Page 41 of Violent Love: Viktor
“Kneel.”
I moved to my knees.
He stepped behind me. The mask’s leather brushed my cheek. It smelled new. Chemical. Animal. The kind of scent that lingered in collars and leashes.
I froze.
Not from disobedience. From something deeper—fear. A flicker of the girl still trapped inside me.
“Goodsuka,” he murmured, then slid it over my face.
Darkness swallowed me whole.
I gasped. My hands twitched, but I didn’t lift them. I didn’t dare. The snout gripped my mouth. The eye mask flattened against my lids, sealing off everything—no light, no shapes. Only pressure.
Then came the laces.
He began tightening them. Slow. Steady. Each pull drew the mask closer to my skull, pressing into the hollows of my eyes and the curve of my jaw. The leather creaked. My breath bounced back at me from inside the muzzle. Hot. Shaky.
Panic climbed my throat.
I whimpered and shifted, chest heaving. There was no room to move. No space to see. Just the hum of blood in my ears and the slow, final tug of the buckle at the base of my neck.
Locked in.
I couldn’t breathe properly. Couldn’t see. My tongue pressed against the inside of the snout, against the zip that caged it. I whimpered again, louder this time.
He didn’t speak. He just slid his arms beneath me—one under my thighs, the other behind my back—and lifted me with ease.
I melted into him.
I didn’t know where we were going until my back met something soft. Something warm. Not the floor. Not the mat. A bed.
He laid me down.
My breathing slowed. Still ragged, but quieter. I stayed still, waiting. Blinded. Plugged. Masked. But warm—and with him.
“What a pretty little bitch I have,” he mused, and his fingers drifted from my collar downward.
I held my breath.
Then he touched me.
His palms slid over my breasts, slow and heavy, stroking them before curling around the flesh. I panted behind the mask ashis grip tightened, fingers digging in. The pressure sent a shiver down my spine.
I arched for him—offering myself, desperate for the pain.
It came.
Sharp. Bright. Enough to make me gasp.
He pinched my nipples hard, rolling them between his fingers before twisting. I cried out, the sound muffled by the leather. My body trembled. And still, I pushed closer.
Craving more.
He let go.
The absence of his touch made my body jolt like a wire snapped. I whimpered behind the zippered mask—barely a sound. My lips parted uselessly, sealed shut, breath warm and trapped. I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t beg. Just lay there, blinded and waiting.
