Page 13 of His Pet

I hesitate before reaching for the food and water, unsure whether this is some sort of test. Cameron said he’d punish me for disobedience but he hasn’t told me the rules yet. Do I need his permission to eat? Am I allowed to reach out of the cage? He hasn’t been violent so far, but he’s friends with kidnappers and thinks it’s normal to keep humans in cages. Clearly, he’s not one hundred percent normal. Who knows what will make him snap?

Noticing my hesitation, Cameron pushes the supplies closer. “Take it. Don’t eat everything at once, though. I won’t be happy with you if you make yourself sick, and I’ll feed you a proper meal later.”

Perfect, so it might still come to the dog bowl.

I move the supplies inside the cage, then pull my knees to my chest and hug them. Goosebumps appear on my bare skin, and a shudder runs through me. The room isn’t really cold, but it’s far from comfortable to be naked in, especially as I barely have enough room to sit up, let alone move around to warm myself.

“Thank you, Sir,” I add belatedly as I realize Cameron is probably expecting some reaction to the food. After all, I should be grateful he’s feeding me at all.

“I told you I’d take care of you, didn’t I?” A warm, genuine smile brightens Cameron’s expression, and it’s utterly unfair how attractive it makes him look. He’s literally pleased with himself for feeding his captive. Something so wrong shouldn’t make him look so cute.

Still smiling, he puts a bundle of fluffy gray fabric in front of the bars. “This is also for you,” he says, pointing at the bundle. “Pets don’t wear clothes, but you’re allowed to cover yourself while you’re in your cage.”

It’s a blanket. Warm and soft and absolutely amazing against my chilled skin as I wrap it around myself. “Thank you, Sir,” I repeat with much greater enthusiasm.

“You’re welcome, pet. However, keep in mind that the blanket’s a privilege. If you misbehave, I will take it away.”

Misbehave? What am I, five? Suppressing an eyeroll, I nod. “I understand, Sir.”

“Good. Now get some rest. We’ll start training later.”

Training. Something’s telling me I won’t be expected to bark on command or fetch a stick. He means sex, and I need to get out of here before we get to that point, because I’m terrified. Terrified of being raped, yes, but also I’m also afraid that a part of me will like it, and what would that make me?

I wrap the blanket tighter around myself, but the chill I’m feeling now is coming from inside. Still, the blanket helps, and I’m grateful to have it. Grateful to Cameron for giving it to me, which is messed up.

He created this entire situation. I shouldn’t be thankful that he’s providing basic comforts to me when he’s the reason I’m missing them in the first place. Yet, I can’t help the flicker of affection toward him. He didn’t have to give me a blanket. He didn’t have to hold me. He certainly didn’t have to suck my cock. That last part baffles me the most because I’d expect it to be the other way around. That’s what sex slaves are for, aren’t they? Taking cock, not lying back while their Master services them. The contradiction is messing with my head.

Still, I’m under no illusion that it will stay this way forever. Sooner or later, Cameron will want things from me. The question is, will I be able to do that? Take another man’s cock into my mouth?

The fact that I’m not immediately repulsed by the idea probably says more about my sexuality than anything else, but my being gay is the least of my problems now.

I take some time exploring the cage in hopes of finding a weak spot, but I’m not surprised there isn’t one. Cameron sounded like he’d done this before, and I doubt the previous occupants of this cage left any stones unturned as they searched for ways to escape. I also doubt they went home merrily when Cameron grew bored with them.

Since I can’t find any immediate way out of here, I begrudgingly obey Cameron’s command. I drink some water, wrap the blanket tighter around my shoulders, and curl up on the floor of the cage.

Chapter 9

Cameron

When the security feed from the basement shows that my pet is finally asleep, I slip back inside. I need to watch Justin with my own eyes and not just through a camera lens.

He’s curled up in a tight ball in the middle of his cage, looking small and vulnerable. I long to cuddle him in my bed, skin to skin, hold him as he rests, and feel him breathing next to me, but he isn’t ready for that yet. In fact, I doubt he would have fallen asleep had I stayed in the room, which is why I left in the first place. Now that he’s out, I make myself comfortable in front of the cage and watch Justin’s chest rise and fall with deep breaths.

He twitches in his sleep, one foot slipping out of the warm cocoon of his blanket. His face wrinkles, but he doesn’t pull the foot back in, so I reach between the bars and do it for him, gently tucking it beneath his feet so they won’t slip out again.

Justin murmurs something, then tightens the part of the blanket wrapped around his shoulders until it must be pressing down on him uncomfortably. Or maybe he draws comfort from the tight embrace?

It’s not every day I’m envious of a stupid piece of fabric, but dammit, I want to be the one hugging him. He’s not ready to accept comfort from me, though, and I don’t want to disturb his rest, so I settle for watching him sleep.

My eyes memorize every inch of him I can see, which at the moment is only the mop of his unruly brown hair and the left half of his face. The sensuous curve of his ear invites me to kiss and nibble on it. The memory of Justin’s breath catching when I kissed the shell of his ear earlier has heat blooming deep in my gut and my cock stirring again.

Justin’s surprisingly expressive in his sleep. He doesn’t move much, but his expressions change a lot. His mouth stretches in a smile, then, a moment later, his brows draw together in a deep frown. He sighs, murmurs, and whispers, though never anything I can decipher. I feel like he says my name a few times, but that’s probably just wishful thinking on my part.

I pull out a sketchbook to try to capture Justin’s smiles, but they’re so fleeting it’s difficult. His curled-up form is easy to draw, but his face never comes out right, and the bars blocking my view irritate me. Pets need their space and need to be kept in a cage for their own safety, but I wish there wasn’t anything separating us right now. Justin should be on my lap, sleeping with his head resting against my shoulder, not pitifully curled up on the floor, cold and alone.

I give up on drawing Justin and work on some new ideas instead. I’ve had the oldest son of a prominent Portland mafia family inquire about a full back piece, something that would showcase his dedication to la famiglia. I was going to turn him down because I didn’t have any ideas, but Justin makes me feel inspired again.

I get lost in drawing, the image slowly taking shape under my pencil.