Fresh Meat

Angie minutely examined every detail of the house in the gloom of the winter evening. She had rushed to be early to Albert Drive, not necessarily hoping that being there five minutes earlier would negate her tardiness from the previous week, but she felt it couldn’t do any harm.

For the last seven days, Angie had kept her anxiety, her fear that her affair with Victoria was over, bottled up. She remembered back to that first night, when they had made their arrangement, about the need for discretion above all else. That had been nearly three months ago to the day. Surely Angie had earned some leeway after the success of all of the intervening visits? She clung to that thread of hope as she reached for the doorbell and gave it a definitive push.

During the interminable wait for Victoria to throw open the door, Angie’s heart seemed loud, and her throat closed. She wanted her lover to draw her in and favour her with a deep kiss as she always did. Angie didn’t care if she was angry; she just wanted to see her face, to be able to explain her previous transgression, to at least start a dialogue.

It was difficult for the girl to perceive the passage of time. Had she pressed the bell ten seconds ago, or had it been a full minute? Maybe Victoria was just playing with her, making her wait as a punishment. Angie buzzed a second time, knowing deep down it was futile but unwilling to give in to despair.

Another minute passed, or was it an hour? The hope and denial that Angie had been carrying around for the past week finally dropped away, and she felt a yawning hole in her very soul: Victoria was gone. It was over.

Unable to hold her emotions in any longer, Angie burst into tears. Her body shook with uncontrollable sobs. She had to place a hand on the door frame for support and eventually sat on the doorstep, crying in the dark of a damp early January evening.

Angie didn’t want to call attention to herself; she tried to be quiet by some instinct, to maintain the secrecy of an affair that was no more, but she couldn’t stop the tears. Her mind focused on the loss, not what might come after, just the loss of that moment; anything more was incomprehensible.

Time passed, robbed of its linearity by the crying teenager’s emotional trauma. Feeling hollowed out and empty, she finally fished in her bag for a tissue, blew her nose and made a cursory attempt to dry her eyes before she unsteadily rose to her feet, still occasionally sobbing. She had to move on. That began with walking home and thinking of an excuse to tell her family for her early return for the second week running. Anything more than that would have to wait.

At the pavement, Angie scanned the street. The same cars remained parked along the road, silent, ignorant of her mortal injury. Turning, she looked at the frigid house, empty, desolate. She dragged her eyes away and trudged back along the street towards home.

Kalina Petrov heard the door and the characteristic flap of Benji’s enthusiastic paws as he ran to find her. She smiled inwardly as Benji’s arrival heralded that of her favourite granddaughter. The hound bounded into the living room to join her and received some cursory fuss before slinking to his doggy bed and settling down after a good walk.

Angie was slower to appear and seemed even more withdrawn than the previous week. As the girl entered in stocking feet and having shed her damp coat, Kalina could tell that something was weighing her down.

“You look like you could do with a bit of meditation, chick,” she observed, knowing that asking outright wouldn’t get to the bottom of things. Angie nodded wordlessly, and they arranged themselves on the rug opposite each other.

Kalina had Angie close her eyes and stepped her through an exercise in breathing to calm her a little and then went on to a visualisation. “Think of a safe place. A place where you can be calm and contented.” It was easy for her to watch the play of emotions across her granddaughter’s face. First, she could tell that she had found that memory of a place she had been to in previous weeks, her internal source of serenity and happiness.

As Angie’s mind worked through the scene, Kalina could tell that it had begun to crack. A frown appeared, quickly followed by a look of loss, intense and wrenching. Finally, the poor girl erupted into tears.

“Oh, Angie. What’s happened?” Kalina placed a calming hand on the girl, but she shook her head and refused to speak. Being wise in the ways of parenthood, Kalina knew better than to push. She transferred the sobbing girl to the sofa where they could sit comfortably.

Kalina let her cry whatever it was out, providing a tissue when things began to subside. “You haven’t broken up with that ‘hypothetical’ boyfriend of yours, have you?”

Angie snorted and then had to blow her nose. “Something like that,” she mumbled.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, chick. The first one is so difficult to lose because everything feels so much more intense at your age.” She leaned over and gave the tearful girl a sympathetic hug. “It won’t stop hurting, but it will get easier with time.”

“But it was all my fault,” Angie wailed miserably.

“I bet it wasn’t, but right now, that’s the way it feels to you. You want someone to blame, and it’s easiest to blame yourself.”

“But, I,” Angie tailed off, unable or unwilling to go into specifics.

