I tugged the back strap clasp around to her front, the udders now free, nipples dark and hard and dripping. Slowly, looking into her eyes, the tears f...owing on her cheeks as she sniffled, I began to undo each of the five little hooks, one at a time, enjoying the sensation of the tension releasing in each hook. AsI pulled the last hook, I dropped the mutilated boulder holder to the floor. There they were. My udders. Not only in my mind, but on paper, in writing, I am now the sole and rightful. I still got the strap almost every day, sometimes several times a day, but now, for some reason, I could not withhold tears and found myself weeping every single time. It seemed that Miss Gallacher was making up for all the time She'd lost and was blaming me for anything that went wrong even when it was nothing to do with me! The pain of the strappings was bad enough, but when my heartthrob Penelope sneered that I was "just like a girl" because I cried so much I was crushed even more. I still. More

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