Page 14 of Milk & Malice: Vadik (The Caged Hearts Pet Play #6)

Lena

Stumpy had rasped and gurgled all night, and Dr Novikov had left the lamp on. There had been no escaping his message. If you don’t comply, you are next. I’d dozed on and off, but I was exhausted. As soon as I saw him, I instinctively knew he would be pleased if I mooed.

But now he was teasing me instead of emptying my breasts. They felt too full and ached. When he didn’t suck but moved on to my other nipple, I mooed again. More urgent.

He chuckled.

“I’m a bad Owner, teasing you like this,”

he said with a smile.

Owner.

That word I’d heard him say so many times.

I gasped as his hot mouth closed over my nipple. He covered my breast and sucked hard. I sighed in relief until his fingers worked their way to my waist. Hip. Thigh. My eyes closed, but my legs parted. His fingers moved between my folds. I whimpered when I felt how he slid between them with ease.

I was wet.

Again.

Before I could think, he sucked harder and faster.

He slipped his fingers inside me.

I whimpered again. His fingers didn’t stop.

They drove into me hard. Fast.

There was no build-up. No rhythm. Just brutal, wet thrusts.

He lay beside me, lips locked to my breast, eyes watching everything.

The suction machine pulsed. His tongue circled. My nipple throbbed.

Milk sprayed.

I couldn’t breathe.

Not from fear. Not from panic.

From the pressure. From the heat. From the way his fingers found something deep and wrong and right.

My legs jerked. My hooves scraped the bedding.

I tried to turn my head, to look away.

He caught my jaw and forced my face back to him.

“Stay with me, little cow.”

I moaned. It broke in my throat. My cunt clenched around him, milk gushing from both tits as his fingers fucked the orgasm out of me.

Harder.

Faster.

I came.

It tore through me—violent, filthy, unstoppable.

And he watched.

Watched the way my face twisted.

Watched the way my body gave in.

Watched the way I obeyed.

My mouth opened but no sound came.

I didn’t moo.

I just cried.

“Hush, little cow. You were beautiful,”

he said, moving onto my other breast.

His fingers slowed, and he curved them up, slowly dragging them back and forth. He sucked me so deeply into his mouth that I felt his teeth graze against me. The sound of him swallowing again and again made me clench around his fingers.

The grey eyes flicked up, catching mine. I couldn’t look away, and I didn’t miss the smug look in them.

I was in his hell, and there was no escape for me.

Ever.

And he knew it.

***

He finished draining my breasts, but his fingers never left during the entire process. He wrought another orgasm out of me before he finished, kissing my forehead when he pulled his fingers out of me.

“You’re on the way to becoming the perfect breeding cow. Today we will work on your joints, posture, and see if you can walk on your pretty new limbs.”

He wiped my breasts clean, then looked at me.

“If you’re a good cow, I will show you your room. It has a milking machine ready for you.”

I mooed because he waited for me to acknowledge his words. It worked because he walked away to put the wipes in the sterile waste bin.

When I heard the gurgling beside me, I couldn’t bring myself to look at him.

Each time I did, I was grateful to have the hooves.

My stomach turned at the thought.

***

He wheeled me in slowly, the door hissing shut behind us.

“Now,”

he said, voice light, almost cheerful.

“This is your barn.”

I blinked. The room swam. Warm air, soft lighting. Rubber beneath my hooves.

“You’ll love it here,”

he went on, moving beside me.

“Let me show you everything.”

He crouched, brushed the hair from my face, and helped me sit up on the padded bench. My legs splayed. I couldn’t stop them.

“To your right,”

he pointed, “your toilet chair. Fully automated. Bidet, dryer, no need to ever get your hooves wet.”

I followed his hand but didn’t really see.

“That,”

he continued, gesturing toward the metal framework across from the bed, “is the milking station. Bars are adjustable. Neck brace to keep you still. You’ll stand there on all four legs twice a day, minimum.”

He walked to it and caressed the top bar like it was precious.

“I modified the spreader myself. Holds your neck steady while your udders are emptied or you’re bred.”

My stomach lurched.

He turned and nodded toward the low bed.

“Your sleeping mat. Close to the floor so you don’t injure yourself. Lined with absorbent, washable padding. Custom made.”

He beamed.

“There’s even a heating element underneath. Can’t have my livestock catching a chill.”

I stared. I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe.

He reached for my waist and helped me stand.

“Go on. Take a few steps. Let’s see how your joints respond.”

I took one. Wobbled. My hooves skidded slightly against the mat. He caught me.

“Good girl,”

he murmured.

“You’ll adjust quickly.”

Another step. The tail dragged. My knees bent wrong. My thighs burned.

“I’ve already programmed your routine,”

he said, voice low with satisfaction.

“Milking, walking drills, bathing. If you behave, I’ll let you see the feeding machine tomorrow.”

The room blurred. The light buzzed. The bars gleamed.

I was livestock.

And he was proud of me.