

"Since we know each other, couldn't you untie some little bit of me?" Margo asked the hopeful question. "I'm quite willing to behave in any way you want."

"I see your point, sweetheart, and I do admit you are my first kidnapping. This tying up does seem a bit melodramatic, but as I was telling Bernie, I enjoy it. I expect a bit of Henry rubbed off on me, but I really did enjoy tying you down the way you are, and I enjoy tying you up in other ways too. If the negotiations go on long enough, I expect I'll do it too."

"Cord do get awful painful, Bea – I can't move. Am I spread out like this for your friend's convenience?" The captive's tones were bleak.

"Actually, no darling. You're tied that way for my convenience. I've led a sheltered life, and I'm going to enjoy you. In a minute, I'm going to give you an orgasm. It will be the first time I've ever done such a thing to another girl. You can probably instruct me on technique."

"Bea, don't say things like that! You're a nice girl, and I think you're making a terrible mistake. But it's too late now. You're sort of stuck with me. But, Bea, if Mr. Ross doesn't pay the ransom, you wouldn't really sell me to someone… that Mr. Gold…?"

"Mr. Goldstein? Well, actually, no. Mr. Goldstein doesn't even exist. I invented him for Bernie's benefit. I'm quite sure we could get quite a bit of money from someone who'd put you ma brothel – maybe thirty or forty thousand dollars. You're such a honey of a looker! But that's no good to me. What I need is a good solid chunk to give me independence the rest of my life. We're asking a million for you from dear old Henry. If you were his wife, we could make it much more. Not because he would love you more, but because society would expect him to do his duty. For a girl he simply lucks from time to time, a million dollars should be about right."

"Bea, please! Look, you can play absolutely safe. Untie my legs and then handcuff my ankles. That way, I can't really do anything. I can't possibly escape, that's for sure. Please, you won't be running any risk."

"Margo, I told you. I like you tied, and that's the end of it. There should be some privilege to go with this job of kidnapping. I want to do a few things my way. If you beef too much about being tied, I will tie you tighter. I can think of one or two more places I can use a bit of rope. Failing that, I can easily gag you. How would you like my panties fresh from my pussy stuffed in your cute little mouth and taped in tight?"

"I wouldn't. Okay, all right, I'll stop asking you to let me loose. I just hope your conscience bothers you." The bound and naked girl looked up beseechingly. "Look, I bet this Bernie guy is a creep. He is, isn't he?"

"Sort of. The better element of society doesn't dabble in kidnapping. I had to take what I could get. I needed Bernie for moving that tree and bopping poor Henry. I'm sure he'll be recovered by now and able to write a check."

"You're not going to let Bernie do things to me, are you? I mean, the way you've got me tied and the way he talks, it'd be easy for him to… well, you know."

"Fuck you? Darling, say it out loud. You don't need to be frightened of the word. It is so beautifully suited to the situation. I'm pretty sure Bernie doesn't know any other name for it. If you spoke of intercourse, he'd probably think it was something to do with a racetrack. Just leave everything to me. If I do let him screw you, it'll be because I believe it's the wisest course for us both." Bea gazed down with some degree of tenderness at the girl so totally in her power. "I suppose I could do the heroic thing and let him screw me instead, but that's carrying the thing a bit far. I'm supposed to be on top of this whole affair, not underneath. Cheer up. I'm not going to let you get really hurt."

Bea seated herself comfortably at the side of her captive. Her hands strayed to nipples which could not evade their frictioning. Amused, she said, "Darling, I'd like you to tell me something about Rossland. You've been there, but I haven't. It must be the damnedest place. I want to play with you and get you nicely excited while you talk."

Margo supposed the plight of a captive could be much worse than her condition now. These hands held magic. Her fingers were sly and very wise. Shyly, she said, "If that's the way you want it, Bea, I'll do my best. But what you're doing to me is gong to make it nearly impossible. You're clever at it. All I'm gong to do in a minute is gasp and moan."

"That's all right, dear. You can come out on the other side and continue where you left off. It's a lovely arrangement. You ought to feel grateful."

"Well, I am. Bea – oh, dear, it's starting already. You're just too clever at this! Bea, I wish you'd stop. I don't mind a bit telling you about Rossland, but the way you're going, I'm not going to be able to. Oh, Bea, please!"

Two girls together. Without the binding cords, they could have been friends or lovers. Quite soon, they were so involved as to make Rossland an abstract thing, totally forgotten. But all things pass and when the final spasms had trailed away, Margo did her duty and told the extraordinary story of an extraordinary academy. Bea's questions were avid with interest and curiosity. Margo answered all of them. At the end, she made the dry suggestion that if Bea was indeed that interested in the place, she could gain entry to it as one of the girls or as a mistress. Surely Henry Ross would do that for an old, trusted employee.

"It wasn't in the cards." Bea mused thoughtfully. "Henry would never dispense with a useful secretary. He would not have given me that much of a hold on him." Bea chuckled in amusement. "Although if he had got me in there, he might have kept me forever. I doubt if he'd want me walking around knowing all about the place." She shrugged in resignation. "But anyway, I've blown that deal completely. And now I won't even get set up in an apartment the way he was doing with you when we picked you up. You must have really got under Henry's skin, darling. The trouble he was taking over you – do you have some special muscle development inside that cute little slit I'm looking at?"

"Don't be silly, Bea. No girl ever knows what a man sees in her. She's just thankful he does. Nobody ever understand what we see in a particular man either. To them, he's a droop, but he isn't to us. The whole thing's screwy. Sometimes, back at Rossland. I used to think that if we weren't punished constantly, the place had a certain virtue. It took a girl away from most of her problems, and so far as sex goes, the place positively reeks of it. They go through the motions of keeping the girls apart, but that's all it is… just motions. We always found each other some way or other. When you're promoted to being a mistress, it's easy."

