F Campbell - Margo

Out of Margo's dreams had come only compromise. She shrugged. "Don't let's do anything," she said softly. "You've got me here at Rossland. Simply send for me any time you have the opportunity. I'll always be available." She grinned ruefully. "I can't escape."

"Sure, that'll work fine for awhile. Then what about Henry Ross? He's bound to find out."

"What can he do?"

Margo wriggled the burning bottom she could not touch.

"But couldn't we look on that simply as the prce we have to pay for having each other?"

"We might get by with that once more I'd pay the price willingly enough, but the master won't give us another chance. He'll take you away or fire me. I couldn't get you up in an apartment the way he can. With all his money and power, he'd snatch you out of it in no time." The headmistress shrugged and made a motion of disgust.

"There is a way we might prolong our relationship indefinitely. I suspect you can guess."

"You mean if you don't use a cane or whip on me. Then there would be no marks." Margo grinned. "The other thing we do doesn't leave any telltale marks. And I bet he figures we do it anyway. After catching us once, he's not going to really believe we won't touch each other again."

They left it at that. Released, Margo went in search of Penny Pendleton and Bea Maxwell. She found the prisoner in her cell. Bea was standing on one foot, her hands tied behind her back and her leg raised to place her ankle on the crosspiece in the bars. There it was tightly bound in front of its owner's face. Bea could survey as long or as often as she liked, but she could not touch it, and she could not free it. She was simply forced to stand upon one foot and wait for someone to come along. As usual, she was extremely verbal.

"Look what the little snippet's done to me now!" Ruefully, she invited Margo's inspection. "I couldn't do a thing. Honest, not a damn thing. She had that beastly cane, and every time I hesitated, she gave me another stroke with it, and she isn't a bit fussy about where it lands. Look at the marks I've got."

Margo looked. She thought it best not to tell the owner of the marks how becoming they were and how amusingly attractive her ensemble was. Having stood on one foot herself on occasion, she was aware that no girl feels at her best in this situation. Bea was flushed, her hair was untidy, and her hands were busily engaged in their careless twisting of the cords. Catching a fleeting glance of amusement on Margo's features, she exclaimed, "Go ahead and laugh! I'm going to tell Mr. Ross about you giving me to this little brat for her own amusement. I'm sure he never intended that I should be abused like this." She glared, first at Margo and then at her bound and elevated ankle. "Just look at it! I mean, no girl should be subjected to anything like this. I bet it just wrinkles your pussy disgustingly. Such a posture."

"You look very pretty, Bea, if you could only realize it. So does your pussy. So do those extra marks you've collected today. If you want to throw yourself on Mr. Ross' mercy, you'll find he has less of it than Penny Pendleton. Grin and bear it, darling. We all have to."

Bea's breasts were heaving, but she was suddenly contrite.

"I'm sorry I'm always blasting you, Margo dear. I know it's not your fault. But now long is that idiot going to keep me in this nuthouse? He never told me, and I forgot to ask. If it's a long time, wouldn't I be better off if I give myself up to the police and take my chances?"

"You can't even do that, dear," Margo explained gently. "You're a prisoner in Rossland – the master's got you. He's not going to give you to the police. The police might keep you prison a long time, but they won't cane your bottom or do any of these quaint notions such as you are suffering right now. And these are what the master wants for you."

"Piss on the master! I'll master him, damn it – if I ever get out of here. Look, Margo, be a darling and untie my foot. I feel like such an idiot, standing like this. I'm getting so tired. Pretty please?"

It was hard to resist. Bea was a damn pretty girl, and in her present forlorn condition, immensely appealing. Margo's flame, so recently appeased, flared anew at the sight of the shy, coy slit of Penny's imposed punishment revealed. Were she not so beset with her own problems, it would be nice to take Bea Maxwell to a private place and work her will on her. But enough is enough. Perhaps, sometime…

Suddenly. Margo Davis remembered her class. It might be a diversion?

The rank and file of Rossland tended to gather in classrooms simply for companionship, and if that mistress who had a subject they felt like teaching made an appearance, well and good. If not, it did not really matter. In this instance, Margo found a sufficient gathering to warrant her reviving English literature. In the light of all she now knew, it was moving to teach the motley crew of maidens who wandered around unclad or clad, chained or free, according to the whims of the institution. In such matters, the Academy was delightfully informal. She found such a gathering in her favorite room, and the girls were equally glad to put an end to boredom.

They choose their subject and were immediately involved when the door opened and Emaline Boskin joined the class. The latest recruit made a woeful addition to those present. Emaline was still in her two weeks of initiation and naked. Her hands were tied behind her back, but her most notable feature was the impudent clothespins bobbing up and down on her nipples. Whoever had placed them there had made an excellent job of their anchorage. They protruded and pointed from the two young breasts like cannons on a ship. When she saw Margo, her spirits improved greatly.

"Oh, Miss Davis, I'm so glad it's you. I was told to come here and sit in the class just the way I was. I'm supposed to tell whoever is in charge that they mustn't take these awful things off my tits. Oh, Miss Davis, I'm so ashamed."

Emaline possessed a delightful quality of naive innocence. It was impossible not to feel sorry for her and share in her dolor. Knowing the hurt of clothespins well, Margo was sympathetic to any unfortunate girl who had them affixed upon her rosebuds. But a cardinal rule of Rossland was that one mistress would never countermand the order of another, unless prepared to have a battle over protocol and hurt feelings, there was nothing she could do to aid poor Emaline in this present misfortune. However, she could most certainly be as kind as circumstances allowed. Her response was instant.

"We're so glad to have you, Emaline. I'm sorry I can't take those things off. Since you've been sentenced to them, you have to wear them. But to find a seat and take part in what's going on."

"But I'm not supposed to sit in the class, Miss Davis." Emaline was taking pleasure in bearing an infinite supply of bad tidings. "I'm supposed to stand up front and face the class so they can all see me and these terrible things I have to wear. Jeepers, Miss Davis, if you only knew how they hurt!"

Margo knew. So did most of the rest of the class. Few girls lasted long at Rossland without getting their nipples pinned. One or two malcontents had been reprimanded more severely by having gold or silver rings immovably implanted in their tender buds. It was not a widespread practice, since parents had to be consulted. It was discovered that most girls thus decorated were by no means shamed, but were instead immensely proud of their embellishments. Rossland had become cynical about punishment and was inclined to view the old tried and true caning of bottoms and whipping of backs as being hard to improve on. Pinned nipples were a small pleasantry often indulged in as a sense of mischief. The wearer never shared the mischief or the enjoyment thereof, but everybody else did. It was so now with Emaline.