Belinda's American Education - Escape - Part 5

[Continued from Belinda's American Education - Stepmother - Part 4]

 *** Excerpts from Belinda’s Dissertation***

“Most women think themselves superior to their unfortunate sisters forced to bend and bare for discipline.  Indeed, the typical housewife or business woman finds it difficult to imagine herself strapped down over a punishment trestle for the strap or cane.

“Surely I would never drop my pants on command, or touch my toes, or wiggle my bare fanny under the strap!  After all, I am a lady!”

What these women fail to understand is the difference between a lady and a reformatory guttersnipe is not the way she acts but the way that she is treated.”  

******

Belinda was astonished at how quickly she fell into her new life as a reformatory delinquent.  The day before she had been a successful, confident professional.  Now she was a hapless inmate scrubbing the endless hallway outside of the principal’s office on her hands and knees.

It was a hot, humid day, but Miss Rawlings addressed that problem when, under the guise of keeping Belinda’s uniform clean, she stripped poor Belinda down to nothing more than her half T-shirt and tight white reformatory panties.  

Oh how Belinda had begged and pleaded with Miss Rawlings to be allowed to wear her gym uniform!  But it was not to be.  Under the amused gaze of the endless workmen and visitors to the Headmaster’s office, Belinda was forced to scrub and scour in the most humbling attire imaginable.

Belinda had her work cut out for her.  As the sidewalk was under repair the visitors had to track across the muddy lawn.  Since Miss Rawlings had sent the mud mats out to be cleaned the main hallway was an appalling sight.

Unfortunately for Belinda, no sooner did she finish cleaning a section than some construction worker or deliveryman would traipse down the hallway in his muddy boots, destroying her hard work.  

The laborers seemed heedless of their muddy tracks; to a man their eyes were riveted on the beautiful young woman scrubbing the hallway in her underwear.  

It galled Belinda to be ogled so, particularly since she viewed the workman as her inferiors.  If they had visited her at the University they would have treated her with the deference and respect to which she was entitled.  Now she was simply an amusing piece of eye candy, one more reformatory trollop forced to strip and scrub.

Belinda found her assignment deeply demeaning, and her consternation grew with each new visitor.  To a man they leered and wolf whistled and said the crudest things.  Didn’t these Neanderthals realize who she was?  

Belinda was a wealthy, highly educated college professor, yet these cretins leered at her as if she were an air-headed bimbo!

Belinda despised the way the men grinned down on her, and turned away so she did not have to see their mocking eyes.  Unfortunately, turning away from the men put Belinda’s shapely fanny on prominent display.

Belinda’s regulation panties were stretched as tight as a drum skin across her behind, and her twin globes bounced and jiggled provocatively as she scraped and scoured.  Miss Rawlings had stripped poor Belinda of her shoes and socks, so the first thing the workman saw as they entered the hallway were the soles of Belinda’s bare feet, her long, lovely legs, topped by her curvy, bouncing backside.

As they drew closer their eyes gravitated to the lovely cheeks peeking out from her too snug panties.  To Belinda’s embarrassment they quickly spotted Belinda’s red cheeks and thighs, the faint red marks that offered incontrovertible proof that Belinda wasn’t a misplaced lingerie model but a reformatory hooligan who’s bare bottom danced to the music of the brush or paddle.

Belinda’s cheeks flushed redder then her fanny as the passing spectators made their humiliating observations:  

“My, look at those stingers!  It looks like someone got a lesson in manners!”

“Judging from the color I’d say they had your panties off for those.  Tell us, darling!  Did that nasty man steal your underpants before he spanked you?

“Red cheeks in the morning, school girl take warning.”

“Wow.  I’ll bet you sang like a birdie when he laid those on.”

“You’d best get that floor clean, love.  There’s more where those came from.”

“Good.  I’m glad to see someone knows how to deal with little sluts like you.”

