F Campbell - Margo

"All right, you've got what you want. You've shamed me and made me helpless in front of the slave. Now let me loose."

Marcia's demand sounded anxious, even to the kneeling girl. The mistress moved uneasily against her bonds and repeated, "Denby, undo these straps immediately!"

The male, in the form of Denby Wright, spared the kneeling slave a glance of semi-apology.

"You're mistress feels that she has to say these things," he explained patiently. "She doesn't mean a word of it, and if I listened and did what she asked, she'd be the most disappointed girl in the world. You are about to be the only witness to a unique event. I'm speaking of the caning of your mistress bottom. Marcia canes exquisitely, and you'll be able to tell her afterwards of the manner in which the scarlet lines appeared." Denby smiled benignly. "Feel free to move to wherever you can get the best possible view."

"Denby, this is outrageous. You're spoiling the girl!" Marcia's flushed face was turned accusingly. Words were her only weapon. She could move no part of herself effectively. "It's all very well for you and I to play games, but not before a slave girl."

"But, me dear, you've said yourself that this girl is special. She's something that's going to be very personal to you. It's not like we had brought in a field hand to witness your shame. Actually, this is going to be a part of Margo's training. If I happen to be absent for any lengthy period, she can take my place."

He bent her, and with exaggerated solicitude, patted and smoothed the palpitating twin round that appeared to have a life of their own. Marcia turned her face to the wall.

By now, Margo had passed the point of astonishment or any feeling of loyalty to her mistress. She realized she was a spectator in an exotic game between these two, a game they had played before. The thought that she had taken part in it generated an unusual excitation. The quivering nudity held so rigidly against her own wall by straps buckled upon her wrists by a visiting male was evoking all sorts of new sensations within Margo's maiden breast. Abandoning hypocrisy, she admitted to herself a sexual excitement prompting a desire for Denby to get on with the job. Her nude, flushed mistress was delectable as she now was, no doubt she would be even more so once the cane sliced the tender spheres yet unmarked.

"I'll never forgive you, Denby." The assurance lacked conviction. It was hard for Margo to know if the wrigglings and writhings her mistress now indulged in were truly the result of apprehension or simply an additional erotic prelude to excite the male. Once more, a vision of the mating antics of concupiscent birds flashed across her mind. But Denby had now taken up a position and selected his cane. With swift precision, he planted his first scarlet line upon the intimate flesh.

Few things are as we expect. This was one more instance. Instead of screaming and leaping wildly about, Marcia drew air into her lungs with a prolonged inhalation in the manner of a connoisseur enjoying a good cigar. She exhaled just as slowly, as though savoring every contribution of her lungs. She moved her exquisite body only slightly, but lifted one leg as its knee as far as she could contrive, and then let it slowly fall back to its resting place. She said no word.

It was as though some telepathy existed between the man and the girl. Margo watched in pure awe. No doubt Denby could have struck the helpless bottom far harder than he did, but he was most certainly striking far harder than Margo herself would have wanted to suffer. As the beating progressed, the blows impacted with their own wicked sound, well spaced, affecting a grid of lines and then a latticework of scarlet as they crossed again and again. The aristocratic owner of the punished sounds contrived a sound all her own, casting only infrequent backward glances. Marcia had now retied within the shelter of a bare arm and seemingly lived out her agony in the small, whimpering noises and erotic writings as though the man and his whip were no more than a generating force for a lust within itself. Margo could well believe that nothing now existed for Marcia Tremont beyond the measured cut of the cane, which kept alive the incandescence within her sex.

Denby was obviously in full and total control, well aware of what he was doing and what Marcia suffered. By the time her finished caning the lovely nudity, the whole expanse of Marcia's skin imbued with the sweat of pain. It glistened and shone, and her sounds and motions only very gradually died away after the last stroke.

Denby served brandy, first to the strapped girl he had so unkindly punished and then to the kneeling slave girl. For a reason all his own, he allowed the Mistress of Tremont to remain strapped to the wall. His attention was transferred to the trembling slave.

"Nice little warming up for your dear mistress, eh?" His tone was bright and cheerful, and he obviously expected a reply. "The dear girl adores it upon her bottom. But she's not to keen on having her back whipped, are you, darling?" he asked her over his shoulder.

Darling waffled her hips as though in disdain and small-small negative sounds. They were by no means positive, but a carry over from the keening accompaniment to the cane.

"If I were to obtain a whip and use it on her lovely back, she would be much distressed." His voice lowered in tone to become suggestive. "Would it give you pleasure?"

"No. Oh, no, please don't do that, sir."

Margo had had enough of such extremes of eroticism. She wanted no more. Whether Marcia enjoyed the caning of her bottom or not, it had nonetheless been a horrendous thing to watch and the scarlet skin now proclaimed itself someone's guilt. "May I take it that you are now amenable to such a performance?"

It took a moment to register, but then the full obscenity of it struck the slave girl in full force. Her stricken gaze sought and found the rampant maleness of the man who had asked the question. Quite obviously, her duty was, in his eyes, all too clear. Distracted, she muttered the only words she could think of.

"No, oh no! Please, Mr. Wright, don't!" Her vehement voice trailed away from lack of words to say. She felt totally inadequate. She was up against a force to commit an act never previously contemplated. Recognizing the vapid sound of it, she simply added, "I'm absolutely not that kind of girl."

"Every girl is that kind of girl, Margo – don't be silly. It's habit forming, you know. If you stay with me, you'll come to love it."

The kneeling girl sensed a thing unsaid. Her suppliant gaze was pathetic in a sudden guess. But all she could bring herself to say was, "Please, don't make me – please don't."

"My dear child, in the true sense of what we are talking about, I cannot make you. The act requires a certain voluntary contribution of your own. To make it easy for you, I am going to suggest that until you announce your consent to willingly, shall we say, appease my lust, I will whip this lovely back your mistress wishes to keep unmarked."

She had guessed it all the time. Now it was in the open. It could be examined. But what was there to say or do? The choice was all too obvious. It would be a simple yes or no. She could not temporize for long. It was forcibly imposed upon the slave girl's mind that if she was the property of this woman who was trapped to the wall and who had been caned. If she betrayed that woman, then after Denby had gone, what could their relationship be other than hostile? Margo knew herself in the grip of a terrible impotence in which nothing she could do could be entirely right.

But the idea of being forced to watch the whipping and marking of the lovely white back held helpless against the wall and totally dependent on her will was more than she could bear. Abjectly, she surrendered.