Chapter 6
Vadik
When my morning alarm beeped, I smiled and reached for my phone. The first thing I did was check on how Lena’s missing case was going.
No new leads.
The police were asking anyone to come forward with further information.
They would find nothing. I ran a tight ship, and my home was too well secured. I ran a hand over my cheek. There was a little stubble. I would need to shave this morning.
It was time to test the quality of the milk production.
I didn’t want my little cow to get stubble rash.
***
“Good morning, little cow,”
I said, moving her sheet away to check her breasts.
They did look ripe and full this morning.
I frowned.
My dick began to harden.
I usually ignored it, but—
I glanced at her.
Her blue eyes were dull, and she stared to the side. There was nothing there except the operating bed and equipment.
This was a problem that I didn’t think I’d encounter. I hadn’t been with a woman since my wife. The only thing I cared about was suffering.
The suffering of others.
Their pain.
Blood.
Screams.
I shook my head, blinking a few times.
What was I doing?
Ah, yes. I needed to check her bags.
I checked her catheter and colostomy bags. She needed to drink fluids today, and I’d put some bone broth on for her before I came here. It was loaded with nutrients, and the additional dress herbs would help her recover.
She lay there like a dead thing.
I didn’t like it.
When I glanced at her nipples, they were darker and the areolas wider. I gripped her breasts and pushed them together, pinching her nipples.
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 fucking owned her.
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.
I wouldn’t get her pregnant with the IUD I planted in her, but she could serve as a breeding cow while being milked.
Not in the biological sense.
No, this was psychological.
Ritualised.
Performance-based.
A milking routine with verbal reinforcement. She’d respond better when her role was spoken aloud. When I told her what she was.
My breeding cow.
My dairy girl.
My soft, milk-swollen little heifer.
It wasn’t arousal—not entirely. It was completion. Seeing the function work.
A machine operates perfectly when each part is installed with care.
She moaned softly as I massaged the last of the milk from her aching tits. Not a protest.
A reaction.
Progress.
My cock pulsed again, but I made no move. I would not fuck her today.
Today was for trust.
Touch.
Establishing a routine.
Tomorrow, perhaps, I would test how she tasted when frightened and full.
For now, she was dry.
Empty.
Compliant.
Good girl.