F Campbell - Margo

So this was it! Margo had no illusions, but she found herself looking forward to the interview as she made her way to the holy of holies, that one place in Rossland where man was omnipotent, in fact where he existed!

"Miss Davis, a pleasure! Take off that silly tunic." Henry Ross took her head in his hands and kissed her warmly on the mouth. "I hear nothing but good of you. Are you prepared for pain?"

"Yes, master, I am prepared." In his presence, it did not sound as silly as it had elsewhere. This man was a master. Power flowed from Henry Ross like a visible stream. She picked it up and realize he was picking up the emanations she was shooting at him. They were man and woman. Male and female. Primal.

Primly, she said, "This is my first time with you here, Mr. Ross. Please be kind. Please help me."

He laughed. "You don't need help. I've got the report on you here." He motioned to a sheet of paper on his desk. "And anyway, I've got my memory of our interview. You wouldn't be here if I were not convinced you were well suited to what I'll demand of you. They haven't thrashed you much, have they?"

"No. Is that because my skin must be saved for you?"

"Possibly." He sounded indifferent. "There's all too much fuss made of canings and croppings and floggings here." He chuckled. "But I suppose it has its uses. It keeps you girls in your place and feeling sufficiently humble. Instead of calling it Rossland, I should have called it Humble House. How would that strike you?"

Margo senses his humor. She shrugged. "Why not? Humble is what we girls become. It hurts too much to be anything else."

"My, my. Complete candor. Now tell me what do you expect me to do to you right now?"

The direct demand was disconcerting. Taking her courage in her hands, Margo dived squarely into the male-female arena. "I can only go by what I've been told," she said evenly. "But that leaves me to suppose you will use a cane on me and then fuck me." She met his gaze evenly. "Or perhaps the other way around?"

"Any preference?"

"Perhaps I would prefer to have my bottom caned first," she said as she contrived a pale smile in his direction. "That would leave me something to look forward to."

Henry Ross was flattered. Margo herself had failed to realize the flatter implicit in her choice of options. Enigmatically, he asked, "You then regard being violated by me as pleasure?"

"Yes."

"And so you should. This stuff has done well with you. No resentments. No complaints." He laughed. "I'd expected both."

Margo realized Ross was enjoying this bandying of words, and she was too. Why not! It would delay whatever price she had to pay for being what she was. If Henry Ross enjoyed this exchange, she would be foolish to complain, but she had a wish to be done with it. She wanted to experience the hard male thrust and put them in their place in her consciousness. Because of Miss Harridance, she was no longer positive the hard cock was a girl's only road to ecstasy.

Without emphasis, she asked, "How would you like me to position myself to be thrashed?"

Ross was intrigued. Here was a girl of quality. She could match him in directness and had no illusions. But of course. Why not? She was not the simpering product of parents discontent. This girl had chosen her lot. She had expected and was prepared to suffer what Rossland chose to impose. Quietly, he spoke.

"I'm sure you do not need to be tied. You have a will. But I want you tied. It pleases me to have a girl tied when I whip her. It adds a piquancy. I'm sure you understand."

Margo understood. She positioned herself against the desk, leaned across it, and slipped her hands within the waiting loops of strap. Henry Ross buckled them brutally tight. He said with ridiculous cheerfulness, "I'm going to hurt you, Margo. I have here a cane."

The strapped girl hoped she emerged from the ordeal in good shape.

The cuts were cruel. They were precise. They were evenly spaced across her flesh. Each one deserved a scream. But she delivered her screams sparingly. Every time she took the scalding impact without sound was to her a gain of points in a silly game. Neither of them would have called it a game, but both were conscious of the imagined points and mentally were giving credit for the fortitude it represented.

Henry Ross caned the bent-over bottom of the helpless girl with immense relish. Margo could not fail to recognize his ecstasy in every stroke, and to know without volition she was bestowing upon him the greatest benefit a girl could give a man. She was making him intensely happy. To that end, she subdued her screams and made her moans and other sounds as femininely somber as her flesh dictated. She supposed that when a pain became too great, a girl was released from inhibitions.

"You are positively superb!" There could be no doubting the sincerity in Ross' voice. His bands were gently soothing the inflamed bottom he had caned, his fingers searching and finding every raised welt. Quite brutally, his hand thrust itself below the penetrate her thighs and find that which was pressed hard against the edge of the desk. He tested, kneading ruthlessly. When the hand was withdrawn, it was thrust beneath her lips.

"Lick it off." The demand was authoritative. The girl, whose wrists were still strapped, dared not disobey. For the first time in her young life, she tasted her own secretions. Afterwards, she wondered why she had felt no disgust.

When Henry Ross finally failed to recognize his ecstasy in every stroke, and to know without volition she was bestowing upon him the greatest benefit a girl could give a man. She was making him intensely happy. To that end, she subdued her screams and made her moans and other sounds as femininely somber as her flesh dictated. She supposed that when a pain became too great, a girl was released from inhibitions.

"You are positively superb!" There could be no doubting the sincerity in Ross' voice. His hands were gently soothing the inflamed bottom he had caned, his fingers searching and finding every raised welt. Quite brutally, his hand thrust itself below the penetrate her thighs and find that which was pressed hard against the edge of the desk. He tested, kneading ruthlessly. When the hand was withdrawn, it was thrust beneath her lips.

"Lick it off." The demand was authoritative. The girl, whose wrists were still strapped, dared not disobey. For the first time in her young life, she tasted her own secretions. Afterwards, she wondered why she had felt no disgust.

When Henry Ross finally desisted from his flaggelation of innocent flesh, he freed the tender wrists and brusquely told her to turn over.

Margo obeyed. It was brutally painful. Her whipped skin was now in direct contact with the edge of the desk. A moment later, her wrists had been strapped anew, but her eyes she must not fail to recognize his ecstasy in every stroke, and to know without volition she was bestowing upon him the greatest benefit a girl could give a man. She was making him intensely happy. To that end, she subdued her screams and made her moans and other sounds as femininely somber as her flesh dictated. She supposed that when a pain became too great, a girl was released from inhibitions.

"You are positively superb!" There could be no doubting the sincerity in Ross' voice. His hands were gently soothing the inflamed bottom he had caned, his fingers searching and finding every raised welt. Quite brutally, his hand thrust itself below the penetrate her thighs and find that which was pressed hard against the edge of the desk. He tested, kneading ruthlessly. When the hand was withdrawn, it was thrust beneath her lips.

"Lick it off." The demand was authoritative. The girl, whose wrists were still strapped, dared not disobey. For the first time in her young life, she tasted her own sensations. Afterwards, she wondered why she had felt no disgust.