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From: "Samantha" <samanthak@fastmail.fm>
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Subject: {ASSM} Sam - Part 1  by Samantha K. (FF, MF, tort, exhib, size, viol)
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Date: Mon, 18 Sep 2006 19:10:02 -0400
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<1st attachment, "Sam - Part1.doc" begin>

Sam - Part 1
by Samantha K.
(FF, MF, tort, exhib, size, viol)
[comments welcome: SamanthaK(at)fastmail.fm]

Preface:
	Before you read this, I should warn you that it is pretty
graphic.  Nothing really gross or over-the-top, but some
seriously kinky stuff anyway, at least I thought so at the time.
Just so you know.  I should also stress that the places,
characters, and events depicted are all fictional and have no
relation to real people whatsoever.  Actually, it's all true, but
they tell me I have to have a disclaimer, so there it is.
	I wrote this down to try to work out some 'issues' I had. 
You'll see what kind as you read it.  It's kind of my diary and I
never actually intended to publish it, but someone keeps telling
me I should, so maybe this will shut her up.
	Oh, I should also mention that it's darn long.  I don't really
know how many pieces or parts or chapters this will be once I get
it broken down to post, but the whole thing is the size of a
fairly long novel.  If you're not into long stories, I
understand.  Just don't complain about it, because I swear I
deleted a whole bunch of stuff that probably would have made it
twice as long.


My name is Samantha Kramer, but everyone just calls me Sam.   My
life hasn't been what you'd call 'normal', but then, whose is? 
Stuff happens.  You deal with it.  Nothing worth writing about. 
But it was spring, just five months after my 18th birthday when
my life got seriously weird.  Weird enough to write about, so I'm
starting this journal or diary or whatever, OK?
I'm not sure where to start.  I guess I'll start when Dad left
last year.  That's as good a place as any.  He and Mom had been
arguing for months, so I wasn't really surprised when he took
off.  When they argued, it wasn't the shout and get over and make
up kind of argument that kids have.  They just kept getting
angrier and angrier until they started screaming at each other. 
Then Dad would storm out of the house and slam the door and not
come back until the next day.  One day he didn't come back at
all.
I won't get into the arguments and the screaming because I don't
like to think about that.  I don't want to relive that part. 
Well...maybe I should try to say something about it.  So I'll
just say that most of the arguing was about sex.  They would be
in the bedroom with the door shut and just when I thought they
were having some fun together, I would Mom start to yell, "No"
and Dad would yell something about "Oh for God's sake Yvette, why
the hell not?" and Mom would say, "It's perverted" or "It's
nasty" or something and they would be off on another argument.
I tried to talk to Mom about what was happening, but all she
would say was, "You stay away from men.  They are all worse than
animals."  I wanted to talk to Dad, but Mom never left me alone
with him long enough for us to have a private conversation.  She
always acted like she was scared he would try to make me do the
bad things she said he tried to do to her.  I think that's what
finally made him leave   he couldn't stand being treated like a
sex criminal in his own home. 
I don't know what kind of things Dad wanted Mom to do, so I can't
say if they were really bad or not.  I tried to imagine the worst
things I could, but I could not think of anything bad enough to
make her act the way she did, so I just couldn't understand what
the problem was. 
After Dad left, I wanted to go find him and try to get him to
come back.  I tried to get Mom to tell me where he went and that
was a mistake. She told me she didn't know and didn't care. 
After that, she started treating me like she thought I would run
away and go live with Dad if she let me out of her sight for a
second.  I had to account for every minute that I was out of the
house and I could only go to school stuff where there were lots
of chaperones to make sure I didn't sneak off.  It was a real
pain.  I mean, a convict on parole has more freedom.  After a few
weeks with Warden Mom, I started thinking like a prisoner, trying
to find ways to get around the bars, to slip out of the chains
whenever I could.  I had always been into sports, tumbling and
gymnastics and stuff when I was younger, then Field Hockey when I
got older.  I even tried out for the Varsity Cheerleading Squad
and I got in.  Although I'm sure that was because of my 34D-18-28
measurements.  Cheerleading practice got me an extra hour after
school before I had to be home, but I could still never be late
or stop by the library or hang with my friends or anything.  My
social life was a complete zero.  Even after the games, Mom
hustled me off as soon as it's over.  I never got to go to the
after-game parties or anything, even if we won. 
At first, Dad would mail us a check every few weeks.  I made a
point of looking at the envelope each time, but there was never a
return address on them.  After a few months, that stopped, so Mom
got a job at the big electronics plant out west of the city.  She
was lucky enough to get on a day-shift, but she still doesn't get
off until 6:00pm and she doesn't get home until almost 7 most
nights.  Supper became whatever the take-out special was at the
meat-and-three restaurant she passed at on the way.
I guess Mom must have caught onto how happy I was that I was
going to have a few hours each day without her breathing down my
neck.  She spent a couple of hours alone in her bedroom one
night.  "Thinking things over," she said.  When she came out; her
eyes were red and puffy and she sat me down for one of those
'serious' talks.  She said she didn't trust me to stay at home
alone after school.  'Unsupervised' was how she put it.  She said
she had made an arrangement for me to stay with this friend of
hers until she got home.  She told she would call Mrs. Reynolds
to make sure I'm there like I'm supposed to be and then time me
while I walk home so she could be sure I didn't take any detours.

I'd never met Mrs. Reynolds before.  I couldn't even remember Mom
ever mentioning her.  I figured she was someone with the same
rigid moral agenda as Mom; another last-ditch holdout against the
sexual revolution that I learned in Social Studies had been over
for decades, but which Mom seemed to think could still be
defeated by keeping me from enlisting with the revolutionaries. 

I knew something about the Reynolds family, of course.  I knew
they were Upper-Crust kind of people with lots of money.  I had
been going to school with their two boys for the last couple of
years.  I even heard through friends that one of them might be
interested in me, but Mom never gave me enough slack to find
out.
The Reynolds' place is a really big house with a big yard in
back.  Their house is just a few blocks from ours at the end of a
dead-end road   what they call a cul-de-sac in nice neighborhoods
like theirs.  Their yard is like a really big triangle because
they're at the very end of the street and their backyard goes all
the way into the woods behind the house.  The house looks like a
mansion.  It's a huge brick thing, three stories tall in front,
with landscaping instead of a regular front yard.  
Mr. Reynolds was a big-shot businessman who made himself a pile
of money before he got himself killed trying to climb some
mountain in Africa.  I remember seeing the pictures of the two of
them in the paper when he died and he looked a lot older than
Mrs. Reynolds.  I guess he was having that mid-life crisis thing
that older married men get. 
