Author's note: West Valley Academy is fictional. All actors in this universe are 18 years of age or older. Neither the school, nor any of its inhabitants, exist in the real world and any similarities to actual places or persons is completely coincidental. In the real world, the activities taking place in these stories would result in lawsuits, arrests and worse. Do not try this at home.
*****
Monday
Susan Mitchell spent the weekend in the infirmary of West Valley, thankful for a comfortable bed to sleep on and the care of the school nurse, Miss Andrews. The young woman had been brought there by the nurse after being hung by her hair from the rafters of the school's atrium by the headmaster and one of her teachers. She had not been injured in any way, but Susan had heard the nurse chastising the balding headmaster anyway.
"You need to be taking better care of her. You might be able to cover up a lot of things, but a dead woman would be hard to explain," Susan had heard Miss Andrews say. She didn't hear the headmaster's side of the discussion, but Susan knew the headmaster must have listened a little, because she spent the weekend here, being comfortably fed and given plenty of fluids. She wondered how much weight she had lost since the start of the year. She didn't feel much lighter, although the cuffs welded around her wrists, ankles and neck did seem to feel looser. But maybe she was just so used to wearing them by now. The girl had never eaten much anyway, carefully counting calories to keep her trim, cheerleader figure.
Her bare body bore other, more visible signs, of her three months of abuse at the hands of the headmaster. There were bruises everywhere, especially on her breasts, which had borne an exceptional amount of torture this year. Red stripes from various whippings were still visible on her back, stomach and breasts. The nurse had been applying some ointments to the bruises and red stripes this weekend. Every single muscle in Susan's body ached from being pulled, twisted, confined, stretched or compressed day after day. She was thankful for the weekends where she usually had a chance to let her body recover. Susan was frankly surprised none of her bones had been broken, but she knew Stephen Krutz was skilled at what he was doing. He was obviously not an educator but a skilled torturer.
Mentally, Susan was surprised she was still sane. But then again, was she? What type of woman endures this level of physical, mental and sexual abuse? What made her return every morning for more? She had stopped caring about her mom's predicament long ago. Let the woman go to jail for making her go through this. As for herself, would being penniless and homeless be any worse than this? Susan thought daily about just running away, naked or not. But she wasn't sure if she could escape. The school was in the middle of nowhere and protected by tall fences and a guard house. But she hadn't even tried. What did that say about her? She blushed when she thought about the sexual pleasure she had taken from many of her predicaments. Did she really enjoy this or was she just making the most of a horrible situation?
Krutz finally showed up in the infirmary shortly after 10 a.m. on Monday. Susan had been treated to a hearty breakfast and was sitting up in bed reading a book Brittany had left her over the weekend. It was a trashy novel, the kind Brittany liked to devour but had never really been Susan's speed. But it had given her something to do over the weekend.