Arcane Enforcer's Pet Chapter 4 - The Tyranny of Time

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Click. Click. Click. Click. A choked groan, a moan, heaving breathing. Then nothing but the click, click, click.

Zelia hung in the darkness of the basement, her body a lifeless weight hanging from the chains. The cold, damp air clung to her skin like a second layer, seeping into her bones and numbing her senses. Her mind, however, remained painfully sharp, each click of the metronome echoing through her skull like a hammer on an anvil. Electricity really was the perfect torturer, she thought bitterly. It left no visible marks, no bruises or cuts to betray its presence, yet it wracked her body with constant pain.

By now, any person would have gotten tired or bored. Even the most sadistic and energetic of Rasco's Enforcers working in rotation wouldn't have been able to keep this up constantly, for this long. But the generator attached to the metronome never got tired, never took a rest, and never lost time. It hummed with a steady, mechanical rhythm, indifferent to her suffering. She couldn't beg it for mercy, or give in to its demands—it just did what it did, over and over again.

The metronome clicked on, each repetition of the sound a relentless, unavoidable promise of what was coming… and a reminder of her helplessness. The electricity surged through her body, a jolt that made her muscles spasm and her breath catch in her throat. She bit down hard on her lip, tasting blood as she tried to stifle a scream. The pain was a constant barrage that left no room for respite. She could feel her strength ebbing away, her resolve weakening with each passing moment. But still, the metronome clicked on, unyielding and merciless.

The most damning part was that it didn't even hurt that much, all things considered. After the novelty of being shocked wore off, Zelia was pretty sure they weren't using all that severe of a charge on her. The Undercity used much less electricity than Topside, but she had enough experience with the stuff to get the basic idea. If this were as strong of a shock as she had seen elsewhere, then Zelia would have been covered in burns by now, or dead. It still hurt, but most of the suffering came from the utter lack of control of her body... it felt like she was a prisoner in her own body.

When the electricity filled her, she couldn't move, couldn't talk or cry, could barely even breathe. Her muscles locked up, every nerve ending firing simultaneously, leaving her paralyzed and gasping for air. Then it would give her body back to her, so she could remember how things should be... just before taking it away again a few seconds later. The cycle was relentless, each jolt a fresh, cruel agony.

Arguably even worse... she didn't think this was actually injuring her... only hurting her. That wasn't comforting, because it meant there was no reason this torment ever had to stop. The metronome continued its steady rhythm, each click a countdown to the next surge of pain.

It wasn't the only torture, either. It was cold down here. That had been a big problem when Vi had initially stripped and soaked her, one of the first concerns she had. The initial chill had been a constant companion, seeping into her bones and making her shiver uncontrollably... but after ten or fifteen minutes of being electrocuted, it seemed to matter a lot less. As the electricity coursed through her, heating her from the inside out, the cold became an afterthought. For a while, she almost welcomed the warmth, even if it was fleeting and painful.

That had lasted until Zelia started to completely tire out... her body producing less heat. Every time she heated up, she would sweat, and then the sweat would sublimate right off her skin from the electrocution. The process was slow, almost imperceptible at first, but slowly the cold was creeping back in. Her body, weakened now, began to cool rapidly. Ironically, being heated up was slowly freezing her. The contrast between the burning pain of the shocks and the numbing cold was maddening, and her nipples reacted in turn... the sensitive little nubs of flesh throbbed beneath the teeth of the clips holding them, seemingly trying to press against them with each beat of her heart as they tried to grow as hard as diamonds. The sensation was excruciating, a sharp, piercing pain that added to her torment. Each pulse of electricity pulsed through her chest, making her gasp involuntarily. The clips bit deeper with every shock, their metal jaws digging into her tender flesh. She could feel her skin stretching, pulling taut under the pressure as if trying to escape the cruel grip of the clips.

Just as damning was the fact that Zelia was exhausted. She wasn't sure precisely how long she had been down here, not when her world was reduced to the ten seconds between shocks, but it was impossible to sleep like this. Each jolt sent her body into a frenzy, muscles tensing and relaxing in rapid succession, leaving no room for rest or recovery.

With the brutal frequency, it was like she was constantly exercising for a dozen hours or more, and while she was far too weak to do much more than twitch in her bonds by her own will anymore, the electricity didn't care. It could force her exhausted muscles to tense again anyway... and it did. The relentless cycle left her gasping for breath, her chest heaving with each involuntary spasm. Her limbs felt like lead, heavy and unresponsive, yet the electricity continued to force them into action, over and over again.

By now, Zelia was, at best, only half awake mentally, and she felt like she was going mad. More than once, she thought that Vi had come back for her, and she had started begging before she even realized that she was jumping at ghosts and no one was there. The darkness and the constant pain were playing tricks on her mind, making her hallucinate and lose touch with reality. She would call out for Vi, her voice hoarse and desperate, only to be met with silence. The cold, damp air seemed to mock her, amplifying her sense of isolation and despair.

Each time she thought she heard footsteps or voices, her heart would race, and she would strain against her chains, hoping against hope that someone had come to save her. But it was always just the metronome, clicking away, a cruel reminder of her captivity. The dissonance between her hope and the reality of her situation gnawed at her sanity, driving her further into madness.

And throughout her torment, worst of all, was the hunger.

Zelia's belly felt like it was eating itself. That, just as much as the lack of sleep and the repeated pain, was the reason she felt so weak. The gnawing emptiness in her stomach had become a constant companion, a reminder of her deprivation. It had been... well, if she hadn't gone completely insane, and still had some grasp of time at all, then it had probably been close to 36 hours since she'd had a meal. Especially since she had lost the last one she had managed to steal. The memory of that meager scrap of food, snatched from the jaws of death, now seemed like a cruel joke.

For a human woman, that would be uncomfortable and painful. For a vastaya, it was agony. She needed food, needed it with the same urgency that her body craved air. Her species' metabolism, designed for endurance and strength, demanded sustenance far more frequently than that of humans. The hunger pangs were a living thing inside her, clawing at her insides, demanding to be fed. Between her sweat and screaming her mouth was dry as hell, and had been since she woke up down here... but even so, more than she was thirsty, more than she was exhausted, more than she was in pain, Zelia was hungry. The other sensations could be endured, but the hunger... it was a beast that grew stronger with each passing moment, stalking her through the fissure-like alleys of her mind.

During brief moments of lucidity, she wondered if her captors understood that she was likely to starve to death down here in the next few days. The thought sent a shiver through her, not of cold, but of dread. She imagined herself withering away, her once vibrant form reduced to a skeletal husk, held up only by the chains that bound her.

The metronome continued its steady rhythm, indifferent to her plight, each click a countdown to her inevitable demise. Her mind wandered, drifting between reality and delirium. She pictured Vi coming down... and depending on the time, the red-haired woman either laughed at her or rescued her. A few times, she even imagined Jinx from her wanted poster... pink eyes staring out of the darkness. In both cases, the images were fleeting, shattered by the harsh reality of her situation. No one was coming for her.