I knew Mrs. Reynolds was about the same age as Mom, but she
looked a lot younger than late-30s in the pictures.  She was
wearing really sexy dresses, like she was at a fancy party or
something, so that was probably where the photos were taken.  Her
clothes looked like the kind of thing that Mom would never let me
wear in a million years   really short skirts and dresses and
blouses with necklines that show a lot.  My Cheerleading skirt
was the shortest thing I owned.
Like I said, Mrs. Reynolds has two sons who are around my age. 
Jim is 19, a year older than me, and Bud is 18, the same age as
me, but he acts younger.  Jim managed to get held back a grade
somewhere   something I didn't think they did anymore   so we are
all in the same grade.  The Reynolds boys and I went to different
Middle schools, and Mom pretty effectively stamped out my social
life during the last few years, so I hadn't had a chance to get
to know them other than a casual chat in the hall between
classes.  
Both boys are kind of cute, and they both have nice hard bodies
from playing sports.  I got the impression that they were both
really spoiled.  I heard that Mrs. Reynolds gave them everything
they wanted, or thought they wanted and that the house was full
of stuff that Mrs. Reynolds bought them and they never touch. 
Once, they wanted a dog, and she let them pick out a puppy at a
local breeder's kennel.  I don't know if she did not know what
kind of dog it was or if she even cared, but it was a
short-haired Mastiff.  They called it Brute and it had the run of
the house until it got too big and started breaking stuff.  Then
they had to keep it outside and let it run around in the yard. 
Poor dog.
Jim and Bud are much bigger than me, but then, who isn't?  Jim is
about six feet tall and Bud is only a couple of inches shorter. 
The boys both tower over me since I'm only 5'1" and they
out-weigh me by almost double since I'm only 105 lbs soaking
wet.
When I knew I was going to be staying at the Reynolds', I thought
Jim and Bud and I might get along and even have some fun
together.  Looking back, I guess they thought so too.  
I remember the first day I was over there.  I had walked over
after Cheerleading practice and I had even taken my books with
me, thinking I might get some homework done while waiting for Mom
to get home.  When I went up to the front door and rang the bell,
Mrs. Reynolds answered it in what I was to find out was one of
her casual outfits.  She had on a pair of low-rider shorts that
looked like they had been painted on.  They were so thin that I
could see the outline of her sex in what I've heard called a
camel-toe.  Her top was a beautiful silk kerchief held up by a
gold hoop around her neck.  It tied around her waist with a gold
chain, so that her back was bare.  She has really big boobs, and
they stand out really far for their size.  I guessed she must
have been at least an E-cup.  Her thin top only covered the
fronts of her breasts and left the sides totally bare.  I could
see her nipples poking under the cloth.  She's only 5'6" but she
was wearing high heels, so her breasts were right in my face.  I
guess I must have been staring because she said, "See anything
you like, honey?"
I was so totally embarrassed.  I could feel my face turn red.  I
wanted to apologize for staring, but I couldn't get my mouth to
work.  I just stood there blushing and clutching my schoolbooks
to my stomach.  
Mrs. Reynolds must have thought this was cute.  Anyway, she
decided to tease me about staring at her boobs.  She stepped
really close to me, so they were almost touching my face.  When I
did not move, she rubbed one of them on my cheek.  I could feel
the nipple graze my lips.  I was so shocked that this woman would
rub her breast on me that I gasped and my mouth dropped open. 
Mrs. Reynolds pushed her breast against my open mouth.  I could
feel her nipple get hard as it rubbed around my lips.  When I
still did not react, she stepped back and looked me up and down.
I was wearing my Cheerleader outfit with the short pleated skirt
and the bulky sweater with the school name across the front, so
she could not get a good look at anything but my legs.
"You must be Samantha," she said.  "Yvette didn't say you were
such a pretty little thing.  Or that you liked girls.  But I
think she might not know about that, hmmm?"
"Yes, ma'm" I said.  "I mean no, ma'am."  I was so flustered that
I did not know what I was saying.  I finally managed to blurt
out, "I'm Samantha Kramer.  My mother said I should come over
here after school and stay with you until she gets home."  
"Well, come in, honey.  Come on in."  Mrs. Reynolds waved me
inside, but stood so close that I had to brush against her going
through the door.  She put her arm around my shoulders and walked
me through the foyer and down the hall.  She pulled me so close
that her breast was sitting on my shoulder.  I got the idea that
she was a very boob-oriented woman.  She seemed to use them as
feelers, to touch everything she could: people, furniture,
anything handy.  I was to learn that she never wore a bra and
that the halter she had on that day was one of her more
substantial tops.  I remember thinking that she must have been
very disappointed when her children were weaned and she could no
longer breast-feed them.  On the way downstairs, I kept thinking
about the feel of her breast on my face, how soft and good it
felt.  It was one of those thoughts that refused to go away, no
matter how I tried to push it out of my head.
She took me to the head of the stairs down to the family room and
told me to go down and introduce myself to her boys, and that she
would check in on me later.  She went off to change clothes,
something I learned that she does every couple of hours whenever
she gets tired of wearing whatever she has on.
I walked down the curved carpeted staircase and came out into a
huge room that looked like a combination of furniture showroom
and gymnasium.  The back wall was all glass with a couple of
French doors that opened onto the yard.  There were weight
benches, and weight machines, a bar with stools and a fridge, a
PC, a desk, a home theater system with a huge TV screen hooked to
a new videogame console, and shelves of CDs and DVDs.  It was a
teenage boy's idea of heaven.  Obviously, this was where her sons
spent most of their time.
At the far end of the room, they sat hunched together on a large
sofa, playing a videogame and shouting and elbowing each other. 
I put my books down on the desk, peeled off my heavy sweater,
smoothed out my white blouse and walked over to say hello.  
"Hi there!" I said, as cheerfully as I could.
There was a blooping sound from the game and the younger boy
said, "Aw shit!  You made me lose."  From the score on the
screen, he had been losing before I got there, so I didn't bother
to apologize.  They put down their controllers and gave me the
once-over.  Like most boys, they were pretty blatant about it. 
Their eyes went down and up and locked onto my chest.  They
stared so openly that I looked down to see if anything was
showing.  I was flattered that they would pay so much attention
to my boobs when there was another woman walking around with
larger ones that she was just dying to have everyone notice. 
It's different when it's your mother, I guess, but I was still
flattered, so I even posed a little for them.  Eventually, they
looked up at my face.
"Hi, Sam!" Jim said, reaching out a hand, "Mom said you were
coming."