Margo sighed and tried to look appealing. "Are you sure you wouldn't like to… uh… oh, sorry. I'm not to be untied, am I? You like the way the cords dig into my skin. I'm so glad I give you pleasure." Her tone in the final sentence was a trifle acid.

"I wonder what the hell is keeping Bernie." Bea consulted her watch. "He's been gone a lot longer than there's been any need. The phone booth isn't that far down the road. Maybe he's gone on to the store. But that's foolish; he'll be noticed. The little shack we're in is just a little place we discovered in the woods. Goodness knows who owns it. We don't aim to be here any longer than we have to. It's an absolute dump."

"Well, suppose he gets himself arrested. He sounded tome like a big enough dope to let that happen. Would he split on you or just keep quiet?"

"Honey, if I knew that had happened, I'd run like crazy and take you with me. With those two sets of handcuffs Henry so kindly donated, I could keep you safe under any circumstances. You couldn't do a thing." Bea patted a sad, hopeless cheek. "Don't look so sad. I'm not all that bad, am I?"

"You're simply a darling. I wish we could put the clock back." The two girls talked. At the end of thirty minutes, Bea was becoming obviously disturbed. Her captive could understand why. Bernie was second-class material and perhaps none too bright. Bea must be feeling terribly alone in this shocking adventure. At the end of another half hour, Margo threw caution to the wind and blithely began speaking.

"There has to be something wrong. He can't possibly take this amount of time, either for the phone booth or the store. Look, you can still come out of this as the heroine. You go to the phone and call Henry Ross. Tell him you've discovered me, then deliver me to him. You needn't tell him you happened to have a key to my handcuffs."

"Oh, sure! And no million bucks – no nothing. Just back to the same old desk and the same old job, while Henry sets you up in great splendor and screws you to a frazzle."

"Well, that sounds all right the way you put it, but remember before he does what you say, he'll have used a cane to beat my bottom to a frazzle first. Being the sultan's favorite isn't all that good, you know."

"Well, I'm willing to trade it for what I've got right now. Margo, I'm becoming alarmed. That asshole of a partner should have been back a long time ago. Look, I think the best thing I can do is put those handcuffs on you the way you say and then take you to my place back in town. I can easily get you up into my apartment from the garage in the basement. I'm not sure what I'll do with you then. It's not the ideal place to keep a kidnapped girl, but I'll worry about that when it happens."

Bea's disgust was not shared by her captive. Any way she looked at it, Margo could see only benefit in whatever was taking place with the absent Bernie. As far as she was concerned, if he never showed up again, it would be soon enough. Margo had no expectation of immediate freedom. She was well enough acquainted with bond and handcuffs to realize Bea would have no problem in keeping her helpless.

But the helplessness would surely not last. Something was sure to happen. She sighed happily when the cords were pealed from her ankles and replaced by the familiar bands of steel.

"You see, Bea, it's easy. And you've still got rue absolutely safe."

"Well, you may be right. Now for your hands."

Margo actually did debate momentarily the thought of using her arms and fists in hope of subduing Henry Ross' secretary and returning her to him as a neat, bound package. It was a delightful dream, but she knew that was all it could be. Even if she got the best of Bea and had her pinned down, how could she then either bind herself or escape? A girl with ankles closely joined and handcuffs enforced, cannot go anywhere or do anything effectively. She allowed the temptation to pass and obligingly rolled over after the cords had been taken from her wrists and allowed her hands to once more be cuffed behind her back. It was no longer a hardship. She was accustomed to it.

The two girls laughed over Bea's inability to carry her captive to the car. Instead, the captive obligingly hopped to the car and pleaded.

"Please don't put me in the trunk, it's hateful in the trunk. Let me sit beside you. If you want to cover me up, it only takes a little hit of anything handy."

"All right." It was a very doubtful affirmative. "I'd rather have you with me – someone to talk to. And if you still think I'm enjoying this adventure, well, you're wrong. I'm not. I'm worried stiff about Bernie. Something's gone wrong for sure." Bea drew a deep breath and emitted a hearty exclamation of disgust. "Oh, shit!"

For Margo it was a delightful ride. Whether she got to their destination or not no longer mattered. The handcuffs did not hurt, and she was not disposed to chafe her wrists trying to get out of them. She felt an immense affinity for this girl who was undoubtedly vexed, worried, and afraid. But Margo could see no problem. All Bea had to do was deliver her to Henry Ross. If there was a reward, she could claim it. Margo had already made up her mind to hold Bea innocent. She would make no accusations, no charges. She was tremendously grateflul to the girl for keeping her inviolate in the mercenary captivity.

She even obligingly opened her mouth for the gag when they were ready to leave the car. It might have been daylight outside, but underground us garages are gloomy places, and had she not been gagged, she might well have laughed at the way she hopped her way to the elevator. The whole kidnapping was taking on the atmosphere of a farce. Neither of the two girls felt enmity, only self-interest. Suppose she was actually delivered to Henry Ross – would she then be free? Margo examined the premise doubtfully. For her, freedom had become abstract, something that might apply to others but not to her. At this moment, it appeared that she would be a prisoner in one of two places: Bea's apartment or Ross' penthouse. She suspected the latter. Her captivity there might be more comfortable. With Bea, she had an unhappy vision of dark closets and gags. But she obediently hopped her way into it with her captor in close attendance. It proved to be a pleasant apartment, although not large. Its living room was delightful, and contained an obviously comfortable couch. On it, quietly sipping a double scotch, sat Henry Ross.

"Figured you'd show up here sooner or later," he said pleasantly.

"Helped myself to a drink. I'm sure you don't mind, do you, Bea? And by the way, we picked up your boyfriend while he was buying cigarettes at the store. It took us a little time to get the facts out of him. When we got to the shanty, you had already left. Bea, I'm grateful you took such good care of my little girl."