Each “witticism” was followed by a hearty, guttural laugh, as if her degrading buns were the funniest things in the world.  At first, Belinda hated her rear because of how they made her look.  As more and more visitors passed and the day progressed, Belinda began to despise her red rear because of the way they made her feel.  

Professor Belinda Krueger was no longer a college professor, or an heiress, or a respected professional.  Little Belinda was nothing more than a cute, spanked bottom.  

However there was another, darker side, which troubled Belinda even more.  With each new visitor, with each salacious remark, Belinda felt herself becoming increasingly aroused.  Belinda took advantage of the situation to squeeze her thighs together as she crawled around the floor.

Not all of her admirers were satisfied with gawking.  One young man, a pimply faced, 19-year-old delivery boy stopped and placed one of his muddy boots on the rim of Belinda’s scrub bucket.  “Why don’t you give them a shine?” he said, leering down at her.

Belinda remembered the errand boy from the University.  On one or two occasions he had delivered packages to her office.  For a moment, she feared that he recognized her, but the sneering tone of his next remark erased her concerns.  “If you scrub my boots, I won’t track mud in your precious hallway.  Plus, I can enjoy looking at your pokies.”

Belinda flushed as she realized her sweat soaked T-shirt was clinging to her chest.   Belinda covered her breasts as his crude laughter burned her ears.

“You have a pretty mouth.  There’s something else I’d like to see you polish.  What do you say, love?  I’ll give you a piece of candy!”

Belinda, her arms covering her breasts, remained on her knees but rose up and unbent herself at the waist to let the rage in her eyes answer for her.  

“Juicy little slut, aren’t you?” the young man sneered.  

Belinda looked down.  To her horror, she saw an enormous wet stain in the crotch of her panties!

The delivery boy laughed.  “Acting all haughty while you are creaming your panties.  No wonder they stripped you down and spanked your ass.  If it were up to me, I’d use the strap!”

Belinda clenched her teeth in helpless frustration as the leering lout walked away, purposely wiping his boot on the floor of the long hallway.

That night, as she lay in her reformatory bunk, Belinda reflected on the delivery boy’s observations.  Was he right about her?  Was she a randy little slut fit only for the whip?  Did she belong here?  If she did not, why did the thought of the principal pulling down her panties excite her so?

Belinda knew that escape was the only way to save her father, and herself.  Although she had only been there for a day, Belinda felt the walls closing in around her.  

Belinda knew that the endless indignities were designed to undermine her self-image and make her as awkward and helpless as she now appeared to be.  But understanding the insidious psychology at work didn’t lessen its effectiveness.  Belinda could feel her old identity melting away.  If she stayed here much longer “Belinda, the randy reformatory delinquent” might soon be more than just a role.
 
Ever conscious of the cameras, Belinda turned on her side and snuck her hand under the covers.  As she pretended to sleep, Belinda brought herself the release she so desperately needed.

Over the next few days Belinda regressed further into her new role, showering, eating, working, and studying like any other inmate.  

There were some differences.  Belinda spent the morning attending classes, and the afternoon either on work detail or rewriting her paper.  Belinda’s morning classes were Rhetoric, Calculus, History, and a Latin class Belinda was sure that Miss Rawlings had selected to bedevil her.

Belinda studied hard and was soon at the top of her classes.  Unfortunately the smartest girl in school is seldom the most popular and Belinda quickly earned the resentment of her peers.  Her isolation increased exponentially when Miss Rawlings amused herself at lunchtime by reading the assembled students a passage of Belinda’s revised dissertation:

“Although some misguided liberals claim corporal punishment is harsh or even gratuitous, nothing could be further from the truth.   Experts agree that such punishments are just, wholesome, and necessary.  Clearly, bare bottom discipline is the only effective method of dealing with women too stupid or too wanton to understand even the simplest rules.  

“Indeed there is ample evidence to suggest that a lack of discipline leads directly to recidivism.  When a young scallywag’s bottom requires justice, quaint concepts such as “evidence” and “due process” merely cloud the issue.  Discipline should be swift, merciless, and applied to the bare bottom in front of as many witnesses as are reasonably available.”

