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Tami gets to “wear” something

A pleasant springtime walk in the courtyard. I’ve been posting new stuff recently but this is from 20+ years ago.

“Now, Miss Smithers,” McMasters said in a strong voice, “let’s try this out.” He opened up another door and Tami saw sunlight and felt fresh air. The door led out to a long garden-like area with a path down the center and a small fountain at the end, maybe a hundred feet away. A very pleasant place, with benches here and there, to relax between classes, at least for a person in average circumstances.

Gasping with each step, trying hard to smother her arousal, Tami followed McMasters’s lead until they were out on the beginning of the concrete path. Mr. Zipkin stood behind. Tami took a deep breath of the fresh air. It was good at least to be out of that antiseptic lab environment, but . . .

“I’d like you to walk out to that fountain, go around it, and then come back. Try to keep a steady, relaxed pace. No matter what you’re feeling,” McMasters said with an air of firmness.

Her eyes wet, knowing what was bound to happen, Tami took a breath and started with uneasy barefoot steps down the path. And was immediately attacked by a swarm of horrid sensations. It was like being stung by bees, licked by tongues, sucked, fucked . . . her clit, her pussy, her nipples, the dildo in her butt like a huge prod pushing her into a rasping noisy riot of intense stimulation she could not escape. The little beeps came at quicker intervals. She tried to hold her breath, holding in her gasps, but after about twenty feet breath exploded from her in a load moan. She looked back for a second, her face etched with fear, and saw that McMasters and Zipkin were staying at the doorway. Glad she was getting farther away from them, she turned ahead and permitted her moans to build, until they were rhythmically pulsing with each tortured step. “Ohhh . . . oh - ohhh . . . oh - ohhh . . .” The beeps, getting faster and faster, only served to remind her of her increasing arousal and spurred her on, in the best tradition of biofeedback.

Finally as she approached the fountain she cried out, trying to pray in the crisis of orgasm. “Oh God please -- p - please -- pleease -- . . .” Her steps faltered but she remembered what her instructions were and kept going. The beeps were now an unbroken tone, just like McMasters said. As she rounded the fountain she had to lean onto it a couple of times to keep from falling over. The orgasm spent itself and the beeps slowed down and she longed to take this horrid outfit off, lie down and rest, but knew she could not.

The walk back was worse because she had to face her tormentors. With a superhuman effort that turned her face red and caused the veins to bulge out on her neck she kept her arousal down until she was two-thirds of the way back. But the quickening beeps gave lie to her efforts. The second orgasm announced itself to her audience by the bugging out of her eyes as the girl gazed forward with an unearthly stare, rhythmic spasms causing her legs to splay to the side, pitch forward, then bend over, arms swinging wildly, her ragged gait bringing her closer and closer to the watching men, who listened as the steady low tone got nearer and nearer. Wave after wave assaulted her body and then she found herself standing right in front of McMasters and Zipkin, sweating, her eyes crazy, jolting again and again with the last spasms, until she caught her breath and wailed, covering her eyes, tears running down her cheeks, crumpling down on the concrete. “Oh God . . . oh please . . . no . . . no more . . .”

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