Kelly had always been a reserved girl, content to keep to herself as she navigated the bustling campus of her university. At 18, she was still finding her footing in the world, balancing classes, a part-time job, and the occasional social engagement with her small circle of friends. Despite her introverted nature, Kelly had a quiet determination about her – she was driven to succeed and make the most of her college experience.
One day, while walking across campus, Kelly noticed a flyer tacked to a bulletin board. It caught her eye because of its bold headline: “Earn Money Participating in a Scientific Study!” Curious, Kelly stepped closer to read the details. The study was being conducted by the university’s psychology department and involved investigating female sexual response, specifically focusing on nipple and breast stimulation.
Kelly felt a flush rise to her cheeks as she read the description. She had never really explored this aspect of her own sexuality, and the idea of participating in such a study made her both nervous and intrigued. The flyer promised a generous compensation for participants, which definitely piqued Kelly’s interest. She was always looking for ways to earn extra money, and this seemed like an unusual but potentially lucrative opportunity.
After a moment’s hesitation, Kelly tore off one of the tabs at the bottom of the flyer with the contact information. She tucked it into her pocket, unsure if she would actually follow up but wanting to keep the option open. As she continued on her way to class, Kelly couldn’t help but wonder what the study would entail and whether she had the courage to sign up.
Kelly stood outside the psychology lab, clutching the tab from the flyer in her hand. She had spent the entire day thinking about the study, weighing the potential benefits against her reservations. The promise of extra money had ultimately won out, and now she found herself taking a deep breath and pushing open the door.
Inside, the lab looked much like any other university office – sterile, functional, and devoid of personality. A receptionist sat behind a desk, typing away on her computer. She looked up as Kelly entered, raising an eyebrow.
“Can I help you?” she asked, her tone neutral.
Kelly hesitated for a moment before speaking. “I’m here to sign up as a test subject,” she said, trying to sound confident. “For the breast stimulation study.”
The receptionist nodded without surprise. “Okay, let me just grab the paperwork.” She handed Kelly a clipboard with a multi-page form attached. “Please fill this out completely. It includes some personal and medical history questions.”
As Kelly began filling out the form, she realized that some of the questions were quite invasive. They asked about her sexual history, including frequency of masturbation and number of partners. There were also detailed questions about her menstrual cycle and any past experiences with nipple or breast sensitivity. Kelly felt her cheeks flush as she answered each question as honestly as possible, wondering who would be reading this information.
Once she finished, Kelly returned the clipboard to the receptionist, trying not to make eye contact. “Thank you,” the woman said, barely glancing at the form. “Someone will be with you shortly.”
A few minutes later, a nurse in crisp white scrubs emerged from the back. “Kelly? Please come with me.” She led Kelly down a short hallway lined with doors, stopping at one marked “Exam Room 3.
The nurse handed Kelly a thin, disposable gown made of a lightweight material, similar to paper but slightly more durable. “Please remove all of your clothing and put this on,” she instructed. “The opening should be in the front.”
Kelly took the gown, feeling a surge of nervousness as she realized it was designed to leave her breasts exposed. The gown itself was essentially a sleeveless vest with a circular cutout for the head and two armholes. When Kelly slipped it on, she found that the neckline plunged deeply, leaving her breasts completely uncovered.
Moreover, the back of the gown was completely open, exposing her bare buttocks. There were no ties or fasteners to secure it closed, leaving Kelly feeling vulnerable and exposed from both front and back.
“This is … quite an unusual gown,” Kelly ventured, trying to cover herself with her hands.
“It’s specifically designed for our study,” the nurse explained matter-of-factly. “We need easy access to your breasts for testing. Please sit down on the exam table, and we’ll get started soon.”
Kelly perched gingerly on the edge of the table, acutely aware of her exposed body. She couldn’t help but wonder what the next steps of the study would involve and whether she had made a huge mistake by signing up.
Just as Kelly was starting to feel like she’d been waiting forever, the door to the exam room opened and a man walked in. He was tall, with chiseled features and piercing blue eyes that seemed to see right through her. Kelly felt a flutter in her chest as he smiled, his lips curling up in a way that made her heart skip a beat.
