by Kitty Thomas
“Didn’t you hear me yell at you to come inside? You’ll freeze out there.”
Veronica shrugged, still feeling surly about the shoes.
“What is it?” he asked.
“I want shoes. I’ve been here for months. Don’t you trust me not to run away?”
Luke went back to his breakfast, ignoring the demand and the question. “I’ve decided to make a change around here. From now on, you’ll address the guys with respect. No first names. I only want to hear ‘Yes, Sir’ and ‘No, Sir’ out of you. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Sir,” she mumbled. It was ridiculous and the wrong thing to focus on, but she felt as if she were being cast off. If everybody got the same title, was he saying she wasn’t really just his anymore? The brand had finally healed to the point where it wasn’t sore anymore. She wondered if even his brand meant anything between them, if everyone was to be called Sir at the ranch.
“Yes, Master,” he corrected.
Veronica looked up suddenly, her eyes going wide. “I’m sorry, what?”
“You heard me. Say it.”
She looked around the table at the ranch hands. They watched her, waiting to hear her say the degrading phrase. In all of the videos, Trish had called Luke, Sir. To Veronica’s knowledge none of the other ranch hands had gotten titles. Veronica had been his slave for months, what was verbal acknowledgment in the face of everything else? Still, an old part of her—from when she’d lived in the city—rebelled against the idea. Accepting she was his slave was a different thing from being his slave. Somehow the former was worse than the latter.
Calling him Sir had been difficult at first, but it was no different than a waitress or somebody working customer service. It hadn’t been too demeaning to force herself to say, even though it had been hard to get used to.
Luke stood and unbuckled his belt. The leather zipped through the loops so loudly it pulled Veronica out of her hesitation.
They were only words.
“Y-yes, M-master.” She’d rather say the demeaning thing than have him throw her down on the ground and beat her in front of the ranch hands.
Luke nodded and sat back down. He folded the belt and put it on the table, as if he wanted to have it ready should he need to call it into action.
***
Several days passed, and Veronica was finally overcome by curiosity to taste her own milk. Luke caught her and whipped her for it, then lectured her for a good half hour about the evils of drinking or even tasting what belonged to him and his men. Despite the humiliation, she’d become aroused by his irrational demands.
As the weeks passed and her milk began to flow better, Luke changed her wardrobe. One Sunday, when the guys were off, he put her in jeans and a cupless corset to better support her heavy breasts. He circled her in the playroom, sizing her up.
“Since you’re our cow, I can’t have you covering those lovely tits up. We want to see them all the time. And we want easy access to your milk.”
In some way, it was a relief. Without fabric to cover them, they wouldn’t chafe. It had begun to be uncomfortable with milk-dampened fabric covering her breasts. Luke had begun to rub some of her milk into her nipples after each feeding—it helped some, but as long as she stayed inside where it was warm, freeing her breasts to the air would help more.
Veronica sucked in a breath as he cupped her breasts in his hands, no doubt feeling the heavy weight, knowing how engorged they were. She was desperate to have him drink from her. Titles were nothing now. She’d do or say anything to get him to release the pressure. Now that her body had finally responded to his training and the hormones, Luke wouldn’t allow her to squeeze any of the milk out herself. It had to be one of the guys or he’d punish her. After she’d tried to taste her milk, he’d installed cameras around the house so he’d catch her if she disobeyed.
Even after the cameras, she’d disobeyed once. She’d been too desperate to ease the ache. Her body had gotten used to a feeding schedule, and the men had worked later that evening than usual. Luke had easily convinced her that heavy pressure in her breasts was preferable to the searing pain of the cane.
“Please, Master...” Veronica rubbed her breasts against him.
“So eager to give milk,” he said, swiping his tongue over one nipple, causing a drop of milk to drip from the other as if it were jealous. “I like that. Between the brand and this, you’re hardly recognizable from when I first took you.”
She moaned and arched toward him, too distracted from the physical discomfort to contemplate his words. “Please, please please. It hurts, please.” Tears slid down her face.
“Not just yet.” He wiped her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. “You’ve been such a good girl the past few weeks. So compliant and docile. I’m so pleased with you. Do you know how happy you make me, princess?”
He’d let her sleep in his room every night since she’d started giving milk. What he was doing should have upset her more, but it made her feel intimately connected to him, more dependent on him, more addicted to the myriad forms of release he could now offer her.
Release from the busy, loud city and the cramped feeling the place had always engendered. Release from her debt. Release from her fear of starving to death. And the physical releases he offered her when he fucked and fed from her.
She jumped when the door opened and Will walked in, followed by an attractive, slim redhead in her early forties. The woman was dressed smartly in a black suit. She crossed the floor and sat on the couch, crossing her long, elegant legs.
“Good, you’re here,” Luke said. “Ronnie, this is Frieda.”
Veronica’s mouth dropped open. Will’s wife. Here. She looked away from the woman, afraid she might see the guilt. Not that it had been Veronica’s fault. Still, the wife of Luke’s ranch hand might not see it that way.
Veronica tried to cover her exposed breasts, but Luke pulled her arms down to her sides and shook his head.