"Henry Ross, you bastard!" Bea's exclamation was almost without volition. "You always win! Damn you! You always get the best of everybody, except maybe Norma Boulter. I suppose I'm in for the high jump?"

"Indeed you are. But let us be polite to your best. You may seat her beside me on the couch and provide us both with a potable. I'm sure you both need one."

Bea sniffed unhappily, but she obeyed. It was quite probable she knew he was right. She was facing difficulties and voiced this fact.

"All right, what happens to me now?"

"I am thinking in terms of a well-thrashed bottom, my dear." Henry Ross' voice was urbane. He had matters well in hand. There followed a silence. Beas mind was busy with possibilities. She voiced them.

"You mean you'll let me go back to my secretarial job? Is a thrashed bottom all you'll do to me?"

"Come, come, dear girl, you know better than that. You're quality material. You are one of us. You may be placed that I have been viewing you for some time as a potential Rossland student. You have now elevated yourself to this much desired position."

"What you're really saying is you're going to put me in your own private prison."

Henry Ross playfully chocked his indignant secretary under her chin. "Why not? It may do you a world of good, and at the very least, it will enable you to pay your debut to me for this ridiculous kidnapping fiasco. There is also the matter of the bump on my head."

"You won't send me to prison?"

"I have only to look at you tow girls to realize neither one of you will testify against the other. No, I won't be sending you to prison. But I am sure you realize you may wish I had."

"Oh, all right. You and your justifications! Do you want to handcuff me or something?"

"Dear Margo is wearing my entire stock." Henry Ross beamed al them impartially. "But I suppose you could share them. But first I wish you naked."

Margo had listened in silent appreciation of the exchange, but her hands remained behind her back. Her drink stood unattended on the end table. Forlornly, she spoke.

"If someone would change my hands from back to front, I might rejoin the human race."

It was immediately done. Bea performed the act as though in a hurry from an oversight. She hastily bestowed upon the freed prisoner the abandoned drink and bert to Margo's feet to use the key which was testimony to her own guilt. She stood erect and asked, "This business of being naked – do I really have to?" She searched for humor. "Who in the hell wants a naked secretary?"

"Your position is temporarily suspended, dear girl." Henry Ross' voice was silk. "When you return to it, I'm sure you will be a much wiser young woman."

"Oh, sure! And I'll have a sore bottom and back, and I'll be relieved of all my shames and inhibitions. But, Henry, please don't make me strip naked in front of Margo. Please?"

"Why not? I haven't noticed you offering Margo any covering. She's as bare are can be, and you kept her bare throughout her captivity with you." The male voice became sternly demanding. "Bea, stop being silly – take off your clothes."

Bea was lovely. She would grace Rossland as did all the other inmates. Her figured needed no apologies. Admiringly, Margo wondered at her hesitation. Margo reproved herself for her own lack of shame in being nude. She had become so accustomed to it that she was no longer aware.

She realized what she witnessed now was a heart-searching, shattering of pride. Bea Maxwell would divest herself of not only her clothes but her dignity arid her pride and self-respect. It was almost awesome to watch the lovely girl part with one garment after another until she stood as shamefully naked as Margo herself. She cupped her breasts in protective hands, but then, realizing the absurdity, allowed her arms to fall to her sides, revealing herself in total frontal nakedness. To the man, who had seen this before but never in the present context, Bea Maxwell was the epitome of femininity.

"The handcuffs, girl!" Henry Ross sounded impatient. "Damn it, you're dawdling, girl. Put them on." Bea retrieved both cuffs and key from the rug. She gazed at them with infinite distaste, then offered them to the man.

"Henry. I don't know what to do with them. They're beastly things and I don't like them at all. Here, you put them on me, please."

It was quickly done. Margo suspected that Bea's quibbling had earned her one extra notch of tightness in the metal bands. The girl stood, examining her chained hands in wonder, almost in disbelief. She twisted and clinked them in hopeless exploration of restraint never previously worn, Bea looked at the watching man and sarcastically asked. "What now, master?"

Henry Ross laughed at his former secretary's dolor. "Rossland what else? You're going to be taught a lesson or two. The first of which is a ride in the trunk of my car. I'm told it's most disagreeable. Margo can sit beside me as I drive."

"Oh, Henry, don't be such a pig! If you're going to be so mean, I think I'd sooner go to prison."

"Look here. Bea. I'm being patient." The master's voice sounded weary. "I can understand this is a transition for you but as of now, let's stop these exclamations and questions. You simply must go and you will." He chuckled, "Look upon yourself as a little girl going back to school."

On the journey back to Rossland. Henry Ross had little to say. He seemed preoccupied and Margo, beside him on the front seat, doubted it had anything to do with the unhappy maiden firmly fastened in the trunk. When she asked him, he shrugged and said, "I'm wondering what to do with you. I think I'll forget the idea of the apartment – it leaves you too exposed. This fool affair with Bea is a message for us. I've never had to think about kidnapping before. I have no close family, but with you – well, if I set you up, you'd simply become a profitable target. For the time being, you'd best go back to Rossland. You may amuse yourself exerting your mistress status upon the little lady in the trunk. Don't hesitate to mark her up. She deserves it."

"But she was kind to me. That is, as kind as anyone can be to a kidnapped girl. I'm not sure I can?"

"Certainly you can. I order you to. Never mind Bea. We were talking about you."

"Wouldn't it be best if you just gave me back my freedom? I wouldn't expect any money, and it need not be the end of our knowing each other." Struck my sudden inspiration, Margo said. "You're going to need a secretary, so how about me?"

"No. There would be too many tongues wagging. You'd be bombarded by questions." He drove awhile in brooding silence. "There's something else I'm thinking about in regard to you. I haven't figured it out yet. You'll have to give me time. And anyway, it's no big deal, except to give you a change of pace and scene."

He laughed at her curiosity. "You probably haven't realized it but you're a tempting morsel to a lot of people. The face of your being at Rossland and being with me makes you doubly potent. I have to watch what I expose you to. The one safe place is Rossland."