“Hello, Kelly,” he said, his voice deep and smooth. “My name is Dr. James. I’ll be leading your sessions here at the lab.”
Kelly tried to return his greeting, but all that came out was a nervous squeak. She was intensely aware of how exposed she was with her breasts bare and her bottom hanging out of the open-backed gown.
Dr. James seemed oblivious to her discomfort as he began explaining the purpose of the study. “As you know, we’re investigating female sexual response, specifically focusing on nipple and breast stimulation. We use a variety of techniques to measure physical responses, such as changes in nipple hardness, breast swelling, and even milk production in some cases.”
He paused, his eyes flicking down to Kelly’s exposed chest before returning to her face. “I want to confirm that you understand what this study entails and that you are giving your full consent to participate. You can withdraw at any time if you become uncomfortable.”
Kelly nodded eagerly, trying to ignore the heat rising to her cheeks. “Yes, I understand. I’m happy to participate.”
Dr. James smiled again, seeming pleased by her response. “Excellent. Moving forward, for our records, we’ll be referring to you as Subject 112. Is that acceptable to you?”
Kelly hesitated for a moment before nodding again. “Yes, that’s fine.”
Dr. James stepped closer to Kelly, his eyes fixed intently on her exposed breasts. “Let’s start with a basic examination,” he said, reaching out to cup one of her breasts in his hand.
Kelly felt a jolt of surprise at the casual way he handled her, as if her body were just another specimen to be studied. His touch was professional but firm, and she couldn’t help but notice the way his fingers brushed against her nipple, sending a shiver through her.
“Hmm, nice size and shape,” Dr. James murmured, seemingly talking to himself rather than to Kelly. “Subject 112 has moderately sized breasts, approximately B-cup. Nipples appear to be fairly sensitive…”
As he spoke, he began manipulating Kelly’s nipples between his thumb and forefinger, rolling them gently back and forth. Kelly gasped softly at the sensation, feeling her nipples begin to harden under his touch.
“Good response,” Dr. James noted, still not looking at Kelly’s face. “We’ll need to take some measurements.” He reached for a tape measure on the counter and began wrapping it around Kelly’s bust, taking note of the circumference.
Throughout the examination, Dr. James continued to discuss Kelly’s body as if she weren’t present, using clinical terms to describe every aspect of her anatomy. It was both fascinating and unsettling to hear herself talked about in such a detached way, as if she were just a collection of body parts rather than a person with thoughts and feelings.
To her dismay as the examination continued, Kelly found herself growing increasingly aroused by Dr. James’ touch, despite the clinical nature of the encounter. She tried to push the feeling aside, telling herself this was just a scientific study, but she couldn’t deny that the tingling sensation in her breasts was causing a growing heat between her legs.
Dr. James turned his attention to the breast pump device, carefully preparing it for use. “Now, Subject 112, we’ll be testing your response to stimulation using this apparatus,” he explained, his voice clinical and detached.
As he approached Kelly with the clear plastic cylinders, she felt a surge of nervousness. The devices looked intimidating, and she couldn’t help but wonder what they would feel like attached to her sensitive nipples.
Without asking permission or warning her, Dr. James lifted one of Kelly’s breasts and fitted the cylinder over her nipple. There was a soft whooshing sound as the seal formed, followed by a gentle tug as the suction began. Kelly gasped at the sensation – it was both strange and oddly pleasant, like having her nipple gently pulled.
The second cylinder was attached in the same manner, resulting in another soft whoosh and an increase in the pulling sensation. Kelly could feel her nipples being drawn into the cylinders, stretched slightly by the suction. It was an unfamiliar feeling, but not entirely unpleasant.
As the machine hummed softly to life, Kelly realized that she had the power to stop this at any time. She could simply ask Dr. James to remove the devices and end the session. But something about the way she was being treated – like a specimen rather than a person – made her hesitate. It was as if her desires and boundaries didn’t matter, and all that counted was the data they were collecting.
Before starting the test, Dr. James warned, “Initially, you may experience some discomfort as your body adjusts to the stimulation. However, most subjects report that it quickly becomes pleasurable.”
