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Wednesday 8 October 2014

Doctor's Visit 25 - 4 - Compression Test

Doctor's Visit 25 - 4 - Compression Test

The next part of my examination was a compression test to assess the malleability of my body, and its capacity to be formed into different shapes when put under pressure from a selection of bindings. Dr Forrest came over with two big rolls of two inch wide, elasticated bandage, like the ones they use to strap up sprained ankles, and began wrapping it round one of my breasts while the nurse supported its weight. “This will make your fat boobs nice and tiny again,” explained the doctor, “just like a teenager, and no-one will be able to tell you’ve just had them drained of all that milk. That’s an unfortunate side effect of lactating, Katie, big boobs getting all swollen up, and then squeezed out till they’re flat and empty, so we’ll build you a pair of teenage torpedoes to start with, then later we’ll bind them again to a childish flat chest with cute little breast buds.”

As the doctor wrapped the material tightly round the base of the globe, working her way down its length towards my nipple, by the time she reached half way, my breast was swollen and tight near the end, the teat dripping with milk. Nurse Sandra sorted that out for me, with a flat bar clamp over the nipple, tightening the screws till the milk stopped leaking out entirely.

It only took them a few minutes to cover my breast completely, with the end crisscrossed so a swollen aureole and clamped nipple were all that showed, every piece of bandage tugged and stretched to create an all over, constant pressure. The end result was indeed a torpedo, though lacking the curves and contours of a natural breast, it looked completely artificial, especially in contrast to the other side, which now seemed even more flat and deflated than before. This inequality was soon remedied by binding the other breast just as tightly, creating an identical torpedo shape, complete with a silver clamp to prevent my nipple from leaking, and aching just as badly as the first.

In order to check they were both wrapped securely, Dr Forrest had me shake my chest from side to side, producing just a slight jiggle in my lengthened tubes, followed by bending and straightening my knees to bounce them up and down, which was more exaggerated than it was side to side. Finally, she had me doing jumping jacks, and this set up quite a bounce in the tightly wrapped flesh, stiffened by the bandages so that all the pressure was exerted onto my chest, feeling as if my titties were being ripped away from my ribs. Even after the tears were running down my cheeks, the doctor had me perform another dozen jumps before I was allowed to stop, then she had the nurse help her find out how far they could move my breasts manually, pulling them in all directions as she made notes about the stress lines in my skin.

Leaving the bandages compressing my breasts, Dr Forrest brought over a beautiful light blue satin corset, holding it beneath my bust line as she wrapped it round my body while the nurse fastened two rows of hooks to secure it in place. The front came down to a point on top of my smooth pubic mound, the edges swept up above my hip bones, and then plunged into the cleft of my bottom stopping well past the tail bone. It was a totally different style to the corset I’d been fitted with at my last milestone exam, supporting my breasts with a small shelf, while covering half of my pubis instead of framing it with the satin, and cut much higher at the hip.

I obediently leaned on the edge of the examination table as the doctor and nurse laboured together, tugging the laces through their holes, working up and down the interleaved threads that pulled the edges of the corset closer and closer together. When they finished the lacing, tying the strings between my shoulder blades, the corset was punishingly tight as they stood back to admire my re-shaped figure, commenting on my narrow waist and widely flared hips. This corset was another of John Langton’s designs, a friend of Dr Forrest that I’d done some weekend work for a few years ago on her recommendation, mainly modelling in his lingerie store, with the rest of the time filled by re-stocking shelves, tidying rails, or working on the sales register. Pretty much a regular shop job, except the store uniform I had to wear was a corset and high heels, no bra unless it was a high corset, and no panties unless they were a special addition to the garment, usually with internal spikes or a fitted vibrator.

This pale blue corset had a pantie attachment to it, covered in matching blue satin with rows of silver eyelets on the outside, and a thick curved steel bar along the gusset, with quarter inch spikes sticking out all over it. The ends of the spikes were rounded so they wouldn’t pierce the skin, but I’d no doubt they would be very uncomfortable when embedded inside my girl cleft, which was where I guessed they were designed to fit. While the nurse pulled apart my outer labia the doctor carefully eased the bar into my groove, holding it in place as the nurse clipped the front fasteners to anchor points on the bottom edge of the corset, then tucked the rest of it between my legs, where it attached to the boned satin just below my tail bone. There were a couple of laces running through the edges of the panties, which the nurse tightened further and further, pulling them into my groin till I thought my legs would be cut off, but at last she tied them in a secure bow behind me.

