F Campbell - Margo

It would be difficult to design hard labor any more conveniently. To each of the toiling young maidens was added the indignity and frustration of being secured by so slender a thread as a metal band on one wrist only and a few links of chain. But the rest of their personage was free to toil. For the first minute, until they had achieved a moderate speed, each of them was obliged to put her shoulder to the spoke and dig in her heels upon the earthen floor. They did this with one eye upon the whip. But the girl who held it was not disposed to use it unless compelled to do so.

After they had found their pace, their overseer spoke.

"Look, girls, we know each other. We know the system. It's up to you; I will whip any one of you who plays the fool or pretends she can't keep up. You don't have to run. Just push for all you're worth."

Quite soon, the smell of maiden sweat was heavy in the cavern, and their breathing became labored. The clink of Margo's irons made metallic mockery as she took each step punctuated by the girls straining as they made their rounds. Their overseer reminded them, "No talking. You have to work your little asses off in silence."

Until she reached her second wind, Margo was quite prepared to risk whatever punishment she must in order to rebel. True, she could not escape because of the shackle on her wrists. But if she stopped punishing, perhaps there est would have to too, and maybe some attention could be given to their distress. Quite soon, the labored breathing eased, as each girl fell into a natural rhythm and coped with the labors she must perform. Quite possibly, the ugly cavern had been given its dim light and indeterminate form as a depressant to the spirit.

It was illuminated only by smelly flares which gave a ghostly illumination to the straining torsos of the naked girls.

Margo remembered reading of such places, where in ancient times men and women had truly labored. But then they produced corn or some other useful substance. For all any of this quarter could tell, they produced nothing other their sweat.

It was inevitable that the whip be used. Whether it was earned or not, it was implicit to the scene. And whether they earned its cuts or not, each one of them received its bite. Not often, but enough to maintain their interest. They pushed in dismal silence – none dared speak. One girl did manage a few words, but was rewarded with the whip. After awhile, each delinquent girl allowed her head to rest against a bare arm as she worked and lived within the imagery of her own mind. They shut the cavern out. Their only consciousness of it or the wheel was the continual threat of the thong. It was an extremely simple arrangement. No doubt Rossland was proud of it.

Toward the end of the afternoon, each girl was sweat stained, and the cavern was pungent with girl scent. Perhaps some of them had thought erotic thoughts, but no doubt the exercise was good for healthy young females and conducive to their libidos. But most assuredly, each girl, when her shackle fell free from her wrist, was ready to vow to anyone interested their total fealty to the place and principles of Rossland. They would have done anything or said anything which might have freed them from a return to the wicked spokes. It was a sad, sorry quarter which made its way to the bath to be hosed down.

The loss of her leg irons was to Margo a mixed blessing. It automatically elevated her to the rank of mistress, a position for which she felt she was entirely unsuited. It also ensured a greater severity of punishment should she earn one. It was implied she was big girl now and should know how to behave. Miss Harridance who performed the final ceremony was cheerfully informative.

"There." The headmistress unlocked and tossed aside the shackles which had gained their heat from Margo's legs for the past two weeks.

"Your initiation is now officially over, dear girl, and there are a few things I want understood between us now. This is the last time you will ordinarily stand before me naked. Here."

She tossed a small pathetic bundle of mistress garb across the desk.

"You can put this on after I've finished talking to you. If you stand before me again, pain will follow."

Margo longed to kick her heels in elation, but deemed it unwise. Instead, she carefully raised one of them as far as she decently could and then lowered it again. The absence of a metallic accompaniment to the act was reward enough. She had crossed Rossland's first hurdle.

Somewhere in the distant future awaited the check. She wanted to tell Miss Harridance of the intention to do her best to hold out and get that slip of paper, but that was silly. She had no choice. For her, there was no out. She as firmly a prisoner as a girl could be.

The headmistress had been watching the play of emotion on her pupil's face. Seriously, she said, "I know what you're thinking, dear. It's a long road ahead and a short one behind. When you leave this office, it will be with the dignity of a mistress – a title which will save you not a single punishment, but it does bestow a pleasant authority. Girls not so designated must obey you. But mistresses are forbidden to use pupils. You will invoke no girlish lips or hands between your thighs. Do you understand?"

"I think so. I belong to you and the master. Is that so, Miss Harridance?"

"No, not exactly in that order. But perhaps I may change that one of these days. Be assured, Margo, that when I have you, I have you completely. There will be no mental reservations or loyalty to any man." Mildred Harridance sighed. "I have been hoping Mr. Ross would tire of this establishment and sell it to me. Perhaps this day may come. In the meantime, he is totally the master. He will violate you and thrash you as he pleases. But I'm sure he has told you this. I will not repeat it. You will keep what I have told you to yourself. You will not speak of it to the girls. If you do, I will find out and you will be punished. I find myself possessed of a particular desire. You are less vapid that the daughters of the rich and less indoctrinated with loyalty to Henry Ross than most of the merchandise he places in my care. Margo, do you think you can view yourself as solely mine?" It was a condition Margo could have done without. But in Rossland assent was easy. There was nothing else for a girl to say, unless she wished to be instantly whipped. She made her tone as bright as possible.

"I will try. This whole thing is so new to me. I think you're telling me you wish me alone to service you?"

"Don't use the word service. It implies some monetary exchange. You will call it making love, and when we are alone as now, you will call me Mildred. I will call you Margo. We will dispense of titles." The eyes of the headmistress focused forbiddingly. "I do hope you understand. I'm conferring an immense privilege."

"I understand… Mildred. Do you wish me to make love to you now?"

"No. I intend to make love to you. I've been hungry for you ever since I first saw you. The thought of you in these silly situations of initiation has bothered me. From now on, your agonies will be mature. Have you any subject on which you believe yourself a sufficient enough authority to teach?"

"Yes, I have considered literature. I think I could do well for the girls in that."

"Good. Now put on that dress."

Wonderingly, Margo obeyed. As usual, Rossland was way ahead of her. What this woman had just said was shattering. Had she been free, she would have run. But even without her shackled feet, there was no freedom for Margo Davis. She would simply graduate from one captivity to another. In silent obedience, she donned the tight neat slip of a dress with its authoritative band around its waist, then stood.

"We all have our fantasies, dear girl. You must get used to mine. The first of them I'm about to perform upon you now. Don't you dare say a word."