F Campbell - Margo

"Come along, my pretty." Denby beckoned invitingly, as though it was something much to be desired. "Let's see if those wrist shackles will stretch the span. They might just manage."

They required some tugging, but Denby enjoyed his work. It was not long before Margo stood where her mistress stood, her breasts thrust hard against the panel in exactly the same place. The tightening of the straps above her head had drawn taut every link of the connecting chain, but she was severely and prettily handled. Her mind was furiously debating the choice she had made. Perhaps, after all, it would have been better to take a chance on the whipping post. It was not impossible. But she had done so, she might have been reprieved at the last moment. But she had made her choice and must abide by it. She peeped back over her raised arm to observe her mistress's petulance. Marcia was by no means happy about what was taking place. She was aware of having lost the initiative.

"Denby, I've changed my mind. I don't want the girl whipped. All this shipping…"

"But, darling, I'm not whipping your little pretty-pretty. What I'm doing is caning her bottom. It is quite a different thing." He turned to the girl strapped to the wall. "You'll enjoy every moment. You'll enjoy every stroke, won't you, my dear?"

"No."

"You see, she's being honest about it."

Marcia was triumphant. "There aren't many girls like me, and I can't manage to feel in the mood every day the way you'd like me to. Really, Denby, you're an absolute menace. Why don't you go and buy yourself a couple of mulattoes or you might even get a white girl you'll be satisfied with. You don't need to use my property."

"Oh, very well!" he exclaimed with make-believe irritation. "You're not in the mood. She's not in the mood. I'll settle for, say, twenty light strokes."

Margo's captive heart went out to her mistress when Marcia exclaimed testily. "There's no such thing as light strokes! You know that was well as I do, especially from you. You've never given me a light stroke in my whole life, let alone what you'd do to a slave girl."

"Well, don't get so hot about, my pet. I can always cane a girl's bottom. It's no big deal. But, damn it, you owe me something."

"I don't owe you a damn thing," Margo vowed heatedly. "And I know what you're working up to, you lecherous hound. You're going to ask if I'll allow you to take Margo to bed."

"The thought has crossed my mind," he admitted. "But if you're so all fired determined to protect your little innocent, how about me having a go at you? I haven't fucked a girl since yesterday, and I'm horny as hell."

"Well, if that's all your trouble is, go on out to the fields and pick up any of the black girls that take your fancy. The pretty ones have got a ball and chain locked on their ankles, but that shouldn't bother you. You can do your foul deed right there between the cotton rows and the let the girl go back to work."

"Can I use your riding crop on her bottom first? It improves their performance tremendously, you know," he sighed at the vision. "A well-cropped black ass on hot rough soil – my, my, it is tempting."

"Run along then. You don't need a chit from me. He can probably recommend a girl. He's tried them all."

When the male had strolled away blithely on his carnal errand, there was silence in the room. Marcia was still pouting, and Margo longed to thank her mistress, but was not yet certain that she had anything to give thanks for. It could well be that her mistress would pick up where Denby had failed to commence. Once again, she realized privilege in having witnessed and being a part of another almost incredible exchange, a clash of personalities between two members of the ruling class. Plantation owners were kings and queens – omnipotent in their casual disposal of human flesh. She whished Marcia would undo the tight straps and allow her arms to fall.

"What the devil am I going to do with you?" Marcia demanded irritably. "Damn it, I've let that man outfox me again. He's forever doing it. I'm damned if I'm going to let him have you free of charge. I bought you for myself and I'm keeping you. I should never have let it go as far as it did. Here, I'll let you loose."

Margo now though it opportune to say her fervid thank you and heaved a sigh of relief. She was glad to be free of the straps around her wrists and free of the wall. The panel heated by her body seemed an instruction and an impertinence upon a space, particularly designed and treasured by the girl who owned her. It was Marcia who belong there against the wall with her arms strapped high for male attention. But only on Marcia's own terms and in her own time.

Anxious to please, she asked tremulously, "The tea things, mistress – shall I remove them?"

Marcia waived away the idea as of no consequence. "Oh, one of the girls in the house will do it. I'm not going to waste you. I think I'll revert to an original idea." She grinned impishly at a thought which had obviously improved her disposition. "I want you to go down to the slave compound and get Manley or anybody who is handy to fasten you to the whipping post in the standard position – nothing out of the way. Do you think you can manage that?"

"Yes."

"In case you're wondering why, it's because it will do you good. You're bound to end up on the whipping post sooner or later. Every girl does. As I said, it does not actually mean you'll be whipped. But it will be a marvelous opportunity for you to gather the atmosphere of the place and realize what it's going to be like for you wait there, fastened and helpless on the final occasion when you are actually going to be your skin marked."

Marcia now smiled brightly. "I think it's a wonderful idea. Don't you agree?"

"I'll be frightened, but if it's what you want…"

"Yes, it is, so run along. I'll come down and talk to you later."

The slave girl left her mistress. When she found Manley, he simply laughed in a knowing, experienced amusement.

"Well, you all come to it sooner or later, don't you, missy?" He chuckled, surveying her nakedness appreciatively. "Took you two days, bit I've seen some girls get it the first day they come. It depends on their temperament." He chuckled once more. "Or on your mistress's temper. Come along. There's a bit of rope beside the post that'll do just fine."

Manley was right. The rope was there, as though waiting especially for this moment. Margo watched while the overseer picked it up, then obeyed the signal of his hand and thrust herself hard against the wood, raising her arms above her head. The chain of her shackles prohibited totally embracing the cylindrical timber, but it was long enough for Manley's purpose. He looped the shackle at each end and drew it tight behind the post, then tugged and knotted it to leave the nude slave standing fearfully with arms raised. The rope firmly held the shackles and the shackles held her with and equal implacability. Manley slapped her rump hardily and advised, "Just stand there quite, my pretty. Think of your sins and maybe you can figure out whether you'll get ten or twenty or fifty." He eyed her with a faint hint of sympathy. "I don't suppose you'll get hundred today."

Margo watched him go, fearful he might use the whip on her himself without waiting for his mistress. But he ambled out of sight to leave her with a restricted view of the wood in front of her nose and against which her breast was tightly thrust.

The only virtue she could see in her position was that it gave her a degree of decency as opposed to being bound in such a way as to stand with her back against the wood with her breasts flaunting themselves for all to see. For slave girls, in their nakedness, there was a vast gulf between their backs and their fronts. Each had their own implications, both frightening.