She had no friends who cared enough to rescue her.

The electricity turned off and on again. Click. Click. Click. Zelia habitually counted along in her head, the dread building with each number: seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven. Wait, Eleven?

Zelia's bleary eyes fluttered open, her mind struggling to process the anomaly. The metronome's rhythm had always been unwavering, a cruel constant in her world of pain. But now, something was different. Her heart pounded in her chest, a flicker of hope igniting within her. Had they made a mistake? Was this the end?

She stared blearily at the battery through her half-closed eyes, and it seemed that no matter what the vastaya did, she couldn't get her eyes to open all the way. She was just too tired. Was it over? Was she done? Gods, she wanted to be done.

Her body ached, every muscle screaming for relief. The cold seeped into her bones, mingling with the lingering warmth from the shocks. She could barely move, her limbs heavy and unresponsive. The manacles around her wrists felt like they were embedded in her very flesh, holding her in place as the metronome continued its apathetic march.

Still, she counted along with the numbers. Eighteen. Nineteen. Each click felt like an eternity, her mind racing with possibilities. Was this a test? A cruel taste of hope? Or perhaps, just perhaps, a sign that her torment might soon come to an end. The hunger gnawed at her insides, a constant and unwelcome companion always weakening her. Thirty-seven. Fifty-two. Eighty-five. Eighty... six...

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The slap across her face woke her up with a start, the sharp sting cutting through the fog of pain and exhaustion that had enveloped her mind. "Are you with me?" someone's voice called, dragging the vastaya back to awareness. Zelia's bleary eyes fluttered open, her vision swimming as she struggled to focus on the figure before her.

She was still hanging from her wrists, the chains biting into her flesh, and now that she had rested for a few seconds, they hurt as badly as the rest of her did. Zelia wasn't a heavy girl, but she was more than heavy enough that by now her wrists had started screaming that they might be more comfortable if she would just go ahead and sever them already.

The little bit of rest she had gotten seemed to only make the rest of the pain worse, revitalizing her enough that she could feel it all again... and it was distracting enough that she had a hard time focusing her gaze.

Zelia's vision swam, and it took her a while to realize Vi was looking right into her eyes from just inches away. The Enforcer's blue eyes stared into Zelia's gold ones, piercing through the haze of pain and delirium. Vi lightly slapped the wolf-girl's cheek again, the sound echoing in the dimly lit basement. "There you are," Vi said, a small, confident smile on her face.

Zelia watched as Vi turned and walked away, her gaze following the Enforcer's athletic form as she moved with purposeful strides back to the metronome and the generator. Vi was dressed in only tight shorts and a white tank top that clung to her muscular frame, showcasing the intricate black gear tattoos on her arms. The tattoos seemed to shift and move subtly as she moved, a testament to the strength of her arms beneath the skin.

Vi reached out with both hands and grabbed onto the central rod of the generator, effortlessly lifting it up... extending it to its maximum length. Her muscles flexed and rippled under her skin in the pale glow of the basement lights. The metal creaked slightly under her strength, but she held it steady, her eyes narrowing as she examined the device. A small frown crossed her lips as she clicked her tongue in disappointment. "It died during the night," she muttered to herself, her voice carrying a note of irritation. "Needs to be recharged."

Without hesitation, Vi released the rod and reached for the odd crank attached to the top of the generator. Her fingers wrapped around the handle, and she began to turn it in a slow, deliberate circle. The Enforcer's muscles strained against the considerable resistance as she turned the crank, each rotation requiring a significant effort. The generator groaned under the pressure as gears turned internally, but Vi's determination was unyielding. Her arms glistened with sweat, and her tank top quickly began to darken and stick to her body, revealing the contours of her powerful physique.

Zelia could only stare in growing horror, her mind racing with dread. She was recharging it? Did that mean... that meant she was planning to turn it back on!? "Wait!" Zelia protested with panic in her voice, her eyes wide with fear. "You can't do that again! You're going to kill me!"

Vi paused for a moment, her breath coming in short, controlled bursts. Glancing over her shoulder at Zelia, her expression was unreadable. "Oh, I think you'll survive," she said coolly. With renewed vigor, she continued to crank it, the handle moving in smooth, deliberate circles.

Zelia's heart pounded in her chest, the sound echoing in her ears. She could feel the cold creeping back into her bones, contrasting with the warmth generated by the electrocution. Her hurt from head to toe. The hunger that was always there, always waiting… a constant reminder of her weakened state. "You're insane!" Zelia yelled... it wasn't an especially loud yell, but she was well-motivated. "You can't do this!"

Vi stopped cranking, putting the handle down with a loud, metallic banging noise that reverberated through the basement. She grabbed a small, white towel off the nearby chair and used it to wipe at the sweat covering her brow and arms. The towel was rough against her skin, absorbing the moisture from her exertion, leaving faint streaks of dirt behind.

"Thank you!" Zelia gasped as Vi walked over to her, her voice tinged with desperate hope. I knew you'd see some sense—Urk!" Her words ended in a gagging noise as Vi grabbed her chin by the cheeks. With a firm grip, Vi squeezed, popping Zelia's mouth open, and crammed the sweaty rag into her mouth. The salty taste of the eEnforcer's exertion filled Zelia's mouth, silencing her completely.

The rag was damp and warm, filled with the scent and taste of Vi's sweat. Zelia's eyes widened in shock and fear, her body tensing involuntarily as the rag was forced between her teeth. The sensation was overwhelming, the texture and taste mingling with everything else that she already felt. She struggled weakly against the chains, her wrists protesting the movement, but it was futile. Vi's grip was unyielding, her expression cold and detached as she pushed the rag in further, securing it in place.

Zelia's muffled protests were reduced to incoherent whimpers, her voice trapped behind the gag. "I'm busy right now, Puppy," Vi said, her tone dismissive as she casually flicked one of Zelia's triangular ears. The dismissive touch made Zelia wince, her eyes widening from the unexpected sensation. "I have a lot of work to do, and I can't deal with you screaming right now. Wait your turn."

Vi turned on her heel, her movements fluid and purposeful as she strode back to the generator. The boots were heavy on the concrete floor, and each step echoed in the dimly lit basement. She reached out once more, her strong hands wrapping around the crank handle with practiced ease. With a deep breath, she began to turn it again, the metal groaning in protest as she applied her considerable strength.

Zelia's heart raced, her mind a whirlwind of fear and desperation. She struggled against her restraints, her wrists burning from the friction. The gag in her mouth muffled her cries, turning her protests into incoherent whimpers. She tried to twist her head, to dislodge the rag, but Vi had packed it in too tightly. Each attempt only pushed her tongue against the rough fabric, making her taste Vi's sweat all the more.