Margo shrugged in silence. Beneath the blanket thrown carefully around her shoulders, she fingered the handcuffs. Evidently, she was not to lose them yet. There were times when she wondered if she even wanted to lose them. This was one of them.

Henry Ross was a man who made things happen. He was a force. It was good too belong to him. He was what girls expected of husbands but rarely got. She hotly denied to herself his prowess in bed had anything to do with her sentiments. Rossland enveloped her again as though she had never been absent. Most of the inmates did not know she had. They had not missed her. But one intensely interested female was Mildred Harridance.

Henry Ross had no sooner seen Bea Maxwell safely installed in a prison call than he departed on the eternal business of the male. Mildred lost no time in summoning to her office the object of her curiosity. Margo through how silly people were to become too attached, so deeply immersed in almost anything, no matter how bad it was, she was finding it now, in the return to Rossland. Her mistress's tunic seemed to fit her more snugly and flatteringly than before. Its and around the middle was distinctly becoming, and she wore it with some pride. She was beginning to feel now that she had earned it. Feminine fineries were denied beneath any girl's tunic at Rossland. In fact, there was little room for them. Her nipples were again excited under the friction of the frock. Her still red bottom blushed shyly and unseen only a few tantalizing inches above her hem. A pair of new shoes went along with this authoritative attire. Margo Davis was not even handcuffed. She felt as though she owned the whole establishment.

"All right, honey, sit down and let's have the whole damn thing." Mildred Harridance was obviously pleased to see her back. In a way, they had become companions rather than prisoner and wardress. The older woman who bore the same welts as Margo quietly listened to what was, after all, an account of a brief adventure. When it was told, she spoke.

"I'm glad to have you back. I need someone like you here. You are a buffer. Did you know you're being made custodian of this silly Bea Maxwell bitch?"

"I don't want to be mean to her. She wasn't mean to me at all. I'm afraid I feel a bit sorry for her." Margo made a hopeless gesture with free hands. "Her only trouble is the same as mine. She wants a lot of money, and she saw a way to get it. It was a different way than what I took, but essentially, we're not that different."

"That may be true." Mildred smiled grimly. "But you know Henry Ross. He wants the little biddy's ass properly warmed. In fact, if you sat her on a hot stove, I think he'd approve. After all, she did betray him."

"This custodian bit?" Margo was curious but not enthusiastic. "What does it mean exactly? Do I keep an eye on her while I go about my usual affairs, or is it something far more personal and serious?"

"Henry Ross was emphatic. You are to give Bea Maxwell a real hard time. She's safe in a cell now and scared to death." Mildred chuckled. "Since a girl has only so much skin, you're a bit limited how to use the cane and the whip on her. But let's say you'd do well to use what skin she's got. Henry Ross is going to be looking for the marks. It goes without saying that you'll keep her naked."

"I wish you'd give the job to some other girl, or do it yourself."

"Look, sweetheart, what I don't see, I really don't have to know. If you want to get a bit of help with thrashing those parts of Bea Maxwell that embarrass you, go ahead. I'll never know. But don't you ever dare allow her within a mile of escape."

"How could I? I can't escape myself, let along help somebody else. She'll probably think of something. In the meantime, Margo, there's something you can do for me."

Margo knew instantly. This was a return to duty with a vengeance. Without concern, she asked, "Here or in the bedroom?"

"What the son of a bitch did to me has made a fix in my mind," Mildred mused pensively. "I can see how people get hung up on something like that. But I constantly see you there between my legs, your hands helpless behind your back and your busy little mouth eating away at me as though you hadn't had food in a week. I'm going to recreate that, with just one or two small changes."

"I would have thought that would have been hateful to you. Not me, of course, but what he did to you while I was… well, doing what I was told. It will be different this time, sweetheart. To begin with, your hands won't be cuffed behind. They'll be cuffed in front, and it will be I who hold the whip and use it." Mildred laughed a full mated exhalation of amusement. "I'll use it to spur you on to greater effort and to keep you on the bit. An amusing variation, don't you think?"

"Oh, Mildred, I'm not a bit sure."

"I'm still headmistress. Henry didn't say a thing about equality." The headmistress smiled fondly. "Are you going to make me pull rank?"

It all seemed natural, inevitable, and exciting. Once more, Margo was imbued with the sense of coming home. In the presence of this woman, Henry Ross was fading from her mind. Margo knew herself terribly torn between two loyalties and saw herself as a welding inasmuch as when in the presence of one, she forgot the other. But when she threw aside the coverings from her nakedness and held out her arms for the handcuffs she could not deny a tremendous thrill and a sudden concupiscence. Mildred was already nude and panting. She held a whip Margo had not seen before, a clever little horror of several thongs. She realized it was designed to excite them both. She kneeled between the well-spread thighs raised her joined hands to grasp Mildred's still-welted flesh and began her ministrations avidly. The lash swept down to sear one of her bottom cheeks. She squealed into Mildred's flesh and worked harder than before. Her own femaleness brilliantly aflame. The little whip was pure magic.

Bea Maxwell was a sorry sight. Someone had crossed her wrists behind her back and bound them tight and then performed the same unkind service with her ankles. She was quite helpless and could only flounder around like a fish out of water. She'd obviously been doing exactly that, for she was flushed and moist and angry. She viewed Margo through the bars with a mixture of thankfulness and resentment. Her first words reminded Margo of herself once long ago.

"Get me out of here. Margo, this is ridiculous. I'm tied up as though I were dangerous. And on top of that, I'm locked up in a cell I couldn't get out of in a hundred years." Her exclamations trailed away into silence. She was obviously thinking hard before coming out with, "But I suppose this is the way it is. I'm here to be punished. These ropes I'm tied with, they're a punishment, and this damn cell is a punishment too. But I get the school doesn't think so. I bet the Academy is just considering me as getting nicely started."