Taking my elbow, Nurse Sandra led me across the room to the full length mirror, each step rolling my pussy round the spiked rod in my slit, stimulating me like having ants biting me everywhere. I’ve done something similar at home with a small round hairbrush, but this was much more intense, and the spikes being steel meant I could have been shredded down there if it went wrong. The corset looked amazing, my waist far narrower than I’ve ever seen it, which emphasised my uncovered hips, and the panties gave me an impressive pouty pussy. Dr Forrest brought over a pair of breast gloves to cover the bandages round my bound titties, sliding the pale blue stretch satin down their length, but before she zipped them up, she had Nurse Sandra replace the bar clamps on my nipples. There was a little leakage as they were undone, quickly mopped up, then a pair of silver acorns fitted in their place, a centre plunger pushing out a four jaw collar to open it up at the bottom, which slipped down to the base of each nipple, closing tightly as the plunger was released. A small spring inside pulled down the acorn design cover to hide the jaws as it nestled against the aureole, and when the nurse took the plunger out entirely, it was replaced with a cover topped with a deep blue sapphire.

The final touch was to close the zippers below my breast gloves, which tightened the stretch satin, adding more pressure to my lactating titties, increasing the ache deep inside my large torpedoes. Dr Forrest handed a tape measure to Nurse Sandra to measure the compression and restructuring achieved so far, the results on each part of my squeezed anatomy being put into my research notes.

Telling me to slip my high heels on, Doctor Forrest said I needed a little exercise to allow my internal organs to settle into their restricted space, so I was to go into the waiting area and ask the receptionist for two cups of coffee, one for herself and the other for Nurse Sandra. Before I left, Dr Forrest pulled the sapphire studs from the end of my nipple shields, slipped them in the jump ring of two small bells, and then replaced them so the bells dangled from the end of each breast, tinkling softly at the slightest tremor I made. Every step I took set my bound tits in motion, the small shelf on the corset, supporting them a few inches from my chest, acted as a pivot for the cantilevered cylinders of constrained flesh, the foundation garment gripping my body a few inches too low to prevent the base from moving in the opposite direction to the silver covered tips. Even when I stood still, there was still enough spring to let my breasts bounce several times before settling, providing a gently ringing for a few seconds after I had stopped.

As I walked along the short corridor, my chiming bells announced my impending arrival, not unpleasantly noisily, but sufficient to attract everyone’s attention to me as I entered the large waiting area. With all those eyes admiring my bouncing bosom, and its movement kindling fresh arousal in my laced and aggravated pussy, the spiked steel bar was slipping easily along my dripping wet slit, some of the pins rubbing the base of my clitoris, while another hooked the covering hood upwards. It was very difficult to place my request for coffee as I teetered just this side of orgasm in front of the receptionist, and it took me a moment to realise she’d asked if I wanted sugar in the coffee. She would have known how the doctor and nurse took their coffee every day, but she took the opportunity to send me walking all the way back to enquire myself, extending my exhibition for the on-looking patients and carers, and I’d also be required to return to the desk with their response.

When I entered Dr Forrest’s office she didn’t give me chance to ask about the sugar, but just instructed me to lean against the desk while they tightened my laces a little more, now that my insides had settled. I was gasping by the time they had squeezed my waist another half inch smaller, and I could feel my rib cage folding in on my lungs as the doctor reminded me to breathe with my diaphragm, not my chest, which made things a little bit easier. Armed with the information about their sugar requirements, I sashayed back into reception, my hip swinging increasing the bounce of my titties, and the motion of the bar embedded deep in my wet slit, putting on a show for my audience.

The receptionist had me wait a few moments while finishing a phone call she was on, making me stand with my chest against the counter as she absentmindedly toyed with my little bells, then she handed me two coffees, adding the sugar I requested she said there was no need for any cream since I could supply any that was needed.

When I returned to Dr Forrest’s office she took the coffees and said it was now time that my breasts were emptied again, so Nurse Sandra unzipped the satin sleeves round my titties, then unwrapped the bandages to free them. This is one of the fascinating things Master Mark has taught me to embrace about bondage, that when I reach my limits of being bound, the release afterwards can push me just that little bit further. Nurse Sandra appreciated this as well as she carefully wound the bandage back from my right breast, leaving the two coils at the base till the very last, holding them tight as she stroked the pale blue flesh while it returned to nearly its former rounded shape. Dr Forrest commanded me to grip my opposite elbows behind my back, and then the nurse gave a flick of her wrist and released the blood supply back into the now starved vessels feeding my lactating tit. I struggled to keep my shoulders drawn back as the pain exploded from chest to nipple, trying desperately not to shake the throbbing ache away as it pulsed with each beat of my racing heart.