The minutes dragged on, each second feeling like an eternity. Zelia's vision blurred, tears mixing with the sweat that dripped down her face. Vi worked tirelessly, her muscles straining with effort as she continued to crank the generator. Beads of sweat rolled down her forehead, dripping onto the floor below. Her tank top clung to her body, darkening with moisture as she exerted herself. The tattoos on her arms seemed to shift and move subtly, and it was easy for Zelia to imagine they were actually machinery in motion as her arms pumped the crank again and again, an inked testament to the power and endurance beneath her skin.

Finally, after what felt like an interminable period, Vi let go of the crank. The handle clattered against the central pillar as she dropped it, the sound echoing through the basement. She stood there for a moment, breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling with each breath. Her muscles twitched slightly. Then, without a word, Vi walked back over to Zelia. The vastaya's eyes widened in fear as the Enforcer approached, her body tensing involuntarily. Vi reached up, deftly pulling the gag out of Zelia's mouth.

The rag came free with a wet, sucking sound, leaving Zelia's mouth feeling raw and dry. The captive thief gasped and coughed, trying to clear the lingering taste of Vi's sweat from her mouth. Her body trembled with exhaustion, desperate for even the slightest mercy. She was starving, and it felt like she had been chewing on a wad of cotton.

Zelia worked her mouth, trying to form words, but her throat was so parched that only a faint croak emerged. Vi nodded, seemingly understanding, and walked over to the other side of the room again. She returned moments later with a glass filled with water, its surface shimmering from the condensation forming in the cold basement air.

Vi pressed the glass to Zelia's lips, and the vastaya instinctively tried to drink, her cracked lips parting slightly. The cool liquid felt like heaven against her dry skin, and she managed to suck down enough to swish around her mouth, washing away some of the lingering taste of sweat and cotton. As soon as Zelia had taken a few sips, Vi pulled the glass back and drank the rest herself, her throat working as she gulped down the water. Beads of moisture clung to her lips, glistening in the dim light.

"Now," Vi said, setting the empty glass aside. "What is your name?"

Zelia breathed hard for a minute, her mind racing. She knew that defiance would only prolong her suffering, but the thought of giving in to this woman grated on her pride. Finally, she turned her face away, looking off into the darkness beyond Vi. "Go to hell," she whispered, her voice barely audible. There wasn't much defiance left in her, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was getting out of this hellhole with her money and freedom intact. "My name doesn't matter," she continued, her tone flat and resigned. "What matters is that your noble, life-sucking Kiramman whore of a girlfriend is never getting back her key... not until you pay me what I ask for."

Vi sighed and stepped closer. Then, shockingly fast, her hand flashed up and grabbed a fistful of Zelia's blue hair, yanking on it violently. The sudden pain made Zelia gasp, her eyes widening as she was forced to look directly into Vi's gaze. Their faces were so close that their noses pressed together, and the intensity of the Enforcer's stare was overwhelming.

"We’re going to have to establish a few ground rules here," Vi said quietly, her voice calm and measured. There was no trace of the brashness that usually characterized her tone. Instead, it was quiet, almost soothing, yet all the more frightening for it. "You want to hate me? Fine. You want to dress up like my sister and run around pretending to be a rebel... you go right ahead. You want to call me a traitor, or insult my father or the rest of my family... you know what? That's normal to me. I'm used to it."

Zelia's breath caught in her throat, the pain from her scalp mixing with the fear that gripped her heart. She could feel Vi's breath against her skin, each word punctuated by its warmth.

Vi's eyes flashed with an intensity that made Zelia flinch inwardly. "But you don't get to talk about Caitlyn that way," Vi continued, her voice still low but carrying an undeniable weight. "You haven't slept for 10 hours... Cait has barely slept in six months. I wake up in the middle of most nights to find her awake and out of bed, standing on her balcony thinking, or doing paperwork at her desk. She can't sleep when she feels like she should be doing something else, when she feels like someone needs her. She isn't even the Commander of the Enforcers anymore... she turned that over to the Piltover council. And still she spends all her time working, trying to find ways to make this place better. For everyone. Even thieving pieces of shit like you."

Zelia's mind raced, trying to process the information. The exhaustion and pain made it hard to think clearly, but she could sense the sincerity in Vi's words. The Enforcer's grip on her hair tightened slightly, not enough to cause more pain, but enough to keep her attention focused. "So, if you want to insult me, go ahead... I've heard worse. The Sheriff, though... she only wants to help people like you. She's dedicated her life to it... and I won't let you do it."

Vi released Zelia's hair with a sudden shove, the force of it making the vastaya's head snap back. The chains rattled as she struggled to maintain her balance, her wrists burning from the friction. Vi's steps were resolute as she walked back to the generator. Without pausing, she reached out and tapped the metronome again, setting it in motion once more.

"I'm going to let you think about your manners for a little bit," Vi said, her voice still seething with anger just beneath the surface. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Zelia's heart raced as the metronome began its steady rhythm, each click a warning that the familiar countdown to agony had begun again. The dreadful anticipation built within her, a knot of dread tightening in her chest... and when the electrical shock poured through her a few seconds later, it was all the more intense for the time that had gone without them. The jolt sent her muscles into a spasm, her body convulsing against the chains. She tried fruitlessly to stifle a scream from the relentless onslaught of pain.

When the shock ended a few seconds later, Zelia realized that Vi was leaving again. "Wait!" Zelia screamed hoarsely. "Please! Come back!"

But Vi never turned around. She continued walking away, her figure disappearing into the darkness of the basement. Zelia's cries echoed through the cold, damp air, but they were met only with the sound of the door closing...

And the metronome clicked on, indifferent to her suffering.

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In her delirium, Zelia's dreams were not of escape or triumph. They were not of gold coins or silken beds. Instead, they were of the Fissure—a place she had called home and the vibrant people that filled it, even in its squalor. In her dream, she wandered through one of the bustling markets, her nose twitching as she inhaled the rich, intoxicating scents that filled the air. Meat sizzled on open grills, fat dripping onto hot coals and sending curls of smoke into the sky. Vegetables roasted over flames, their earthy aromas mingling with the sweetness of caramelizing sugars. Starches boiled in great cauldrons, releasing steam that carried the comforting smell of freshly cooked food.

She dreamed of sitting down at a small, makeshift table near one of the stalls, laughing with the cook as he worked his stove with practiced ease. His hands moved like lightning, flipping skewers, stirring pots, and seasoning dishes with a flair that made her mouth water. He heaped a plate for her, piling it high with savory meats, tender vegetables, and steaming bread. She could almost feel the warmth of the plate against her fingers, taste the salt and spice on her tongue.