"That's about it." Margo searched for solace to offer, but could think of none. Her own mission and status relative to Bea was something she was not yet ready to speak of. Instead, she asked, "Would you like me to come in there with you for awhile?"

Bea stared at her in amazement. "You mean you've got a key?"

"Yes, I'm afraid I have. You see, I'm…" "Unlock the damn door, for God's sake! Then use the one that gets us out of the building, and we'll go home. If Henry tries this on me a second time, it won't be him who'll go to the police – it'll be ma. Hurry up."

"I'm afraid you're still working on your first kidnapping. The only door I can unlock is this one. There's no way you or I can get out of this building. Forget it."

"You've got rank here?"

"Well, sort of." Margo was still trying to think of a way to explain her undesired and unsought office. "I'm supposed to be looking after you, and in Rossland, that means I keep you tied up, chained up, and probably whipped. I'm terribly sorry."

"You're sort of a trustee now, eh?" Bea sounded fretful as Margo used her key and then untied the captive's ankles. "I call that a pretty fast promotion." Margo sighed and grappled with the knots. Bea, because of what she had once been, would probably be a handful, and unless she was properly broken in, she would find it difficult to adjust. Breaking in Bea was something Margo had no wish to do. Looking at the strained nudity upon the cot, she noted a particular curve of her breast and her concave tummy most alluring. Had the two of them been less absorbed with problems, it might have been entrancing to.

But Margo cast the thought aside. She was involved enough already with Mildred Harridance, and God knows what Henry Ross might still demand of her. By nightfall, she might be thrashed and ravished once again. Her glimpse of freedom had been brief and might well be disastrous. She cast the rope aside and said brightly, "There, is that better?"

"It's better for my feet. What about my hands?"

"They stay tied, darling. Please do try and be patient and understand that you're in Rossland, not back at the office."

"Good gosh! How could I forget?" Bea was busily exercising her free feet. When she spoke again, her tone had softened. "I'm sorry I'm talking like a bitch, Margo, but this is hard to take. It's all so new. Prison wouldn't be half this hard on a girl." She twisted her bound arms fretfully and wriggled constrained shoulders before hastily asking, "Do you think I'm guilty? Do you think I deserve this?"

"Yes, I do." Margo hoped she was being patient. "What you did was a damn fool act by any standards. Just because you knew me and Henry Ross didn't give you any license to kidnap anybody, least of all me. Don't you realize what a mean, petty response you were showing the man who employed you?" Margo managed a mild chuckle. "If it were not I who had to punish you, I'd say, sure, you deserve it. But, Bea, I don't know what I'm going to do with you. I honestly don't."

"Well, first of all, you can untie my hands," Bea suggested briskly. "Why are they tied with these cords anyway when they've got all these handcuffs and things?"

"Cords hurt more and give you less freedom."

"You think I don't know?"

"Bea, you must not be too shocked, but you're going to get your bottom caned, and I'm the one who has been assigned to do it. I wish I were not the one, but I can't get out of it. I really do not want to do it."

"Well, don't do it then! Can't you paint some lines on my behind with lipstick or something? Nobody's going to examine me with a magnifying glass – are they?"

Margo sighed. Bea was going to be a problem. She was far more a prisoner of Rossland than any other girl, including herself. Bea was here purely for punishment and imprisonment. There was no parental motive, nor cash at the end of the lien. The length of her sentence had not been named. At this moment, even while they talked, Bea was busily twisting her bound hands as though still under the illusion she could free herself. It was then that Margo had an inspiration. She locked her captive in and went in search of Penny Pendleton.

The nymphet was delighted. Her eyes shone and she wriggled in the prospect of bliss.

"Oh, Margo darling, you mean I can have a whole grown-up girl just for me? Is she really all grown up? I mean, her breasts and everything are fully developed?" The teenager sighed in prospect. "Just think, Margo – a whole grown-up girl to whip. You did say I could whip her, didn't you? I'd suggest the cane to begin with since this is all a bit of a shock for the poor dear. What did she do to get in dutch? I bet she refused to sleep with Mr. Ross. Was that what it was?" Bea was standing in the center of her cell, still busily twisting her bound hands. She spared Penny a glance of disfavor and complained, "Margo, you shouldn't exhibit me to children. This girl is hardly well, anyway, she's not old enough to see naked women."

"Isn't she simply gorgeous?" Shiny eyed, Penny entered the cell to survey her new responsibility. She made a complete circle of the nude and annoyed Bea Maxwell and once more turned to her mentor.

"Oh, Margo darling, is she really and truly all mine?"

Bea stopped struggling. She glared at the girl she had so recently kidnapped and demanded, "What does this child mean I'm all hers! Look, this girl is far too young."

"The poor dear's shy, that's her trouble," Penny said with youthful wisdom. "I'll take my clothes off too, then she'll feel better." She giggled. "It doesn't take long." A moment later she stood nude and explained seriously to an outraged Bea Maxwell, "You see, I'm not nearly as nice as you are. I don't have all the lovely things. Mine are still a bit small, and I haven't got as much hair as I hope to have one day." She turned to Margo. "Keep an eye on her, darling, while I dash off for a collar and leash."

"What the devil is she talking about?" Bea stood in outraged nakedness and resumed the twisting of her wrists, but her eyes were now riveted accusingly on Margo.

But the girl who was now her keeper stemmed the floor before it started.

"Bea, stop worrying. Penny's a darling, and she'll look after you beautifully. I know you will be humiliated because she is just a teenage, but she knows all about everything. She's more a part of Rossland than the furniture. I'm delegating your punishments to her. I just don't want to punish you. But you must be punished, so Penny Pendleton is the one to do it."

"Look, I don't want any damn teenage slashing away at my bottom with a cane!"