Miss Rawling's reading had its intended effect.  No one spoke to Belinda after that.

Nonetheless Belinda did well in her classes and studiously avoided demerits.    She was the model pupil except for one slip in her English class, where she contradicted her Professor by stating that Shakespeare had died in 1616, not 1600.

Mr. Whackley, who didn’t appreciate being contradicted rewarded Belinda’s “disruptive” behavior with a spanking.

Belinda was disabused of any notion that her classmates would stand up for her.   When Belinda asked to see a classmate's Shakespeare to prove her claim, the young woman smiled and replied, “evidence clouds the issue.”  When Belinda begged not to being punished in front of the class other students cited her “as many witnesses as possible” remark.  When Mr. Whackley’s hand struck the seat of her skirt the class insisted that Belinda’s spanking be administered in accordance with her dissertation’s specifications: bare bottom!

The girls who had glared hatefully at Belinda while her traitorous essay was read aloud grinned broadly as Belinda’s uniform skirt was raised and her panties were lowered to her knees.

SPANK!  SPANK!  SPANK! Throughout her shameful punishment, her schoolmate’s hateful comments burned in her ears.

“Let’s see how she likes it when she gets it!”

“Doctor Fancy’s pants fanny cheeks spank up as red as the rest of us!”

“I’d like to see her get the paddle or the strap!”

“Aw, poor baby!  I think she’s going to cry!”

The spanking was overly hard, but Belinda did sob openly, more from her shame and sense of helplessness than from the spanking itself.  

All the women sentenced to the reformatory were over 18, and most were in their early twenties.  As Belinda lay in bed that night, the 25 year old professor truly felt like a teenager:  isolated, awkward, and alone.  Belinda vowed to escape before the transformation became permanent.

The next day presented the chance.  In furtherance of her research Belinda was assigned the task of preparing the auditorium for the next punishment night, scheduled for Friday.  

In the morning she spent several hours carefully polishing the principal’s wickedly supple punishment strap, carefully rubbing the oil into the beautiful leather to ensure maximum flexibility.  The strap was honey yellow, which was an appropriate color since Belinda had heard that the strap stung like a swarm of bees.

When at last Miss Rawlings was satisfied that the strap would “hug the curves” Belinda was next assigned to scrub the floor and setup chairs for the 250 spectators.  

As she scrubbed, Belinda stared in fascination at the enormous punishment bench at the front of the room.  It was old and wooden, but very sturdy looking, and, judging from the thickness of the leather straps, quite inescapable.   

The punishment room had numerous cameras and monitors to permit the audience to view the girl’s face and backside simultaneously.  Paradoxically, since the control booth was in the room, Belinda knew that it was the only place in the school that wasn’t being watched.  

When the floor was scrubbed and the room was setup Belinda moved in for a closer look.

Belinda perused the bench slowly, as if meeting a legendary adversary for the first time.  The leather cushion atop the bench was quite well padded, and, in an odd way, looked extremely comfortable.  However it was also tilted at a steep angle, to raise the victim’s backside in the air.   That, and the ultimate purpose of the bench, ensured the rider would not be comfortable for long.

Belinda inspected the bench closely.  She had written about punishment benches in her dissertation, but seeing one was an entirely different experience.

“Educational experts agree that a ride on the punishment bench is an essential part of any female teacher’s education.  Swimmers must swim, and runners must run, and young women who aspire to educate must straddle the bench.  If a young woman completes her graduate education without committing an infraction sufficient to warrant a bench punishment then a whipping should be assigned, an audience should be invited, and the strap laid on with vigor, to ensure that her training is complete.”

As she ran her hand over the leather Belinda decided to delete her conclusion about the “essential” need for bench time before presenting her paper to Professor Rawlings.  After all, Belinda was a teacher herself.  A casual reader might mistakenly think that the passage somehow applied to her!