I took Jim's hand, which was hot from gripping the game
controller.  Instead of shaking it, he pulled me down between
them on the couch.  They did not bother to make room for me; I
was just wedged in between them.   I felt really small sitting
there with them practically on top of me.  I kept squirming and
pushing on the cushions to try to work myself higher against the
sofa, but all I managed to do was get my arms trapped behind me.
My blouse was pulled across my chest so tight that one of the
buttons was about to come undone.  I tried not to call attention
to it.  I just smiled up at each of them.
"So, little spider; what brings you to our web?" Bud said, in a
bad creature-feature-host voice.
"I'm going to be staying here in the afternoons after school." I
told them.  "Your Mom and mine worked it out so I wouldn't be
home alone until she gets off work."
"We're Babysitters?" Jim said disgustedly.  "How old are you
anyway?  I thought you were in our class at school."
"I'm 18." I said proudly.
"Sure you are," Bud said suspiciously, "and you still need a
sitter?  We haven't had a sitter since I was 10!  Heck, lots of
girls younger than you ARE sitters."
"Yeah," Jim said, "What's your problem? "
"My Mom just feels better if she knows where I am." I said,
rather unconvincingly.  I suddenly felt as if I were a little
girl again.  The whole 'babysitter' thing really got to me.  I
had hoped the three of us could be friends.  Now they were
embarrassing me.
"I don't think she's really 18." Jim said.  His tone was too
dramatic.  He was trying to cue his brother into something.  I
had a feeling that they were about to mess with me.
"I think she's faking it.  I think she's really only 13." Jim
said.  He looked down at the front of my blouse.  The top button
was almost out of the hole.  He reached out and pushed on it and
it popped out.  My blouse opened a little, showing my bra.
"Yeah," Bud said, catching onto the game.  "I bet she's got that
bra stuffed with socks and shit."  He pushed on another button
and tilted it into the buttonhole.
I tried to get my arms free to close my blouse again, but they
each grabbed an arm and pushed it behind my back.  They pushed
down on my arms so hard that they forced my shoulders back and
made my boobs rise even higher on my chest. The button that Bud
had partially undone popped open.  My blouse was open far enough
so that they could look right down between my breasts, which were
heaving as I tried to wriggle free.
Jim quickly undid the rest of my buttons and pulled my blouse
open.  I suddenly remembered that I was wearing a bra that hooked
in front.  They looked at my plain white bra for a few seconds
before Bud reached for the hooks.  He fumbled with it so long I
started to think I was safe.  Then Jim slapped his hand away and
took charge.  He pinched the hooks together and my bra flew open,
exposing my breasts.  
I didn't know if I should be embarrassed, or mad, or excited.  I
guess 'excited' won out because I didn't scream or cry or
anything like that.  This was farther than I had ever been with a
boy before.  I bit my lip and waited to see what they would do
next.
Jim and Bud each took hold of a breast and started feeling and
squeezing.  As rough as they were, they still managed to get my
nipples to come to attention quickly.  When they felt them harden
against their palms, they started pulling and rubbing them.  I
knew I should have protested more, but the truth is, I was as
keen on playing the game as they were.  It had been almost
forever since a boy had touched me and I had often fantasized
about being held down and fondled.  I stopped struggling to get
free and began wiggling with pleasure and flinching with pain
whenever one of them pinched or squeezed too hard.  After a bit,
they got the hang of it and I had no more cause to flinch.
I lay my head back on the sofa and said, "See.  They're all real.
 No socks."  I surrendered to their rough caresses.  I closed my
eyes and moaned with pleasure as they continued to play with me.
I arched my back when they pulled my nipples, pushing my
sensitive boobs into their eager hands.  I was totally lost in
the pleasure of the moment.
When Jim put his lips around my nipple, I groaned in response. 
Bud copied his brother and they both started sucking, pulling my
hard nipples into their mouths.  I was in heaven.  I rolled my
head back and forth on the sofa and moaned.
"Oh, that feels wonderful!" I said and opened my eyes to see Mrs.
Reynolds standing behind the sofa, looking down at me with a
furious expression on her face.
"YOU SLUT!" she screamed.  The fact that I was being held down
was lost on her.  I was the interloper.  I was the villain.  In a
flash of insight, I realized that I had committed the
unforgivable sin of getting her boys to suckle my breasts after
they had spurned hers.
"YOU TRAMP!"   By this time, her sons had jumped off the sofa and
raced up the stairs, leaving me to face her alone.  Not that it
mattered.  She had no blame for them.  The fault was all mine.
"GET UP!"  Mrs. Reynolds grabbed my hair and yanked me up off the
couch.  She marched me around to stand shaking in front of her. 
I tried to cover my naked breasts with my hands.  I reached for
the cups of my bra, trying to get it back on.  She wasn't having
any of that.  She slapped my hands away and grabbed my bra and my
blouse and yanked them both off my shoulders and down my back,
pinning my arms at my sides.
She looked at me with a calculating fury, trying to decide what
she could do to me.  It would not take a genius to figure out
what a woman so focused on her own breasts would do to someone
she caught nursing her sons.  She reached out and grabbed my
nipples, pinching them between her thumbs and forefingers.  She
twisted them one way and then the other as I cried out in pain. 
A look of pure hate came into her eyes and she pulled up on my
nipples, forcing me on my toes.  She yanked them as high as she
could, stretching them out until I thought they would rip from my
breasts.  I whimpered as she pulled and then again as she rolled
her wrists to get better leverage.  My toes were almost off the
floor.  She was pulling so hard that she had me all but dangling
by my breasts.  The pain was excruciating.  It hurt so bad I
couldn't scream, I just hung there, working my jaw, not making a
sound.  Mrs. Reynolds saw that she was hurting me as much as I
could be hurt and let go.
I fell to the floor with my back against the coffee table.  My
poor nipples were red burning points of agony, throbbing at the
end of my breasts.  My hands were still trapped at my sides, so I
could not reach my nipples to protect them as Mrs. Reynolds came
at me again.
Desperate to get her to stop, I managed to moan out the only
threat I could think of, "I'll tell my mother...."  As soon as I
said it I realized how hollow it was.  So did Mrs. Reynolds.
"Tell your mother?  What will you tell her?  That I caught you
with your tits out in my house; trying to seduce my boys?  No,
honey.  I don't think so.  I have a better idea.  I will call
your mother and tell her just that.  I will tell her just what a
slut and a whore you are.  What do you think she will do to
you?"
She had me.  I had handed her the key and she turned it in the
lock.  If she told my mother what I had done, I would never see
the light of day again.  Mom would lock me in my room and never
let me out.  And she would be perfectly justified, because I
would have proved to her that I was a filthy pervert, just like
Dad.
Mrs. Reynolds must have seen it in my face.  She knew she could
do anything to me that she wanted and I could never tell anyone.