Dr. James adjusted the settings on the control unit, and the breast pump sprang to life. A low, rhythmic humming filled the air as the cylinders began to alternate in suction, gently tugging on Kelly’s nipples with each pulse.
At first, the sensation was decidedly uncomfortable. Kelly’s nipples felt like they were being stretched and elongated with each cycle, sending sharp tingles through her breasts. She let out a small gasp, surprised by the intensity of the feeling.
The nurse, who had been quietly observing from the corner of the room, stepped forward with what almost seemed like a hint of condescension in her smile. “It’s okay, dear. Just bear with it for a minute or two. I’m sure you’ll be enjoying yourself shortly.”
Embarrassed, Kelly bit her lip, trying to focus on her breathing as the machine continued its gentle but insistent pulling. It was an odd mixture of sensations – the slight pain of her nipples being stretched mingled with a growing warmth spreading through her breasts.
As the seconds ticked by, Kelly began to feel a subtle shift. The discomfort wasn’t exactly fading, but it was becoming less noticeable as a new sensation started to emerge. Her nipples were starting to harden further, and she could feel a tingling in the pit of her stomach that she couldn’t quite ignore.
Dr. James leaned in closer to examine the cylinders more intently, his face mere inches from Kelly’s breasts. His eyes were fixed on the clear plastic tubes, watching with obvious fascination as her nipples stretched and released with each pulse of the pump.
“Subject 112’s nipples are elongating to approximately 1.5 times their resting length,” he murmured, making a note on his clipboard. “Promising elasticity. This bodes well for our testing.”
Kelly felt a deep flush spread across her cheeks as she realized that they could see the way her nipples were stretching, the delicate pink skin pulling taut with each cycle. She couldn’t explain why it made her feel so much more vulnerable, but there was something intensely humiliating about having this intimate part of her body not only manipulated but also scrutinized so closely.
In the moment, she wished she could hide, but instead she found herself mesmerized by the sight, watching as her nipples hardened further with each pulse. She felt like she should look away, but she couldn’t tear her gaze from the hypnotic rhythm of the pump and the way it was manipulating her body.
As the minutes ticked by, Kelly found herself becoming increasingly entranced by the sensation of the breast pump. What had initially been uncomfortable was gradually giving way to a warm, tingling feeling that spread throughout her breasts. Her nipples continued to harden and stretch with each cycle, but now the sensation was becoming decidedly pleasurable.
The room seemed to fade away, leaving only the sound of the pump and the gentle tug on her nipples. Kelly felt herself relaxing into the sensation, her initial embarrassment giving way to a growing arousal. Her breath quickened slightly as she realized just how much she was starting to enjoy this.
Dr. James observed the change in Kelly’s demeanor and made another note on his clipboard. “Subject 112 appears to have reached the pleasure threshold at approximately 7 minutes post-initiation. Nipple hardness has increased significantly, and respirations are becoming more rapid.”
The nurse stepped forward, smiling down at Kelly with a sweet expression. “You’re doing so well, 112,” she cooed, reaching out to pat Kelly gently on the head. “Such a good girl.”
Kelly felt like the nurse’s tone was almost patronizing, but in the moment she was so enthralled by the stimulation of the pump that she found comfort in it. With her doubts surrounding this whole ordeal, it was reassuring to know she was doing a good job at least.
Dr. James adjusted the settings on the breast pump, increasing the intensity and rhythm of the suction. The cylinders began to pull more firmly on Kelly’s nipples, sending waves of pleasure coursing through her body. She could feel her arousal growing, making it harder to maintain her composure.
The sound of the pump grew louder, a steady whooshing punctuated by the soft slurping of the suction cups as they worked Kelly’s nipples. She bit her lip, trying to focus on her breathing as her body responded eagerly to the increased stimulation.
“We’re going to try something new, Subject 112,” Dr. James said, turning to the nurse. “Please begin massaging the subject’s breasts to see how that affects her response.”
The nurse nodded and stepped closer to Kelly, placing her hands on either side of the clear plastic cylinders. Gently but firmly, she began kneading Kelly’s breasts, her fingers working in circles around the areolae.