When Belinda had asked Miss Rawlings if she could witness a punishment the old crone had offered to give her some demerits so that she could have a “front row seat.”  Belinda declined.

Belinda had heard the other girls refer to the bench in hushed whispers; if the paddle was treated with respect, the bench was treated with awe. While Belinda felt a trip across the bench was essential for the others (particularly the ones who had laughed at her in class!) she felt in her case a seat in the audience was sufficient.  

Belinda had intended to convey that concept in her dissertation. Strange that it didn’t come out that way.

Although Belinda was terrified of the bench, and had been excruciatingly careful not to earn any additional merits, she was also intensely curious.  As she traced her finger over the “business end” of the leather, she couldn’t help but wonder what it might feel like…

The bench was the most shameful punishment Belinda could imagine.  It was so unimaginably awful, that Belinda had repeatedly forced herself to imagine it as she caressed herself at night under the covers.

The lights.  The cameras.  The eager audience.  The evil hiss of the strap...

“No, please!  Please!  Don’t take down my panties!  Not in front of everyone!  Not with my legs spread this way!”

Belinda looked down at the bench that had brought so many young woman to heel.  It was a worthy opponent, but it could be mastered.  

Belinda decided to show the bench that she was not afraid.  Belinda didn’t WANT to do it, but she knew she had to face her fears.  Besides, she told herself, it was essential for her research.  Belinda wasn’t doing this to satisfy some sort of morbid fascination.  Belinda knew she must do it for all of the girls who had gone before her, all the girls who had been broken on the bench.  

Riding the bench was a feminist statement.

After carefully locked the doors of the room from the inside Belinda took off her skirt and straddled the punishment bench.

The bench was ancient, and Belinda felt a tiny chill as she thought of all of the women who had straddled the bench before her.  Belinda chuckled and gave her bottom a playful pat.  Her tight, bouncy bottom was now a part of history!

The bench was inverted, so that Belinda’s head was lower than her tail, and Belinda needed to use her hands to keep from sliding off.  She was able to take the strain off her arms when she cinched the strap around her waist, and rested her chin against the chin guard.  

Belinda could only imagine the view of her white, pantie covered bottom.  What a humiliating position to be in!  Of course if she were actually there for punishment, it would be far worse.   Punishment night spankings were always administered bare.

Belinda’s ordeal in front of her class had been excruciating, and her classmates had a side view.  If this had been an actual punishment night Belinda would be in front of over 200 people with her bottom raised and her legs spread.  

How dreadful, particularly for a proper young lady such as herself!

Belinda’s mind tripped on the thought.  “’Ladies’ aren’t strapped down over punishment benches, with their bare asses up over their heads, in a room of spectators,” she thought.  “This bench was designed for reformatory ruffians, juicy little sluts who need to have their fannies tanned so they keep their place!”

Belinda wasn’t like that; Belinda was a good girl.  But again, her mind stumbled.  What if she WERE strapped down over the bench?  The audience wouldn’t realize she was a lady, and that this was all a dreadful mistake.  Belinda would be just another tart who needed to have her bottom oiled by the strap.

Fastened to the bench Belinda would be no different than the others.  One more disgusting slut under the command of the strap!

Belinda began to slowly move her hips back-and-forth, back-and-forth as she imagined the audience gawking, peering, and snickering as they ogled her shapely, squirming bottom.  Miss Rawlings would be there, of course, and the principal, and Professor Winters.  And that awful Ethan Buckley would have a front row seat!

They would be able to see everything.  Everything!

Belinda rubbed hard and fast.  Before long, the business end of the bench was soaking wet, and Belinda was gasping for air…

Belinda had just finished unlocking the back of the auditorium door when the garbage man entered and emptied the trash into a large garbage can.  Belinda watched closely as he emptied the trash into the back of his truck.

The door was open, and no one was watching.  Belinda saw her chance.  As the truck started up, Belinda sprinted for the door and jumped onto the back.  

Belinda was free!  FREE!  