“You might find that things look different to you with the benefit of hindsight, chick. If this boyfriend blames you for something, and that’s why you’ve separated, then he probably wasn’t worth keeping.” Kalina observed. “A good boy would at the very least forgive and hopefully recognise that they are partially to blame too.”

Angie nodded reluctantly and took a calming breath. “Thanks, grandma.”

“Maybe we should skip the sherry and have a nice cup of tea?” Kalina suggested, feeling like she had helped her granddaughter start on the road to recovery from her emotional trauma.

The girl managed a watery smile and nodded. “That’d be great.”

Soaring voices, both male and female, filled Angie’s entire consciousness. She let the grandiose opera move through her as she sat cross-legged on her bed, her eyes closed to shut out the rest of the world. She had often meditated thus in the last month since Victoria’s gift had been transferred to her primitive brick of a mobile phone. It was the only solitude she could really have, given the cramped conditions in which she lived.

The music helped to provoke memories of making love with Victoria, the sublime voices inspiring them to greater heights of pleasure. Such memories were intoxicating. Angie waded through them as a wake to her lost affair, trying to accept it was something she could never have back and to resolve how to move on. She would have had it all back in a second if asked, but clinging on to the past was just too painful.

Angie realised exams, further education, and her relationship with Freya had all faded into the background whilst she was seeing Victoria. She had been distant from her friend and felt guilty about it. Should she confide in Freya? Would the loss be easier to take if Angie shared with someone she trusted, and would they become closer as a result? Or should she honour the level of discretion Victoria had demanded as the price of their relationship?

And what of her closeness to Freya? Angie wondered. Her time with Victoria had made her look at people differently. Would a romantic entanglement with Freya be worth pursuing, or would it be exposing herself to rejection, which could break her relationship with the only good friend she had right now? Was she even attracted to Freya, a girl she had judged to be unashamedly straight? She found it hard to analyse her scattered feelings on romantic matters.

Angie opened her eyes and took in the cluttered room she shared with her sisters. It was a Wednesday night; Shania and Robyn were watching TV downstairs, Nate was tucked up in bed, and Angie had the room to herself for once. With the sight of the mess came all of the renewed uncertainty about her future, which, being with Victoria, had kept at arm’s length. The older woman had been experienced and knowledgeable and had treated Angie like an adult when they had discussed her concerns about her future.

At that moment, the music dipped momentarily as the phone played the message notification jingle into her headphones. Angie glanced down to see that she had a text from an unknown number. She opened the message automatically. 'I’ll give you one more chance, but there must be recompense. Don’t bother to reply. Just come to the normal place at the usual time. Or don’t.'

Although the wording was cryptic, there was little doubt about whom the missive was from. Even the use of the word 'recompense', while making Angie nervous, reeked of Victoria. The fact that there were no direct references to any people, places or times suggested the sender wanted to communicate with maximum discretion, another of her former lover’s hallmarks.

Anticipation and anxiety duelled within Angie. There was no question about whether she would go. She didn’t feel the nervous trepidation she had on going to their first meeting; she felt entirely safe in Victoria’s presence. She had long ago burned the note from her locker, providing clues should she mysteriously disappear, but the nature of ‘recompense’ bothered her.

Angie read and re-read the message, her heart pounding. What would she find when she got to the innocuous semi on Albert Drive? What did Victoria mean by ‘recompense’? Certainly, Angie wouldn’t allow her fear of the unknown to stop her from finding out.

---

Two weeks after the collapse of their relationship and four weeks since they had last parted, Angie stood in front of Victoria’s house on Albert Drive, not scared but certainly anxious about what she might find within. At 4 o’clock precisely, she pressed the doorbell, half expecting no one to come to the door, half hoping against all her desires that no one would, dreading Victoria’s disappointment.

The woman herself opened the door as quickly as ever, but she looked different. She was dressed as elegantly as usual, her hair immaculately styled, but her face was set with a cold, stony look, not the subtle pleasure at seeing her lover that Angie was used to. She gestured for the girl to enter. Angie breathed in the older woman’s familiar scent as she brushed past. It was intoxicating and brought back memories of pleasure which nearly overwhelmed her. As soon as Angie tried to speak, to apologise, to explain, Victoria pressed a single finger lightly to her lips, effectively silencing her.

“We had an agreement. It existed so that you could walk away at any time and so that I could be sure that I would not be exposed to the unwanted attentions of nosy people calling at other times. You signalled your desire to leave by not arriving on time. I was disappointed, but I respected your decision.” Victoria’s tone was cold and clinical. Angie moved to speak, but was again stopped by a subtle shake of the older woman’s head.