“Can I get you some coffee?” he asked the other woman.
“Coffee would be nice, thank you.”
Luke crossed the playroom to pour her a cup. “Do you take it black?”
Freida gave Veronica a long, measured look, her eyes flicking to her breasts in a way that made Veronica blush. “You know I take milk.”
He smirked. Luke came back to Veronica and squeezed her nipple over the cup of coffee. She couldn’t help the sigh of relief that came with the slight ease of pressure. He passed the cup to the woman, and without turning around, he said, “Veronica, take off your pants.”
Veronica froze for a second, still trying to catch her brain up to the fact that Will’s wife was here and didn’t seem freaked out by any of this.
“Ronnie, do you want to be punished in front of company?”
“N-no, Master.” She looked at the rug, her face flaming at having to call him that in front of a stranger, but she was too afraid to leave the title off. She eased the jeans down over her hips and stepped out of them.
She was caught by surprise when Will came up behind her, his hands moving around to her breasts, massaging them but not doing enough to make the milk flow. Even though his hand hadn’t strayed between her legs, the arousal was high enough that a little liquid dribbled out of her breasts.
Veronica gasped when Will pushed her to her hands and knees and took her panties down. Freida’s expression remained stoic as she drank her coffee and studied Veronica.
She still couldn’t believe Will’s wife wasn’t angry. For months when Will had taken her or drunk from her, she’d thought of his wife and what she would feel if she knew what he was doing with another, probably younger woman. From the looks of things, Freida had known the whole time.
Luke and Freida talked on the couch while Will fucked her.
“How long are you going to make her give milk?” Freida asked.
“As long as I can. A few years for sure, but probably until her body won’t let her do it anymore.”
Veronica felt a surge o
f lust at his words. It hadn’t occurred to her that he might use her for milk for so long. The idea should have disturbed or repulsed her. Instead, it, combined with Will inside her, had her climbing frantically to orgasm.
Luke may have felt that the branding would make her truly feel she was his and accept it, but the branding had only been the first step. It was being fed from that had pushed her over the edge where the only thing that mattered anymore was having the relief that only Luke or one of his ranch hand’s mouths could give her.
“The poor dear,” Freida said. “But then, she won’t be as uncomfortable here. I had to work outside the home during all that. It was finally too much to deal with. I imagine her life is different.”
“Quite,” Luke said.
Veronica came, panting and moaning, unable to be quiet even with the man’s wife sitting right there. When Will pulled out of her, she dropped to her stomach on the rug and just lay there, breathing, as Luke and Freida’s conversation faded into a low hum of white noise.
Several moments later, shiny black boots were next to her face. Sometimes Luke wore them with black pants in the playroom. They were the same boots from the videos. He never wore them out of the house. Out of the house it was always his standard cowboy boots and jeans.
“Are you spent, sweetheart? Because if this is all too much for you, we can just let you go take a nap,” he said.
“No, Master, please.”
He knew what she needed, he was only tormenting her. If she went to sleep now, it might be another full day before someone sucked the milk out of her. She wasn’t sure she could sleep through the pain. She had to have relief now. She’d do anything if it would end in being milked. She didn’t even need a mouth. If he’d just put her on the machine she’d be happy. She didn’t care if Freida watched. Let her watch. The other woman had been Will’s cow. This wasn’t new territory in her world.
“I don’t know, I think maybe you should go on to bed,” Luke said, his tone amused.
She scooted her body closer to him and kissed his boots. “Please, Master,” she whimpered. “I need to be milked. Please. You know I can’t sleep like this.”
“Lick, and I’ll think about it.”
He was showboating for the other woman on the couch, which made Veronica wonder if Luke had been with her. Well, weren’t they all a bunch of deviant swingers? But she didn’t care; the only thing that mattered was getting what she needed. She ran her tongue over the boot and up the side.
Luke chuckled. “When I met you that day at the diner and you were so rude to me for simply holding a door open for you, who would have thought you’d be a little bootlicking slut by the time I was finished with you?”
The question was rhetorical, of course. But instead of creating rage, it made her more aroused. How could she be so hot from being treated this way?
“Master, please. Just put me on the machine... anything.”
“I bet you’d like for Freida and Will to watch you get fucked and milked on that machine, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes, Master.” She wasn’t sure anymore if she was lying, or if she’d merely been given permission to start telling the truth.
“No, I think you’ve been a good enough slut to get the real thing. Crawl over to Freida and ask her to drink from you.”
Veronica’s face flamed, but she did what she was told and crawled over to the woman still perched elegantly on the couch with her cup of coffee cooling.
“And, Veronica?”
She turned. “Yes, Master?”
“You will address her as Ma’am.”
“Can I give you some milk, Ma’am?” Veronica asked, knowing the desperation must be coming out in her voice.
Freida laughed. “She’s a slutty little milk cow, isn’t she?”
“She is,” Luke agreed.
Veronica caught Luke’s eyes, and for a moment she thought perhaps he saw her for her. Was she still Trish when he looked at her, or had this new direction in their relationship taken them somewhere where he could see her and want her even if it was all wrong and fucked up?
