Page 35 of Violent Love: Viktor
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.
Chapter 15
Viktor
Her fingers crept between her thighs beneath the blanket—sly and trembling. The dark grey fabric shifted like waves, betraying her. She was quiet, careful, but not clever enough. I saw it all.
I lit a cigarette and took a slow drag, the tip flaring as I inhaled. She’d earned this starvation. She didn’t know it yet.