The expression of power and vengeance on her face when she looked
at me told me that she knew I was completely powerless to stop
her.  She was bent over, reaching out to grab my breasts again,
when I saw a light go on behind her eyes.  She stood up and put
her hands on her hips.  She glared down at me and with a smirk
said, "Get up."
I slowly got my legs under me and rolled to my knees.  Bracing my
back against the table, I pushed to my feet.  My breasts bounced
slightly and my reddened and aching nipples waved at Mrs.
Reynolds like a red flag in front of a bull.
"Over here."  She pointed to the exercise equipment.  I walked
over to the weight bench.  "Sit," she said.  I sat, straddling
the bench with my back against the barbell.  She looked around
the room slowly, debating with herself how to proceed, then she
looked down at me.  She reached out and took hold of my nipples
again.  I stiffened with fear, expecting more pain.  Instead, she
gently rolled them in her fingers massaging them.  She stroked my
breasts and pulled at my nipples lightly, as if milking them. 
She did it very well.  I knew she could make them feel really
good as well as really bad.  She leaned over and whispered to me,
"Stay right there.  Don't move.  If you do not obey me, I will
tell your mother that her daughter is a slut.  If you do anything
except what I tell you, I will call her.  Do you understand me?"
I nodded.  The situation was clear as crystal.  I had put myself
in the merciless hands of a fiercely jealous and vengeful woman
with a breast fixation.  I could only hope that she would not do
something permanent to me, but at the moment that seemed to be
the most likely outcome.
With a final tug, she let go of my nipples and left the room.  As
I waited for her to return, I thought about running.  I had
nowhere to run.  I couldn't go home and I had no idea where Dad
was.  I wanted to pull on my bra and my blouse.  I wanted to
check my nipples, to try to sooth them.  I did not dare move.  I
sat and looked at my breasts and hoped that things weren't going
to be as bad as they looked.  I tried to imagine what Mrs.
Reynolds planned to do to me.  Several horrible things ran
through my head.  As each one occurred to me, I became more
terrified until my fear overcame my caution and I tried to pull
my arms up and slide my bra and my blouse on enough to be able to
reach my breasts.  To my dismay, I couldn't.  My clothes were
twisted around my wrists too tightly for me to slide them back
over my shoulders.  Frantic, I whipped my arms around until they
came free.  My blouse and bra fell to the floor behind me.
With my hands free at last, I gingerly touched my sore breasts. 
I raised each one to look at my nipples.  They were distended and
sore, but seemed to be otherwise intact.  I rubbed them gently to
try to work some of the hurt out.  As I did, they responded to my
touch and stiffened again.  My areolas wrinkled up.  This was
good news.  They hurt, they were swollen, but they weren't
bleeding and I still had feeling in them.  I was still massaging
them when Mrs. Reynolds came back down the stairs carrying a
large cardboard box.  I looked at her with terror in my heart,
but she just smiled at me.  She hadn't told me not to touch
myself, just not to move and I was still in the same spot, so
maybe I hadn't made her madder than she was already.
As she approached, I tried to mollify her by putting my hands
behind my back and interlacing my fingers.  I thought if she saw
that I was prepared to submit to her that she might go easier on
me.  It was a faint hope, but I was grasping at straws.
"Oh good," she said, "You've been saying goodbye to them.  That's
sweet."  My heart almost jumped out of my chest at that, but I
did not move.  I gripped my hands tighter behind my back and took
several deep breaths to try to keep from totally freaking out. 
It worked, sort of; but I was still petrified with fear.  Drops
trickled from my pits, overpowering my antiperspirant.  I could
smell my fear and I suspected that Mrs. Reynolds could, too.
Mrs. Reynolds sat the box down on a nearby table.  I tried to
peek without being obvious about it, but I couldn't see what was
inside.  She came over to me and took my breasts in her hands
again, feeling my hard nipples and my crinkled areolas.  Then she
went back to the box and came back with a pair of handcuffs.
"Mr. Reynolds bought a lot of toys when he was alive." She told
me.  "We used to play with them sometimes.  Now I am going to use
them to play with you." She walked behind my back and snapped the
cuffs on my wrists.  "This is just so you don't get the urge to
interfere."  She went back to the box and came back with a
plastic cup in one hand and three pills in the other.  She held
out the pills in front of my mouth.  "Open wide," she said.
I obediently opened my mouth and stuck my tongue out.  She
dropped the pills in and held the cup out for me to drink to wash
down the pills.  The she went back to the box.  This time she
took out a packet containing a large hypodermic syringe with a
long needle.  She ripped open the packet and pulled the hypo out.
 She took a brown bottle with a prescription label on it out of
the box and stuck the hypo into it.  I tried to see the label as
she filled the syringe, but it was too far away.  When the
syringe was full, she brought it over to me and took one of my
breasts in her hand.  I flinched and pulled away as I realized
that she intended to inject my breast with the huge needle.
She put down the syringe on the bench in front of me and went
back to the box and stuck her hand in it.  She returned with
whatever she had picked up held behind her back.  She bent down
and took hold of my left nipple.  She pulled it out away from my
body until it was stretched out a good two inches.  I bit my lip
to keep from crying out at the pain.  When she had worked the
nipple out as far as it would go, she took her other hand out
from behind her back and put something cold against my skin.  I
looked down and saw that she had a pair of pruning shears open
and pressed against my breast at the base of my nipple.  They
were the kind that you would use in the garden to cut flowers. 
They looked new and very sharp.  She closed the shears until the
steel blades closed on my flesh.
"Now, honey, I want you to know that you can change your mind
about cooperating at any time," she said in a reasonable tone. 
"It's your choice.  Anytime you like, we can end this.  Just let
me know when you have had enough and you can go home.  But you
will leave these with me."  She tugged on my nipple and closed
the shears further and I felt them bite into the sensitive skin
of my stretched breast.  "What's it going to be?  Are you ready
to go home?"
"No ma'am.  I'll stay."  I tried not to sound hysterical, but it
was hard to do with a sharp blade biting into my breast.  I
didn't know if she would really go through with her threat to
amputate my nipples, but she seemed completely sincere and I
wasn't willing to bet that she wouldn't do it.
"Very well," she said, easing her grip on the shears and laying
them aside.  "But, if you change your mind, remember, these will
be close by."  She picked up the hypodermic again and I braced
myself for the bite of the needle.  It was worse than I thought
it would be.  She stuck the needle directly into the tip of my
nipple and drove it straight down into the middle of my breast. 
