Page 7 of Violent Love: Viktor (The Caged Hearts Pet Play #5)

Viktor

Her desperate eyes begged for mercy.

She didn’t know I had none.

I wanted her to stare at my ruined face—at every twisted scar—and gag on more than just my cock. I wanted her to feel the full sickness of what she was becoming. What I was making her.

I gripped her hair tight and forced her head down, anchoring my fingers to the bed for leverage as I shoved into her mouth. The wet heat around my shaft made me groan, but when her teeth grazed the skin, I stilled.

“Wider, bitch,”

I snapped. “Open that mouth like a good pet.”

Her pupils dilated—fear, obedience, something primal. She stretched her jaw to obey, and the second she did, I drove back in, sliding my cock deep into her throat.

This was the first act of her training. Her first offering. And it would be violent.

I watched every second.

My cock rocked between her lips, slick with spit, the stretch making her gag. I never used to look at women during sex—never let them look at me. But with her, I wanted the eye contact. I wanted her to see exactly who was violating her.

“Good girl,”

I murmured, jamming into the back of her throat until I hit resistance. “Now—swallow.”

She tried. Her throat convulsed as her body obeyed me, choking on instinct. I didn’t pull back.

I held her there.

My cock lodged deep in her throat, her eyes wide and wet as the panic took over. She trembled as I slowly pressed until her nose was buried in my pubic hair and my trousers brushed her chest.

“Yes. Right there,”

I gasped, then drew back just to slam forward again.

I released her hair and gripped the bed instead, using it to brace myself as I fucked her face—slow at first, then harder. Her drool flew in strands across her chest and the floor. I watched it spill down her chin, down my balls.

That’s what she was now.

Not a woman.

Not an adored pet.

Just a feeding hole.

“That’s it, Suka,”

I groaned, grabbing her head again. “Earn your meal.”

I locked my hands on her skull and began thrusting in earnest, sharp, savage, unforgiving. Her head rocked with each blow. The room echoed with wet, gurgling noises, the disgusting rhythm of her body submitting.

She tried to keep her eyes open, but they fluttered shut, helpless under the assault. I watched every moment. Her flushed face. The tears. The slobber.

The debasement.

My climax built fast, too fast. I yanked back, jerking my cock furiously as it exploded across her tongue. Thick spurts of cum painted the back of her throat. I gripped the base and pumped every last drop into her mouth, groaning as I smeared the leaking head across her tongue.

I wasn’t done until her mouth was full—overflowing.

Her eyes swam with tears.

“Hold it,”

I commanded, tucking my cock away.

She kept her mouth open, panting through her nose, trying not to gag.

I crouched before her, inspecting her like I would any new pet. Her nipples were pink from earlier punishment, her thighs clamped shut in some last vestige of shame. Her lips glistened with spit and seed.

Perfect.

“Swallow it,”

I said coldly. “Then thank me.”

She tried—but coughed. Some spilled from the corner of her mouth. She slapped a hand to her face, trying to catch it, her body jerking as she forced herself to try again.

This time, she swallowed.

Slow. Shaky.

Then she looked up.

“Thank you for my meal, Master,”

she whispered, hoarse and wet-eyed, blinking hard against the tears.

I unhooked the leash.

She remained kneeling—a broken doll, dripping and ashamed. But I didn’t need her broken yet. Not completely.

That would come later.

For now, I just smiled. Quiet. Satisfied.

A smile I’d have to hide from the Pakhan’s wife.

***

“You’re looking pleased with yourself,”

the Pakhan said, gazing out the car window.

I frowned. “Am I that obvious?”

“You are to me.”

He turned toward me, eyes glinting. “You had your fun when I was clashing with Bunny. Now it’s your turn.”

I let my head fall back against the cream interior with a sigh. Deep down, I always knew karma would bite me in the ass. I just didn’t expect it to wear a collar and crawl.

“She still locked up?” he asked.

“Yes. It’s too soon to let her out. I’m waiting on the shock collar. Sergei’s going to amplify it for me.”

The car slowed. I straightened, scanning the street as we approached our destination.

“I should’ve thought of that,”

the Pakhan mused, rubbing his beard. “Bunny might’ve enjoyed it.”

I ran a hand over my face, groaning. “She’s not supposed to enjoy being electrocuted. It’s a punishment.”

“There’s a fine line between pain and pleasure, brother. Endorphins, dopamine…It’s all biology.”

He shot me a smirk. “Need a little tutelage?”

“Wait, do you still—? She’s pregnant,”

I said, frowning, ignoring the knock on the window as Andryúsha waited outside.

“Only when she begs for it,”

he replied with a grin, then opened his door and stepped out.

I followed, scanning the area out of habit while Andryúsha held the door for the Pakhan. Everything was in order.

And yet…his words lingered.

Natalya wasn’t Ania. But pain and pleasure?

Pain was a concept I understood all too well. Now I had the opportunity to test it out on my pet bitch.

The thought of twisting one into the other…

Was very fucking intriguing.

***

It was Petrov’s final day.

I’d hoped he’d last longer, but the bastard had already suffered a heart attack. Luckily, the doctor saved him. Not out of kindness—just efficiency.

When I entered the operating room, Vadik was hunched over Petrov’s ankles, a small silver drill whining in his hand.

“How come you get all the good toys?” I asked.

“Because this is my playground,”

he replied, voice muffled behind the plastic visor.

I crouched beside him. Some tool held Petrov’s skin wide open while Vadik drilled directly into the bone. His face was a ruined mess. The doctor had cauterised most of his open wounds with silver nitrate. His eyes looked clouded and dull—more like overripe grapes than functioning organs.

“Is he blind?”

I asked, watching the way Petrov didn’t flinch when I waved a finger in front of him.

“Not yet,”

Vadik said, pausing to snap a picture of the hole he’d just bored into the tibia. “But he will be. Two, maybe three days. Dehydration will do the rest.”

“Huh. Guess he doesn’t need these, then,”

I muttered, reaching for a fresh pair of gloves.

Petrov was trying to speak, rasping something under his breath.

I leaned in. “Speak up, svoloch.” Bastard.

“He’s saying, ‘kill me,’”

Vadik translated with a smirk.

I smiled back. “Hang in there just a little longer, Petrov.”

He screamed behind the muzzle as I slid my fingers into the ruined socket. The flesh gave easily. I scooped out the eyeball with a wet pop, lifting it between my thumb and forefinger. The optic nerve dangled from the back like a snapped wire.

“You won’t be looking at any more children,”

I said flatly, dropping it into the metal bowl.

Vadik cackled behind me. I turned to see him watching the scene like theatre, his expression gleeful.

“Anyone who preys on children deserves this,”

he murmured, eyes glazed over. “And more.”

The sound of Petrov sobbing grated on my nerves.

“You don’t get to cry,”

I said, jamming my fingers into the other socket.

It was a shame the Pakhan wouldn’t witness the end himself, but the recordings would have to do. He never flinched from blood—neither did Vadik. The three of us should probably have a therapist on retainer.

Vadik was already inspecting the first eyeball like it was a rare jewel. I gave him the second.

I would miss my time with Petrov.