Page 39 of Milk & Malice: Vadik (The Caged Hearts Pet Play #6)

Vadik

It was cruel of me to stretch her torment out when I could end it. But I couldn’t change what I was. I shut the laptop and slipped the final component of her transformation into my pocket.

I took my time cooking our breakfast—syrniki for her as a treat. The soft pancakes, made with creamy farmer’s cheese, were best topped with sour cream and blueberry preserves.

My seven-month journey with my pet had its highs and lows, but the outcome would always have been the same. Lena saved herself some pain by surrendering early.

It was a pity. I’d made so many notes, tested so many methods that wouldn’t damage her.

Who knows—she might fail the test another time.

I picked up the plate, humming as I headed to the barn.

When I turned the handle and pushed the door open, my pet looked as if the weight of the world had been lifted off her shoulders.

Her back straightened. Her quiet moos grew louder as she slid onto her hooves, trotting toward me. I stared at her horned head as she rubbed her cheek against my thigh.

“Good morning, pet. I wanted to make a special breakfast for you today.”

Her moo sounded like a complaint, but I smothered my smirk and proceeded with her morning routine. The only difference was that I hand-fed her instead of dumping it all in her trough—and I delayed her milking.

Bite by bite, the blue of her eyes softened. She looked at me the way my peers once had—before I’d tried to claw my own face off, before the incident that shattered my world. I’d missed that reverence, the kind I used to see in colleagues and patients alike.

I dabbed the corners of her mouth with a napkin, then ate the remains. My eyes never left her as she relaxed on the bed—Washed, fed, and ready to be milked and mounted.

My cock was already hard from feeding her.

“Come here, my sweet. I have something for you,”

I said, wiping my hands with a fresh napkin.

As she moved closer, I slipped a hand into my pocket and drew out the thick, gold-beaded chain—the one with the carefully crafted cowbell attached. The small bell gave a delicate tinkle as I unfastened the clasp.

Lena’s eyes locked onto it.

Not with disgust. Not even a flicker of hesitation.

But awe. And gratitude.

“Moo,”

she said softly, happily, as I leaned in to fasten it around her neck.

“There was never any doubt. You’re mine, my sweet milk cow,”

I murmured, pulling back to admire the bell resting above her leaking, swollen udders.

“Now lie back and offer your Owner his holes.”

My Bratva brothers could play at keeping pets. Pretend. Dress them up and call it love.

But I didn’t pretend.

I made mine.

An obedient creature. A perfect dairy cow.

Her milky white thighs spread wide. Hooves in the air. Holes exposed and glistening.

All mine.

Her Owner.