Fresh Meat

It was difficult for Angie to perceive her transition back to consciousness. She felt fuzzy and warm. As her senses sharpened a little more she realised, in fact, she was warmer than usual. Something nearby was radiating heat and making its presence felt.

It took her a moment to realise that she could hear her own breathing but little else. At home, even whilst out and about, there were so many sounds that Angie automatically tuned out, her sisters fighting, dogs barking, people in the street, the background of traffic noise of main roads which surrounded her suburb of the city on three sides. Right now, she felt deafened by their absence.

Lazily curious now, Angie became aware of her body. She was stiff, lying on her side and something warm and heavy was thrown over her, perhaps an arm? She moved slightly to ease her discomfort. The arm tightened perceptibly in response, pulling her into the warmth behind, but not uncomfortably.

Angie inhaled deeply like it was the first breath she had taken in days. The scent: Victoria mixed with furniture polish. She allowed a contented smile to play across her face at detecting the presence of her lover. Groggily, Angie moved her own hand to cover the one on her belly, recognised the soft skin of Victoria’s hand and let out a contented purr.

Having put it off for long enough, Angie opened her eyes. Blinded by the daylight, she shut them again and blinked for a while before her vision settled. She was in bed, but not the one at Albert Drive, this bed was bigger, with a wooden frame, columns at each corner and a roof. The sheets were reflective and thin, frictionless, something like silk or satin.

Her voice came out as a croak to begin with, Angie had to have a few attempts before she could ask, “Where are we?”

“Home,” responded the lilting Irish voice from behind her. The arm around Angie tightened possessively. “You got your wish, macushla.” She could hear the smile in those words, blown into the air like a light breeze across the sea. Not really capable of deep thought, Angie’s smile widened and she lazily snuggled into her bedfellow.

They were silent for a while as they enjoyed each other’s warmth. Victoria began to slowly stroke the fine hairs on Angie’s exposed arm, which the girl found very relaxing. She almost drifted off to sleep again if it were not for the older woman nuzzling her neck and behind the ear in that way that she knew her lover liked so much.

Angie stretched a little more and realised that she was wearing a pale pink night dress, which left her arms bare and was made from a similar frictionless material as the sheets. Eventually, she turned to her lover, who was wearing something similar in purple and a look of intense satisfaction. The girl smiled and took the lead for once by bringing her lips to Victoria’s. With little urgency, their tongues explored.

As they parted, Angie caught a glimpse of more of the room beyond the bed. There was a large window beyond Victoria from which daylight streamed. Although the sun wasn’t visible, it looked to be the middle of an overcast day.

“Is this your home?” Angie asked, curious.

“Yes,” Victoria answered simply, stroking the girl’s silken sides.

“How did,” Angie began before Victoria gently shushed her.

“Later, my dear. First, we should get you cleaned up and dressed for dinner.”

Angie raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Dinner? What time is it?”

“Late afternoon,” Victoria shrugged.

More questions formed in Angie’s mind, but she was distracted by Victoria pulling her from beneath the sheets and by the sight of the rest of the room.

The space was mostly decked out in parquet floor with a rug set in the middle. An ornate desk was set against the wall beyond the foot of the bed, upon which was set a vanity mirror with subtle lighting. An elegant carriage clock in a rounded glass dome was also placed there. Its hands confirmed it was half past four.

The wall against which the bed was set was mirrored along most of its length between the bed and the far wall where a door was set. Victoria revealed that the mirrors were, in fact, wardrobe doors by opening one and bringing out a long formal evening gown that shimmered between red and orange depending on how the light struck it.

“I want to see you wearing this,” Victoria declared, allowing the billowing material to gracefully settle on the bed.

“Me?” Angie stared at the garment in disbelief. She wasn’t a dress kind of person, but she had never been offered something so beautiful to wear before.

The whole situation felt unreal to Angie. Her dream of waking up beside Victoria had seemingly come true, as had Victoria’s wish of getting her a dress. Urgent questions were nagging Angie in the back of her mind, but she pushed them aside. If this was a dream, she didn’t want to wake up just yet, not when things were going so well.

As she stroked the shimmering frock where it lay, Victoria laid down another alongside, similar in style, but different in detail and colour. “For me,” the older woman gestured as her companion watched it oscillate between red and purple as she moved her head.

“Are we going out?”

“No, I thought I would let you enjoy Cook’s culinary skills. We’ve eaten from a lot of fine restaurants in the last few months, but her food is far superior.”

Angie turned away from the dresses and stroked Victoria’s silken body. “You have a cook?”

“I do, and she is outstanding. Now, would you like to join me in the shower, acushla?” With one arm around Angie’s waist, Victoria guided them to a door on the same wall as the desk, which opened to reveal a large bathroom. They stripped off easily, silken night dresses dropping to the tiled floor, and were soon under the jets in a generous wet room shower.

Naked, unrestrained and in the presence of her lover in a dream of wish fulfilment, Angie couldn’t help but drop to her knees and ply Victoria with oral pleasure.