It was all I could do to hold still.  When she pushed the plunger
on the syringe, I felt a sensation of cold and fullness in my
breast.  She administered half the dose to my left breast and
then took the needle out.  As she reached for the right breast, I
turned to put it into her hand.  She smiled as she lined up the
needle.  This one hurt just as much, but I was prepared for the
sensation and I did not flinch.
"Well done," she congratulated me on my compliance.  "Now we need
to get that worked in."  She put both hands on my left breast and
massaged it.  Gradually, the full feeling went away as the drug
spread throughout my breast.  She repeated the process on the
right side.
Putting away the bottle and the syringe, she reached into the box
and brought out a pair of latex gloves, which she put on.  Then
she picked up a small bottle with some yellow liquid in it.  She
unscrewed the cap and when she removed it I could see that the
cap had a brush attached to it, like a bottle of fingernail
polish.  She swished the brush around in the bottle and then
brought it out and began to paint my nipples with it.  She was
meticulous and covered each nipple completely twice over.  As she
worked, I could feel my nipples tingling. Then they started to
turn bright red and swell up.  When she finished, they had
swollen so big I thought they were about to pop.  Strangely, they
did not hurt.  Instead, they felt hypersensitive.  I thought I
could feel the air moving over them.  Mrs. Reynolds put the
bottle away and stripped off the gloves.  She bent down and blew
on my nipples.  The feeling was indescribable.  It felt as though
the nerves in my nipples were all exposed.  I moaned with
pleasure at the intense sensation.
"Very good," she said.  "I see that it still works."  She
straddled the bench facing me, the hem of her short skirt rising
up her thighs and over her ass.  I could see that she wasn't
wearing any panties, which did not surprise me.  She took off her
top and dropped it on the floor with my clothes.  Her breasts
were every bit as large as I expected; F-cup at the least, maybe
an FF.  They had very little sag for being so large and belonging
to a woman of her age.  Her nipples were small, but her areolas
were the size of drink coasters.  She caressed her breasts and
rubbed her nipples until her areolas began to crinkle up.  She
moaned as she fondled herself.  Obviously, this was one of her
favorite pastimes.
She stood up straddling the bench and, holding her breasts one in
each hand, she leaned over so they were right under my nose.  As
she had done at the front door, she rubbed them on my face and
across my lips.  This time, I did not miss my cue and as a nipple
passed over my lips, I caught it and sucked it between my lips
and into my mouth.  I heard her gasp as I flicked my tongue
across her nipple inside my mouth.  I licked and sucked her
nipple, growing more bold and insistent as she responded to my
efforts.  She moaned deeply and put her hands on the back of my
neck to keep me at my task.  After a few minutes, she pulled her
breast from my mouth and offered me the other one, which I
dutifully suckled as well.
"Hmmmmm.  That's very good," she moaned.  "Suck harder, please. 
That's it.  Keep going.  Aaaaaaa..."   She cradled my head and
watched my mouth moving over her nipple, trying to draw it all
inside.  "You nurse wonderfully.  I haven't felt this good in a
long time.  Mmmmmm.  
"Oh, before you make me forget.  I wanted to tell you, my husband
made his money in pharmaceuticals.  One of his first products was
synthetic female hormones.  They are very popular with fertility
clinics.  He always kept a good supply of samples in the house. 
I gave you a triple dose of a combination of hormones designed to
increase fertility to improve the chance of becoming pregnant. 
Those were the pills you swallowed.  They will enhance your
overall femininity.  Your voice will become higher pitched as
your vocal chords shrink.  You will be more sexually responsive.
You will become aroused more easily and you will find it
difficult to restrain your sexual appetite.  I expect you will
need to masturbate to orgasm several times a day.  The other side
effects are very mild.  You may notice your pubic hair growing
thicker and you may experience some lightheadedness.  There may
also be some stomach upset as well, but that should not last
long.  
The injection was a compound that was developed to induce
lactation in women who are having trouble breastfeeding.  It may
make your breasts very tender.  It will surely make them grow at
least two cup-sizes.  Or at least, the normal dosage was supposed
to do that."  
She pulled her breast out of my mouth and sat down again on the
bench.  She looked me in the eyes and told me the rest.  "The
combination of the drugs I gave you should be enough to turn
these firm little beauties..."  She put her hands on my chest
under my breasts and grabbed them at the base.  She wiggled her
hands and my breasts bounced.  The movement gave me a jolt of
pleasure.  "...into udders."  She squeezed my breasts tightly at
the base, forcing the tissue to bulge to the front, swelling the
ends of my breasts and my already swollen nipples to the point of
bursting.  I threw my head back and drew in a sharp breath at the
pain.  She released my breasts and I looked back at her face as
she finished telling me what she had done.
"The final treatment, as you have noticed, makes your nipples
extremely sensitive.  Another effect is that it seals your milk
ducts, so every drop you make will be bottled up inside those
milkbags as they grow bigger and bigger.  It should be fully set
by now."
She did not even give me time to consider what was in store for
me.  She grabbed my breasts and dragged me to my feet.  She
pulled me over to a device with a broad pad on top of an
adjustable metal stand.  I recognized it as a machine to support
your arms while you did bicep curls with a barbell.  Mrs.
Reynolds raised the platform so that it was just under my
breasts.  I did not know what she was going to do, but I
obediently leaned forward so that my breasts rested on the
leather pad.  My nipples just stuck out over the edge of the
support.
I waited there as she went back to the box and took out two
devices that looked like complicated pliers.  They had broad jaws
at one end and a chain coming out the other.  She brought both of
them over to me.  Pushing in on the middle of one device she
opened the rubber-coated jaws and slipped them over my left
nipple.  When she released it, the jaws closed, locking the
device to me.  She did the same with the other clamp.  The
sensation of pressure was alarming.  My hypersensitive nipples
were already screaming with pain.
"These are very nice nipple clamps," she told me as she picked up
the chains, "they are designed so that they won't slip off.  As
the weight on the end of the chain increases, the jaws close
tighter."  She demonstrated by tugging on the chains.  The
pressure increased and the pain jolted through me.  She smiled at
my discomfort and picked up two one-kilogram weights and fastened
them to the ends of the chains.  She stood there holding the
weights and looking into my eyes.  When she thought she had my
complete attention, she lowered the weights so that they were
suspended from my nipples.
The sensation was exactly like what I imagined having my nipples
ripped from my body would feel like.  I was adrift in a world of
pain.  Everything else ceased to exist but the agony in my
breasts.  Slowly, I came back to myself, whimpering as the pain
in my breasts settled down from excruciating to merely agonizing.
 My breasts were supported by the stand, but my nipples were
pulled over the edge with the weights dangling beneath.