For nearly 40 seconds, until the guards searched the truck at the front gate.

Miss Rawlings was all smiles as Belinda waited for the principal’s return.  “I’ll be needing some information for your biography, dear,” she purred.

“My biography?”  Belinda asked, not in the mood for riddles.

“Yes, on punishment night we hand the guests brochures so that they can read about the girls who are being punished.  It’s so much more interesting to watch a woman wiggle her naked fanny after you’ve gotten to know her, don’t you agree?”

Belinda, feeling quite queasy, didn’t answer.  The principal’s voice crackled over Miss Rawlings phone, beckoning Belinda inside.  

Belinda stood before the principal’s massive desk examining her shoes.

“Attempted escape is one of the gravest offenses there is, young lady!” he thundered.  “I’m scheduling you for punishment night, yes, but that’s just the start of it.  When your stepmother Brittany asked me about the possibility of a permanent commitment I laughed and told her you were only here for six weeks.  Perhaps I was too hasty.”

Belinda went for broke.  “Brittany is trying to kill my father.”

“What?” the principal said.

“Brittany and Agnes are trying to kill Father,” Belinda said, her voice cracking.  “That’s why I risked trying to escape.  She as much as admitted it to me when she was here.”

The principal frowned.  “Making up lies about your stepmother is not…”

“It’s not a lie!  It’s the truth.  Strap me if you want to.  I don’t care if you lock me away forever!  But save my father!”

The principal’s heart softened as Brittany burst into tears.

The principal paused and considered the matter.  Finally, he spoke.

“Brittany, I know the Police Commissioner.  I’ll ask him to assign a detective to look into your accusations.  If they are true then your bravery in trying to escape to save your father has earned you your freedom.  If not, you are going to be here for a very long time.  Do you understand me?”

Belinda nodded.  

“Very well.  Please return to your classes.  We will speak again.  Soon.”

Belinda wiped away her tears and walked towards the door as the principal picked up the phone.

                                          *                                    *                                 *
The principal, Professor Winters, a female police detective, and Miss Rawlings, taking notes, all awaited Belinda’s arrival.

Belinda, nervously strode into the principal’s office.

Professor Winters and the principal were already there and so was Police Detective Sabrina Duncan. Sabrina was a pretty young woman with short dark hair, a keen intelligence, and a hint of an Alabama accent, opened her notebook and began the briefing.  “When the Chief got the call from the principal I went to the hospital and asked the doctor to run a full toxicology scan.  He found that your father had switcherum in his blood stream, a rare poison that doesn’t show up on most lab reports.”

“I checked into the background of Agnes, the maid.  A few years ago, one of her employers was killed with switcherum.  However when the police searched her apartment and the home she worked in they never found any trace of it.  However she’s doing it, she’s very clever, and I doubt a search warrant of your home will do much good.”

“I told your father that your stepmother said she was trying to kill him.  She said that you must be mistaken, because Brittany loves him, and would never do anything to harm him.”

Belinda’s heart sank.  Her father’s fierce will and determination matched her own.  She had tried to warn him about Brittany, but even now he wouldn’t listen!

“We have no evidence,” Sabrina replied tartly.  “If we’re going to nab Brittany, we need a plan.”

Professor Winters interjected.  “Brittany confessed to Belinda once.  If you could get her on tape…”

Ever analytical, Sabrina instantly evaluated the proposal.  “Brittany got overconfident because she thought Belinda was locked up safe and sound.   If she finds out that we know about the poison, she’ll clam up.”

“Does she know that you’ve discovered the poison?” Professor Winters asked.

“Not yet,” Sabrina replied.  “We’re keeping your father in intensive care in the hospital, with no visitors, for his protection.  I thought that was best until we plotted our next move.”

Belinda nervously chewed her lip as she considered the matter.  “My darling stepmother confessed to me because I was in the reformatory,” she mused.   Do you think she’d come back and confess?”

“Maybe.  But what earthly reason would she have for coming here?” Professor Winters asked.

