F Campbell - Margo

Jean gestured cheerfully. "Go ahead. Walk around the room. You're going to have to get used to them sometime. It's best to do it when you're not in a hurry."

Margo obeyed. It was the strangest feeling, and when she stumbled, they both laughed. But she completed the circle and did another. This time more gracefully. But the paramount message of the metal on her feet told her she was captive. The Rossland Academy for Young Women held her tightly in its grip.

"And now these." Jean was offering more shining chrome. Margo viewed it in surprise.

"Must I? It seems so silly."

"You must, and it's not silly. They get you accustomed to not being a person any more. With these on, you're just a girl with two breasts, a patch of pubic hair, and a pussy." Jean held out the handcuffs and said once more, "I'm sorry."

It was one more first. True, there had been the cuffs in Miss Boulter's office, but these were the real things, distinctively different. Sensations flooded as each metal circlet was fitted and clicked tightly around her wrists. It was like the closing of a dungeon door and the turn of a key. Jean watched in sly amusement.

"Make you feel horny?"

Margo looked up, startled. "Should it? Do handcuffs do that to a girl?"

"Well, you should know. I just put them on you. How does your cat feel about it?"

"Well I'm not sure."

Margo felt the blush coming back as she stood still in a shaming realization of some truth in what Jean suggested. There was a small but definite heat. "Yes, I suppose you're right," she admitted slowly, still testing her response. "I bet it's not the handcuffs, though. It's probably the girl who puts them on you. I'm just relating to you."

Jean laughed. "You'll find out about all sorts of things, honey. One of the first discoveries here is that we are all lesbians. We may not have been when we cairn, but we are now." Once more came the sharp, bitter laugh. "Henry Ross can't be expected to look after all of us, you know. He's instituted a standard penalty for any girls caught nibbling one another. It's fifty lashes. But we do it anyway. Of course, the mistresses do it too. We don't often get caught and sentenced, though. The next thing is the band around your tummy."

"Is that what you're wearing? What's it for?"

"It tells the world you're a mistress. Not that it does you any good – you get punished anyway – but when you haven't got any clothes on, it's the only distinction there is. Look at me now. I'm sure I wouldn't look the least bit like a mistress if it weren't for this band around my middle. It locks just tight enough for us not to forget."

"Look, there isn't a collar or something… all this stuff you're locking on me?"

Margo raised her arms to allow the fitting of the band. "Leg irons, handcuffs, and now a belt around my middle. Good God, you'd think I was a convict!"

"You are, dear – in a way." There came the most audible of clicks, and the neat silver band found its resting place nestling into the softness of Margo's middle.

"It sets you off beautifully. It's one thing I never complain about myself. The belts are immensely becoming to a girl with a narrow waist, and that's the only kind of waist Rossland accepts. And you were right about the collar – it comes next."

The collar was bronze. There was nothing light about it, but the metal was flat and it nestled snugly around a maiden's neck. From the back dangled a single link of chain, its purpose all too obvious. The girl who wore such a collar could be handily leashed. When it was secure on her throat, the newly captive girl raised exploratory fingers to its unfamiliar surface. Everything felt strange and a little frightening.

"That's it for now," Jean reassured her. "Come along, I'll find a mirror for you. You absolutely must see yourself. You're quite ravishing. That's one thing about this place: the girls look a lot better without their clothes. I often think the only reason they get those tunics is to have something to take off when they wish to shame and punish us. The tunic is all any girl gets to wear. You now get the fifty-cent tour."

"But, Jean, I can't – I'm naked! I can't wander around with everybody looking at me like this."

"Why not?"

Jean cocked an amused eyebrow. "I'm naked too. I don't mind people seeing me. You get used to it, you know. You've got to get used to it too. And if we meet a few of the other girls, they will be the same. Just forget it."

It was not an easy thing to forget. The customs of a lifetime die hard.

As they set out on their tour, Margo wondered if her blush reached her breasts. When they found a mirror, she was surprised that it did not. But she forgot the blush in an immediate absorption in herself. She voiced her immediate reaction in a thoughtless exclamation.

"I'm beautiful! Oh, Jean!"

"What did I tell you." Her mentor chuckled at her confusion. "That's another of Miss Harridance's precepts – simply that a naked girl is doubly beautiful in chains." Jean shrugged. "I suppose it's like exotic lingerie. You cover the good bits up so people want to look. Chains evoke even more questions. Why are we wearing them? Who put us in chains? What happened to us? A chained girl is a delight to everyone except maybe herself!"

The tour was unavoidable, something she knew she had to do. Already, Margo was feeling the weight of authority, not only in the metal locked around her wrists, neck, and ankles, but in Jean Evans herself. She realized her companion could do anything she wished with her. At the moment, she was simply a mentor and a guide. But suppose she became something more than that! It was not impossible. There was also the sexuality of the two nudities. It was impossible to avoid some vibrations in connection with the girl at her side. Jean had spoken flippantly of making love. But it was quite possible eventually. What concerned her now as the appropriate words to utter to those she met.

But she need not have worried. They made the decisions for her. When they discovered she was, as it were, a volunteer, they assured her cheerily that she must have holes in her head or be completely nuts. Those who had been sentenced by parental will to Rossland kissed her in sympathy and told her she would from now on live only for release. They were girls in limbo, robbed of normalcy. But as she spoke to them, Margo realized how little real unhappiness she encountered. They were, in fact, a cheerful collection of young women. Most of them wore the school tunic. The mistresses, in addition, wore a belt, an innocent replica of the one embedded in their flesh underneath their tunics. Most girls were without restraint. But some wore handcuffs and Margo's were not the only hobbled feet. One and all commiserated with the new recruit on her first thirty days which she now faced. They explained it as being like boot camp in the army. They said after you had endured it, everything else was bearable by comparison. Young women at the Academy exhibited their own brand of cynical humor.

They actually discovered a class in progress.

It appeared that any girl labeled mistress could search her mind for subjects on which she might be proficient, and that was what she taught. It was done without planning or advance notice. The pupils assembled and listened to what she had to say. In a sense, it was a lecture. But they all joined in offering their own points of view. It was borne upon the naked, chained Margo that there was an actual value in these exchanges. The girls were all involved. They were animated. Some were quite obviously extremely interested in the subjects they were talking about. Each day, one of the mistresses directed a number of inmates to a class. Every class was run on the same lines as the one Margo witnessed. With typical Rossland cynicism, Jean Evans explained that a girl always had a choice. She could go to class, or if she chase to refuse, she would be immediately whipped. But Margo realized there was more to it than that. These girls went first to counteract boredom and secondly for the human communion the classes gave. If they learned something, that was a bonus. She knew that if she were left alone to wonder, these huge halls of the ancient mansion by herself she would quickly seek entry to one of the seminars.