Mrs. Reynolds said, "The best thing about the drugs is that they
are all natural substances.  A blood test would find nothing that
did not belong.  To all appearances, you will be undergoing a
rapid growth spurt.  Perfectly normal for a girl your age.  The
weights..." she pushed the iron barbell weights hanging from my
nipples and set them swinging, "...will help stretch your breasts
out to your new size.  They will also lengthen your nipples to
help give you a more cow-like appearance."
She paused to gloat over my predicament.  My hands were cuffed
behind me.  I was pressed against the exercise machine with my
breasts stretched over the support, my nipples stretched horribly
by the iron weights.  I could not move because doing so would
only pull my breasts more out of shape.  Tears streamed down my
face.  I cried less from the pain than from the knowledge that
Mrs. Reynolds intended to ruin me by turning my nice firm breasts
into drooping udders.  The weights already had my nipples pulled
below the edge of the pad.  I imagined that over time, they might
well be stretched down to my stomach or even further.  I pictured
what I would look like with my breasts hanging down to my navel.
At the same time, the fertility drugs would make me into a
sex-fiend who would be unable to keep her hands off her pussy. 
Worse, I could look forward to having my huge breasts fill up
with milk that I would be unable to express.  I could not even
imagine what that would feel like.  I hung my head and tried to
find a more comfortable stance behind the weight machine.
"I see you are contemplating your future," Mrs. Reynolds told me.
 "Let me be clear about the rules.  You will continue to come
here every day after school.  You will continue to receive such
treatment as I decide to administer.  You will participate
willingly in those treatments.  You will wear these clamps and
weights for an hour each afternoon.  You may choose to use the
stand for support, or you may sit, stand or lie in whichever
position you like, but you will not be permitted to have the
weights supported in any way.  Am I clear so far?"
"Yes, Mrs. Reynolds."
"Good.  After your weight-training period you may not dress.  You
will remain naked above the waist at all times when you are in
this house.  I want to be able to monitor your progress.  You
will use your spare time to complete whatever homework you have
been assigned.  I expect you to keep up your grades in school. 
You will continue your cheerleading.  It will amuse me to sit on
the sidelines and watch you flop around as you try to do your
routines with your enormous udders. You will discuss this with no
one.  If you should disobey me or if it should ever enter your
mind to try to seduce either of my boys again, I will cut off
your nipples.  If you fail to arrive here when you are supposed
to, I will tell your mother what a perverted bitch you are.  Am I
perfectly clear on all of this?"
"Yes, Mrs. Reynolds."
"Good.  Now, here is a timer you will use to be sure your weights
stay on for the required hour.  I will remove your restraints
now.  Remember, do not try to support the weights or I will start
the timer over again."
She unlocked the handcuffs and put them back into the box with
the rest of the paraphernalia.  The only thing she left out aside
from the clamps was the shears.  These she placed in prominent
view on a shelf to remind me of the consequences of disobeying
her.
She took the box back upstairs and left me to suffer my torture
alone.  As much as I wanted to remain as still as possible, I
found I could not stand in one position for long.  Each time I
moved, the weighs would start to swing and I would have to freeze
in position until they stopped.  The pain dulled as the minutes
ticked by on the timer and I began to get bored with just
standing there.  I looked around the room for something to take
my mind off the weights pulling on my breasts and their
inevitable effects.  I could see the wide-screen TV from where I
was, but it wasn't on.  I could see out the glass doors into the
yard, but the trees and grass did not hold my interest for long.
When I looked to my left I got a shock.  There was a mirror on
the wall behind the weight bench and I could see my reflection. 
I could see a side view of my breasts and how badly stretched
they were.  I began to cry again.  My sobs made the weights
bounce and pull on my breasts even harder.  I quickly learned not
to cry, but for some reason I could not stop looking at my
grotesque reflection in the mirror.  I kept wondering how
distorted my breasts would become.
When only a few minutes remained on the timer, I decided to try
to get myself off the support.  I leaned forward as far as I
could over the pad and found that I could grit my teeth and take
the strain on my chest.  I slid my hands under my breasts and
lifted them up and off the support, but I could not clear the
support with the weights.  I fumbled around with the adjustment
latch on the support until I figured out how to release it and
lower it enough to allow the weights to clear the top.
When I stood upright for the first time in an hour I decided that
the change of position was well worth the trade-off of having to
support the weights from my breasts and my chest instead of just
from my nipples.  It seemed that the strain was better
distributed this way.  I felt my back muscles try to cramp from
being forced to hold a stoop for so long and without thinking, I
leaned back to try to work the kinks out.  As I did, the weights
swung around my sides and pulled my breasts apart.  The change of
direction hurt like hell, but it was a pain in a different place
and I welcomed the change without regret.  I even raised my arms
up over my head to stretch my torso even more.
After I had eased my aching back I tested my ability to move with
the weights on.  I found that if I moved slowly and did not make
them swing, I could walk slowly around the room.  I moved to a
spot away from any obstructions, spread my feet apart and bent
over at the waist.  If I took it slow and easy, I could bend all
the way down and touch my toes, even with the weights dangling. 
My back was screaming its gratitude at being allowed to move
again.  It was when I tried to straighten up again that I
realized that the five pounds of iron attached to my breasts made
it easy to get down, but hard to get back up.  I was stuck in
this position when I heard the timer buzz.
I had just pulled my torso parallel to the floor with my hands
braced on my knees and the weights hanging straight down when I
discovered that this was the least uncomfortable position.  The
weights were supported more of less evenly by my breasts and the
pain faded to just a heavy feeling.  I stopped in this position
for a few moments to enjoy the absence of pain.  Out of the
corner of my eye I saw Mrs. Reynolds walk down the stairs.
The look on her face was priceless.  At first I was confused,
until I considered what she was seeing and how she interpreted
it.  She had come down to release her victim from tortuous
bondage only to find me doing calisthenics in the middle of the
room.  I almost laughed out loud, but managed to contain it. 
Suppressing a smile, I straightened as quickly and smoothly as I
could.  The weights still swung against my stomach and tugged
painfully on my nipples after the moment of relief.  I suppressed
the wince and turned to face Mrs. Reynolds with my hands behind
me.
"My word!" she said, unable to hide her surprise, "you seem to be
adjusting better than I had expected.  Are you sure you followed
the rules and did not support the weights?"
"Yes ma'am.  I was very careful." I said.  She looked at me
suspiciously, but after seeing me doing toe-touches with the
weights still attached, she was prepared to accept my word that I
had not cheated.
"Well, you can take them off now.  Put them on the shelf over
there with the other weight equipment."