But the urge to follow her nose, to seek out the single most delicious thing she could find, was almost primal. It was as if she were a wolf in the darkness, her senses sharpened by hunger and desperation. She imagined herself standing on the edge of a firelight, watching as meat dripped juices onto the wood with a sizzle, the sound drawing her closer. The temptation was overwhelming—all she would have to do was step into the light, and leave the shadows behind.

All she would have to do was submit.

The dream twisted, as dreams often do, and the scene shifted. The market faded as she slowly woke up, replaced by the cold, damp basement where she hung bound by chains. Her dream faded... but the smell didn't go away. It lingered in the air, rich and tantalizing, pulling at her senses like a siren's call. Zelia's mind was slow to process the sensation, still fogged by exhaustion and pain. It took several long, disorganized moments for her to realize that the reason the scent had stayed was that it was real. She wasn't dreaming this time. The aroma of food—savory, spicy, and warm—was actually there, filling the cold basement with an incongruous sense of comfort.

Groaning, Zelia raised her head, fighting against gravity and the weight of her own body. It was hard. She had passed out hanging from her wrists after the generator ran out and the electricity stopped. Her entire body was a cramped ball of sore muscles and stretched-out limbs, and every single movement hurt as her cramped muscles protested. Her arms felt like they were on fire, the chains biting into her flesh as she shifted uncomfortably.

When she looked up, her bleary eyes focused on the table that had earlier held Vi's tools. Now, it was occupied by a woman sitting in front of it with a plate of food. The sight made Zelia blink in confusion, her sluggish brain struggling to make sense of what she saw. The woman sat in a relaxed posture but looked poised, as if she were seated in a high-end restaurant rather than a dank basement. And then recognition hit her—it was Caitlyn.

The Sheriff of Piltover sat calmly, her aqua eye looking down at her meal with a blank, disinterested expression. She held a fork in one hand, delicately spearing a piece of meat from the plate before her. The food looked impossibly luxurious—tender cuts of meat, roasted vegetables, and a golden crust of bread. The steam rising from the plate carried the scent directly to Zelia, making her stomach growl audibly despite her weakened state.

Caitlyn sat with an air of calm detachment, her dark hair framing her face as she focused on her meal. She wore a tight, black shirt that hugged her figure, paired with comfortable, casual pants that gave her a relaxed look so at odds with how she had looked in uniform. Her movements were deliberate and precise, the fork held elegantly in one hand while the other wielded a knife to cut through the thick slab of meat on her plate.

Zelia's eyes followed every motion, and if she had any moisture in her, her mouth would have been watering uncontrollably. The glistening pink color of the muscle fibers in the roast caught the dim light, making the food look impossibly tender. Juices dripped down from the bite Caitlyn had just cut, pooling on the plate and releasing a rich, sweet, smoky aroma that filled the basement. It was overwhelming—a sensory assault that made Zelia's stomach growl like a furious alley dog.

The hunger would not yield… it was a sharp, clawing pain that demanded satisfaction. Zelia couldn't remember ever being this hungry before. The thought of food, any food, consumed her thoughts. Her body twitched involuntarily, straining toward the plate even though she knew it was futile. The chains binding her wrists bit deeper into her flesh, but she barely registered the pain. All she could focus on was the food.

If her body hadn't been so weak from days of torture and starvation, she might have lunged for the plate, even though her bonds wouldn't have let her budge. Right now, though, even the small twitch she made toward the tantalizing meal felt like an immense effort, leaving her gasping for breath and limp in her chains. Her mind raced, torn between the primal urge to eat and the grim reality of her situation.

The sound of the chains clicking against each other drew Caitlyn's attention, and she looked up from her meal. Her light eye met Zelia's gold ones, and she grinned. "Ah, you're awake," she purred, her voice smooth and calm, as if they were sharing a pleasant conversation rather than being in a cold, damp basement where one of them was bound and starving.

Caitlyn cut off another piece of meat with deliberate precision, the knife gliding through the tender roast with ease. She brought the fork to her mouth slowly, biting into the succulent piece. Zelia could hear the resistance of the meat as Caitlyn chewed, the way it fought against her teeth. A tiny squirt of juice slipped over Caitlyn's lips and down her aristocratic chin, glistening in the dim light. The Sheriff picked up a white napkin and wiped the droplet away, leaving a crimson stain like a streak of blood on the pristine cloth that Zelia's eyes followed, unable to look away.

Zelia's mouth was too dry to speak, but she croaked softly, her voice barely audible. The hunger gnawing at her insides felt like a living thing that was trying to claw its way out of her stomach and rush across the room like a separate, predatory being. She stared at Caitlyn and the food, her eyes wide and pleading, though she knew it was futile.

Caitlyn put down the napkin before speaking again, her tone calm and measured. "I was wondering when you'd wake up. We need to talk about your future... and my mother’s key." She paused, reaching for a glass of red wine that sat beside her plate. Lifting it, she took a slow sip, the liquid catching the light as it slid down her throat. "But first, I want to know your name."

Zelia tried to answer Caitlyn, but her voice was little more than a raspy whisper. Her throat felt like sandpaper, and every attempt to speak only made her thirstier. All the while, her eyes were locked on the plate of food. The sight of the tender meat and roasted vegetables was almost too much to bear, and she couldn't stop herself from staring at it longingly.

Caitlyn noticed the fixation, her lips curling into a small, knowing smile. She looked down at her steak for a moment, then back up at Zelia. "It's really good," she said casually. "Would you like some?"

Wordlessly, Zelia could only nod her head slowly up and down. Her body ached with hunger, and the thought of even a single bite of that food was enough to make her heart race. But instead of offering her any, Caitlyn cut off another piece of the steak with deliberate precision, raising it on her fork to her mouth. She began chewing it slowly, savoring the taste, while Zelia watched in silent envy.

Caitlyn stood up gracefully and walked over to Zelia. The vastaya could smell the food on her—rich, savory, and warm—as she moved closer. The scent clung to Caitlyn, making Zelia's stomach growl even louder. When Caitlyn reached her, she paused for a moment. Then, without warning, she grabbed the back of Zelia's head by the hair and pulled on it firmly.

Zelia's mouth opened in surprise, her breath catching in her throat. Before she could react, Caitlyn darted forward and kissed her. The Sheriff's lips pressed against hers with unexpected intensity, the warmth of the kiss contrasting sharply with the cold, damp basement.

Zelia's eyes widened in shock as Caitlyn’s lips, so strong yet soft, pressed against her own. Her dry, chapped lips parted instinctively under the unexpected pressure, and for a moment, all she could do was stare into Caitlyn’s aqua gaze in stunned silence. The sensation was jarring—a mix of confusion and disbelief that rooted her to the spot despite her aching body and desperate hunger. She didn't have time to be shocked for long, though... then the taste entered her mouth.

