F Campbell - Margo

"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.