I decided to press the small accidental victory I had achieved
and, rather than remove them at the earliest possible second, I
glided as smoothly as I could over to the shelf with the weights
still attached.  I even paused at the shelf and pointed to
confirm that this was where she wanted them.  Mrs. Reynolds
nodded and watched as I released the clamps and stored the
weights.
As I removed the weights, my breasts returned only slightly to
their original position.  They sagged downward noticeably and my
nipples had been stretched out at by at least an inch.  They were
so loose that they almost flopped at the tips of my drooping
breasts.  I wanted to cry over the damage, but I had resolved to
resign myself to my fate over the interminable previous hour and
I blinked back the tears.  My mother's punishments for
misbehavior were cruel and often unfair, but boring.  Mrs.
Reynolds had plenty of justification, and the punishment she
chose to give me was harsh, but I had to admit that it was
creative.  I wondered how on earth she had thought of this and I
was understandably curious about the end result.
When I had the weights off I wanted more than anything to massage
my poor nipples to get the circulation going in them again.  I
resisted the temptation and instead walked back to stand in front
of Mrs. Reynolds, again in a submissive pose with my chest out
and my hands behind me.  I thought that since she had made a
point of demanding that I be a willing participant I might score
points by impressing her that way.
She certainly seemed impressed.  She stood and stared at me,
apparently unsure of how to proceed.  After a few seconds she
decided to inspect her handiwork.  She took hold of one breast
and then the other, squeezing and rubbing them.  She was doing
what I had wanted to, and I relaxed and let myself enjoy her
handling.
When she was satisfied that the right amount of damage had been
done for the day, she said, "Now get to your schoolwork.  When
you finish, you can do whatever you like until your mother
calls."
I obediently got my book bag and sat at the desk to do my
assignments.  Mrs. Reynolds watched for a minute, then went back
upstairs and left me alone.
I tried to focus on my work, but in between assignments, I found
my gaze wandering over to the shelf with the clamps and the
weights.  I felt an odd compulsion to go over and put them back
on, to revisit the sensation of having the weights on my breasts
again.  Each time, I shook off the impulse, telling myself that I
was too sore and I needed to heal before I reattached the
clamps.
When finished the homework, I went over to the shelf and stared
at the clamps and looked at my breasts in the mirror.  I rubbed
my sore nipples.  I squeezed my breasts and held them in my
hands, wondering just how they would change under the influence
of Mrs. Reynolds hormone treatments.  I finally managed to tear
myself away and went and watched TV until I heard the phone ring.
 I turned off the set and listened to see if it had been Mom
calling.
I heard Mrs. Reynolds quiet steps on the carpeted stairs.  She
came down carrying my clothes.  I stood and resumed my position
of submissive attention in front of her.  I found myself fighting
another strange compulsion to fondle her breasts as she had done
mine.  She must have noticed me looking at them, because she
unbuttoned her blouse and opened it.  She stood and allowed me to
stare at her large breasts while she posed in front of me.  I was
hypnotized by their size and how they rode so high on her chest
and how they stood out so far.  Remembering how she had made me
suck on them before, I licked my lips.  She saw this and smiled.
She moved one close to my mouth and I opened to receive it.  She
allowed me to nurse briefly and then switched me to the other
breast.  As I sucked and tongued her nipple, she told me, "It's
good that you like my breasts.  It will be some consolation for
you to be able to admire mine while yours are being destroyed. 
It will also be good for you to have a standard for comparison so
you understand that yours will never rival these."
She pulled her breast from my mouth and held it just out of reach
of my puckered lips.  I stared at the rosy-pink nipple and felt
deprived.
"Don't worry.  I will let you see them again.  Kiss them goodbye
now," She said, putting one and then the other of her magnificent
breasts in front of my lips.  I kissed each one tenderly and she
closed her blouse.
"Your mother called.  It is time for you to go home, now.  Get
dressed.  Here, I will help you."  She held my bra for me as I
slipped it over my shoulders.  I eased my breasts into the cups
and hooked it together.  It felt constricting, now that my
breasts were a different shape.  My swollen and stretched nipples
felt especially uncomfortable when pressed into the cups.  This
must have showed on my face, because Mrs. Reynolds said, "We will
need to get you a larger size.  You will be more comfortable in a
Double-D-cup now.  I will take care it, don't worry."
I put on my blouse, pulled on my sweater, and picked up my books.
 Mrs. Reynolds walked me to the door and held it for me.
"See you tomorrow, honey." She said cheerfully as I walked down
the flagstone walkway to the street.
All the way home, I kept hitching at my bra.  Where before it had
been a perfect fit, now it felt scratchy and tight and I could
not wait to get home so I could take it off.
When I arrived, Mom was standing in the doorway, waiting for me.
"You came straight home?" she asked.
"Yes, Mom."
"Did you speak to anyone on the way?"
"No, Mom."
"How was it at Mrs. Reynolds' today?"
"Fine.  She gave me a place to work and I got all my homework
done."
"Wonderful!  I'm glad you got on all right.  Come in and put your
books away now.  Supper is on the table."
I wolfed down my food to be able to get to my room as soon as I
could.  Once the door was closed I stripped off my clothes.  As
my bra dropped free, the feeling of relief was incredible.  I sat
at my vanity to examine my breasts closely.  It was obvious that
they were drooping lower on my chest than before.  The tops, that
had been so rounded and full before, seemed flatter.  My nipples
were terribly stretched and had turned red where the clamps had
been applied.  I massaged them, hoping to restore some of their
elasticity, but it was no good.  They were beginning to turn into
cow teats.
I leaned forward and allowed my formerly firm, D-cup breasts to
lie on the table.  They seemed limp and flaccid, like sacks that
have only been partially filled.  The nipples hung down at the
ends and almost lay on the table.  I leaned forward more and my
elongated nipples came to rest stretched out on the vanity, as
though they were dead.  I began to cry, mourning the current
damage to and inevitable destruction of my breasts as well as the
obliteration of part of my femininity.  Mrs. Reynolds was going
to mutilate me and I had to cooperate in my own ruination.
Eventually, my tears ran dry.  I got up and put on a robe and
went to the bathroom.  I ran a hot bath and climbed in to soak my
poor breasts.  The heat helped a lot, melting away most of the
aches and soreness.  When climbed out, I felt better physically
and emotionally.
On the way back to my room, my mother stepped into the hall.  In
reflex, I snatched my robe to make sure it did not open or
otherwise give away my condition.  Mom thought I was being
modest.  She said, "It's all right, dear.  It's just us girls
here now."
I tried to smile, but I was terrified.  If I were found out, all
the suffering I had been through would have been for nothing.  I
pulled my robe around me and crossed my arms in front of me.  I
dashed past my mother and into my room, where I closed the door
behind me.  I fell on the bed and let my robe fall open, exposing
my shame to only my own eyes.
