F Campbell: Margo

"You do take a whipping marvelously well, my dear," Miss Boulter conceded generously. "Everything you do is in its proper context and adds enormously to the enjoyment. The motions of your feet, for instance. It would be a mistake to bind them. You use your feet most eloquently. And the raising and lowering of your head and those fearful glances back over your shoulder are quite exquisite. You have a positive gift for punishment Miss Davis I do regret your use of it is so limited."

With the skin of your bottom scalding and burning in a crying out pleading for surcease it was very hard to follow Miss Boulter's remarks. It appeared to be understood that they required no response other than a continuation of the carnal and sexual motions commented on. When the sixth slice seared the already tender seat, the fastened-down girl realized she had only passed the halfway mark, but it seemed a century. The cut just received could just as well have been the fiftieth as well as the fifth. Margo Davis moaned and shifted her hips against the cutting edge in a fruitless seeking of comfort. She was now self-conscious about the raising and lowering of her legs in response to pain. Sometimes she actually kicked back as though at some tangible object. Once her bare foot had inadvertently come into contact with Miss Boulter's shin and was rewarded with a sharp, vicious cut across its sole. Margo would always remember that single cut. When the bastinado was mentioned, she never failed to shudder.

"There we are, dear. No ten. I've spaced them well today. Be sure and examine yourself when you get home. The effect is quite gorgeous. Now you have only the last one left. The one you need not have had at all. Brace yourself."

Knowing it to be the last made it bearable. Margo was quite sure if it had been in the beginning, she would have relapsed into screaming right away. But as its bitter scald penetrated her sex in a cruel ecstasy, she was saying over and over to herself, "That's all, that's all."

Nothing mattered now. She could put up with anything.

"You are to remain as you are, for the usual thirty minutes, Margo." Miss Boulter was obviously feeling better. Her voice was noticeably warm, with almost a touch of humor as she spoke.

"I do think it's so good for a girl to remain fastened in the same manner as her punishment for a period in which she may quietly think upon her sins and contemplate her possible future punishments should she digress."

Margo wanted to report "up yours", but with Miss Boulter, a girl had best be circumspect. She had learned this when she had been an employee out there on the main floor with all the other girls. Being fired in disgrace from Boulter, Inc. was something very easy to achieve. It bad happened to her, and when two weeks later she came back, the faint hope of pleading for mercy and receiving it, that her present predicament had come about. It had all been remarkably matter of fact.

"You are the mainstay of your disabled parents, Miss Davis. Now you ask me for mercy?" The tone had been somewhat less cold than Margo had expected. "And this mortgage business you speak of would appear to me to require sums of money far beyond what you can earn on a monthly salary."

"What else can I do, Miss Boulter? I was happy here, and we were getting along fairly well, I thought until that silly mistake."

"Would you consider thrashing once a week for a larger sum, Miss Davis?"

It had been like a physical blow Margo had been uncertain of hearing right. She gazed across the desk before which she stood as a convicted culprit, dismayed and distraught. Miss Boulter had come to the rescue.

"I could have worked up to that more easily, Margo. But you and I are both adults, and I deplore euphemisms. If you desire this larger sum, you will be required to present yourself here once a week a precise moment in time. You will then strip naked and allow me to fasten you across the desk. I would then use a cane upon your bottom. Ten strokes is the minimum I would care to bargain for. But if you are so disposed, we could always discuss a larger sum or a more frequent punishment."

She had stood staring in shocked silence until Miss Boulter made the rationalizations which enabled Margo to evaluate the strangest offer of her life. She had accepted it and had so far survived. Now, chained down on the hard wood of the desk, she reflected and reviewed. In spite of her vows of abstinence, she was well aware she would return again and again. Norma Boulter had offered her a solution to all her financial affairs. After Margo had been whipped a number of times, the older woman had increased the weekly stipend. Margo simply told her parents of a new job and additional responsibilities. It had all been extremely simple.

"I was particularly pleased with you today, Margo," Miss Boulter enthused. For her, this was lavish praise. "There is a sensuousness, a sexuality about you that is quite unique. I suppose I don't have to tell you that you are a remarkably beautiful young woman. I'm surprised you have not been taken under some rich man's wing. For a girl of your quality, it is by far the best choice. Have you considered it?"

"I never meet any," Margo mourned as the handcuffs fell away from her chafed wrists. She stood, unconscious of her nakedness, while she massaged her semi-wounds and ran reassuring fingers across the raised welts left by the cane.

"I don't move in those circles. It's easy to say, and I expect it is easy for the right girl, but not for me. In any case, it's not something I'd want to do."

"Even for a great deal of money?"

There it was again: always the temptation of money. Margo shrugged and said, "Well, I suppose I could become a call girl and make a great deal of money." She looked at Norma Boulter and smiled deprecatingly.

"You've always been rich; you don't understand."

"Like hell I don't! Margo, if you only knew. I've used my sex, and I've used men for everything they've got. And everything I've got is the result. How serious are you about money?"

"There's never enough. I'm still trying to catch up on my mortgage. Then there's the hospital bill?"

"Okay then, come twice a week. We'll alternate between your bottom, your back, your breasts, and between your legs. I'll double the ante."

"I couldn't take that. Not on my breasts. I'm sorry, Miss Boulter, but even if I thought I could bear the pain, I don't think I'd want them spoiled. Whipping a girl's breasts can't possibly do them nay good."

"Horseshit! They thrive on it."

"I'm terribly sorry." Margo knew she sounded as though she really was sorry and would have performed the service if she possibly could. She accepted the check Miss Boulter now handed her and knew the usual thrill of accomplishment. What did pain matter in the face of this all-encompassing power money gave a girl? She found herself not wanting to disappoint Norma Boulter. Today, more than ever, she had felt closer to this strange woman with her strange compulsion.

"I think if you'd just forget about my breasts and concentrate on the other places, I could probably manage something. Would that please you, Miss Boulter?"

"Oh, sure." Margo shrugged and managed a wan smile. "My trouble is I never get the right one. They want to maul these breasts that you want to whip, and a few other places too. They don't seem to offer any future at all."

"How would you like to meet a man who enjoys what I like doing?" Increased vibrancy was once again notable in the quiet voice. "Don't ever knock men," Norma Boulter laughed dryly. "Some of them even have more money than I've got. Grab yourself one."

It sounded so easy. But Margo knew it was something she would never do. She supposed Norma Boulter was paying her handsomely for the pain she bore each week from these visits, but she could not even be sure of that. She had no comparisons. And she certainly was not going to seek them. When she had finished putting on her shoes and had straightened up, Norma handed her a business card.