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.