Page 52 of Milk & Malice: Vadik

I should’ve chosen Stumpy.

Chapter 22

Vadik

After seeing Lena choke, gag, and drool around the plastic dick, I ordered a whole selection of mouth gags. I may have gone overboard, but my pretty cow looked so good gagged. Five days of no sex were driving me crazy. I almost went into work to relieve some of the tension.

Blood, guts, and bones would’ve taken my mind off Lena’s sweet holes.

She had thirty minutes left, and it was her final day. I sat tapping my desk, watching her on my laptop feed.

A message pinged on my phone, and I absently opened the drawer.

I rolled my eyes. It was the Pakhan.

Pakhan:It’s been almost five months. How much longer are you going to fuck her for?

I glared at the screen. Says the criminal mastermind who sent Viktor to meetings so he could fuck his pet.

I tossed the phone back into the drawer.

Twenty-seven minutes left.

Five years of monk-like control, and now I couldn’t wait five days.

I shook off the disgust and considered whether it was time to go back to work. I could use the mouth gag at work.

Hmm. The gag could have broken glass glued onto the dick.

The thought made my hand twitch as I imagined how the shards would slice up the throat.

I missed the butchery. The mayhem.

Viktor hardly knew first aid, let alone how to properly stitch someone up after removing a bullet.

With a sigh, I reached for the phone, glancing at Lena to figure out how long I’d need to settle her into a new routine.

One without me.

???

I decided to check on Stumpy before removing Lena’s five-hour torture gag. The rug had been moved, trapdoor open, light already switched on as I descended the stairs. I’d chosen this property with care. No one would ever attack my home again.

My heart sang at the sound of his gurgling.

Still alive. Clinging to life as if he had a chance of ever living it beyond this ancient cellar. When I reached him, his eyes were closed. I slapped him—vicious, sharp. It roused him.

Bleary, bloodshot eyes. A filthy face coated in despair.

I’d spent years on him. Slicing his limbs off bit by bit. Cauterising, healing, repeating. I gave him hope by leaving his cock and balls intact—for a while. That ended once there was nothing left but a torso and a head.

“You almost got to smell fresh air again, Yuri,” I murmured, cracking my neck to keep the fury from boiling over.

The stench was vile. His bags would need changing. But I had no plans to bathe him. He deserved to stew in his own filth.

His eyes begged me to end it.

That desolate misery always made me smile.