Page 17 of Milk & Malice: Vadik
My mouth fell open when small streams of milk shot in air, crossing over each other like a fountain display.
No.
My cock thickened.
What the hell was I thinking?
I fuckingownedher.
I climbed on the metal frame of the hospital bed and straddled her belly.
“W-What are you doing?” she stuttered, coming to life.
“It is my duty to care for you. I can’t have your milk ducts blocking and you getting mastitis. It can be painful if it ends up becoming an infection,” I said massaging her breasts. “In short. You need to be milked several times a day.”
I bent down and licked a droplet from her left nipple. Salt. Skin. The faintest sour note that would sweeten with time. I latched my mouth around it and sucked slowly. Testing the yield. Measuring the response. Her chest rose under mine—barely a reaction, a twitch. She was frightened, frozen. Good. That meant she was present.
I suckled again, deeper this time, drawing the milk from her like a siphon. It was warm and creamy, not yet rich, but promising. I tongued the tip, traced the shape of her engorged areola, and then switched sides. The right nipple was tighter. I gripped the base of her breast and squeezed gently, watching the milk bead and spurt onto my tongue.
Her breathing hitched.
“Very good,” I murmured against her skin.“No blockages. No pain?”
She didn’t answer. I didn’t expect her to. She was shaking.
“You’ll get used to this,” I said, lifting both her breasts and pressing them together.“The stimulation is essential. Hormones respond better to regular expression.”
My tongue circled each nipple in turn before I began suckling again. Slower now. Deeper pulls. I groaned softly as the warmth filled my mouth. My cock pressed hard against the seam of my trousers, but I ignored it. This was about maintenance. Care. Her body needed this. She needed this.
The flow increased.
It streamed freely now, and I swallowed mouthfuls of milk between breaths. Her scent was different. New. It mixed with the sterile notes of disinfectant and steel, but it was hers. Animal. Submissive. My cow.
I slowed when the streams began to lessen, my lips gliding over her flushed, milk-slick skin.
“Almost empty,” I whispered, stroking her chest.“You’re producing beautifully.”
She whimpered—a small, broken sound.
I looked at her.
Eyes glassy. Face blank.
She lay there like a dead thing again.
I still didn’t like it.
“You’ll feel better once the schedule is in place,” I said calmly, brushing her hair from her face.“Regular milking. Proper fluids. Warm bone broth for dinner. Then physiotherapy.”
I kissed her forehead. Soft. Affectionate. Honest.
“You’ll be strong enough to stand soon. You’ll make me so proud.”
I licked the last droplet from her nipple and smiled.
She just needed a little encouragement.
As her Owner, I must factor this new discovery into my plan.