"Bea, stop beefing! You're in a jam, and I'm just doing my best. Anyway, I turned things around for you here at Rossland. It's going to hurt. It's going to hurt your dignity, your bottom, and your back. For Pete's sake, resign yourself to it."

Boa stood as though stunned while nimble young fingers fitted the collar on her neck and clicked it tight. From it trailed a sufficient leash for Penny's needs. The outraged young woman had considered kicking Penny squarely where it would hurt most, but was deterred from this noble thought by sight of the cane held ostentatiously for her attention. Nothing was said, but everything was understood. In triumph, Penny led her captive from the cage. Reaching their designation, Bea looked around the austere room and demanded belligerently, "What's this, the torture chamber?"

"Isn't she a darling?" Penny giggled appreciatively. "She comes up with the cutest things. I can't wait to hear what she has to say when I cane her bottom."

Margo was feeling surplus to the occasion. Boa was completely helpless, and Penny was well on top of the situation. The youngster had already checked the bindings on her captive's wrists, since she would take no chances. But when the mistress suggested, "I'll leave you two together," and then turned to leave, Bea's reaction was instant.

"Margo, please don't go. Don't leave me wit this young twerp. I'm scared of what she'll do to me."

"You see!" Penny was delighted. "She knows I'm going to cane her ass, and she wants you here to make sure I don't do it too hard." She turned to her captive and admonished, "You're so silly. With Margo watching, I'd have to cane you much harder, because she's a mistress and will expect only the best."

The captive with the bound hands sniffed in disdain. She could think of nothing devastating enough to say. She was becoming increasingly aware of a helplessness and impending doom. Her glance at Margo was imploring to the point where Margo decided to stay and watch. Penny's insouciance would carry the thing off in a manner of obviate embarrassment. She smiled and shrugged at the unhappy victim and grinned at the waiting girl.

"Go ahead, Penny. She's all yours."

Margo reproved herself silently for a certain feeling of tremendous zest. Bea was probably 26, compared to Penny's 16. The decade wide gap was bitterly humiliating to the older of the two. It was widened by Bea's former authority and her close association with the master of Rossland, whereas Penny was nothing but a nymphet consigned to the Academy by outraged parents. Now the woman was to be punished by the girl! Margo could understand and sympathize, but that was all. Feeling like a bitch, she got herself a chair and made herself comfortable. The nymphet with the cane was in charge from the beginning. She led her dubious prisoner to the whipping bench and sweetly invited her to drape her person upon it. Bea's retort was predictable, and so was her youthful wardress's response.

The cane flashed, Bea yelped, and even as the scarlet line proclaimed itself on virgin skin endeavored to turn and flee, only to be dragged back by the implacable leash in the young strong hand. As though imparting amazing information, Bea exclaimed, "That hurt! It hurt something awful. Don't you ever do that again."

There was an engaging quality of innocence about the young woman who had just received her first cut from the cane. Corporal punishment had been entirely absent from her life, her thoughts, her conceptions. For several moments, she stood glaring at her companions, then abruptly demanded, "What is it you want me to do? Show me again."

To strap and buckled down the feminine curves was a task Penny Pendleton undertook with relish. Watching her, Margo realized the excitement in the girl. She realized too the female perplexity of the owner of the female curves. Miss Bea Maxwell was entering a world which she had only previously guessed but never quite believed.

Penny's choice of a method by which to restrain the former secretary while the caning of her bottom took place was shrewd. She could hardly have picked any implement or posture more shaming. The bench was on two levels. The victim knelt on the lower one and then bent forward to drape her body across the larger surface above. An arm went down each side, and her hands were securely strapped. Another strap circled the waist and was cinched quite cruelly tight. The resultant effect was to protrude and raise the twin curves to be caned into a delightful prominence. There were straps also for knee hollows and ankles. But the most shaming facet of the whole design was the half circle into which Bea's neck frantically fell as she was pushed into position. No sooner was it neatly in place titan the top half of a stock was pushed over on its hinge to totally encircle the lovely neck in a yoke of wood. The effect of this was not only to immobilize but to rob the unfortunate girl of any vision of what was taking place at her rear. Her view was restricted to the floor below to brief, sharp glances to either side, revealing little.

For all her youth, Penny was an artist in control and an expert at punishing young ladies. Having been punished herself in every imaginable severity and posture, she was enriched by painful memories she could now put to good use. Bea was in the hands of a past mistress in the skill of caning feminine bottoms. Penny circled her victim, tightening a strap here and another there, until the flesh bulged around each leather strap. She now gently pumped the lever which thrust again Bea's pubic patch to further raise and stretch the already taut spheres on which were emblazoned a perfect scarlet weal.

"Stop it! You're breaking my back!" Bea strove desperately to look back at what might be happening to a portion of herself over which she had lost control. Her cinched waist was taking the stress of the upward thrust within her loins. Her figure was becoming exquisitely arched and curved in an exaggeration of every feminine feature. Margo herself watched. Bea's derriere was thrust and molded into a prominence beyond anything in preparation for punishment. A bottom thus curved and bent would absorb the cane with twice the agony of the conventional "bend over and touch your toes." Penny had achieved genius in her delineation of a delinquent derriere.

The teenager was in rapture. Her victim was not. Penny once more circled the strapped-down nudity and intently patted portions thereof. It was inevitable that she come to the close clasped thighs between which a black tendril coyly proclaimed itself, along with a pair of plump lips, which could scarcely fail to share in the impacts of the cane. Coyly, Penny reached down and gripped a single hair between a thumb and finger, and slowly pulled.

"Stop it! You're not supposed to do that! Margo, stop the little bitch. What she's doing is too much!"

"She's simply plucking a hair, Bea. That's all. You can spare one little hair, can't you? You've got a really luxurious bush."

"Don't be horrid! Audi hope you realize I'm breaking in two. I can't see, and I'm sure I look disgusting. Margo, please make her undo these straps."