“Then you arrived on my doorstep again, drawing attention to this house. It was not a discrete thing to do, but I realised that perhaps you had changed your mind. I will give you another chance, but you must demonstrate your commitment to our relationship before I will take you back.” Victoria stopped and let the silence stretch out, awaiting a response.

Angie quaked internally. On the one hand, she was so close to having her lover back that she could almost taste it. On the other, Victoria was disappointed, possibly angry with her and that made her cringe inside. “I’ll do whatever you want, whatever I have to,” she managed finally, her voice quivering.

The older woman nodded, beckoned her to the sombrely lit living room and turned to face Angie. “Strip.”

Angie hesitated for a fraction of a second before realising that she really was willing to do anything if her lover demanded it. Quickly and efficiently, she removed her clothes, not bothering to fold anything, leaving them in a pile at her feet. She could feel the warm carpet beneath her toes but felt cold despite the room's temperature.

Victoria picked up what appeared to be a slim, flexible rod with a hand grip at one end. “You will take six strokes, you will not wear a gag, you will not cry out, you will count the strokes. If you make too much noise, you fail. If you lose count, you fail. Failure implies that you aren’t serious about our relationship, and we will part company.” Her voice was devoid of emotion.

Angie gulped and looked at the cane with trepidation. Could she do all that Victoria was asking without crying out? If there was ever one time in her life when she needed to control herself, it was now. Nervously, she nodded her assent.

Victoria gestured with a point of the cane to a spot in the middle of the floor. “Bend over, hands on your knees.” There was steel in her voice that set butterflies fluttering in Angie’s stomach. She did as she was bidden and tried to follow her antagonist with her eyes as she circled her, scrutinising her naked flesh.

Eventually, the older woman took up a stance to one side of Angie, her legs spread as wide as her smart pencil skirt would allow. She lined herself up, taking her time as usual, then stroked the rod against the bare flesh of Angie’s buttocks, causing a thrill of fear to pass through her. In all of the pleasure and pain sessions they had indulged in, Victoria had never beaten her with an implement. Angie had no idea what the pain would be like or if she could take it.

Victoria lifted the rod clear and then brought it back to stroke the quivering girl’s flesh, sensitising her further. Angie sensed that the older woman was playing with her, making her suffer without a single blow to prolong the punishment and allow Victoria to enjoy it more. Angie gripped her knees with her hands to white knuckle intensity and gritted her teeth, constantly repeating the mantra in her head: I won’t cry out, I won’t cry out.

As was no doubt intended, the first blow was entirely unexpected. Angie just managed to prevent herself from rising and sucked in air through her teeth. For a brief second, she thought the pain wasn’t too bad, but that was only because it took a moment for a line of fire to register across her pale skin. She gritted her teeth harder as she stifled a cry welling up from her throat. After the fire had faded a little, she managed to relax her jaw enough to choke “One.”

Having taken the measure of her victim, Victoria bought the second blow down after a shorter pause, lower this time, near where Angie’s buttocks met her thighs. She felt a second painful red line drawn on her skin. Blood rushed into the capillaries of the affected area, causing a new line of fire. Tears erupted from the girl’s eyes as she forced herself not to vocalise her pain.

“Two,” she whimpered.

Victoria took her time over the third blow; it was carefully aimed between the previous two so that the heat from them all merged to give Angie the impression that her buttocks were molten pools of fire. “Three,” she sobbed, her tears falling to the carpet. All thought of anything more than just surviving the next few minutes without failing fled from Angie’s tortured mind. She could only concentrate on holding herself bent over, suppressing her instinct to cry out and maintaining the count.

“Six!” Angie blubbed finally after riding the wave of pain from the last stroke before her face crumpled into incoherent sobs. She remained bent but shook uncontrollably, her backside lined and red.

A gentle hand lifted the girl into the upright position. Through tear-filled eyes, Angie could see that Victoria’s features had softened. She held out a paper tissue for her to blow her nose, which was gratefully received.

“Are you still mine?” Angie managed to stutter the question between sobs.

“Of course, macushla,” Victoria declared, her accent thickened, giving her voice that quality which Angie loved: the gentle breeze across the sea. Her lover drew the shaking girl to her in a warm, comforting embrace. Angie allowed herself to fall into Victoria’s arms, almost dizzy with relief, her pain and trauma almost forgotten.

In the hours which followed, Victoria took the tearful girl to bed and, with unusual care and tenderness, soothed her wounds, both physical and mental. While Angie detected a certain urgency, once she had come back to her senses enough to notice, Victoria wasn’t forceful, didn’t tie her up, use the gag or inflict any more pain as they made love.

