Jiyoung (3)
After that, more missions followed under the pretexts of pelvic stretches and posture-correction drills.
Jiyoung sank deeper into those tasks and the points that came with them.
A week passed that way.
Two in the afternoon.
The hour when the fiercest sunlight baked the balcony frames, heat rising off the asphalt and crawling all the way up to the apartment windows.
Jiyoung picked up the delivery box waiting by the front door.
It was heavy.
The label read “Household Goods / Kitchen Sundries,” but she already knew what was inside.
The night before last, a shipping notice had popped up in the Sanctuary app.
“Aigoo, this is heavy. What did they send me?”
She set the box down on the dining table with a thud.
A cutter blade sliced through the tape with a sharp rip, and the smell of cardboard rushed out.
When she tore away the packing, the items nestled among the bubble wrap caught the fluorescent light.
A clear plastic cup, a silicone tube, and a main unit fitted with an electric motor.
A breast pump.
Beside it sat another black box no bigger than her palm.
Printed on the lid were the words “Body-Shaping Compression Band” and a photo of a model with a cinched waist.
Jiyoung lifted the breast pump.
The funnel-shaped suction cup attached to the heavy-looking motor unit looked similar to the one she had used when weaning her third child, only far more industrial, the opening wider.
Breast-Pump Product Test & Lactation Simulation — Mammary Stimulation Trial
Objective: Promote hormone secretion through activation of mammary tissue.
Reward: 70,000 points
The notification lit up her phone screen.
Seventy thousand won. Jiyoung’s eyes sparkled.
She pulled out a dining chair and sat. The children were at school; her husband was at the office. The house was empty.
Out of habit she glanced around, then peeled off the loose T-shirt she was wearing and hung it over the chair back.
Beads of sweat already dotted the apricot-colored bra.
She reached behind herself and unhooked the clasp.
Tudduk.
The elastic snapped free and the bra dropped away.
Her massive breasts spilled downward, unable to defy gravity.
Sweat-slick flesh. Brown nipples and areolae.
Jiyoung plugged the pump’s power cord into the wall outlet.
A low hum filled the room as the machine came to life.
She pressed the plastic funnel against her left breast.
The breast was too large for the cup to seal in one try. She cradled the underside with one hand and centered the funnel over the nipple with the other.
“Ugh… there.”
She flipped the switch.
Shuuuk, puck.
The motor began sucking air in a steady rhythm.
Inside the clear plastic, her nipple stretched long and was drawn in.
“Ah…”
Jiyoung’s brow furrowed.
It hurt.
The sharp sensation of a long-neglected nipple being forcibly pulled by powerful suction was raw.
Pressure against blocked ducts dragged up memories of engorgement from her nursing days.
Yet she did not turn the machine off.
Seventy thousand won. She could endure this much pain.
She lowered her head and watched her breast being devoured by the device.
Inside the cup the nipple swelled and shrank, swelled and shrank.
The sight of flesh ballooning then collapsing held her gaze.
Increase intensity to Level 3.
A new instruction appeared on the screen.
Without hesitation Jiyoung turned the dial. The motor grew louder; the suction strengthened.
“Ugh!”
A strangled cry tore from her throat.
Pain lanced from the tip of the nipple deep into the breast.
Even though no milk could come, something deep inside clenched and surged. The empty breast was wrung and crushed.
With her free right hand she seized her right breast. Heavy, soft flesh overflowed between her fingers.
“Haa… haa…”
Her breathing roughened.
The pain was slowly turning into something good.
The illusion of milk filling her, the sensation of someone forcing her to nurse, and the knowledge that every second of this was converting into money all tangled together.
Hunched over, Jiyoung trembled in time with the machine’s rhythm.
Her enormous udders hung from the pump, swaying left and right.
Her eyes were half-lidded, staring into empty air, yet inside her head she still heard the sound of points accumulating.
Another week went by.