Kelly let out a strangled gasp at the sensation. The combination of the pump and the nurse’s touch was almost too much to bear. Her breath came in short pants now as she felt herself being pushed to the edge of an orgasm.
Desperate to maintain some semblance of control, Kelly squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her fists, trying to will away the growing heat between her legs. But it was no use – she could feel the familiar tension coiling tighter and tighter in her lower abdomen, threatening to release at any moment.
“Subject 112 appears to be responding very well to the added stimulation,” Dr. James observed, his voice detached and clinical. “We’re seeing significant increases in nipple hardness and breast swelling. The subject is also exhibiting signs of impending orgasm.”
Kelly heard his words as if from a distance, too caught up in her own rising ecstasy to care about what they thought. All she knew was that she had to hold on just a little longer, desperate to not let herself cum in front of these strangers.
Just as Kelly felt like she was about to tip over the edge into orgasm, Dr. James reached out and switched off the breast pump. The sudden cessation of stimulation left her feeling bereft and frustrated, her body thrumming with unfulfilled desire.
Kelly sat panting, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. She felt dizzy and disoriented, the room spinning slightly around her. Her nipples still tingled with arousal, the cylinders having been removed, but the sensation lingered.
The nurse stepped forward, smiling warmly at Kelly as she gently stroked her hair. “You did wonderfully, 112,” she cooed, her voice soft and soothing. “Such a good girl, following instructions perfectly. I’m so proud of you.”
Kelly leaned into the nurse’s touch, craving comfort after the intense experience she’d just endured. Her mind was hazy with desire and confusion, unsure of how to process what had just happened.
As Kelly stood up from the examination table, she noticed a coolness spreading across her inner thighs. Before she could even process what was happening, she heard the nurse let out a low, amused chuckle.
“Doctor, it seems Subject 112 had quite an enthusiastic sexual response to our test,” the nurse said, nodding towards the examination table.
Dr. James turned to look, his eyes widening slightly in interest as he took in the sight of the puddle forming on the vinyl surface where Kelly had been sitting.
Kelly felt her face flame with embarrassment as she realized what had happened. She had never been so turned on in her life, and now the proof of her arousal was there for everyone to see. Mortified, she wanted to shrink away and hide.
Dr. James stepped closer to the table, peering at the puddle with a clinical interest that only added to Kelly’s humiliation. “Fascinating,” he murmured, reaching out a gloved hand to collect a small sample of the fluid on his finger. He held it up to the light, examining it closely.
“This is one of the most intense sexual responses we’ve seen yet,” Dr. James commented, his voice filled with professional detachment. “The viscosity and volume are well above average. This will be very useful for our study.”
Kelly cringed at his words, feeling like a specimen under a microscope. She had never felt so objectified and humiliated in her life. The fact that her own body had betrayed her like this only made it worse.
“I … I’m sorry,” she stammered, trying to find the words to express how mortified she felt.
The nurse patted Kelly gently on the shoulder, her expression softening slightly. “No need to apologize, dear. This is exactly what we were hoping to see. You’ve done wonderfully.”
As soon as Dr. James finished collecting his sample and making notes, Kelly knew she was ready to get out of there. She couldn’t wait to go home and try to forget this whole humiliating experience.
But before she could make her escape, Dr. James turned to her with a serious expression. “Subject 112, while you’re participating in this study, we’d like you to continue stimulating your breasts at home to help us gather more data. We’ll provide you with a breast pump similar to the one used here today.”
He nodded to the nurse, who produced a small box containing a personal-use breast pump. It looked almost identical to the machine Kelly had just been attached to, albeit smaller and more portable.
“We want you to use this pump twice a day for the next week,” Dr. James instructed. “Each session should last about 20-30 minutes. Make sure to clean the device thoroughly after each use.”
Kelly took the box hesitantly, unsure if she was really ready to commit to continuing this at home. But something about the way Dr. James spoke made her feel like she didn’t have much choice.
“When do I need to come back?” Kelly asked, still trying to process everything.
