Page 20 of Milk & Malice: Vadik (The Caged Hearts Pet Play #6)

Lena

I wandered around the room, staring at the floor and my hooves as I paced. My tail brushed from one thigh to the other. I knew what I looked like. The horns weren’t as large as I’d imagined. The longer I stared, the more beautiful they became. Polished. Cream, with curved tips. They made me feel like a majestic beast from the nature programmes I once loved.

My limbs looked slender from the stumps down to the polished metal until they broadened to the black hooves. The marks from the surgery—where he’d fitted my tail—were scarred but small. He’d matched the colour to my hair. A light sand and copper blend.

But it was the weight of my udders that pulled me out of every fantasy.

They swayed when I moved. Heavy. Obscene. So large now they brushed the top of my thighs when I walked. I felt the slosh of milk inside them with every step. Felt the soreness if I let them go too long without being drained.

I paced again. Hooves clipping the floor.

The heat of my own body. The ache of engorgement.

Nothing changed.

Above my bed, he’d placed mirror panels. Where the headboard should be, he’d layered the wall in the same reflective glass. The milking station was no different. Every angle. Every glance. I saw myself.

Not human.

Not cow.

Just… something in between.

After three days, I began to admire myself—and immediately threw up.

I cried. Sobbed. Wailed.

From despair to fury, then back again.

The doctor.

Stumpy.

Sex.

Milk.

Cow.

There was no room left for the past.

My young students’ faces blurred.

My mother’s voice faded.

My conservative father’s awkward side hugs and shoulder pats—gone.

I was left in a cycle of despair. Exhausted. Spent. Numb.

The doctor came and went.

I was strapped to the milking machine.

Mounted. Drained.

He whispered sweet filth in my ear.

Sometimes rough, and sometimes gentle.

But he always coaxed me to come.

To milk his cock.

Then left me alone.

Alone to look into the mirrors.

***

I counted five days, and I became silent. Dead inside. But that didn’t stop me from looking—or admiring.

By the eighth day, my eyes lingered on the mirrors now.

I lay on the bed, trying to see myself through his eyes.

My breasts were too large, spilling to the sides. My hips were too wide, with a paunch across my belly.

I hesitated, then spread my thighs—hooves digging into the bed.

My trimmed curls matched the tail by my thigh.

My pussy peeked through the light curls, and I remembered this morning’s mounting.

My breath grew faster. I closed my eyes.

I needed him.

My lips trembled as I thought of the word he kept repeating.

Owner.

***

I was bent over on the bed, rubbing my nose into the pillow. A drawback of not being able to scratch my nose. He brushed my teeth, bathed me, and shaved me, but I got creative when it came to scratching an itch.

“That’s a fine sight, my sweet breeding cow,”

he said from behind me.

I lifted my head, seeing his reflection in the mirrors. He stood at the foot of the bed with a chocolate cake. One candle flickered on it.

I turned around to face him.

“Happy birthday.”

It was May?

Already?

I froze, not knowing how to react.

Then I glanced away from the burning flame.

The same way I’d been dissecting everything about my body and mind for days on end made me study him. This wasn't a sentimental man. He was always self-serving. A cruel man full of malice toward humankind.

He looked awkward holding the cake.

Embarrassed even.

There was just him and me.

I guess Stumpy didn't count.

Nor did the chickens.

This—this was about as good as I would get from a man like him.

A man who only fed me nutritious food laden with vitamins.

Not sugary confectionery.

“Moo,”

I huffed, but it sounded like a defeated sigh.

Happy birthday to me.

He beamed and pulled a knife out of his pocket, setting the cake on the bed for me to blow the candle out.

I blew it out, wishing for a miracle that would never occur.

He sliced the cake up and fed it to me.

Oh, chocolate. Soft, spongy, creamy and decadent.

It finished too soon.

I nudged his knee for another slice.

“Moo!”

He chuckled and licked some chocolate ganache off his finger.

The smile vanished, and his gaze looked distant. He stared at the remaining cake, not moving and barely breathing. I almost backed away from him. I could feel the tension around him, his dark aura.

“I've not tasted chocolate for many years,”

he murmured, but I wasn't sure if he was speaking to himself or me.

He cut another slice. Not as large as I’d hoped and glanced at me.

My breath caught in my throat.

His face was like stone, rigid and harsh. The grey eyes, stormy and full of violent promise. He glanced at my breasts before lifting the cake to my lips.

“Everything comes with a price tag, my sweet cow,”

he said, watching my lips as I opened my mouth.

His voice was soft, but the warning beneath made my nerves scream.

This was the calm before the storm.