After School Special/Part Three

by Marlissa

A tall, youngish man of thirty-eight or so opened the front door, eyeing him suspiciously. Brenda looked up, biting her lower lip. "Daddy," she explained as they got out of the car. "You'll tell him I'm doing well in Home Ec and Gym?"

Glen nodded and extended his hand. "Mr. Mason, I'm Glen Simmons, the Guidance Counselor at Bentson High School."

The man's mien softened. He reminded Glen of a high-priced lawyer-- slightly graying hair, strong, conservative presence and a self-confidence that bordered on arrogance. "Nice to meet you. To be honest, I thought my Brenda was getting a ride home from a high school boy. No offense intended," he added humorously.

Glen blushed. "None taken. I offered to give your daughter a ride home because of something that happened at school today-- "

"Has she gotten herself into some mischief, Glen?" He looked critically at Brenda, who looked at Glen with hurt betrayal.

"No-- she hasn't done anything Mr. Mason. It was just a schoolyard prank really. Actually if your wife is home, I'd like to ask you some questions."

The attorney masterfully waved off the request. "Come in the house first and let's get this cleared up. Brenda, come here girl."

Brenda, standing frightened between the two, obeyed and with eyes downcast and by the older man's side, walked with them into the house. Inside a tall striking redhead of thirty-five was pulling off a lab coat. Glen thought she looked like a younger Sigourney Weaver, with a hard edged, no-nonsense way about her. She was introduced as Mrs. Mason. It nettled Glen who liked first names not to be granted the courtesy of calling these people by their first names even as they called him Glen. They had a way, Glen could tell right off of making one seem inferior. Probably got that from giving orders to everyone all day long.

The four were in the living room, the Masons and Glen sitting and Brenda standing. Mr. Mason demanded to know what had happened in the schoolyard and as Glen explained what had happened, Brenda cringed. After hearing the whole story, Mason turned his cold blue eyes on the teen.

"So, you're teasing boys again, that it?"

Brenda shook her head, the ponytail dancing in the air. "No, Daddy! I swear!"

The parents exchanged smug looks. "Obviously Brenda needs to be taught another in a long unbroken string of lessons, Rick. Will you do the honors or shall I?"

The husband pointed to his chest. "You handled her last time. I better take care of it this time. We switch off so she doesn't think she can get away with anything," he explained to Glen. He stood up and took off his expensive suit jacket. With deliberate slowness, he unbuckled his belt and pulled it off. Glen watched in growing unease till he understood that Brenda was about to be strapped with a belt for doing no more than being a pretty girl!

"Please, it wasn't her fault! She doesn't deserve to be punished!" he pleaded.

The man smiled cruelly. "But you said it wasn't really the boy's fault either. Well, you don't know Brenda. She needs this," he slapped the belt hard against his open palm," to remind her to behave herself like a proper young lady. And no more interruptions Glen. When I've finished with this, we can discuss why you're here, but not before."

Glen stood up. "Perhaps I should leave."

"Whatever for?" Mrs. Mason asked flippantly. "Brenda is punished all the time. Just wait five minutes. That's all it takes."

Glen sat down, mesmerized as the girl, in resignation, draped herself over the man's knees. As if part of a regular ritual, she herself yanked up the miniskirt, revealing the incriminating panties that had caused all the trouble. Mason's fingers were on the elastic band of the panties and was ready to pull them down, then looked at Glen and left them up. Glen looked for a tell-tale glint of metal, but Brenda had either covered it up or it had never been there. Of the slight bulge, Glen could see nothing from where he was sitting.

He watched with macabre fascination as the leather belt was raised high over the small, shapely pantied rear and fell with a harsh crack. Brenda's eyes were closed, but she obediently counted out each and every stroke. On the second stroke, she broke into tears, but even then, she continued to announce each stroke as it crashed into her backside. From the corner of his eye, Glen noted that Lesley had unconsciously let her hand drift down to the lap of her pants. Then, aware of it, pulled it back stealthily.

