Page 3 of Milk & Malice: Vadik
The cream sweater did nothing to hide the volume of her chest—Double D, easily.
I took a step back, hiding my face by dipping it down. Watching.
Curved. Rounded. Wide-set iliac crest.
Excellent pelvic width-to-waist ratio.
Another step back. Slim ankles. I frowned.
Fragile tibia?
Hmm. I would need to conduct more tests.
But as my eyes climbed the slope of her calf, up the firm thighs hidden beneath a floral skirt, the fullness of her gluteal mass gave me hope.
She had strong quadriceps. Weight-bearing femurs.
Maybe even naturally thickened patellae.
A solid lumbar spine.
Then I saw it—
The hair.
Golden. Strawberry. A blend of copper and fire. Thick, shaggy strands—like a Highland heifer in spring. Shaggy, sweet, and designed for breeding. Not that I would ever breed a pet.
The probiotic kefir was abandoned. I placed it on the nearest shelf.
I retrieved my phone.
One snap.
Two.
Then I opened the measurement app. Began estimating.
Height: 165cm
Shoulder width: 42cm
Est. bust: 34DD
Hip spread: excellent
Gait: unknown. Must observe.
She reached for Greek yoghurt.
Not low-fat.
Not low-fat.
Yes—5% fat.
I let out a breath I hadn’t realised I was holding.
The full-fat would’ve been optimal for future yield—higher lipids, better viscosity—but I had time.