Caitlyn’s tongue darted forward, pushing something warm and wet into her mouth. Zelia’s mind reeled as she tasted it—rare meat, tender and dripping with juices, its rich flavor exploding on her tongue. It was quite possibly the most humiliating way to be fed that Zelia could imagine, but at that moment, she didn’t care. It was food, and it was delicious, and her body screamed for more.

Her instincts took over, and she began to chew reflexively, though it was a struggle not to simply swallow the morsel whole. The taste was overwhelming, a burst of flavors that she hadn’t experienced in years—perhaps ever. The savory richness coated her dry tongue and palate, awakening senses that had long been dulled by pain and starvation. She savored every bite, letting the juices linger as long as she could, before finally swallowing with a gulp that echoed loudly in the quiet basement.

The act of eating felt like a lifeline, a brief respite from the torment that had consumed her for what felt like an eternity. But even as the food settled in her stomach, bringing a fleeting sense of relief, Zelia couldn’t help but feel the sting of humiliation. To be fed like this, so intimately, so demeaning... it was a blow to her pride, but one she was too weak to resist. All she could think about was the promise of more, the hope that Caitlyn might continue this strange, degrading ritual. She was so, so hungry...

Caitlyn had backed off just a little while she chewed, her lips lingering near Zelia’s for a moment longer before pulling away. The vastaya could still feel the warmth of the kiss, the lingering taste of the rare meat intertwined with Caitlyn on her tongue. But before she could fully process the humiliation, Caitlyn was moving again, this time raising a glass of red wine to her lips.

The Sheriff tipped the glass slightly, allowing a trickle of the deep crimson liquid to flow into Zelia’s mouth. Instinctively, Zelia gulped it down, her throat working frantically to swallow the rich, bitter liquid. She had never tasted anything like it before—wine was a luxury, something reserved for the wealthy and powerful. Rasco drank it, but Zelia had always made do with water or watered-down beer. This, though... this was something else entirely. It was smooth yet sharp, with a spicy undertone that lingered on her palate, warming her from the inside out. And most importantly, it was wet. So very wet.

Zelia’s thirst, which had been an almost constant ache since her capture, seemed to dissolve with each drop of wine. Her body craved more, and she found herself leaning forward slightly, her dry lips parting in anticipation as Caitlyn tilted the glass again. The liquid flowed freely, and Zelia drank greedily, uncaring of the way her chains rattled or the way her aching muscles protested the movement. All that mattered was the cool, refreshing sensation of the wine sliding down her throat.

But just as quickly as it had begun, it stopped. Caitlyn pulled the glass away, holding it up to the light as if inspecting it. “Now,” she said, her voice calm but firm, “are you going to tell me your name?”

Zelia blinked, her mind foggy from both the wine and her exhaustion. The question hung in the air, a stark reminder of her situation. She hesitated, torn between the primal urge to beg for more food and drink and the stubborn pride that still clung to her despite everything. But as the seconds ticked by, the weight of her hunger and the reality of her predicament pressed down on her, making the decision easier than she would have liked.

Zelia hesitated for only a second, her eyes locked with Caitlyn’s piercing gaze... and she felt it as her pride crumbled under the relentless pressure of her body’s demands. Closing her eyes, she whispered the words that felt like an admission of defeat. “Zelia,” she said softly, her voice barely audible. “It’s Zelia.”

Caitlyn’s fingers traced a slow, deliberate path through the fur of Zelia’s tail, where it hung limp and lifeless from her exhaustion. "Zelia..." she whispered. "That's a very pretty name."

The Enforcer's touch was gentle, almost tender, but it only served to remind Zelia of how utterly powerless she was. Her body twitched faintly at the sensation, but she lacked the strength to even react fully. Weakly, her lips parted, and she whispered, “Please… I’m so hungry… I need food.”

The Sheriff’s aqua eye gleamed with amusement as she ran a hand through Zelia’s sweat-soaked hair, her fingers lingering to trace the tips of one ear. The touch sent a shiver down Zelia’s spine, not from pleasure but from the sheer vulnerability of the moment. Caitlyn leaned in closer, her voice soft yet deliberate. “Do you want the rest of the steak?”

Zelia didn’t answer verbally, her throat too dry and her mind too foggy to form words. But her body betrayed her. A small trail of drool escaped the corner of her mouth, dripping ungracefully onto the cold floor below. Her golden eyes, wide and pleading, locked onto Caitlyn’s, filled with an open, desperate need. The hunger that was practically eating her alive now was impossible to hide, and she could do nothing but stare at the plate of food that seemed impossibly out of reach.

Caitlyn laughed softly, a low, melodic sound that echoed in the quiet basement. “Yes, you do,” she murmured, her tone light but laced with something darker, something calculating. She straightened slightly, her gaze drifting to the plate of steak on the table behind her. “I wonder,” she mused aloud, “if you’d be willing to give back my mother’s key for the steak.”

Zelia’s heart skipped a beat, her exhausted mind struggling to process the question. The key—the reason she was here, the reason she had endured days of torment. It felt like a cruel joke, dangling the possibility of sustenance in front of her while demanding the very thing that had brought her to this point.

Zelia’s eyes lingered on Caitlyn, the plate of steak still within sight but impossibly far away. The food's aroma was overwhelming, a relentless assault on her senses that made her stomach twist and churn with need. She could imagine the heat of the meat against her tongue with such a vivid sensation that it was almost a hallucination. She could perfectly imagine the way it would melt in her mouth and finally ease the gnawing hunger that had consumed her for days.

Her stomach growled audibly, a deep, rumbling sound that echoed through the basement. Caitlyn’s lips curled into a small, knowing smile, and she chuckled softly, the sound light and amused. Zelia’s cheeks burned with shame. It would be so easy to give in, to simply agree to return the key in exchange for the food. Just one bite, and the pain of starvation would fade, if only for a moment.

But if she did… if she gave in, then all of this—the torture, the chains, the endless suffering—would have been for nothing. Rasco would kill her without hesitation, and that was if she didn’t spend the rest of her life rotting in a cell, forgotten and powerless. With a trembling breath, Zelia forced herself to look away from Caitlyn, her gaze shifting to the cold, damp floor beneath her. Her stomach growled loudly, and the sound felt like an indictment, making her defiance seem hollow… even to herself.

Caitlyn, however, didn’t seem annoyed. She didn’t even appear to notice Zelia’s refusal. “No, probably not,” she continued, her tone light and conversational as if they were discussing something mundane rather than Zelia’s life hanging in the balance. “That’s too much to ask for even a juicy, delicious slab of meat like that, isn’t it?”

Zelia’s breathing grew heavier. She was so hungry… her stomach growled again, louder this time, a stark reminder of how desperate she truly was. Caitlyn’s words only made it worse, painting a vivid picture of the meal she couldn’t have, describing it in tantalizing detail as if taunting her.

