The First Night the Pump Started – Month 4, After Signing Six Months Extension of contract

 I signed the six-month extension on a Thursday night in month 4.

The regular uniform was already unbearable — four weeks unwashed, layered double, smell thick, rash burning at collar and waist. Master had offered the clean set as the carrot. I signed. Debt cleared. No chain that night. No clips.

The next evening he came into the chamber while I was changing. I had just finished unzipping the left side of the pinafore, ready to spot-clean the collar. He placed the breast pump on the shelf. Electric. Quiet. Clear cups. Tubing coiled like a snake.

“From tonight,” he said, “60 minutes. Every night. After you change.”

No explanation. No discussion. Just the order.

I froze for a second. Then I followed the procedure I already knew by instinct — the up-dress method we use for everything that needs access.

I lay on the thin pad, back against the wall. Unzipped the pinafore on the left side — 25 centimeters, just enough to free the chest. Unbuttoned the top four blouse buttons. Lifted the front fabric. Pulled the demi-cup bra cups down — nipples exposed. Applied the cups myself — cold plastic sealed against skin. Suction started with a low hum. Pulled the bra cups back up to hold everything in place. Buttoned the blouse. Re-zipped the pinafore.

The uniform was fully on again. Only the faint tubing line under the waist showed anything was happening underneath.

I lay down. Hands over flat front. Pump ran.

First 10 minutes — strange pulling, cold tightness. Next 20 — ache began, skin stretching. By 40 minutes — soreness, nipples throbbing. By 60 — burning, swelling, sensitivity sharp. Milk dripped slowly — white beads into the bottle he had placed on the floor. He collected it later. Sometimes he uses it in his coffee. Sometimes he pours it away. I never know which.

The uniform pressed down on the swollen breasts — fabric rubbing raw with every breath. No air flow under the layers. Heat trapped. Sweat beaded between blouse and bra. I shifted — pinafore bunched, tugged the tubing, pulled the cups tighter. Pain spiked. I lay still again.

When the timer ended, I reversed everything. Unzipped left side. Unbuttoned top. Pulled bra down. Removed cups — sharp blood-rush pain. Pulled bra up. Buttoned blouse. Re-zipped pinafore.

Nipples were red, tender, engorged. They ached against the fabric for hours. Sleep was restless — every turn rubbed them raw.

This is now every night. 60 minutes. Uniform always on. No help. No mercy. Cassandra grows.