F Campbell - Margo

"Very well, Mr. Wright, I will do as you request." She paused in confusion, then added, "Please help me."

Margo Davis supposed there were worse things to do than to take the male phallus within her mouth and use it as the male voice directed.

Denby chose to seat himself in such a manner the mistress had done at an earlier time and made himself available to a girl who knelt between his knees. For the first minutes of her administration, he gently stroked her hair, but as her efforts increased the crescendo of his sensations, he more and more grasped that hair within his hands and grew it up to himself. When all was over, he assured the slave girl blandly that she had done well for a first time and was girl of much promise. He then unstrapped the mistress of Tremont who immediately threw her arms around his neck in a fevered embrace and proceeded to sob and sob against upon the breast of the man who had been so cruel. The two nudities intertwined and became one, to tell the watching slave she was witness to a strange and perverted love. As Margo watched, her horror in her own defilement lessened and dissipated to become simply a knowledge of an act that would be repeated again and again. If there was virtue in enslavement, it was simply to relieve the slave itself of guilt or responsibility. A slave girl did what she must. Absently, Margo raised her chained hands and plucked male hair between her lush, ripe lips which she could swear were strangely swollen.

The caning of Marcia Tremont's bottom and her demonstration of the strange affection between herself and Denby made no difference to her relations with her newly purchased slave. Marcia carried the whole thing off with extraordinary aplomb, even to the point of implying Margo's possible enjoyment of the carnal act with the male phallus and sly hints of what she herself might sanction Denby to do with her quivering possession a glimpse of a world previously undreamed. Since the cane and the whip governed all things at Tremont, Margo was not foolish enough to make either criticism or complaint. She waited.

The visits of Denby to Tremont were frequent. He chose his time and sipped his tea with total nonchalance in a discussion of the unmentionable. He was totally without inhibition and blandly included Marcia Tremont in all his speculations. His next visit, on the following day, gave Margo food for thought and apprehension. She had served the tea and clinked her chains to where once more she knelt with her thighs wide open for his appraisal. She felt certain it was only a matter of time before he was given permission to use her. In the meantime, he could look and whet his appetite. He was by no means a sex-starved man, but a new girl is a new girl, and must inevitably be sampled before too long. Between Margo and the phallus she had laved with lips and tongue lay only the authority of Marcia Tremont. It was a very feminine authority, subject to male influence.

"Really, Marcia, I don't se why you need this girl. I know she nibbles your fanny, but there are better uses for her. How about selling her to me?"

"Forget it, Denby. All you'll do with her is keep her in our bed. I regard this as a total waste of a lovely girl."

Denby was quite unruffled. He smiled blandly and suggested, "You underrate me, darling. A man can't possibly spend all his time in bed with a girl. What you're worried about is that the little dear might not properly get her bottom caned. But you're wrong there. I'd enjoy caning her delightful little buns as much as I enjoy caning yours. By the way, would you like a repeat performance today?"

"Denby, you're impossible! The answer is absolutely no! I'm finding it uncomfortable enough to sit down as it is."

"And you are absolutely reveling in every gorgeous, lustful moments, aren't you, darling?" Denby rolled out the words with obvious enjoyment. "A girl's bottom should be constantly inflamed so that every time she seats herself she is aware of the male!"

"Denby, stop this teasing! You men are so predictable. I think you'd whip a girl's bottom three times a day if you had the chance. You're obsessed with the whipping of bottoms. I don't see what it does for you. I mean, you're horny enough to begin with. It's not as though you're some aged man who needs the stimulation to, well, get it up." The mistress of Tremont sniffed disdainfully and continued her accusation. "You may consider the bottoms of both myself and my slave girl as out of bounds. Both will remain inviolate. Damn it, man, you've got enough cute little black girls on your estate to satisfy any lecherous urges. You only come here because the fact that both men and my little slave girl are white, and that excites you. Doesn't it?"

"It excites me to the point where neither of you two delectable creatures is safe," Denby affirmed benevolently. "There is no question but that man's highest aspiration is to warm the little arses of the maidens who come his way. You deserve – you enjoy it. It does you no end of good, you know. And it gets me an erection. What more could a girl ask for?"

The mistress of Tremont affected hauter. "Denby, you are assuming far too much. You impose on my good will. I have to suppose that all your black wenches have been so thoroughly thrashed as to be unavailable to you and at the same time carry on their duties. You're a positive monster!"

"Of course I am. Isn't it lovely?" Denby turned his attention to the quivering girl. "Sweetheart, you have already given your lips and your delightful mouth to appease the suffering of this capricious female." He smiled as though with pure love. "I am sure you will donate your bottom."

It was a cruel question. Margo could not divine the proper answer. What she came up was primly proper.

"I obey my mistress, sir. I will do only that which she directs."

"Bravo!" Marcia clapped her hands in glee. "You see, Denby, you can't charm all of us all of the time. And if it does get caned, it's I who will do it. And in any case, I'm a little weary of this caning business. It I want to engender some heat in her delightful crotch. I will do so by some other means. Perhaps hanging her up by her thumbs or by having her fastened to the whipping post and leaving her to wonder if she really gets whipped or not." She turned to the listening, quaking girl. "Darling, which would you chose?"

The question was rhetorical – mischievous. But it could not be ignored, not by a girl who was a slave.

Timidly, Margo ventured, "Mistress, they all sound terrible." There was a short, uncomfortable pause before she added, in a burst of candor, "I think it would be much nicer for me if Mr. Wright caned my bottom."

It was a stroke of pure diplomacy. Marcia gazed down at the kneeling girl askance, but Denby applauded, actually clapping his hands and shouting, "Bravo, bravo! Damn it, Marcia, this girl has brains. She knows a good thing when she sees it, and I promise not to mark her up any more than I did you. And that's practically letting a girl off scot free. Come, darling, what do you say?"

"Oh, have it your own way!" Marcia turned a petulant regard from one to the other problems. "You'll never be happy, Denby, until you've whipped her bottom. I now that. I expect she knows it too. So you may as well get it over with." She turned to the kneeling girl. "Okay, Margo, you have my permission to obey Denby in what he has just mentioned. If he goes beyond it, look to me and I will say the final yes or no."

Margo felt ridiculous and inadequate. Everything she wanted to say would sound trite. And all the talk of whipping bottoms – and hers in particular – seemed stupidly in excess in an endless repetition of something she would have supposed might have become a bore. Although she did remember the heat within her own loins at the sound and even the fell of the impacts in all she had experienced. It was all absolutely puzzling, impossible, and unreal.