“Please return to the lab in one week for further testing,” Dr. James replied. “We’ll assess how your body has responded to the continued stimulation and proceed from there.”
With that, Kelly was free to leave. The nurse showed her out of the exam room, patting her on the shoulder once more as she handed Kelly her clothes. “Remember, Subject 112, don’t hesitate to contact us if you have any questions or concerns. And good luck with your at-home pumping!”
With that Kelly quickly dressed herself eager to put as much distance between herself and the lab as possible. As soon as the door closed behind her Kelly let out a sigh of relief.
As soon as Kelly walked through the front door of her apartment, she headed straight for her bedroom. She couldn’t wait to collapse onto her bed and try to make sense of the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside her.
Flopping down onto the soft mattress, Kelly stared up at the ceiling, replaying every mortifying moment of her experience at the lab. She could hardly believe she had allowed herself to be exposed and touched so intimately by complete strangers. It seemed surreal now – had she really sat naked except for that flimsy gown, letting them attach pumps to her nipples and observe her reactions?
But even as shame and embarrassment warred for dominance within her, Kelly knew she couldn’t deny another feeling. Despite the humiliation and discomfort, the physical sensations triggered by the breast pump had been intense. Her body was still thrumming with desire, a steady pulse between her legs reminding her of how close she’d come to climax before being stopped short.
With a restless sigh, Kelly shifted onto her side, bringing one hand down to rest lightly over her crotch. Through her jeans, she could feel the heat radiating from her core, tempting her fingers to explore further.
The quiet solitude of her apartment, combined with the lingering arousal from her earlier experience, proved too much for Kelly’s resistance. Before she could second-guess herself, she found herself slipping off her clothes and heading for the table where she’d placed the breast pump.
With a sense of resignation mixed with anticipation, Kelly set up the device according to the instructions provided. She positioned the cylinders carefully over her nipples, feeling the same mixture of nervousness and curiosity she’d experienced at the lab.
As she flipped the switch and the machine sprang to life, Kelly closed her eyes, bracing herself for the initial discomfort. Sure enough, the suction tugged firmly on her nipples, causing her to gasp softly. But this time, alone in the safety of her own space, she allowed herself to relax into the sensation.
Gradually, as the minutes passed, the rhythmic pumping became almost hypnotic. The gentle tug on her nipples sent waves of pleasure coursing through her breasts, seeping down into her core. Her body, still thrumming from its earlier frustration, began to respond eagerly to the stimulation.
Kelly felt her anxiety and uncertainty begin to melt away as she focused solely on the physical sensations spreading through her. Her breath deepened, falling into a steady rhythm that matched the pulsing of the pump. With each passing moment, she could feel her inhibitions dropping away, leaving her open and vulnerable – yet somehow liberated.
In the silence of her apartment, surrounded by the familiar comforts of home, Kelly allowed herself to surrender completely to the pleasure. There was no clinical gaze upon her here, no need to maintain any pretense of dignity or control.
As Kelly continued to pump her breasts, she found one hand slipping down between her legs almost unconsciously while the other supported the weight of the pump attached to her chest. The fingers from that lower hand lightly grazing against her wet crotch sparked an intense shockwave of pleasure surging upward and intertwining with what was emanating from her breasts. Without realizing it at first, she had begun gently rubbing herself in circular motions around her clitoris.
The dual sensations created by both the pump’s stimulation of her nipples, coupled with her own masturbation, left Kelly in a state of mind-numbing bliss. All thoughts regarding humiliation and reservations simply melted away being replaced with the singular desire to reach climax from the now unstoppable urges washing over her. Breathy gasps escaped her lips, getting louder with each passing second. Kelly no longer cared about making noise.
She spread her legs wide apart, allowing for better access as she started pumping 3 fingers into her dripping pussy. Her moans became high-pitched cries of unadulterated rapture while Kelly continued using the breast pump to intensify the experience, varying pressure settings occasionally to add another layer of unpredictability, keeping her heightened senses sharp and her nerve endings sizzling.