There was a knock on the door.  Mom called out, "Samantha?  Are
you all right?"
"I'm fine, Mom.  I'm not decent.  Do you mind?"
"Samantha?  Open the door dear.  I want to talk to you."
Panic time.  I couldn't keep the door closed for long.  She would
get suspicious.  I jumped out of bed and dropped the robe.  I
grabbed my bra and put it on as fast as I could.  It would hide
the damage to my breasts and Mom couldn't very well ask me to
take it off without a really good reason.  I threw the robe back
on and opened the door.
I backed away and sat on the bed as Mom came in.  I deliberately
left the robe open in front to stop her from wondering about my
excessive modesty.  'Just us girls' could sit around in our
underwear.  I only remembered after the door opened that I didn't
have any panties on.
She came right in and sat down on the bed next to me.  "Samantha,
I know you think I might be a little over-protective of you, but
I want you to know that I only have your best interests at heart.
 If I seem to be too stern with you I want you to understand that
I just want to protect you from the bad things that can happen to
a young girl like you.  You understand that, don't you?"
"Sure, Mom.  I understand."
"Then you will understand that I have to ask you about your visit
at the Reynolds' house.  I know that Mrs. Reynolds has two
teenage sons.  Did you meet them when you were there?"
"Yes.  Jim and Bud were there.  Mrs. Reynolds made sure that we
wouldn't have a chance to do anything but say hello to each
other.  And I don't think there will even be much of that after
today.  Mrs. Reynolds is even more protective of them than you
are of me, Mom."
"That's very good.  Then nothing went on between you and those
boys?"
The shocked expression on my face may as well have been a neon
sign lighting up "GUILTY" in red letters.  I was instantly
terrified that Mrs. Reynolds had called my mother and told her
about my slutty behavior with her sons.  As soon as it came, the
fear went away.  Mom would have been screaming at me at the top
of her lungs if that had been the case.  But if she didn't know
what I had done, why was she interrogating me?
"I see," she said, taking my expression for a confession.  "Very
well.  I can see that I need to talk to Mrs. Reynolds.  You wait
right here, young lady.  Don't move.  Don't get dressed."
Mom left the room and went down the hall to use the phone in the
kitchen.  I sat on my bed and wondered what was going on. 
Obviously, Mrs. Reynolds had not called Mom.  Now, Mom was
calling Mrs. Reynolds because I acted guilty when she asked me
about Jim and Bud.  Mrs. Reynolds would not tell Mom anything
because she wanted a more personal type of revenge on me for
seducing her boys.
I could not figure out why Mom told me not to get dressed.  What
did that have to do with anything?  If Mrs. Reynolds told her
what I knew she could, Mom would be furious, but surely she
wouldn't spank me.  I hadn't had a spanking in years.  Certainly
not one that required me to have a bare butt, so what was she
thinking?  By the time she came back I still had not figured it
out.
She breezed back into the room and resumed her seat at the foot
of the bed.  "Mrs. Reynolds says you were perfectly behaved when
you were there.  She said you obeyed her every instruction and
that you were a pleasure to have around."  She looked at me with
a stern expression.  "That's why this is so hard for me.  I want
to believe that nothing happened.  Mrs. Reynolds says nothing
happened.  But I have to be sure.  You understand, don't you?  I
have to be sure."
"Sure of what, Mom?"
She hung her head as though she were ashamed of what she was
thinking. "I have to be sure that those boys did not do anything
to soil you."
"What?  What are you saying?"
"Samantha, I have to check you."
"Check me for what?"
"Please don't make this any more difficult than it has to be. 
Just lie back on the bed."
"Mom?"
"Lie back, I said!"  She was bordering on hysteria.  I had to go
along with her even though I had no idea what was going on.  I
lay back on the bed with my head against the headboard and the
pillow behind my back.
"Fine.  Now spread your legs."
"What!?"
"Spread your legs, young lady!  Do as I say!"
I finally figured out what she was up to.  She wanted to check my
hymen to see if it was intact.  She was going to stick her hand
up inside me and feel to see if I was still a virgin.  I felt
cold as ice.  I pulled my knees up and spread them as far apart
as I could.  I spread the robe out on either side of me and bared
my pussy for her examination.  She reached out her hand, but I
got there first.  I slid my fingers into my pussy and pulled it
wide open for her.   She hesitated a second, then she stuck two
fingers inside me and started probing.  When she was in to the
second knuckle, I felt her hit my hymen and I jumped.  She felt
all around it and then took her hand out of me.  I lay here
looking at her.  I did not move.  I did not speak.  I just lay
there holding my sex open so my mother could satisfy herself that
I had not gotten laid.
"Thank you, Samantha.  That will do."  I let go of my pussy and
it snapped shut.  I wanted to say something to her.  I wanted to
scream at her.  I wanted to slap her.  I did nothing.  I lay
there and thought about what Mrs. Reynolds had done to me and how
none of it had been more degrading than my own mother cramming
her hand up my cunt because she was afraid I might have been
'soiled' by some nice boy's cock.
My mother left the room and closed the door behind her.  I
continued to stare at the back of the door and think about how
humiliated I felt and how I wished I were somewhere else. 
Anywhere else.  Even back with Mrs. Reynolds.
I slid down the bed so that my head was on the pillow and I
started to stroke my pussy.  I wondered if it were too soon for
Mrs. Reynolds hormone pills to be having an effect.  It didn't
matter.  At the moment, I just wanted to feel something else
besides humiliated and hateful.
I rubbed my pussy until it got dripping wet.  I put my finger
inside me and got it wet with my juices.  I used my slick finger
to rub my little clit until it was as hard as a marble.  I had
made myself horny as I could be, but I could not cum.
Frustrated, I got off the bed and dropped the robe on the floor.
I unhooked my bra and took it off, letting my breasts fall free.
Reaching into a drawer where I kept school supplies, I took out
two large binder clips and went back and lay down on the bed.  I
pressed open the strong steel clips and I stuck them on my tender
nipples.  The pain made me arch my back and writhe on the bed.  I
put both hands on my pussy and I started to rub myself furiously.
 I came in a matter of seconds.  It was the best orgasm I had had
in months.  Maybe the best ever.  I kept rubbing and gave myself
another glorious climax and then another.  When I had exhausted
my ability to cum, I lay there and savored the feeling of having
my nipples crushed in the clips.  I almost thought I could cum
from the pain, and I was disappointed when I didn't.  I
reluctantly took off the clips.  I turned out the lights and
crawled under the covers.  It was really too early to go to bed,
but I was tired and I wanted to escape into my dreams.

<1st attachment end>


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