“Look at it,” Caitlyn murmured, her voice smooth and deliberate. “The way the juices glisten on the surface, the rich, deep color of the meat… it’s almost too beautiful to eat. Almost.” She paused, her aqua eye staring into Zelia's... and a small, knowing smile played on her lips. “But you want it, don't you?”

Zelia’s mouth opened, but no words came out. Her throat was too dry, her mind too foggy to form a coherent response. All she could do was stare at the plate, her body betraying her with every passing second. Her stomach growled yet again, a low, rumbling sound that seemed to mock her resolve.

“I thought so,” Caitlyn said casually. “But don’t worry, I have another way for you to earn a meal. A simpler way.”

Zelia’s heart raced, her mind struggling to process what Caitlyn meant. Another way? What could she possibly do to earn food when she was chained and helpless? The thought sent a surge of both hope and dread through her, leaving her trembling with anticipation.

Zelia felt something poke her in the leg, a firm, insistent pressure that drew her attention away from the floor. She had been staring at the cold concrete, her mind too foggy to process Caitlyn’s words. Now, with a jolt, she turned her head back toward the Sheriff, her bleary eyes meeting those of the Enforcer. Slowly, her gaze drifted down Caitlyn’s body, taking in the fully dressed woman just inches from her nearly naked form.

And then she saw the belt that Caitlyn had put on.

Caitlyn had strapped it across her hips, a thick leather band cinched tightly around her waist... and attached to it was something that made Zelia’s breath catch in her throat. A rubber phallus, impossibly large, jutted out from the belt, its bulbous head pressing against Zelia's thigh as she hung from her wrists. The thing looked obscene, larger than anything Zelia had ever imagined, let alone seen. Her eyes widened in confusion and disbelief as she stared at it, her mind having trouble processing and understanding what she saw.

What the... what the hell?

Zelia had never lain with anyone before. Among the thieves of the Fissure, there were few eligible partners, and even fewer who weren’t already claimed by Margot’s gang or their own vices. She had watched Margot rule over her whores with an iron fist, turning them into little more than exotic pieces of meat for the wealthy to consume. The thought of being reduced to that herself—of becoming someone else’s fantasy of walking on the wild side with a vastaya—had always disgusted her. Sex was something she had avoided, something she had never wanted to encourage or explore. And now, here she was, looking down at a dick—a huge, artificial one, no less—being worn by an Enforcer.

Her cheeks burned with a mix of shame and bewilderment. What was Caitlyn playing at? Was this some kind of sick joke, a way to humiliate her further? Or was it something else entirely? Zelia’s mind raced, but her body remained frozen, chained and helpless as she stared at the grotesque object pressed against her leg.

Caitlyn’s eye lingered on Zelia, her intense gaze tracing the length of the vastaya’s exhausted, naked body. The Sheriff grinned smugly as she met Zelia’s wide, pleading stare. “If you’d rather not talk about the key,” Caitlyn murmured, “then perhaps you could earn a meal another way.”

Zelia’s body was limp, her muscles too weak to resist even if she wanted to. Her wrists burned from the chains, and her legs hung uselessly below her, trembling with exhaustion. Caitlyn reached down, her fingers cool against Zelia’s sweat-slicked thighs. With surprising strength, the Enforcer lifted Zelia’s legs, helping them wrap around her waist almost naturally. Zelia gasped softly, her body instinctively seeking support, the relief from the weight on her wrists momentarily overwhelming.

As Caitlyn adjusted her grip, Zelia caught a whiff of the Sheriff’s scent—a blend of incense and candles with a faint hint of herbal tea that seemed baked into her hair. The scent was warm and calming, so completely different from the cold, damp, musty-smelling basement she’d spent so many hours in. Zelia struggled to process the sensory overload, her thoughts scattered by hunger and exhaustion.

Looking down, Zelia noticed the strap-on dick now inches away from her, its bulbous head brushing against her groin from beneath. The sight made her stomach twist uneasily. Caitlyn’s commanding voice cut through her haze. "Lower yourself onto it, and you can have the rest of the steak," the Enforcer promised. "One small task, and it will be all yours."

Zelia hesitated, her pride warring with her hunger. She could refuse, just to be difficult—to prove that she wasn’t some helpless animal to be manipulated. But what would Caitlyn do then? Would she leave her hanging, starving and humiliated, or would she find another way to break her? The thought of enduring more pain, more degradation, made Zelia’s stomach twist. Zelia hesitated for only a moment, her pride crumbling under the weight of her body’s demands. Then the promise of food overshadowed her discomfort.

With a shaky breath, Zelia began to lower herself onto the strap-on. It was... difficult. Difficult and slow. Her body ached from days of torment, and every movement seemed to pull on sore muscles or tug at one of the clips biting into her flesh. The cold clung to her skin like a wet blanket, making her shiver as she shifted uncomfortably. The bulbous head of the phallus pressed against her, slick with something that made it easier to slide, but the sensation was still foreign and overwhelming.

Her legs trembled as she adjusted her position, trying to line the strap-on up with her body. Each tiny movement sent pain shuddering through her shoulders and back, the chains biting deeper into her wrists. She gritted her teeth, forcing herself to focus on the task at hand. If she could just get this over with, maybe she could eat. Maybe she could rest.

Slowly, painstakingly, Zelia began to sink down onto the rubber cock. The first contact was sharp, a jolt of discomfort that made her gasp. Her body tensed instinctively, resisting the intrusion, but Caitlyn’s hands steadied her hips, guiding her gently, but firmly, down. “That’s it,” Caitlyn said, her voice calm and encouraging. “Just a little more.”

Zelia bit her lip, tasting blood again as she forced herself to relax. Inch by inch, she lowered herself further, the strap-on pressing into her with increasing pressure... forcing her to part wider and make room for it to slip inside. The sensation was strange, almost alien, and her body fought against it even as her mind screamed at her to hurry. She needed this to be over. She needed food.

Zelia’s body trembled as she lowered herself onto the strap-on, her muscles protesting every inch of movement. The first inch pressed into her, and she gasped, her breath catching in her throat. It was cold, slick with lubricant, and far larger than anything she had ever imagined.

The second inch slipped inside, stretching her further. Zelia’s eyes widened, her mind reeling from the sensation. She had never felt anything like this before—it was overwhelming, both physically and emotionally. Her body tensed, instinctively trying to resist, to push the thing out, but Caitlyn’s grip held her steady. “Relax,” Caitlyn whispered.

By the third inch, Zelia’s breathing grew ragged, her chest heaving with each labored breath. The strap-on pressed deeper, forcing her to part wider, and she could feel her virginity breaking, the thin barrier giving way with a sharp sting that made her whimper. Tears welled in her eyes, but she forced herself to keep going..