Margo sighed. Being a mistress, was not all that much fun. Patiently, she explained, "Darling, you're in Penny's care now, and Penny won't pay any attention to any of these things you're saying. I think you're in one of those situations where a girl simply just has to grin and bear it."

The exuberant nymph did not deny herself the pleasure of the preparatory motions and sounds. She swished the cane to make it sing its unkind song with a high, whining note of promise. She rapped the waiting bottom experimentally, as though to gauge the distance. Watching the act, Margo could not help but think of ripened melons which split open under the rapping of knuckles.

Her neck firmly secured by the yoke, Bea was striving fruitlessly to turn and see the offer the sensations now felt. Her hands tugged as fruitlessly at the straps as they had previously twisted at the ropes. She felt much abused and was desperately afraid.

The blow was swift and sure, and the sound of the cane on female flesh was as potent as ever. Margo winced in sympathy. The strapped down limbs and torso did not move. But the yoked head twisted frantically from side to side while Bea screamed and screamed while every emotion strove for ascendancy. In the gasping aftermath of the first stroke, the second stroke impacted its own exquisite mark on virgin skin. Bea scream was cut off halfway through by her own determined control to say something she was convinced needed saying.

"I can't bear it! It's too awful! You absolutely must stop! Don't hit me again! Don't you dare!"

"They all say that," Penny explained kindly. "I remember saying it once myself." Joyously, she swung the cane once more.

Margo was aware of a new, enhanced status. The whisperings of Rossland's underground had become aware of the special attention of the master and a more intimate relationship with the mistress. She was no longer punished except for whatever might happen behind the closed doors of the headmistress or headmaster's study. Penny basked in reflected glory.

For Bea, it was very different indeed. She felt the weight of Rossland upon her person in much the same way as she would have felt the authority of a federal penitentiary. But she saw the bright and ebullient Penny as the unkindest cut of all. She would have preferred her punishment at the hands of an older girl or from Margo. Penny might be a sweetheart some, but to Bea she was literally and metaphorically a pain in the ass. Even though Margo had made up her mind to stay away from her prisoner as much as possible, she constantly had to combat curiosity with the result that she usually ended up examining the former secretary through the bars of her cell. In this first instance, she discovered Penny's mischief in leaving her charge upon the cot with both handcuffed wrists and ankles intertwined with hands and feet in such proximity there was little their owner could do but glare at anyone who came into view. She did so now.

"Margo, look what the little bitch did to me! I can hardly do anything. And then after she'd done that awful thing to me with that horrible cane, she left me strapped to that beastly bench for goodness knows how long. My poor bottom – I thought I'd die!"

It was vintage Bea. There would be much more of it before the day of her release. Margo was aware of inadequacy in the striving for the rational.

"But, darling, you do realize you are here to be punished, and that's what Penny is doing. Believe me, she won't be a bit harder on you than any other mistress – maybe not as bad." She shrugged and motioned helplessly. "If I took on the job, I'd feel I'd have to be really and truly severe with you just to prove I wasn't playing favorites. It's much better this way."

"My bottom is flayed."

"Well, not really, darling. At the moment, you're sitting on it and?"

"That's because it's too horrible to lay over on my side. I tried that too. You have no idea what a rotten way this is to be handcuffed!"

"Well, you didn't like the rope."

"I don't like any part of this. Be a darling and undo something for me, preferably either my hands or my feet."

"Sorry, Bea, but I can't possibly interfere with Penny's authority. I've given her the job. You and she will have to get along."

"How in the devil can I get along with a child who delights in caning my ass!" Bea contrived an infinite indignation into the exclamation. "The little so-and-so says I must stay like this until she's ready to punish me some more. Margo, tell her this is a punishment. This right now is a punishment. I don't need anything else." Margo felt guilty in slipping away leaving the delinquent secretary helpless behind bars. Bea was best left alone in her present mood. The poor girl had far to go, yet might not become amenable to reason until she had been more vividly striped and more uncomfortably restrained. For Margo, her kidnapping had been forgotten. She would happily have allowed the delinquent to go free.

But Bea was a side issue in Margo's involvement with Rossland. Penny would look after the delinquent in good order, which left the captive mistress with time on her hands. It was at this juncture that she received the summons to the headmistress's office. She no longer approached the sacred door with the old trepidation.

What Mildred Harridance had to say was like the beginning of a repetitive dream.

"You're habit forming, Margo. I want you. I don't want you wandering around this place and involved with other girls. I want you for myself. At this moment, I want to use a cane on you so damn bad."

It was no surprise. Margo was amazed within herself at how little impact the words now had. They seemed entirely natural and normal in the extravagances at Rossland. Quietly, she said, "Very well. Do you want me to raise my dress and bend over, or would you like the full treatment with me naked and tied?"

"Sweetheart, do you need to ask? Off with that tunic – quick!"

If it was not the delinquent, Bea, then it was herself in this exuberance of eroticism. The girl who now divested herself of the mistress's tunic freely admitted to an incandescence burning within her sex. It might almost be a relief to receive the catharsis of the cane. Margo knew for sure of her own bewilderment and divided loyalties. When outside the room, she had a tremendous longing for the maleness of the master. But here, safely within the feminine sanctuary, it felt good to be alone with this woman who was about to give her pain. She gave up trying to think things out and simply asked, "Do you wish to do it here, Mildred, or shall we go to one of the rooms?"

Being seen on the way to punishment mattered little to Margo. It was well within the context of life at Rossland. She was simply a junior mistress who Mildred Harridance desired to cane. There was nothing odd about that, was there? Teaching the chosen room, she simply asked, "How would you like me, Mildred?"

With urgent emotions, the headmistress stripped, then locked the door, her arms engulfing the girl she was about to punish. Her breath was hot on Margo's cheeks, their breasts intertwined and frictioned in amorous contact, all four outrageously demanding. Their nipples flint hard and pleading.

