Page 16 of Violent Love: Viktor (The Caged Hearts Pet Play #5)

Natalya

The routine returned to normal, and I could breathe again. Day and night rotated around me until I stopped counting the cycle. The sink wasn’t enough for me to bathe, and the bar of soap had practically disintegrated. A sliver remained.

One thing was constant and kept me grounded—the hatch opening and closing. Master never said a word, but I always received his cum before food. As time went on, my food became more decadent.

Roasted meat with thick sauce, always seasoned to perfection. One day, he gave me a dessert—Medovik honey cake—thin layers of sponge, honey, and sour cream with raspberries. I didn’t scoff it down. I savoured it. Licked it, layer by tiny layer.

But when I caught myself wishing he’d drizzled his cum on it, I froze. Crouched over the plastic bowl, staring at the cake on my hands and knees like a beast.

A dog.

My mouth stayed open. My chest hurt. The thought sat in my throat like glass.

My eyes closed. And suddenly, it was all there: the children laughing at my worn, smelly clothes, teachers whispering behind clipboards, and the sotsial’nyye rabotniki coming. Cold offices, being taken, being dumped, landing in my father’s decrepit apartment, then clawing my way through each miserable year just to survive.

Hungry as a child. And now this.

Still hungry. Still begging. Just different rules.

I wasn’t a pet. I wasn’t his suka. I was a girl who had nothing left.

I resumed eating.

The salty tears added to the taste of my cake.

***

I smiled beneath the mask. It didn’t matter that my hair was matted with grease or that I hadn’t bathed in days, weeks, or months. My Master was happy with me.

That was enough.

I dreamed of his tattooed hands. The spiralling snake no longer frightened me—it fascinated me. I wanted to see it again, to feel it curl around my throat. I missed the way his hair fell across his forehead, the dark beard that hid the scar on his jaw, and the eyes that watched me like a thing to be broken. They were always calculating and cruel.

I thought about him when I slept. When I ate. When I swallowed his cum like it mattered more than food.

I rolled off the mat as soon as I heard his footsteps. Snout off. My legs spread, my breasts pressing against the cold metal door. I got into position without thinking. Because if he saw me ready, maybe he’d use me. Maybe he’d feed me. Maybe he’d look at me again.

I waited.

And waited.

I whimpered. Then barked, soft and eager. Pleading.

Still nothing.

I looked over my shoulder at the window to check the light.

Morning.

So where was he?

The hatch didn’t open.

Click.

The sound was wrong. Not the hatch.

The door.

I scrambled back, heart slamming in my chest.

What had I done?

Why was the door opening?

Why now?

Was he angry?

Had I failed?

The door opened wider.

He filled the doorway.

My eyes drank him in. His hair was longer. Beard trimmed. And those piercing eyes were on me again. White shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows. Part of the snake tattoo was visible as his hands rested by his sides. His zip was closed.

He didn’t move or speak.

I hesitated—then slowly placed my hand on the floor, crawling to him. I knelt between his legs.

His lips twitched, but still, he said nothing.

I opened my mouth and tilted my head.

“Sukaah,”

he murmured my name.

Low, deep, yet ever so soft.

My arms broke out in goosebumps, and I shuddered before rubbing my mask against his thigh. He smelled clean and fresh—the way he always did.

My pussy clenched.

Empty.

I nuzzled into his crotch, feeling the soft material of his trousers. The harder bump of the zip teased my lips. I wrapped my arms around his thick thigh, clutching the fabric.

“Good girl,”

he crooned, patting the top of my mask.

My heart raced.

My arms trembled.

My Master.