The fourth inch pushed past the initial resistance, and Zelia’s body began to adjust. The pain eased slightly, replaced by a strange, uncomfortable fullness. She could feel the rubber cock pressing against her insides, stretching her in ways she had never imagined. Caitlyn’s hands remained firm on her hips, guiding her gently but unerringly. “Almost there, Puppy” Caitlyn said, her stare intense and oh-so-superior. “You’re doing so well.”

She wanted to cry. Instead, she sank further. The fifth inch brought a new wave of discomfort, the silicone bulging against the untouched walls of her fuck-tunnel, and Zelia bit her lip hard enough to taste blood. The strap-on seemed impossibly large, pressing against her cervix. She gasped, her body trembling as she fought to stay upright. “Please,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I… I can’t…”

“Yes, you can,” Caitlyn replied, her tone firm. “Just a little more.”

The sixth inch slipped inside, and Zelia’s legs nearly gave out as she whimpered. The pressure was intense, almost unbearable, and she could feel the strap-on pressing deeper, as if it wanted to push right into her womb. Her body clenched involuntarily, but Caitlyn’s hands held her and kept her from collapsing.

Finally, the seventh and eighth inches slid fully into her, and Zelia cried out, her voice breaking under the strain. The strap-on pressed against her cervix, the sensation completely overwhelming and foreign. Tears streamed down her face, but she managed to stay upright, her legs trembling beneath her as they wrapped around the Enforcer's fully dressed rear.

Caitlyn’s fingers brushed through Zelia’s matted blue hair, the touch surprisingly gentle despite the circumstances. The Enforcer’s other hand moved lower, wrapping around one of Zelia’s small breasts. Despite the clips biting into her tender flesh, Caitlyn’s touch was firm yet deliberate, squeezing and caressing the sensitive mound with practiced ease. “Fuck me,” Caitlyn commanded, her voice low and steady, carrying an authority that left no room for argument. “If you do this, I’ll let you down, and you can eat your steak in peace.”

Zelia’s breath hitched, her body trembling as she processed the order. She was weak—so weak—her muscles screaming in protest from days of torment and starvation. But the promise of food, of rest, was enough to push her forward. With a shaky breath, she forced herself to move, her athletic frame straining against her bondage. Slowly, painfully, she began to bounce up and down on the strap-on, sliding it in and out of her aching body.

The sensation was overwhelming, the rubber cock stretching her further than she had ever imagined. Each movement sent jolts of discomfort through her, but she gritted her teeth and continued, driven by the desperate need to survive. Her legs trembled beneath her, barely able to support her weight, but she clung to Caitlyn’s waist, using the Enforcer’s strength to steady herself.

Caitlyn’s hands tightened on her breast, the clips digging deeper as Zelia moved. The pain was sharp, but it was nothing compared to the hunger consuming her stomach for its next meal. Zelia wanted to scream, to beg for it to be over, but instead, she focused on the rhythm, forcing her exhausted body to obey. Up and down, inch by inch, she worked the strap-on, her movements slow but determined, her pussy spasming around the intrusion. Tears streamed down her face, mingling with the sweat that clung to her skin, but she refused to stop. She needed this. She needed the food, the rest, the chance to escape this nightmare.

Caitlyn’s gaze never left hers, her eye gleaming with something unreadable. Zelia couldn’t tell if the Sheriff was amused, or simply satisfied, but she didn’t care. All that mattered was finishing this.

Caitlyn’s hands moved with deliberate grace, stroking Zelia’s hair and tail as the Vastaya worked herself on the strap-on. Her fingers traced the length of Zelia’s tail, the fur matted and damp from sweat, eliciting a shiver despite the humiliation. Caitlyn’s other hand drifted lower, caressing Zelia’s ass with firm, teasing strokes. The touch was both invasive and oddly comforting, a paradox that left Zelia feeling even more unsettled.

The Enforcer’s fingers then moved to Zelia’s breasts, playing with the clips that bit into her sensitive flesh. She tugged gently at first, then with more force, making Zelia gasp and whimper. The pain was sharp, but it mingled with something else—something warm and unfamiliar that made her feel exposed in ways she couldn’t articulate. Caitlyn’s touch was unrelenting, demanding attention even as Zelia focused on the rhythm of her movements.

Zelia panted heavily, crying openly as she fucked herself. She hated herself for giving in, for allowing this rich, uncaring Piltover bitch to humiliate her like this. It would have been so much easier to give in to Vi; at least Vi had grown up in the Fissure, just like her. Vi understood what it meant to claw your way through life, to fight for every scrap. Caitlyn, though? Caitlyn was everything Zelia despised—privileged, detached, and utterly untouchable.

But none of that mattered now. All that mattered was the food, the promise of sustenance that dangled just out of reach. Zelia’s body betrayed her, moving mechanically despite the shame and discomfort. She lifted herself up and then down again, stretching herself on Caitlyn’s strap-on, ignoring the way each movement sent jolts of pain and pressure through her stretched body.

Then, as she continued, something strange began to happen.

A warmth spread through her body, starting from the point where the strap-on pressed against her most intimate parts. At first, she thought the thing was heating up, scalding her from the inside. Panic flared, and she gasped, her movements faltering before Caitlyn’s hands guided her back into rhythm. The heat wasn’t coming from the strap-on—it was coming from inside her.

Zelia’s breath hitched, her mind struggling to process the sensation. It felt foreign, almost alien, yet undeniably real. The warmth grew, spreading through her limbs and pooling in her chest, making her feel lightheaded and weak. She didn’t understand it, didn’t want to understand it, but there was no denying the effect it had on her body.

Zelia’s breath came in ragged gasps as she struggled to maintain the rhythm, her body shaking with exhaustion. Each downward motion on Caitlyn’s strap-on sent waves of discomfort through her, but beneath it all, a strange warmth began to build. It shouldn’t feel good, not after everything she had endured, but there was no denying the growing pleasure that mingled with the pain. Her muscles screamed for rest, her shoulders burned from the strain of holding herself up, and her legs threatened to give out entirely. Yet still, she moved, driven by the promise of food and freedom.

But soon, even that drive wasn’t enough. Zelia’s movements slowed, her body too weak to continue bouncing on the strap-on. She commanded her legs to tighten, and her shoulders to pull, but they only trembled in response, refusing to obey. Tears streamed down her face as frustration and exhaustion overwhelmed her. She cried out, her voice raw and desperate, hating how powerless she felt.

Caitlyn’s voice broke through her haze, soft yet commanding. “Would you like me to help?” she whispered, her lips brushing against Zelia’s ear. The Sheriff’s tone was almost gentle, a stark contrast to the harshness of their situation.

Zelia nodded weakly, her pride feeling like it was shattered beyond repair. She couldn’t do this on her own anymore. She needed help, needed relief, needed the torment to end. Caitlyn’s hands moved to her hips, gripping them firmly as she took control.