As Kelly’s pleasure built to a crescendo, she felt an overwhelming rush of ecstasy flood through her body. Her muscles tensed, toes curling as a wave of release crashed over her like a tidal wave. She cried out loudly, completely lost in the intensity of her orgasm.
Only when the spasms began to subside did Kelly start to come back to herself. As her awareness slowly returned, she realized that her body was still tingling all over. But alongside the pleasant afterglow of satisfaction, Kelly noticed something else – a spreading wetness on the surface below her.
Looking down in horror, Kelly saw that she had ejaculated forcefully during her climax, soaking a significant area around where she lay. A mixture of shock and disgust washed over her at the sight, followed quickly by a deep flush of embarrassment.
“Oh my god,” Kelly breathed, mortified. “What have I done?”
In her state of arousal, Kelly hadn’t even considered the possibility of female ejaculation. Now faced with the evidence, she felt like a naughty child who’d made an uncontrolled mess. The realization sparked conflicting emotions within her – a thrill at having experienced something so intense, but also shame and humiliation at losing control so completely.
With trembling hands, Kelly reached for some tissues to start cleaning up the spill. As she dabbed awkwardly at the wet spot, trying not to spread it further, she couldn’t help but wonder what the researchers would think if they knew about this little development. The thought petrified yet excited her in equal measure.
Over the next few days, Kelly settled into a new routine centered around her breast pumping sessions. Each morning as she ate breakfast, she’d sit at her kitchen table with the pump attached to her breasts, watching the cylinders work their magic as she munched on cereal or toast. It was a surreal experience – somehow both deeply intimate and bizarrely mundane.
At first, the sensation was still somewhat jarring. Kelly’s nipples would tingle as they were stretched by the suction, sending waves of pleasure coursing through her chest. She quickly grew accustomed to the feeling though, finding herself anticipating each session with a mix of excitement and trepidation.
In the evenings, after finishing her homework or watching TV, Kelly would retire to her bedroom for her second pumping session of the day. Often, she found herself stripping naked out of habit, enjoying the freedom of not having any clothes constricting her sensitive breasts. The quiet whirring of the machine became a lulling sound, almost hypnotic as it worked its magic in the silence of her room.
As the days passed, Kelly noticed that the pumping seemed to be affecting her overall mood and energy levels. She felt more relaxed than usual, despite the added stress of balancing schoolwork with her role as a test subject. Her dreams also became increasingly vivid and erotic, leaving her waking up in the mornings with a pleasant buzz of arousal lingering between her legs.
Despite these changes, Kelly couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that something was off about all this. Pumping her breasts twice a day should have felt weird or wrong somehow, but instead it just felt … normal now. Normal and oddly satisfying.
By the third evening, as she sat naked on her bed, listening to the gentle rhythm of the pump, Kelly realized that she no longer questioned whether using the device was “right” or “wrong.” It had simply become an integral part of her daily routine, like brushing her teeth or taking a shower.
On the fourth day of her new pumping regimen, Kelly found herself sitting in the library surrounded by classmates, pouring over notes and textbooks as they worked on a group project. What started out as a productive afternoon soon stretched into the early hours of evening, and as the sun dipped below the horizon outside, Kelly began to feel an inexplicable restlessness creeping in.
As they discussed topics and divvied up tasks, Kelly’s mind started wandering back home – specifically, to her breast pump waiting quietly on her bedside table. She imagined the way the cylinders would attach snugly to her nipples, the soft whirring sound filling the air as they began their rhythmic work.
A flutter of anticipation mixed with guilt twisted in her stomach. Kelly knew intellectually that missing one pumping session wouldn’t be the end of the world, but somehow, she couldn’t shake off the feeling of obligation settling upon her shoulders.
She glanced around at her engrossed classmates, the words on the pages blurring before her eyes as she wrestled with indecision. But it wasn’t much of a battle – deep down, Kelly already knew what she needed to do.
“Hey guys, I’m sorry,” Kelly said abruptly, pushing her chair back from the table. “I just remembered something important I need to take care of at home.”
Her friends looked up at her in surprise, clearly taken aback by her sudden decision to leave. “Everything okay?” one asked.
