Page 28 of Milk & Malice: Vadik (The Caged Hearts Pet Play #6)

Lena

The soft music played on the television. I’d never enjoyed classical music before Dr Novikov, but I could feel it in my bones now. I understood why so many people were drawn to it. Some compositions were violent, others gentle. It didn’t matter if it was a symphony, sonata, or concerto—they all made me think of him.

How broken must he be to create me into this?

And feel nothing.

He took from me in barbarity but cared for me with tenderness.

The silence between us stretched, and the tension was so tight it strangled the space between us. I missed being touched. It didn’t matter if it was a pet on the head or one of his more sensuous moves. I hated the suction cups—they were a stark contrast to his soft lips.

I stared at my reflection.

It wasn’t so bad, was it?

I was alive.

He never once tried to force himself on me.

Maybe he didn’t want me anymore. My hips were too wide, my belly wobbled when I walked, and—well—my breasts were obscenely large. I looked like a damn fetish porn star.

At least they got fucked.

I groaned and turned my face into the pillow.

What was wrong with me?

Every day it got harder.

He was never going to release me.

In his eyes, he owned me.

If I mooed once, I’d moo forever.

And the thought terrified me.

When the soft music lulled me to sleep, I saw his grey eyes, staring into mine as he moved on top of me.

Mounting me.

Making me scream.

I think I missed that.

***

It was bath day, and he carried me to the bathroom. The routine hadn’t changed, but I leaned into his shoulder to discreetly sniff his cologne. We passed his full bedroom and he stood me beside the bath. I rubbed my hoof on the floor mat. He’d placed that after I slipped on the tiles.

I peered up at him, but he was busy running the water. For a middle-aged doctor, he was fit—not overly muscular, just right.

Before I realised, he lifted me into the tub. My eyes closed as the hot water surrounded me. Lavender steam filled the bathroom, floral and thick.

His hand dragged the washcloth around my neck and shoulders. That began my torture.

Because when he reached my breasts, I almost whimpered.

The washcloth was gone. His hands massaged my breasts.

I didn’t know if it was his breathing or mine that got louder.

When his fingers reached my pussy.

I still didn't moo.

***

Sleep evaded me. I was clean, but I tossed and turned repeatedly. I punched my hoof into the pillows. He always left a soft, orange glowing lamp on for me, in case I needed to use the toilet at night. It was the little things that he did that I’d noticed in my silent protest.

Would it be so bad to be owned and pampered?

Did you forget about the humiliation?

My inner bitch snarked.

I felt conflicted and confused, yet my head seemed unfazed—calm when I shouldn't have been. I turned to lie on my back and found myself entranced looking at my reflection, wondering if it would be easier to give in.

Lie down and moo for him.

Quiet my mind.

Give in.

***

Washed, milked, fed, and watered, he left for work while I stared at the wooden door. I didn’t know how long I sat there looking at it, but something about it didn’t feel right. Maybe I was just tired after last night.

I put the classical music back on and curled up on the bed, trying to remember why I was still fighting myself.

I fell asleep thinking of his grey eyes, back when they used to hold approval.

Like I was his.

***

My nap did little to rejuvenate me. The music still played, but when I looked around the barn, it was an empty reminder of my loneliness. Instead of getting up to eat my breakfast from the trough, I stared at my reflection.

The half-limbed cow girl stared back at me.

No one would ever want me.

Not like this.

He told me the horn procedure was irreversible, and my limbs were semi-permanent once fully healed. Even if I could escape, I couldn't bear the thought of other people seeing me or of doctors vying to ‘fix’ me for the sake of their glory. The media would catch wind of it, and the world would know.

I shuddered and shuffled toward the edge of the bed to eat breakfast.

The last thing I wanted was my parents to ever know what I was.

It was better that they thought I was dead.