With a sudden force, Caitlyn began to thrust upward, driving the strap-on deep into Zelia with each powerful movement. Zelia gasped, her body lifted momentarily off the rubber cock, leaving her feeling hollow and yearning. For a brief moment, she felt a strange sensation of freefall, her body weightless before crashing back down onto the Enforcer’s thrust. Each impact sent jolts of pleasure and pain coursing through her, her pussy stretched wide and stuffed full once more.

Zelia cried out, her voice echoing through the cold basement in contrast with Caitlyn’s grunts of exertion. The intensity of Caitlyn’s thrusts left her breathless, her body writhing helplessly as the Sheriff took complete control. The rhythm was brutal and merciless, each bounce lifting Zelia just enough to make the descent feel like a crash. Her legs tightened around Caitlyn’s waist instinctively, clinging to the Enforcer for support as her body betrayed her, responding to the overwhelming sensations.

Zelia felt the orgasm start to build, a strange, unfamiliar warmth spreading through her body. She tried to resist, to hold it back, but Caitlyn’s thrusts grew even more insistent, driving the strap-on deeper with each powerful movement. Zelia whimpered, her voice breaking as the pleasure intensified, mingling with the pain that still lingered in her stretched, abused body.

The Sheriff’s hands gripped her hips tightly, lifting and slamming her down onto the strap-on with brutal force. Each impact sent waves of sensation coursing through Zelia, her body trembling as it teetered on the edge of something she had never experienced before. The pleasure was a tidal wave threatening to consume her entirely, and she was powerless to stop it. It felt like running through the Fissure at full speed, like the exertion in her muscles after a grueling workout, like the taste of rich, savory food after days of starvation. It was everything she had been denied, everything she craved, and it was crashing over her with unrelenting force.

Zelia’s breath hitched, her throat too dry to scream, but a hoarse, desperate sound escaped her lips as the orgasm crashed over her. It was unlike anything she had ever felt—a surge of physical pleasure so intense that it left her gasping for air, her body convulsing around the strap-on, her legs wrapping hard around Caitlyn’s waist, as though her body didn’t want to let go. She croaked out what would have been a scream if her throat wasn’t so parched, her voice raw and broken. The pleasure was all-consuming, filling her with a warmth that spread from her core to every inch of her body.

As Zelia came, Caitlyn’s hands moved. The Enforcer grabbed onto the clips biting into Zelia’s nipples, her fingers closing around the metal jaws with surprising strength. With a sharp tug, Caitlyn released them, the clamps popping free after two days of relentless pressure. Zelia expected the pain to fade, to be replaced by relief… but she was wrong.

The sudden rush of blood back into her starved nipples was agonizing, a searing vengeance that made her gasp sharply. The pain was intense, almost unbearable, but it didn’t feel bad. Instead, it mingled with the pleasure coursing through her, adding a new layer of sensation that felt like spice or the soreness after a hard workout. The pain and pleasure intertwined, creating a dizzying, overwhelming experience that left Zelia even weaker than the exhaustion and starvation had.

Zelia’s body convulsed one last time as the orgasm finally subsided, leaving her limp and trembling. She hung suspended on Caitlyn’s strap-on, her muscles too weak to resist as the Enforcer held her steady, only the chains keeping her from slumping over. The world around her seemed to blur, her mind foggy with the lingering aftereffects of the intense pleasure. She could barely think, let alone move, her body utterly spent.

Slowly, Caitlyn reached up and undid the cuffs that bound Zelia’s wrists, releasing her from the chains that had held her aloft. Zelia groaned weakly, her voice little more than a raspy whisper, but the relief was immediate. Her weight no longer pulled painfully at her shoulders, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, she wasn’t fighting gravity. Caitlyn repositioned the cuffs, securing Zelia’s hands behind her back before gently lifting her off the strap-on. The sensation of being pulled free was strange, almost anticlimactic after everything she had just endured.

Caitlyn lowered Zelia carefully to the cold floor, setting her down with surprising gentleness. The vastaya collapsed onto the concrete, her quivering legs unable to support her. She lay there panting, her chest heaving as she struggled to catch her breath. The basement air was damp and frigid, but it felt like heaven against her overheated skin. For several long moments, she simply lay there, her mind too overwhelmed to process anything beyond the need to rest.

Then, without warning, a plate appeared in front of her, set down on the floor with a soft clink. Zelia’s bleary eyes focused on the food—a generous portion of steak, roasted vegetables, and a slice of bread. The sight made her stomach growl loudly. “You earned it,” Caitlyn announced, her tone authoritative... but not entirely unkind.

Before Zelia could respond, Caitlyn leaned down and grabbed a handful of her dyed blue hair. With a practiced motion, the Sheriff used the matted strands to wipe the strap-on clean, smearing lube and sweat across Zelia’s scalp. The action was humiliating, but Zelia was too exhausted to care. She simply stared at the plate, her mind consumed by the promise of food.

Zelia watched as Caitlyn turned and walked out of the room, her boots clicking against the cold concrete floor with a steady rhythm that echoed in the quiet basement. The Sheriff’s departure left Zelia alone with the plate of food, its tantalizing aroma filling the air and making her stomach growl audibly. Her hands were still bound behind her back, leaving her no choice but to eat like an animal—face pressed directly into the plate, her lips and tongue working to devour the meal before it could slip away.

The smell of the steak was overwhelming, rich, and savory, mingling with the earthy scent of roasted vegetables and the warm, yeasty fragrance of the bread. It was almost too much for her starved senses to bear, and she hesitated only for a moment before leaning forward, her face hovering just above the plate. Her golden eyes flicked to the door, ensuring Caitlyn was truly gone, then she lowered her head and began to eat.

Tears slipped down her cheeks as she bit into the tender meat, the taste exploding on her tongue like nothing she had ever experienced. The first bite was messy, her lips smearing juices across the plate as she tore into the steak with abandon. The texture was perfect—soft and yielding, yet firm enough to satisfy the gnawing hunger inside her. Each chew sent waves of relief through her body, the sensation of food filling her empty stomach almost surreal. She swallowed quickly, barely pausing to savor the flavor, and immediately went for another bite.

The vegetables followed, their sweetness complementing the richness of the meat. Zelia didn’t care about manners or dignity; she devoured them whole, her teeth scraping every last bit of flavor from the roasted roots. The bread came last, its crust crackling softly as she bit into it, the warmth and softness melting in her mouth. She chewed furiously, tears streaming down her face as she remembered the humiliation of what she had done to earn this meal. But none of that mattered now. All that mattered was filling her stomach and finally easing the pain in her gut.

By the time she finished, the plate was spotless, not a crumb left behind. Zelia lay there, her face smeared with grease and juices, her body quivering like a weak, newborn pup as she settled her face down onto the plate. She was asleep before her head was all the way down.

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