Susan was told to report back to the art studio for day 37. So far, she had been painted and covered in plaster on one trip there and covered in candle wax on another, so she wasn't too excited about her third time in the studio.
When she walked in, she saw two small shelves protruding from the wall in the classroom, about two feet off the ground and several feet apart. They were only about three inches square. Susan was led over and lifted up so her heels were on the blocks. She teetered there, trying to remain balanced. Her wrists were pulled up out to the side of her head so her body now made an 'x'. She saw the two eye bolts sticking out of the wall and her wrists were padlocked to them, securing her in place. The position was not uncomfortable, but if she slipped off the blocks, she would be hanging by her wrists. She'd had enough of that yesterday, so she focused on keeping her feet on the small pieces of wood.
Krutz spoke. "The art students have created some fantastic projects with you as their muse, Miss Mitchell. I thought we should give them another opportunity. Being stretched like that really shows off your toned physique, Miss Head Cheerleader." Susan felt herself sucking in her stomach for some reason, although she knew she didn't need to. Her limited diet and the daily punishments had help to keep her very fit, even without the additional exercise she used to do as a cheerleader.
Mr. Kittler had the drawing students line up to do another set of nude drawings. Susan could see some of their past work posted throughout the classroom, various degrees of skill, but almost all recognizable as her and her nude body. Some had taken some liberty with her breast size, it seemed. One made her look like a super heroine on a cover of a magazine with tits twice her actual size. She thought her face was much cuter than some of the drawings, too, although she knew it was usually streaked with tears when she had been in this room. Susan found the drawing class to be quite boring. The students just sat in their chairs and sketched as she stood spreadeagled on the wall.
"Now, for this next session," the teacher said, "I'd like to try a more graphic composition." He handed each of the students a permanent marker. "I'd like each of you to think about how you feel about our model here, and then write what you feel," he continued. "On her naked body, of course."
A boy came up and wrote "slut" in marker across Susan's naked stomach. "Bitch" was added to her left tit and "whore" found its way to her right. A girl with a wicked smile on her face walked up to the chained girl and drew an arrow just above her crotch and added the words "Enter Here". Kittler commented that wasn't really a feeling, but instead a direction, but the marker wasn't going to be erased easily. Susan knew this from her experience the first day of school. The word "used" was written in cursive on her left thigh. Susan had prayed they wouldn't write on her face, but soon the word "slave" was scrawled across her forehead in large block letters.
