Page 72 of Milk & Malice: Vadik
“I want you marked permanently,” he said, voice devoid of warmth.“We’ve discussed this.”
Had we?
He must’ve seen the panic in my eyes.
“Shh. No cutting. No tattoos. Just a brand. A small one. For symmetry.”
He pressed a gloved hand to my belly and tapped his fingers where my hipbone jutted. “Hmm. No, I want to see it when I mount you.”
He turned me over and his hand wandered above my ass cheek. “Yes, here.”
“You’ll thank me later,” he said as he began to strap me into place.
I trembled as he picked up a cold metal rod, not yet heated, and traced it against my skin. He clipped the speculum back onto the tray, satisfied with the inspection, and peeled off the gloves, reaching for the new pair.
“Do you know what tissue does when exposed to 1100 degrees Fahrenheit?” he asked, like it was a lecture.
I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. The restraints on the sling pulled my legs wide, belly and udders pressed against the table.
“It chars. Bubbles. Collapses in on itself. But just enough, and it cauterises cleanly. No blood. Minimal scarring. If done correctly.”
He wheeled a cart beside me. Surgical steel. Fireproof gloves. Gauze. Saline. An antiseptic scrub. Petroleum jelly. A sterile pack of absorbent pads. A preheated branding iron rested in a metal cradle beside a small torch. It was shaped like a letter.
V.
For Vadik? I wondered.
“I created you, my sweet. It should be my branding on you,” he said, checking the tip with a thermometer. “A touch of iodine first.”
He didn’t smile.
He disinfected my hip with a cold swipe of iodine. Dried it. Did it again. Then he used a ruler moving it from one side of my ass to the other before marking it with a pen. Symmetrical. Precise.
“Once it’s done, the nerves will stay angry for a week. We’ll manage with lidocaine gel and antiseptic dressing. You’ll milk through it, and take it like a good cow.”
I shivered.
He picked up the gloves. Pulled them on tight.
“I’ll count down,” he murmured.
He didn’t.
The brand hissed when it touched my skin. A brutal sizzle, then a puff of white smoke. I screamed so loud the lights seemed to flicker. My whole body seized.
He didn’t pull away immediately.
Just long enough to make sure it took.
Then he lifted it. Blew gently. Examined the flesh.
I breathed through the pain. It felt red, raw and burnt. I could see it in my head. His flawless V between my hip and my ass.
“Perfect. You did well,” he said, swabbing the wound with saline.“There will be no infection. I’m here to look after you.”
I relaxed on the table with a sigh. He always did.
He applied a thin layer of jelly, padded gauze, and taped it down with surgical precision.