“Come here, dear, let me ease some of that awful pressure,” the woman said.
Freida’s mouth descended on Veronica’s breast, and she let out a whimper of pleasure as the woman began to suckle. A moment later, her husband had joined her, his mouth closing around Veronica’s other nipple and pulling the milk from her so hard it almost made her dizzy with relief.
Then another mouth was on her—Luke’s—between her legs, sucking on her clit. So many mouths on her sucking, hands caressing. Moans of pleasure from her and from the two people at her breasts filled the room.
When the couple had taken all they wanted, they passed her back to Luke.
“She tastes wonderful. What are you feeding her?”
“Mostly what we grow or kill. I don’t let her have a lot of junk. And we keep her mostly away from onions and garlic.”
“You can tell,” Freida said.
When Luke finished drinking, he picked Veronica up and carried her over to the machine. “You’ve been so good today, let’s make sure we drain all the milk out so you can sleep more comfortably.”
On the one hand, he was rewarding her. On the other, he also wanted to display and humiliate her some more, and her body had forgotten how to be outraged about it. She didn’t resist when he strapped her into the machine. He only had to apply lube to the anal toy. Her pussy was so wet it wasn’t necessary for the other toy. He inserted the vibrating rods inside her and turned the machine on.
After that, she forgot about her audience. The sensation of being completely drained of milk while her cunt and ass were being filled was all-consuming. By the time Luke turned the machine off, she’d had another three orgasms. Sleep would be great tonight.
She was only vaguely aware of Will and Freida as they stood to leave. Long, feminine nails skimmed lightly down her back and over her ass.
Freida bent to whisper in her ear. “You were very good, dear. I haven’t seen Luke this happy in a long time. You’re good for him.” Then they left.
She wondered if the other woman thought Veronica had come here freely. She doubted Freida knew the true circumstances of her presence at the ranch. Did it matter anymore?
That night, Veronica slept peacefully in Luke’s arms.
Chapter Ten
Veronica carried a load of laundry up the stairs late one afternoon. She usually folded it in the playroom because there was so much space on the floor to stack everything. It would have been better to take the laundry up in two trips, but she’d piled it all in the basket to make less work. She’d almost reached the top when her foot slipped, and she fell.
She let out a howl of pain as she struggled to stand. The laundry had gone everywhere, but she didn’t care about that. Tears stung her eyes. She couldn’t put any weight on her foot without screaming. It’s broken. The panicky thought rose inside of her. It could be twisted or sprained or just bruised, but deep inside she knew.
What would happen when Luke found out? He obviously didn’t trust her enough to give her shoes. He hadn’t taken her out of the house since that one day with the ice cream and the lake—the day she’d tried to blot out of her memory because it had scared her so badly. If she could just erase that day, she could make peace with being here. Ironically, the one thing Luke had done to try to force her trust had eroded it.
He couldn’t take her to the hospital. It was too big of a risk. They would separate them in the emergency room and she’d have a way out. He couldn’t threaten her with the cuff because if they found it on her, he was done. And the brand on her hip was all the evidence anybody would need. Even if he just dropped her off at the hospital and left, and she didn’t know how to get to his house... even if she hadn’t known his full name, that brand was registered with the state. It would lead the police back to him.
Would he kill her? She hadn’t been afraid for her life in months, but now... What did you do with a lame horse? Wasn’t th
at the kind of attitude Luke had been raised with? Didn’t he see her as just another one of his animals now? They’d had a good run, and now he’d have to take her out back and shoot her?
The rational side of her said that was ridiculous. Luke would never do that. But would she have believed before she came here that he would have done any of the rest? When she’d sat in the diner with her coworker, watching him put away that giant breakfast?
The day leaving the lake, he hadn’t answered about what if the cop had found him. If she’d been under the water, there was a good chance Luke would have kept her there to save his hide. He’d been adamant about not going to prison, which seemed funny for a man so comfortable with doing crime.
Maybe it wasn’t broken. Or maybe it would heal okay on its own. She didn’t have to do outdoor chores right now, just stuff inside. Nobody saw her except at meal times and Luke in the evenings. Maybe she could cover it long enough to heal a little. Then she could plead her case. If it was broken it could heal wrong and always hurt, or make her walk wrong or look strange, but at least she’d be alive. Assuming Luke didn’t find her repulsive after that.
Veronica scrubbed the tears off her face. Ice. Whatever it was, ice might help. She crawled to the kitchen, unable to put even the smallest amount of weight on it without agony and pulled herself up on one foot next to the freezer to make an ice pack. Her foot was swelling fast. There was no way she’d be able to keep it a secret for long.
He’d know tonight. Even so, she couldn’t stop herself from trying to hide all evidence that anything was wrong. After she’d iced it, she crawled back to the laundry to get it out of sight. Thankfully she didn’t have to worry about dinner tonight. Chili had been going in the crock pot since after breakfast.
She made it to the couch and covered her legs with a blanket and read the five-year-old magazine Luke wouldn’t toss.
The kitchen door clanged shut an hour later.
“Why isn’t the table set?”
