Chapter 1

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 18^th 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.