Page 38 of Milk & Malice: Vadik
My arms and legs didn’t hurt anymore. There were just pangs where my limbs used to be. Sometimes I could feel my hands or ankles, but I knew nothing was there. I practised walking not for his sick pleasure, but to try and grow stronger.
I couldn’t even open the round knob to the door, but perhaps one day I could run. The window only showed greenery. No location or other homes. It made me think that I was somewhere rural.
He said I’d been here for three and a half months. That much, I believed. The seasons had changed. My body had changed. I didn’t remember every procedure. Only the aftermaths. Only the smells of surgical steel and his skin.
Sometimes I thought of my pupils. My classroom. Their faces swam before me in sleep—blurry, smiling. Then gone. I wondered what they’d been told, if the school sent out letters. If the police ever really looked. My parents had always warned menot to live alone. Not to trust strangers. They’d fought me when I moved away. I’d been so sure I’d make them proud. Now I wasn’t even a name in the missing persons’ database.
Stumpy wheezed in the room below me sometimes. I knew his sound now. I knew when he was conscious and trapped in darkness. I’d pieced together what Vadik had said. The dead family he never mentioned. The man who helped kill them—the long, slow punishment.
There were no real questions left—just horror. I sometimes wondered how he did it. How long it took. What the accomplice looked like before he lost everything. I didn’t know if that made me twisted or simply human. And what would happen to me when I stopped being useful? Would he keep me like Stumpy? Would he show me to someone else one day as a cautionary tale?
Still, something inside me refused to die. That flicker of before. Of not being cattle. It wasn’t loud or heroic. It was just there. Like the ghost of my fingers, twitching in the dark.
???
The door opened, and I was grateful to see his face for a second. A distraction from my morbid thoughts—until I remembered he was the reason for it all.
“Good afternoon, my sweet,” he said, with his eyes peering into my soul.
“Moo,” I said flatly.
“Is my little cow bored? If the weather were warmer, you could roam outside,” he said, giving me a flicker of hope.
But how could I run?
I glanced at him. He wore casual clothing—no pristine white coat, gloves, or medical weaponry. If he weren’t so evil, he could even be classified as handsome, despite the sharp features.
He wasn’t sane, but he wasn’t erratic and out of control. I didn’t understand the man who called himself my Owner.
“Perhaps I could install a television for you since it is too cold to let you outside.”
My jaw dropped. I wasn’t expecting any such gesture.
“What? I’m not a complete monster,” he said, tugging off his black jumper.
Of course. I would need to be a good cow for him.
His sick adoration wasn’t for the human Lena I once was. It was for the creature he’d made. I saw it in his cold grey eyes.
He wore a white T-shirt beneath the jumper. I got a heated bed but no clothes for months. I swallowed when he bared his chest, my eyes automatically dropping to his denim waistband. I averted my gaze when I remembered how big he felt inside me this morning, using me like I was nothing but a hot hole.
It made me wish that he hadn’t made me orgasm, made me enjoy it. But I had a feeling he enjoyed having that control. He climbed onto the bed, and I froze. I was sure he would put me on the milking machine again. The suction cups were hard on my nipples.
“I thought the natural method for this afternoon would be better,” he murmured, shuffling on his knees toward me.
That was when I saw the beast between his legs. It wasn’t overly thick, but he was long. No wonder it felt like being prodded by a baton this morning. The mushroom-shaped head was thick before it slimmed down.
“Do you like what you see, my sweet?” he asked, parting my thighs.
I didn’t reply—couldn’t, because I didn’t want to dissect that thought.
He didn’t stop there—he crouched above me with his arms on the bed. I could smell the scent of his body wash. Fresh, clean, and manly. It might have been cologne, but it had a pleasant fragrance.
“Let’s give your udders a massage,” he said with a wink.
They were full and heavy with milk again. He barely gripped them, and droplets of milk formed against my dark nipples.
“Such a sweet little cow. Your udders are yielding a tremendous quality of milk,” he said, squeezing them together.
