F Campbell - Margo

"Go and see this man. He could do a lot for you, and he's into this up to his neck. He's also extremely charming and most imminently eligible. If I didn't have so much money, I'd marry him myself. But it's a great mistake for a woman to have it all and a man a lesser amount. Not that's broke – far from it. Go ahead, you'll like him."

Margo looked down at the severely expensive card. It bore a name and a telephone number. Nothing more. The name was Henry Ross. She put it into her bag, along with the check. She supposed she could call it a successful day. When they parted, Norma kissed her goodbye, reminding her when they would next meet.

When Margo walked past the cute secretary, she knew something had changed. But she did not know what.

"He'd make a catch for any girl," the henna-rinsed female stated with fervent conviction. "But he's out of my class, and he's probably out of yours too. Henry Ross puts on a damn good party, but as for the rest, you can stop drooling."

"The most elusive and eligible bachelor in town," the bleach blond sighed. "Every time he looks at me, I cream my panties."

The girl with the natural hair color laughed at her companions. "Let's be grateful to him for his parties. God knows there are men enough around. Surely we aren't short of men. And as for Henry Ross," she said, her voice lowering dramatically, "I wish I had the nerve to ask him if he keeps little naked girls in cages in his cellar."

The subject of their conversation slipped quietly and unobtrusively from the big room. Henry Ross well knew his parties sustained themselves. All they needed was his presence to get them going, and this one was certainly well under way. He had an errand. It would not occupy him for the whole evening, but it would be from time to time a demanding compulsion. Swiftly, he went downstairs.

The naked girl he was concerned about rekindled her hopes at his appearance. She had been moaning softly in solitude. But with the offer of her travail in the room, there was always the chance that he would be prevailed upon… Her greeting was simple.

"Mr. Ross, I'm terribly sorry, but I can't stand this. I just can't. It's way too much."

The sybarite fondly examined the author of the plaint. He was fond of his girls, never failing to appreciate the sacrifices they made for him. The fact that some were paid and some were not in no way affected their qualities. This one had promise. She was sitting astride a bar, her feet out to either side and anchored loosely to the floor, her hands bound behind her back. She was totally naked and quite obviously terribly conscious of this condition. She voice her next concern.

"Please, Mr. Ross, cover me up. At least that much – you know." She dropped the shameful subject and reverted to her main distress. "And please get me off this thing. It's far worse than you can realize." "On the other hand, my dear, it is nowhere near as bad you suppose. The object you are sitting on is, in principle, what used to be called the horse. It's a punishment that has been used on both sexes throughout the ages. However, you are getting off lightly. That bar you're sitting on is the dimension that will not cause you too deep – and I do mean deep – distress. I would judge that at the worst you are simply uncomfortable."

"Uncomfortable!" The girl made the word sound obscene. "I'm dying. You're making me sit on – well, you know what I'm sitting on!"

"May I simply call it a cunt? It's as good a word as any, and better than most. I'm sure it's more descriptive than one of the euphemism that you were about to use." Henry Ross chuckled. "You are supposing this asset of yours is totally ruined by a bit of friction on a pole. You're quite wrong. It may even improve some of its qualities. You should stop worrying. The party is about halfway through. When the last guest has gone, you will be released."

The nude beauty astride the pole wriggled ineffectually and cast a reproachful gaze at the man who was responsible for her plight. She tried again.

"Look, Mr. Ross, never mind the money. Keep it. Just let me off this thing and let me go home. Please?"

"My dear, you are forgetting – we made a contract."

"Ohhhh, please! I can't help any contract. All I want is off." The lovely body made one more futile struggle. The girl's eyes beseeching the man who was here only hope of rescue. "Please, Mr. Ross. What good does it do me to have me down here like this when you've got a party going on upstairs? You've had to leave your guests to come down here now."

The man made a leisurely circle around the captive girl. He tested the bound hands, their wrists crossed and tied behind the virgin back. He tested the shackles on the slender ankles. Neither of them taut enough to impose an additional burden on sex beyond that of the weight of its owner. He bent to look at the sex itself below the pubic patch, now swollen slightly from the stress under which it sat.

He shrugged and said, "Everything is in order, Margo. One day you'll realize how easy I'm being on you this first time. If I ever sit you upon the sharp edge of a real horse, you won't be half as calm and collected as now, believe me." He turned and left.

The girl stared after him in a measure of despair. Yet strangely, Henry Ross' assurances of her well being had in some way eased the anxiety and fear. She moaned again, but this was in contemplation of the hours still to pass.

Margo Davis looked around at luxury and stammered, "Mr. Ross, I'm afraid I've picked the wrong time. You've got a party going. I could have made it another time."

"My parties rarely miss me, Miss Davis. Norma phoned me about you. You come with the highest praise."

"Miss Boulter has been terribly kind. We are… we are friends." The man nodded. Assessing his visitor with an amused but searching gaze, he said, "I had better tell you at the start, Miss Davis: I have had you checked out. I find you do not have the invalid parents. Both your parents are deceased and that you have neither house or a mortgage." He made an airy gesture with a careless hand as the girl blushed and started to rise.

"I doubt, with your talents, if you had any need of this fabrication with Norma Boulter. You have no need of it with me, I assure you. I admire any girl who is out to make herself independent, so long as she yields value for what she gets."

Conscious of her blush, Margo tried again. "I don't even know if I can please you, Mr. Ross. I'm not even sure what you want, although naturally I've got an idea."

The man nodded. "It would have been very easy, Margo, for me to take you downstairs where I now have a naked girl enduring what she considers the torments of the damned. Actually, it's a minor discomfort only, but this is her first evening. On the basis that one picture tells a hundred stories perhaps I should do this on the other hand, it could be a waste of time. You may be well ahead of phase one. What I require of you goes beyond that, however. I will not take you down to one of the rooms and suspend you by your wrists, seat you on the horse, whip your back, or cane your bottom. I will do none of those things. Is that a disappointment?"

"Not a disappointment – a surprise. Please don't overrate my capacity. I'm not at all sure I'm ready for your phase two, whatever it may be."

Henry Ross smiled. He was pleased with what he saw. There was a demure charm about this girl, which he judged to overlay character. This girl would not panic. She would not scream. Gazing upon her unquestioned beauty, he saw visions. Quietly, he asked, "How would you like to go to school?"

Penny Pendleton supposed that if she had to be caned – and she undoubtedly did – she was lucky in the mistress delegated to the task.

Mistress Mary never whipped a girl too hard or too long, and she was very comforting afterwards. Penny did not expect to enjoy what she was about to receive, but she was well aware of other possibilities, all of them worse. Timidly, she knocked at the door.