Page 14 of Violent Love: Viktor (The Caged Hearts Pet Play #5)

Natalya

My descent down the stairs was wooden. There’d be nothing good down here.

I’d cried myself to sleep in the SUV, his men’s jeers still echoing in my ears. Only the soft classical music—and sheer exhaustion—had dulled the shame enough to drag me under.

Now, as I stared at the silver metal door, fresh tears pricked my eyes.

It opened.

Grey walls.

A barred window—just enough to know if it was day or night.

A stainless-steel toilet and sink in one corner. A padded mat on the floor. Nothing more.

“Welcome to your new home,”

he said, pressing his shoe against my ass.

I crawled in and waited.

He unclipped the leash. Removed the shock collar.

I exhaled. It had been digging into my neck for hours.

“Are you hungry?”

I nodded.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

I racked my brain. My eyes closed.

“…Woof.”

It came out broken. Pathetic.

His shoes clicked against the concrete.

Then the heavy metal door slammed shut.

I winced at the sound, crawled to the mat and lay down.

***

It wasn’t long before the hatch opened.

I scrambled up, expecting food—my belly aching to be filled.

Instead, his cock slid through the gap.

“Earn your food, suka. Remove the snout and worship my cock. Make me cum, and you eat.”

His voice was cold. Dispassionate.

I blinked, staring at the swollen, flushed head. A bead of clear liquid clung to the tip.

The shaft jutted forward—thick, pulsing, with a raised vein running down the side.

His balls hung heavy beneath the frame.

I fumbled with the mask. The snap buttons gave way. I removed the snout.

Silence.

I touched his cock. Hot. Hard. Real.

Worship?

I licked my dry lips and dragged my tongue up the shaft to the tip, tasting the salt.

I shut my eyes. Tried to pretend this was just a filthy encounter. Not this. Not this.

My lips closed around the head.

I sucked. Hollowed my cheeks.

My hands moved at the base while my mouth worked, sliding up and down his cock.

One sound.

A hiss.

I sucked harder. Used my tongue. I gave him everything.

The wetter his cock became, the easier it was.

“Deeper,”

he barked.

I pushed down until I gagged—but didn’t move.

“Hold.”

He pulled back, then thrust forward, forcing the head into my throat.

I let go of his cock and braced myself against the cold metal.

My eyes watered. My jaw ached from holding myself open. He grunted like an animal. Each thrust was more brutal, faster—until I struggled to keep my face against the door.

Wet choking sounds filled the room.

My tears ran freely—not from pain, but from the ache between my legs I didn’t ask for. I squeezed my thighs together.

For a moment, my spirit left my body. This wasn’t happening.

His cock pulsed. He pulled back. Hot spurts of thick cum shot down my throat. He grunted as he finished. The taste flooded my tongue—salty, bitter, and warm. I tilted my head before it could drip.

“Swallow and clean my cock. If a single drop hits the floor—lick it up.”

My eyes snapped open. I glanced down. Nothing.

I swallowed. I cleaned. I earned my meal.

His cock disappeared. A moment later, I saw him zip up his black trousers. Then a plastic container slid through the hatch.

“On the floor. Eat like a proper suka. I’ll be watching.”

I took the container. I should’ve been happy.

But I was too numb to feel.

I opened the lid.

It was still warm.

Zharkoye.

Meat, vegetables, butter-soft potatoes.

I dropped to the floor and ate, chasing chunks around with my tongue.

I moaned—a pathetic, grateful sound.

My first proper meal.

There was plenty.

I licked the container clean.

***

Four days of silence. No pain. No commands. Just the hatch opening and closing, three times a day. It became a rhythm—cock, then food. That was the deal. If I sucked him off, I earned my meal. If I pleased him, I was fed. Simple.

I kept the tail in place and always wore the mask, only removing it to brush my teeth or wash my face in the corner sink. I started to trace the polished plaque on my collar. My fingers moved over the engraved letters, then the flowers around the edge of the collar. I didn’t know why I did it. Maybe it gave me something to do. Maybe it grounded me.

I saw the camera. Every day. Staring back at me.

Sometimes I pretended he wasn’t watching. Other times, I licked him slowly, dragged my tongue over his cock like I knew he could see. I wondered if he watched every time. If he waited for it. If he liked it when I used my hands to stroke his balls while I sucked him.

Once, he spilled on the floor. I hesitated. But I got on my hands and knees and cleaned it up with my tongue, dragging it over the dusty concrete until nothing was left. He said nothing. But the hatch opened a minute later with food inside.

I knew what he was doing. I wasn’t stupid. He was conditioning me, breaking me down without laying a single finger on me. But I was tired. So tired. And I was alone. No windows. No warmth. Just cold walls, a mat, a toilet, and a hole in the door for cock and food.

I didn’t want to die.

But I didn’t want to become this, either.

On the fifth day, I woke up aching. Not just in my stomach, but between my legs. The heat wouldn’t go away. I shifted against the mat, rubbing the base of my tail for friction. I tried to fight it. I really did. But then my hand slid between my thighs, and I remembered what it felt like when he took me. When he made me come. I was already crying when I touched myself. I came anyway, biting the blanket to muffle the sound.

That day, the hatch didn’t open.

Not in the morning.

Not at noon.

Not at night.

No cock. No food. No Master.

I curled up on the mat with my stomach growling and tears drying on my face. I knew what this was. I’d broken the rule. I touched myself without permission. He didn’t need to punish me with pain—just absence.

My Master was angry with me.

And me?

I missed him.