The next day, after Cheer-leading practice, I reported to Mrs. Reynolds at the scheduled time. When I stepped into the foyer, she had me strip off everything above the waist before she took me downstairs. Leaving my sweater, blouse and bra upstairs, I walked topless down to the family room, where she attached the weights and started the timer. I wandered slowly around the room, looking for some way to take my mind off the pain and the relentless pull of the weights. I couldn't focus on anything. I just kept moving and changing position to spread the load of the weights as evenly as I could. The hour passed slowly. When the timer went off, I tried to cultivate patience while I waited for Mrs. Reynolds to come and release me. It was only a few minutes before she appeared. I was lying on the bench with my arms behind my head and the weights hanging down on either side of the bench, pulling my breasts apart and down. My eyes were red from the pain, but I wasn't crying. When she came in, I sat up carefully and waited for her.
Mrs. Reynolds looked at my nipples where the clamps were attached, apparently satisfying herself that they had not been removed and reattached. "Very well, you may take them off," she told me. I released the clamps and let the weights drop to the bench. I crossed my arms over my aching breasts and doubled over. After a minute, I straightened up and returned the weights to the shelf. Mrs. Reynolds watched as I went to the desk and started in on my studying, then she went back upstairs. The rest of the afternoon passed quickly. I was again watching TV when my mother called to tell Mrs. Reynolds that she was home.
As promised, when I went back upstairs to get dressed, Mrs. Reynolds helped me into me a new bra with larger cups. It was much more comfortable to wear than my old one. It was a better quality bra than my old one, too. It was also much prettier, a small consolation that I was surprised to find meant quite a bit to me.
The rest of the week passed without a change in the routine except for the predicted effects of the hormone pills that I continued to take every day. My voice became less husky and sounded higher-pitched in my ears. My pubic hair became so thick and bushy that I considered trimming it or even shaving it — something that I was certain would infuriate my mother in the extreme.
I seemed to be much more aware of my pussy than I had ever been before. I found myself thinking about sex all the time. I started going into the girls' restroom at school two, three, and then four times a day to masturbate. This almost got me into trouble a few times because my orgasms were becoming stronger and lasting longer. If I took too long to cum in the restroom stall, I would get to my next class late. Often, I would sit through the first part of a class with my eyes glazed over and my clit throbbing in my panties, which seemed to be damp with juice all the time. I started taking them off and going bare under my skirt so my pussy would not get itchy from the damp. Once, forgot to put them back on before cheer-leading practice and spent the whole practice doing the exercises, jumps, and tumbling without remembering. No one said anything at the time, but I noticed later that practice started drawing a larger number of onlookers; mostly boys.
My breasts seemed to be getting heavier even as they were getting longer and limper. My nipples developed a constant tingle and I was always trying to sneak a hand under my top to rub them. I seemed to be weaker and I had to work harder at cheer-leading practice to stay in shape to do the stunts and routines. Even my mother commented on how I seemed to be changing from a tomboy into a very feminine young lady.
Through all this I dutifully reported to Mrs. Reynolds every day after school or practice. After the first couple of days, she let me attach and remove the nipple clamps myself, under her supervision. That was good, because I could put them in a slightly different place each day and that eased the soreness afterward.
After the first week, she even stopped monitoring my weight sessions, expecting me to keep to the schedule on my own. I was very careful not to abuse the privilege and I was meticulous about setting the timer and not letting the weights be supported in whatever position I assumed. I vividly remembered the first day when I was trapped on the weight machine and could not move at all. It was so much better when I could shift around to different positions so that the strain was not all on one part of my chest.
Every day when the weights came off, my nipples were a little longer and my breasts drooped a little more. This went on for the better part of two weeks. It was Thursday of the second week when things began to change.
I walked to the house at the end of the road as usual and pushed the doorbell. Mrs. Reynolds opened the door only a second or two after I rang the bell.
"Come in, Samantha. How are you today?" She had on a sheer blouse that draped over her hips and hung down to mid-thigh. She wore it as a short dress, unbuttoned, with a matching belt tied in front, holding it around her hips. It was open all the way to her navel and displayed her cleavage completely. I wondered if this was the fifth or the sixth outfit she had worn that day.