"That's an easy one," the principal said. "Belinda's Punishment Night."

"MY Punishment Night!" Belinda exclaimed, her face turning red. "But I thought..."

"You thought what? That the rules don't apply to you? I am sympathetic, young lady, to the predicament with your father but attempted escape is a serious matter. You ARE a student here and you simply can't come and go as you please. Why didn't you come to me and plead your case? Why didn't you ask me to contact the authorities?" The principal looked sternly at Belinda.

"Well..," Belinda couldn't hold her gaze. She was very uncomfortable talking about a strapping in front of all the people including her professor, the attractive police detective and the hated Miss Rawlings. 

"I guess I didn't think you'd listen to me," she said lamely as she shuffled her feet. The blush spread across her face and threatened to spill down her neckline.

"This is exactly the reason you're here!" Professor Winters admonished. "You have plenty of book smarts but you're lacking in common sense. This institution is strict but it's not inhumane. You should have brought it up with your teachers and gone through the proper channels."

Belinda was besides herself as she realized her predicament. And worse off, as she looked away from the stern looks of the principal and Professor Winters she looked straight into the face of Mrs. Rawlings grinning ear to ear.

"Well its settled then," said Detective Duncan. She was a bit sympathetic to Belinda but not much. Wonder what it's going to be like she thought as she glanced down towards Belinda's bottom. "We'll bug the room and hopefully someone will spill the tea."

There was a bit of silence as everyone considered things. “The visitors talk to the prisoners AFTER the punishments.” said the principal.

Belinda’s heart fluttered.  A thrashing!  On Punishment night!  

They were right, of course.  If prisoners were allowed to meet their visitors only after they were disciplined, then Belinda would need to go through the entire process.   The auditorium.  The stripping.  The punishment bench.  The leering crowd, gawking at her bottom…

Then the strap!

Belinda’s heart raced.  The strap was as smooth, supple, and as agile as an adder…and the sting would be even worse.  Belinda had polished the strap thoroughly, and she knew it was the ideal instrument for punishing her round, curvy fanny.

“Very well. It's settled. Belinda, punishment night isn’t a game,” the principal said sternly.  “You'll be dealt  with accordingly. In spite of the situation I have to show the other girls that attempted escape is a very serious infraction."

Belinda surveyed the room for sympathy, but found none.  Miss Rawlings was smiling broadly.  Both the principal and Professor Winters were shifting in the chairs, as if their pants were suddenly too tight.  And the lovely Detective Duncan was watching intently, pie eyed and quite flush.  Belinda wondered if that was what she looked like the first time she visited the principal.

"Miss Rawlings, I trust you know the procedure," the principal stated as he looked over some papers with the detective.

“Of course sir. My pleasure,” Miss Rawlings replied, in a tone that conveyed just that.  “Agnes said she wanted to see Miss Krueger strapped.  It might encourage her to come if we make that a part of the punishment,” she said, her voice dripping with eagerness.

“Excellent suggestion,” the principal said.  “Make sure we have the strap oiled up.”

“Not to worry, sir,” Miss Rawlings said, smiling at Belinda like a fly might eye a spider who had just entered her web.  “I know just the student to help me cut them.”

“I might invite a few of the fraternity boys Belinda flunked out of her classes,” Professor Winters suggested.  “If Brittany and Agnes see we invited them to watch, they’ll be overcome by the spectacle and more likely to talk.”

Belinda stared at the men in disbelief.  Strap?  Frat boys?  This was going too far!

“Please sir, not the strap!” Belinda said, her voice cracking.   “I’m sorry I was naughty.  Truly I am!”

The principal regarded Belinda with the chilling gaze she knew all too well.  “Miss Rawlings, this young lady needs to the to down to the nurse for a processing, and a contraband check.”  
 
Contraband!  Belinda had never even left the school!

Belinda tried to object, but Miss Rawlings grabbed the reformatory's newest delinquent by the ear and dragged her out the door.

[Read Part 6 Here]