“Yeah, everything’s fine,” Kelly replied quickly, gathering her belongings. “Just … personal stuff. Sorry for cutting out early.”
Without waiting for further questions or comments, Kelly stood up and hurried out of the study room. She felt guilty about abandoning her group so suddenly, but the growing anxiety clawing at her insides pushed aside any thought of explanation or justification.
As she walked home through the cool night air, Kelly mentally chastised herself for leaving like that. Her friends were probably confused and maybe even annoyed with her abrupt departure.
The moment Kelly stepped into her apartment, she shed her clothes hastily, letting them fall to the floor in a scattered heap. The air felt cooler against her skin, heightening her awareness of every sensation as she moved towards her bedroom.
With almost urgent desire, Kelly retrieved the breast pump from her bedside table and began setting it up. Each movement seemed choreographed, like a ritual she’d performed many times before – though in reality, this was only her fourth session.
Once the cylinders were securely attached to her nipples, Kelly switched on the device. That familiar whooshing sound filled the quiet of her room, followed immediately by the gentle tug of the suction cups working their magic.
As the rhythmic pumping began, Kelly felt an almost palpable wave of relief wash over her. It started at her breasts, spreading outward through her entire body until even the tension in her shoulders began to ease. Her eyelids drooped contentedly as she breathed deeply, letting the steady rhythm lull her into a state of profound relaxation.
All remnants of anxiety or guilt dissipated within moments. Any worries about skipping out on her study group or being late seemed distant and unimportant now. In this moment, nothing mattered except the sensations coursing through her sensitive nipples, the soft hum of the machine echoing in the silence, and the overwhelming sense of rightness that had taken hold of her.
Yes, this was where she needed to be. Right here, alone with her thoughts and the tender ministrations of the breast pump. Everything else faded away – schoolwork, friends, responsibilities – leaving only a singular focus on the pleasure building steadily in her chest.
Kelly let herself sink deeper into the experience, savoring each gentle tug on her elongating nipples. She’d been so worried earlier about neglecting some imagined obligation to the researchers, but in truth, there was no greater duty than honoring her own desires. And right now, all she desired was this – the peace, the pleasure, and the absolute certainty that she was exactly where she belonged.
On the fifth morning, as Kelly got ready for another day of classes, she noticed something different about her breasts. Her nipples felt particularly sensitive today, almost throbbing beneath her clothes. Even the light touch of fabric against them sent tiny sparks of pleasure mixed with discomfort coursing through her chest.
Throughout her first few classes, Kelly struggled to focus on the lectures. Every time she shifted slightly in her seat, the friction of her bra against her overly-sensitive nipples made her wince inwardly. She couldn’t concentrate on the professor’s words, too preoccupied by the constant barrage of sensations assaulting her senses.
It wasn’t until lunchtime, while chatting with friends in the cafeteria, that someone finally commented on Kelly’s obvious distraction.
“Hey, you okay?” one friend asked, noticing how frequently Kelly fidgeted. “You seem a bit out of it today.”
Kelly hesitated before answering, unsure how much to reveal. “Yeah, I’m fine,” she said quickly. “Just … uh … having trouble sleeping lately, I guess.”
Her friends seemed to buy the excuse, but Kelly could tell they didn’t fully believe her. She spent the rest of the afternoon grappling with self-consciousness over her body’s betrayal, praying no one would notice the subtle but persistent arousal making itself known.
As soon as she arrived back at her apartment after classes ended, Kelly practically tore off her clothes in relief. Standing naked in front of the mirror, she gingerly touched her nipples, testing their sensitivity. They did indeed feel more delicate than usual, responding eagerly even to the lightest caress of her fingertips.
As she gently manipulated them, stretching each nipple away from its areola, Kelly had an unsettling thought: Did they look longer? She peered closer into the mirror, comparing left to right. It was hard to be sure – the difference, if any, was minuscule.
As Kelly stood before her open closet the next morning, she hesitated over which bra to choose. Her nipples still felt extremely sensitive from yesterday’s trials, and the thought of confining them within a regular bra was unappealing. At the same time, she wasn’t ready to give up wearing a bra altogether – it seemed too revealing, especially for a day filled with classes and potentially running into acquaintances.