Unbinding my left breast was even more traumatic, with the pain being combined with my aching right globe, until my whole chest was in agony as the last bandage was removed. It settled down after a few minutes to just a mild discomfort, peaking every so often when the nurse squeezed or lifted one of my titties to check on its progress. While Nurse Sandra held a pretty china cream jug below my breast, Dr Forrest fitted the release pin into the silver acorn clamp on my right nipple, pressing it several times to open the clamp then reapply the lock. Each push sent a streak of agony through my teat, tempered by the rush of fluid through my milk ducts as the white liquid dripped into the waiting cream jug, until the doctor finally took the clamp off altogether. I watched as droplets of milk formed all over my nipple as it flowed out of the ducts, gathering together into much larger drops which fell from the end of the teat and into the flowered china jug.

“Well done, Katie,” Dr Forrest praised me, “your lactation has set in really well this time, but let’s test the effect of sexual arousal on the let-down reflex shall we? Your breast first.” Using a gentle touch, the doctor stroked her fingertips down the upper slope of my right tit, then around the sensitive area just behind my aureole, the tingle in my flesh causing my milk sacs to squeeze down, the steady drip of milk growing to a trickle. “What about your adorable little pussy, young Katie, do you think we can make it purr today?” With that, Dr Forrest tugged at the gusset of the corset, making the spiked bar dig harder into the slit between my wet labia, one spike stretching my clitoral hood, while two others dug into the base of the shaft. The painful stimulation of my tender womanhood increased the flow of milk along with my sexual excitement, one of my milk ducts beginning to spray rather than drip, trailed quickly by a second duct, then a third and fourth, till Nurse Sandra had to slip the mouth of the jug over the end of my breast to catch it all.

The flow soon reduced to nothing when Dr Forrest stopped stimulating my body, but then the left hand nipple clamp was removed, and the procedure repeated on that tittie until I had half-filled the milk jug. Now that the excess milk had been removed, Nurse Sandra fitted the tubes of the breast pump over my teats, and started the machine going, with the pressure at medium while they sat and enjoyed their milky coffee, courtesy of my straining breasts. Every few minutes either the nurse or doctor would reach over and increase the suction a little more, the milk rushing out through my nipple ducts, while the ends of my breasts were drawn deeper in the flared glass tubes. After fifteen minutes, Dr Forrest stopped the pump, removed each tube, and slipped a sleeve halfway down them, before replacing them on my breasts and starting up the pump again. Slowly, my breast flesh was pulled into the tube until my nipples reached the sleeve, where the centre hole was only a little larger in diameter than the teat itself, but there was sufficient pressure to force the brown flesh down the full length of the hole, and out into the lower section of the glass tubes.

As the suction was stepped up again, the sleeves prevented my breast from going any further inside, but I could now see that the hole was in fact tapered at either end, the upper narrowing compressing my aureole into the thin tube, and the lower reduction allowing both my nipples to flare out somewhat. My milk was spraying strongly into the collection chamber, but it was not left to the suction alone, because Dr Forrest would pull, rotate, and twist the tubes so that more of my nipple was pulled through, and more of the aureole was sucked deeper into the constriction. Quite soon the complete brown fleshy area at the end of my breasts had pulled down the central hole, which now showed the paler tittie flesh inside it, but my aureole had resumed its previous globular shape in the lower section, only more so due to the suction.

It took another agonising five minutes before every last drop of milk was pumped out of me, twenty five minutes of being handled like a dairy cow, even having to kneel on the table, with my udders hanging down while they were squeezed and pulled. The tubes were disconnected, leaving just the sleeves holding my nipples and aureoles like puffies on a stick, which Nurse Sandra pulled and tugged in every direction, working the bloated flesh back through the small channel much more painfully than when they’d been inserted. At last they were free, but kept their rounded shape, like the puffies I’d loved when my tits first began to blossom, only much more sensitive.

The nurse now took the bandages that had bound my breasts earlier, and wrapped them round my chest this time, above one breast and below the other, round the back, then over and under the opposite way, compressing my empty globes, but leaving a three inch gap around each of the swollen nipples. When she had finished, I’d been left with a pair of apple sized boobies, topped with beautiful puffies, and hard, pointed nipples, just like I’d had when I was fourteen years old, only even firmer. I gasped when Doctor Forrest squeezed the erect teats, flicking them with her finger to demonstrate that they hardly wobbled at all, then licking them to show just how sensitive they were. Nurse Sandra brought over a pale blue crop top, similar to a training bra, slipped it over my arms and head, then fitted the garment round my chest, just above the top of the matching corset, the material so clingy that it displayed every detail of my little girl titties. I was informed that the bindings would remain in place for half an hour, and in the meantime I could return the empty cups to reception, which I recognized was just another excuse to put me on exhibition to everyone in the waiting room.





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