Poor Margo! I’m not sure this was what she wanted. But if she truly wished to take my place, she was getting no more than a taste of things to come. Hugo tossed his clothes aside, pushed me back upon the bed to lay upon bound arms, and then possessed me while Miss Margo Hammil watched in a mixture of emotions she could not voice. As my master pleasured me. I was aware of her testing her tether with a step this way or that. But finally in disgust, or perhaps distaste, she sat upon the rug, leaned back against the bottom of our bed, and tried to ignore what was taking place between my master and me. After a while I forgot she was there.
I have spoken of change, and probably the most drastic one was my avid acceptance of Hugo’s repeated violation of my loins. Hugo possessed me utterly and I loved every moment of it and his mastery. I never even tried to keep count of the orgasms he extracted from my female flesh but was grateful for each. I was a slave.
Hugo Markham owned me utterly.
7
Whips & Girls & Things
I never found it easy to adjust myself to being alternately a lawyer and a slavegirl. The two do not mix, although I am sure they provide erotic contrast for the male who calls the shots. I have often wondered why I did not break my promise, but this was something I wanted to do, In the morning my hands were still tight bound behind my back and the collar tight locked on my neck. But at least I could go to the bathroom without hindrance. Which was a damned sight more than Margo could. She was still gagged so we could not compare notes, but she had surrendered to her chains and slept upon the floor as best she could. Today I would be a lawyer while Margo Hammil remained the plaything of the man who was our master. Hugo was deliberately mean in delaying the release of her chained ankle. When I came out of the bathroom she was gone, and since Hugo had vanished; too, and had, most honorably, set me free, I dressed in my clothes and went to the kitchen to ensure coffee.
My office enfolded me in a familiar warmth. I applied myself vigorously to the various channels by which Hugo’s claim to the Estate might be pursued. I didn’t even bother with lunch and received no male invitation to partake, a factor which left me more miffed than I cared to admit. It was not until close to quitting time that I allowed myself the luxury of envisioning Margo’s torments throughout the day. I turned the key to Hugo’s front door in pleasant anticipation.
Margo was waiting, her ankles leg-ironed, her wrists handcuffed.
As I enter the hall she knelt in greeting and to pay homage to a female who was free while she was not. Kneeling there in meek humility, she made as pretty a picture as I have ever seen. The gag was still locked tight across her lips. But by motions and funny little sounds she led me to the lounge where Hugo and I enjoyed our cocktail before dinner. It was a cocktail prepared by a girl in chains for the first time in her life. Hugo was in an expansive mood.
We accepted our drinks before the Master spoke. I was still a free girl for the rest of the day but Margo knelt before us in mute submission she could do nothing about. Margo had undoubtedly had the course!
“I haven’t whipped her yet. I’m saving that for tomorrow and you.” Hugo explained grand unconcern. “She’s been obedient so far but I’ve told her what to expect. She hasn’t made too much fuss about it because I’ve kept that gag locked tight over her mouth. Want me to relieve her of it so she can talk?”
“Relieve her of it anyway, Hugo. It’s a beastly thing to have to suffer, I should know.”
Hugo actually followed my request. A girl can never be quite sure what Hugo would or would not do. I think he wanted to hear what Margo had to say as much as I. She took my drink in chained hands to moisten her mouth so she could speak. She spoke directly to me, “Our Master says I am to be whipped tomorrow, along with you. Is this what slavegirls must expect?”
“Of course. And we’re not supposed to complain.”
Margo responded, “Very well. I asked for this and mustn’t complain. Will you be whipped, too?”
“Quite probably.”
“Our Master has explained the terms of your indenture.” She was giving me her full attention. “I’m not sure I understand it, but you seem to be acting most honorably.” She turned to Hugo. “Am I behaving as you wish, Master?”
Considering she had not yet been whipped, Margo was doing remarkably well. I could feel pretty sure I was stuck with her the next day, and being given a whipping with her. But after that I could see light and hope ahead. With only the faintest trace of sarcasm, I told her, “Don’t worry, darling. I’m sure I’ll scream every bit as much as you. Being whipped isn’t the least bit nice but men seem to think that’s what girls are for. Don’t worry, darling, we’ll both get plenty of bondage afterwards, probably a lot more than we’ll enjoy. Being a slave is wonderful.”
“Diane, you and I are going out to dinner.” Hugo was enjoying his twin possessions. “Margo hasn’t earned the privilege, so she’ll stay at home. Nicely secured, of course. That please you, Margo?” I saw the flash of hurt. The poor girl could probably have used food and gaiety after whatever Hugo had been doing to her through the day. Her tone was no longer submissive. “I would have hoped to be included. Frankly, I’d enjoy going out to dine. Please take me with you.”
“Request denied. Slave girls never get anything they ask for.”
Hugo was feeling his oats.
I saw the kneeling girl wince, saw, too, the rebellious tug a the handcuffs. But I also realized that there was some sort of rapport between these two and could not be sure what was real and what was feigned in this master/slave relationship. I refused to think of tomorrow and was well content to watch what now took place. I could tell Margo was as surprised as I when the omnipotent Male unlocked both leg irons and handcuffs to leave her standing free. Margo looked from on to the other of us in uncertainty, giving me time to once more admire the exquisite contours of her femaleness, and to see the rebellion in her eyes. If Hugo had taken steps to break her spirit during the day, I expect it was about to flare anew in feminine indignation. But flight or fight was soon nullified by Hugo grasping a handful of slavegirl hair and shaking it vigorously to admonish. “I know what you’re thinking and I know what you’d like to do. Forget it! Come along.”
“Let go, you’re mussing my hair. Where are you taking me anyway? Look, I want to go with you and Diane to the restaurant. Stop yanking my hair, it hurts!”
“Downstairs!”
I followed the master and his slavegirl down the fateful steps. I hate having my hair dragged around the way Margo’s was, it hurts and makes a girl terribly helpless. When we reached the little cell with it’s barred door, Hugo used no key but thrust his captive against the bars. “Stand still. Margo, this is where you get tied.”
Once more I could not be sure of them, but with her hair free, Margo reacted instantly. “You can take your lousy master business and shove it,” she retorted tartly, while, at the same time, aiming a bare heel at Hugo’s groin. “If you think I’m taking this kind of treatment...!”