---

Angie sat, as she often had, at the dining table in a terry cloth robe, waiting for Victoria to serve the first dish of their recently delivered dinner. The older woman had thoughtfully arranged a cushion on her wooden chair to ease the discomfort which was fading in her backside. Angie had been surprised by how the lines and redness had already begun to fade when she looked in the mirror at her post-shower nakedness.

She felt different. It wasn’t the physical trauma, that was in the past; she had survived, and she had earned her lover back. She felt like she had taken a step which she couldn’t take back but couldn’t put her finger on what it was. She felt like her wounds would fade, but something indefinable inside had changed. Angie couldn’t tell if the difference had been coming over time and she had just noticed or whether the cause was the stress of the last few weeks culminating in the evening’s ordeal.

Victoria breezed in with two steaming starters and sat opposite the contemplative girl. “What made you change your mind, my dear?”

Angie shook herself out of her troubling thoughts. “I didn’t,” she stuttered and then realised the misconception. “I mean, I never intended to be late in the first place.” She began to explain her ongoing issues with Kelly, the back-fired practical joke she had attempted to play using Rayan and how that had led to the attack and subsequent after-school detention.

“I had no choice; I couldn’t have got out of it,” Angie explained.

Victoria wagged a finger. “There is always a choice. At worst, you could have simply not turned up to the detention.” Angie began to form a protest; such disobedience was just not in her, but the older woman continued. “Yes, there would have been a cost, but you decide what your priorities are and weigh the consequences. Which was more important? Being late here or possibly suffering multiple detentions due to not turning up to the first?”

Angie hadn’t thought of it that way. She felt stupid and looked down at her empty plate. Victoria gently raised her chin with a finger so that they were looking at each other again. “Don’t feel that way, my dear. You’re young and inexperienced. Luckily, we have overcome this latest difficulty, and you have proved yourself despite all this silly girl has done to put you down.”

Angie smiled, both at Victoria’s reference to her nemesis and because she had made her feel better at the same time.

Victoria gathered up the plates and returned with a sumptuous main course before continuing as if she hadn’t left. “Of course, I wouldn’t let the matter stand.”

Angie, who had been basking in the warmth of Victoria’s kind words, was suddenly confused. “Which matter?”

“This girl at your school. I wouldn’t let this affront pass. I’d make her pay in some way, just so that she knew I wasn’t to be trifled with.”

Angie was startled. “You mean I should hit her back?”

Victoria seemed amused by the idea. “No, my dear, that lacks a certain finesse, don’t you think?” She considered the matter for a few seconds. “I would embarrass her. Perhaps hide her clothes while she’s doing P.E. or slip a strong laxative into her drink. Yes, that could work very well.”

“I’d get caught,” Angie said, aghast.

“Not if you were careful. I’d bribe someone else to do the dirty work while I appeared in plain sight so that no one could accuse me of being the culprit.”

Angie raised an eyebrow at the thought. There was no way she would do it; Angie just wasn’t a revenge kind of person, but it was an excellent idea. “Money can’t buy you everything,” she commented, internally channelling her grandma’s wisdom.

“But it can certainly grease the wheels,” Victoria pointed out without missing a beat. “Maybe I’ll seek her out myself and spike her drink just for messing with my lover.”

Angie couldn’t tell whether Victoria was serious or not, but it felt good that someone was willing to go to war with Kelly for her. Victoria very much gave the impression of being a force to be reckoned with, Kelly would have no chance. The thought produced a smug smile on Angie’s face as she imagined the possibilities.

Later, as Victoria bought in pudding, she sat down and declared, “I think we should change our arrangement.” The words broke Angie’s revelry and made her suddenly nervous. She didn’t like changes to something she had just struggled to get back. Before she could voice a protest, Victoria continued, “I’ll leave the key under the mat and a set of instructions on the table. If you want to continue, let yourself in at the usual time, follow the instructions and wait for me. I will arrive later. That way, any minor tardiness on your part can be glossed over.”

Different protests rose in Angie’s mind, but she remembered that she was the one at fault; she had been late, and it had almost destroyed their relationship. Reluctantly, she nodded.

Victoria reached over and stroked Angie’s cheek affectionately. “Trust me, acushla, you won’t be disappointed.” There was a glint in her eye, which made Angie’s insides smoulder with anticipation. She had Victoria back, she thought; life would be good, and with that, she blushed and smiled at her lover.