Page 15 of M!lked For His Pleasure

Istudy my new little cow, desperate to know what she’s thinking. So many expressions flit across her face, but they’re gone before I can figure it out. One thing that’s very clear, however, is the scent of arousal wafting off of her.

Her body screams in need even if her lips remain silent. Circling around her, I note the rigidity in her stance. Despite being aroused by me, she’s also wary. Common enough. Most cows are skittish and frightened at first.

In fact, I’ve come to understand that the ones who aren’t afraid of us and try to fight their captives are the ones who merely accept their fate, do not stay long in our world. Whether by their own hand or natural causes, they drift up to the celestials in the sky.

My skin crawls as memories burst through my mind. Though I try my hardest to forget, my brain is always there to remind me. Closing my eyes, I do my absolute best to shove out the images of the small burial plot we have for the cows who no longer wish to live.

It was only my first year as a Rancher, and I knew nothing about the temperament of humans. It took one death. Just one. After that, I knew what signs to look for. Even now, I worry about the few who caught my eye.

If only the transport did a better job at weeding out the humans based on emotional stability and not just viability of our serums. What good is it to have these cows if they’re absolutely miserable?

Shaking my head, I dispel these morose thoughts. The cow in front of me is not like them. She could never be like them. Fear sizzles through my veins as I look deep into her brown eyes.

“I want you to be truthful with me.” Fear makes my mouth dry and my voice hoarse. But it cannot be helped. “Are you well adjusted?”

She hesitates for a bit and simply stares at me. For half a second, I worry that her translator is no longer working. A bark of laughter erupts from her lips, but there’s not a trace of humor in it.

“Well adjusted? You kidnapped me, put some unknown serum in me to make me leak from every orifice and you have the nerve to ask me if I’m well adjusted?”

Crossing my arms, I bite down on my inner cheek to keep from smiling. She’s certainly a spitfire, far more than any cow I’ve tended to before. It’s her spark that allows me to take in a deep breath.

“To be fair, it’s the Medical Ranchers who did all that. I’m just reaping the benefits.”

“Areye aff yer heid?” she snarls, her accent becoming thick. “I’ve no went tonto if that’s what yer askin’. I’m no a wee headcase. But I’m soon to become one if ye don’t stop yappin’ and get to the boabing’ that ye promised.”

I should be angry with her show of force. In fact, not one cow has ever spoken to me with such disrespect. It’s something wedrill into our heifers from the moment they’re brought on board our ships.

Unfortunately, all it does is make my cock hard. I have no idea how the arousal at her show of submission has shifted to this, but I crave the acidity in her words. It makes me want to force her to submit instead of enjoying the woman I thought she was. Somehow, it’s better this way, far more erotic.

Besides, she’s already admitted she likes a bite of pain with her pleasure. How much of this venom is because of this desire and how much is actual disrespect? Either way, in my mind, she’s just given me carte blanche to have my way with her and not hold back.

Grabbing the lead in my hand, I wind it around, bringing her ever closer with each rotation of my wrist. Her eyes widen as I force her to step forward, filling the gap until she’s so close I can almost taste her breath in the air.

“Let’s get one thing straight, my little masocow. I am the one in charge. I will always be the one in charge. If you beg me like a good, sweet, demure little cow, I might make you see stars. Continue with that attitude, and you’ll taste my hand in a far, less pleasurable way.”

She sways for a moment, her eyes dilating a touch further. “Please,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. “I- I need.”

“Yes, my little one. I know exactly what you need.” Gathering her hand in mine, I place it over my heart. “When we are alone, you may call me by my given name. To you, I will always be Master Antroli. If allowed to speak in front of others, it will be Master Rancher. What is your name?”

“Do you really want to know it?” There’s a tinge of emotion there, vulnerability maybe?

“I do. I want to know what name I’m crying out as I stroke myself.”

Red tinges her cheeks as she ducks away for a moment. “Fiona.”

“Fiona.” I sound out each syllable as if I’m already tasting her decadent milk. “Such a pretty name for such a pretty cow.”

“I really wish you’d stop calling me that. I’m not big enough to be a cow.”

Chuckling, I loosen my grip a touch on her lead. “It’s not your size that makes you a cow. It’s your function. Soon, you’ll be providing milk to nourish me, to allow me to do my job, and do it well. You are integral to my way of life. My own, personal cow.”

I refuse to tone down the reverence in my voice. To me, it’s important that she knows just what she is in my life. What she means to me. Though my little pet might not think of me in such an adoring way now, it is my goal that she'll become just as besotted with me as I am with her.

“Come. I must attend to you before you engorge to the point of damage.”

All it takes is a gentle tug for her to trot after me like an obedient little bovine. My balls clench at the idea of putting her into her cow items after we’re done. She’ll be the most adorable one on our farm. I just know it.

Leading her over to the milking bench, I help her sit astride. For a moment, as I lift her breasts, she jerks ever so slightly, as if she wants to flee, but then stills. It’s quite fascinating watching her mind and body work.

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