Her eyes landed on a delicate open-cup bra she hadn’t worn in ages. It was designed more for aesthetic appeal than practicality, with slender straps and sheer lace that left the nipples entirely exposed. Kelly had always found it a bit too daring for everyday wear, but desperate times called for desperate measures.
She slipped on the bra, wincing slightly as the fabric settled around her breasts. To her relief, the open cups put no pressure on her sensitive nipples, allowing them to remain uncovered and unconfined. Kelly breathed a sigh of gratitude – at least this bra wouldn’t exacerbate her discomfort like others might.
However, as she began getting dressed in her usual casual attire, Kelly discovered a new challenge. The soft cotton of her shirt brushed lightly against her exposed nipples, creating a subtle friction that sent tiny sparks of sensation through her breasts. It wasn’t exactly painful, but it was certainly distracting.
Throughout the morning, Kelly found herself acutely aware of every movement she made. Whether walking across campus, reaching for books on a high shelf, or simply shifting in her seat during lectures, her nipples seemed to be responding eagerly to each gentle caress from her clothing. By lunchtime, Kelly felt both relieved that she’d chosen the open-cup bra and frustrated by its unintended consequences. She couldn’t decide whether the stimulation was pleasant or annoying, only knowing that she couldn’t ignore it.
In addition when she caught glimpses of herself in mirrors and windows throughout the day, each reflection showing the outline of her peaked nipples pushing gently against her shirt. A deep flush would spread across her cheeks as she realized how noticeable they were becoming.
Kelly walked home from campus on autopilot, her mind preoccupied with conflicting thoughts about her growing awareness of her own body. On one hand, there was something undeniably thrilling about being so attuned to every subtle sensation in her breasts – the brush of fabric against her skin, the gentle tug of gravity, the rhythmic pounding of her heart echoing through her chest.
But at the same time, this newfound sensitivity made every moment feel intensely erotic. She could hardly walk across the quad without getting slightly aroused from the bounce of her unconfined nipples against her shirt. It was frustrating, knowing that she couldn’t simply enjoy a casual stroll or attend class without being distracted by these constant physical reminders of her own arousal.
Adding to her frustration was the nagging sense of unease creeping in whenever she thought about returning home late from her obligations. Just a few days ago, skipping a pumping session wouldn’t have bothered Kelly nearly as much. Now, however, she found herself worrying incessantly about maintaining her regular routine.
Why did it matter so much whether she used the pump precisely at breakfast and bedtime? Why did her mind begin racing with anxiety at the mere possibility of being late?
The answers eluded her, but the emotions persisted. By the time Kelly reached her apartment, she felt a knot of tension forming between her shoulder blades – equal parts sexual desire and nervous irritation.
As soon as Kelly stepped into her apartment, she shed her clothes almost mindlessly, still lost in thought about her conflicting emotions. It wasn’t until she was standing naked before the mirror, reaching for the breast pump, that she realized she’d made no conscious decision to do so – her actions were now guided by habit rather than deliberation.
With a twinge of unease, Kelly attached the cylinders to her nipples, switching on the device without hesitation. As the familiar whooshing sound filled the air and the suction cups began their gentle work, she felt a small spark of anxiety flare within her. How had this become second nature? When had using the breast pump become something she did without even thinking?
But those questions were quickly submerged beneath a wave of intense relaxation washing over her body. The rhythmic tugging on her nipples, the way the machine seemed to be pulling everything else in the world away, leaving only the present moment … it all felt so right, so normal.
Kelly let out a shuddering sigh as she sank onto the edge of her bed, giving herself over fully to the sensations coursing through her breasts. Her eyes drifted shut as she focused inward, letting go of every care or worry about what this meant or where it was leading.
In this space, nothing mattered except the steady pulse of the pump, the tender stretch of her nipples, and the building warmth spreading through her entire being. She didn’t need to think; she just needed to feel.
As the minutes slipped by, Kelly’s thoughts untangled themselves, floating away like wisps of smoke until her mind was quiet and still. All that remained was her body, alive with sensation yet paradoxically at peace.