"I want all of you, Margo. I'm so damned excited and hungry, I could do without the cane, but I'm not going to. I want every bit of you. Do you understand?"

"Yes, I understand."

The simple ritual was, quiet and in total accord.

"Do whatever you want with me, Mildred. Make me do whatever pleasure you. I want to be compelled. I want to know I am in the power of a headmistress."

Margo was uncertain how it happened. It did not matter. But seemingly, without volition, she found herself standing erect, her arms outstretched, her wrists solidly locked in the stocks, which had no other function than to hold a girl at arm's length while she was whipped. It was delightfully simple. Mildred dived beneath and between the outstretched locked arms to come up to where she could once more possess the willing lips and clasp her victim breast to breast. She held the pinioned girl a long, long time before slipping away to pick up the yellow cane.

Margo had never enjoyed her communion with the cane. No matter who wielded it, it hurt. But now it was different. She could not define the difference, perhaps it was the posture in which she simply stood to receive her punishment. It was less demeaning, less shameful than the strapped or bound postures by which her skin could be stretched to ultimate tautness. Except for the grip of wood upon her wrists, she was as free as the woman with the cane. But that grip held her totally. Surprisingly, she had no wish to break free of it. With agony lacing the twin tenderness of her derriere, she found her heat not lessening, but flaring in a tremendous incandescence she could not control, nor the whip subdue. When it blossomed into orgasm, after many strokes, the headmistress flailed the innocent erotic flesh in a frenzy, a crescendo of shared feeling. Her orgasm matched that of a girl who had lost her hands. Mildred tossed away the cane and clasped the damp nakedness in hungry arms and worked feverishly at placing a hickey on the innocence of a maiden neck. Without striving, they had created something beautiful.

Margo was not set free. She did not want to be set free. But stood with outstretched arms and clasped wrists to allow herself to be enveloped in dreams, entering a fantasy world entirely her own. When, an hour later, Mildred returned, she found her junior mistress still dazed and bemused, not visibly anxious for release. The older woman leaned against the stocks which held her loved one's hands and asked, "Darling, what are we going to do?"

Out of Margo's dreams had come only compromise. She shrugged. "Don't let's do anything," she said softly. "You've got me here at Rossland. Simply send for me any time you have the opportunity. I'll always be available." She grinned ruefully. "I can't escape."

"Sure, that'll work fine for awhile. Then what about Henry Ross? He's bound to find out."

"What can he do?"

Margo wriggled the burning bottom she could not touch.

"But couldn't we look on that simply as the prce we have to pay for having each other?"

"We might get by with that once more I'd pay the price willingly enough, but the master won't give us another chance. He'll take you away or fire me. I couldn't get you up in an apartment the way he can. With all his money and power, he'd snatch you out of it in no time." The headmistress shrugged and made a motion of disgust.

"There is a way we might prolong our relationship indefinitely. I suspect you can guess."

"You mean if you don't use a cane or whip on me. Then there would be no marks." Margo grinned. "The other thing we do doesn't leave any telltale marks. And I bet he figures we do it anyway. After catching us once, he's not going to really believe we won't touch each other again."

They left it at that. Released, Margo went in search of Penny Pendleton and Bea Maxwell. She found the prisoner in her cell. Bea was standing on one foot, her hands tied behind her back and her leg raised to place her ankle on the crosspiece in the bars. There it was tightly bound in front of its owner's face. Bea could survey as long or as often as she liked, but she could not touch it, and she could not free it. She was simply forced to stand upon one foot and wait for someone to come along. As usual, she was extremely verbal.

"Look what the little snippet's done to me now!" Ruefully, she invited Margo's inspection. "I couldn't do a thing. Honest, not a damn thing. She had that beastly cane, and every time I hesitated, she gave me another stroke with it, and she isn't a bit fussy about where it lands. Look at the marks I've got."

Margo looked. She thought it best not to tell the owner of the marks how becoming they were and how amusingly attractive her ensemble was. Having stood on one foot herself on occasion, she was aware that no girl feels at her best in this situation. Bea was flushed, her hair was untidy, and her hands were busily engaged in their careless twisting of the cords. Catching a fleeting glance of amusement on Margo's features, she exclaimed, "Go ahead and laugh! I'm going to tell Mr. Ross about you giving me to this little brat for her own amusement. I'm sure he never intended that I should be abused like this." She glared, first at Margo and then at her bound and elevated ankle. "Just look at it! I mean, no girl should be subjected to anything like this. I bet it just wrinkles your pussy disgustingly. Such a posture."

"You look very pretty, Bea, if you could only realize it. So does your pussy. So do those extra marks you've collected today. If you want to throw yourself on Mr. Ross' mercy, you'll find he has less of it than Penny Pendleton. Grin and bear it, darling. We all have to."

Bea's breasts were heaving, but she was suddenly contrite.

"I'm sorry I'm always blasting you, Margo dear. I know it's not your fault. But now long is that idiot going to keep me in this nuthouse? He never told me, and I forgot to ask. If it's a long time, wouldn't I be better off if I give myself up to the police and take my chances?"

"You can't even do that, dear," Margo explained gently. "You're a prisoner in Rossland – the master's got you. He's not going to give you to the police. The police might keep you prison a long time, but they won't cane your bottom or do any of these quaint notions such as you are suffering right now. And these are what the master wants for you."

"Piss on the master! I'll master him, damn it – if I ever get out of here. Look, Margo, be a darling and untie my foot. I feel like such an idiot, standing like this. I'm getting so tired. Pretty please?"

It was hard to resist. Bea was a damn pretty girl, and in her present forlorn condition, immensely appealing. Margo's flame, so recently appeased, flared anew at the sight of the shy, coy slit of Penny's imposed punishment revealed. Were she not so beset with her own problems, it would be nice to take Bea Maxwell to a private place and work her will on her. But enough is enough. Perhaps, sometime…

Suddenly. Margo Davis remembered her class. It might be a diversion?