Jiyoung’s house lay quiet after husband and children had left. Only the fan pushed lukewarm air across the living-room floor.
Ten in the morning—the best hour for folding laundry.
A mountain of dry clothes rose on the living-room floor.
Jiyoung sat in front of it, matching her husband’s socks.
Her hands moved with practiced ease.
Black socks rolled into neat balls, white undershirts snapped and squared—no wasted motion.
Only her attire twisted the ordinary domestic scene.
Jiyoung’s upper body was bare.
Yet two clear plastic funnels hung from her chest.
The breast pumps fitted to both breasts were wired to the outlet beside the sofa; the unit on the floor exhaled its steady noise.
Wung—chuk. Wung—chuk.
Every turn of the motor made her massive breasts heave.
The heavy flesh was pulled forward by the suction, then settled back, again and again.
The nipples drawn deep into the cups were swollen, yet no pain showed on Jiyoung’s face.
She looked almost indifferent. Humming under her breath, she folded a pair of children’s gym pants.
A black corset was cinched tight around her waist.
The garment left no room for side flesh to escape; it forced her belly flat and turned her soft waist into a narrow hourglass.
Because of the pressure she had to inflate her chest with every breath, and each time she did the breasts trapped in the pumps swayed even more dramatically.
Below the waist she wore nothing but a single pair of white cotton panties.
“Gonna have to darn that hole in the sock…”
Jiyoung muttered to herself.
Her eyes stayed on the worn heel, but her body was ruled by other sensations.
Vibration from the pump traveled through her breasts and into her whole frame.
The forced milking of empty breasts brought a sharp ache laced with pleasure.
Nipple tips tingled; deep inside the flesh throbbed.
It conjured the hallucination of a newborn fretting and latched on.
Even while folding laundry she unconsciously rocked her hips.
The crotch of her panties was damp. In time with the pump’s rhythm her pelvis clenched and released.
The smartphone on the dining table recorded everything. A red dot blinked at the top of the screen, confirming the recording.
Monitoring physical responses during housework
Current pump pressure: Level 4
Accumulated points: +1,200 (100 points per minute)
Jiyoung glanced at the screen.
She watched the numbers climb.
A hundred points a minute. Points were as good as won.
A hundred won a minute. Six thousand an hour.
Less than minimum wage, but not bad for money earned while folding laundry. A faint smile touched her lips.
It’s just stuff I do at home anyway. Nobody’s watching.
She returned her gaze to the laundry pile.
She picked up her husband’s shirt.
The crisply dried fabric smelled of fabric softener. She spread it across her knees and began fastening the buttons one by one.
Wung—chuk. Wung—chuk.
The machine never stopped.
Jiyoung’s upper body, shackled to the pumps, rocked forward and back.
The corset made bending difficult, yet she spread her legs and settled into a familiar posture. Between her open thighs the wet stain on her panties showed clearly.
Her hand brushed the front of her chest as she folded. The back of her hand nudged a hose. The hose jerked, tugging the nipple.
“Hup…”
Jiyoung drew a short breath.
A sharp tingle raced down her spine. Her nipples had grown so sensitive that the slightest motion set them off. Still she did not stop working. If anything she seemed to savor the jolt, rolling her shoulders as she folded the sleeve.
Her eyes remained calm.
Not flushed with sexual heat, but filled with a strange serenity.
Once the laundry was finished she would run the vacuum, she decided.
Would points pile up faster if she pushed the vacuum while still wearing the pumps? She calculated as she worked.
When the last shirt was folded she rose to put everything in the basket.
Her heavy breasts swayed and the pumps clattered, but she simply tucked the basket under one arm and stood.
Forced upright by the corset, hips thrust back, her retreating figure looked both ridiculous and oddly proud.
On the screen the numbers kept climbing.
Her labor was being rewarded twice over.
Housework for the family, and something else entirely for herself.
To Jiyoung the two no longer felt distinct.