At last, Brenda was allowed to rise. She was told to go to her room as the adults had a talk. All three adults watched the fourteen year old prance painfully out of the room, the slim hips forced to swivel in an exaggerated way so as to avoid feeling more pain.

"Little slut," Mason whispered as his eyes followed the spandexed teen ass wriggle out of the room.

"Yes, little whore," agreed the doctor wife in a cold, reptilian way. Glen shivered.

 Mason looked up at Glen, completely professional. "Now, what do you have to tell us about Brenda?"

"Well, did you adopt Brenda?" he asked.

The two nodded. "Yes, when she was eleven or so. I took care of the legalities," answered the lawyer affably.

"And did she have a brother named Danny?" Glen pushed.

The redhead rose. "Drink for you Glen?" she asked suddenly.

He looked uncertainly at the two of them. Mason answered for him. "Yes, Lesley, great idea. Get us all some lemonade-- all right for you Glen?"

He nodded. As the tall redhead left the room, there was a moment when he thought their eyes met again in some secret amusement.

"You're about what, 5' 4" Glen?"

He nodded, embarrassed about where this was going.

"Young too, huh? What are you, eighteen?"

"Twenty, Mr. Mason."

He gave him a comical look, as if to ask who could believe that. "I thought you were sixteen when I first saw you. I'd say definitely sixteen. What do you say, Lesley? Doesn't Glen look as if he's about sixteen?"

She smiled with icy concurrence. "Oh yes, he's got the small framed body of a sixteen year old at most. My apologies, Glen- - my clinical opinion, that's all." She handed him a glass of lemonade. "Here you go."

He took it and put it down. "Thank you. Now about this Danny Belmont."

Mason looked at him offended. "Please, your drink first. Then we'll tell you all you want to know about Danny and Brenda and the way things are in our household. But please, don't be rude-- it's hot out today. Enjoy your lemonade!"

Glen surrendered, picking up the full glass. The two Masons watched as he drained it, leaving their own drinks alone. He smiled. "Very good! What do you make it with?"

Dr. Mason's mouth opened wide in laughter. "Thioridizine hydrochloride. Also known as mellaril."

Glen felt woozy. "W-what does that do?" he asked as he slumped forward.

The husband and wife laughed. "Oh, you'll find out darling-- you'll find out very soon," the woman doctor promised.

************

The next day Glen woke to the color white. All around him, just clean, antiseptic white. Hospital white. He tried to move but he was in a body cast. IVs dripped liquid nourishment into his system and he felt totally numb. He couldn't feel a thing.

"Good morning. You look pretty good for a corpse!" Mr. Mason held his strong chin in his hand, measuring Glen's reaction.

"W-w-ot ooo meeen?" Talking was painful and he stopped as tears formed in his eyes.

Mason held up a copy of the local newspaper. A subhead read in bold type HIGH SCHOOL MOURNS AS LOCAL GUIDANCE COUNSELOR DIES IN AUTO ACCIDENT. Glen started to cry as he blurrily made out the text:

Glen Simmons, 20 years old of Bentson, Florida was killed Wednesday morning at 11 pm PM when his Pontiac Firebird slammed into a restraining wall on Coast Highway 14 and plunged into the ocean two hundred feet below. No body has been recovered, but two witnesses, Mr. and Dr. Mason of Solitude Lane reported that there was no question Simmons was killed in the accident. Richard Mason, a prominent local attorney, testified to police seeing the car swerve erratically, then driving off the road. His wife, Dr. Lesley Mason with the Private West Palm Beach Clinic was reported as telling police there was no way the driver could have survived the fall and subsequent explosion. The police have ruled out any foul play and closed the file. No immediate relations were known at press time."

He sobbed, which was agony. "Why dooo tis?" he tried to scream. Why was he in such agony?

The red-haired woman was by his side with a syringe. "Sleep little one," she whispered and the world was black again.