“There’ll be plenty of time later,” the older woman moaned as Angie’s agile young tongue found its mark.

She pulled back long enough to look up with eyes of adoration and respond, “no. Let me give you just this one before dinner.”

Victoria appeared to relent and used one hand to push the girl's face back between her legs. Angie took great pleasure in bringing her lover to a steamy orgasm. It was so much nicer knowing that there was no rush, no need to be ready for a food delivery or to have to get back into her school uniform to pretend to the outside world as if nothing had happened.

As the older woman came down from her climax, she pulled Angie to her feet and turned her so that she was facing away. A warm hand reached around for Angie’s sex, a finger gently probing. “It’s only fair you let me return the compliment,” a husky voice whispered into her ear.

The feeling was exquisite. In fact, Angie realised, it was more sensual and affecting than it had ever been. She felt down with her own hand. “My pubes have gone! I’m bald down there,” she realised in shock. As her fingers explored, they detected the faintest layer of stubble, but otherwise, the skin beneath was so much more sensitive that she couldn’t get enough.

Victoria swatted her hand away. “And doesn’t it feel wonderful, my dear? Allow me,” She stepped up her ministrations, causing the girl to moan and go weak at the knees. She had to brace herself against the glass wall of the wet room while the older woman fingered her to a steamy climax.

The sexual starter course done with, they took pleasure in soaping each other up and washing their hair much as they had many times before, but this time in a much more luxurious setting and without the burden of time constraints. Under the warm water with all of the bubbles flowing, it was difficult not to get distracted by more titillation.

At length, they extricated themselves and dried off. Victoria laid out underwear for them both. For Angie, she chose a thong and a matching basque in warm earth tones, which fitted her perfectly, flattening the gentle curve of her belly. Plain seamed stockings completed the ensemble. Victoria chose something similar but darker for herself.

The dresses were slipped on quickly, but before Angie could admire herself in the mirror, Victoria pulled her down to the desk. She lit the vanity mirror’s lights against the fading gloom of the early evening sun. Then she set about applying a little makeup to the girl before applying some to her own features.

When Angie gazed at herself in the mirror, it was as if she were looking at another person. The underwear had subtly changed her body shape, flattening her tummy and accentuating her bust, and the makeup changed her face from something plain to a thing of beauty. The shimmering dress hugged every curve, and Angie realised she had no need to be ashamed of her body. Victoria dropped a pair of tasteful orange court shoes in front of her. They had wedge heels and were finished in polished patient leather. She slipped them on experimentally, finding they subtly altered her posture and elevated her by another inch.

Much like dresses, Angie had never really gone for heels. Finding a pair of a suitable size and price was just too difficult, and she never really had occasion to wear them. These felt strange but far more stable than the stilettos which Victoria favoured.

The older woman came to stand next to Angie to admire their twin reflections and encircled her waist with a possessive arm. For the first time, Angie realised what a well-matched couple they made. Dressed and made up, the age difference didn’t seem so stark. Being similar in stature and dress, they suddenly appeared as if they fit each other like two connected jigsaw pieces. Or was it just that they looked so into each other? Angie wondered.

“Finally, Angelica, you have clothes befitting your beauty.” Victoria purred at the sight of their mirror image.

Angie blushed and shook her head. “I can’t believe it all fits me and looks so good. Whose are these anyway?”

“They’re yours, my dear,” Victoria answered simply, pleasure in her voice. When Angie blanched, she continued, “You forget, I know all your sizes, and I’ve been waiting since Christmas to get you into a dress worthy of you.”

“I don’t know how to thank you.” Angie began misting up.

“Don’t cry, acushla, you’ll ruin your makeup. Plus, we have dinner and a tour, and technically, your wish isn’t fulfilled unless you fall asleep with me in the bed.”

Angie blinked back her tears of happiness and nodded. Her urgent questions resurged at the thought of staying the night. “But, what about,” she began, only for Victoria to place an elegant finger on her lips.

“Let’s worry about it tomorrow. Right now, dinner awaits.”

---

Victoria guided the tipsy girl into her living room. It wasn’t a room she had spent much time in during recent years, but it was undoubtedly impressive and had the desired effect on her charge. Dinner had gone very well, Cook had excelled herself once again in terms of quality and keeping the portions small enough to allow them to enjoy the meal and not be overstuffed in the aftermath.

The maids had been discrete, and there had been no need for Janik to put in an appearance to complicate matters, so the girl was mostly relaxed and at ease. Angie had tried to ask some questions about where they were and when she might return home, but they were successfully deflected or deferred, and once some wine had been imbibed, things had become much easier.

“Such a large room, but no TV?” The girl observed, a little slurred. Victoria noted her tolerance for alcohol seemed relatively low.

“I don’t really watch much television. The internet delivers news, and I’m too busy for much else. Do you watch much?”

Angie screwed up her face in a look of abhorrence. “God, no. My mum and my sisters are always trying to keep up with their soaps, and Shania and Robyn are hooked on Britain’s Got Talent. They want to go on and win it someday.” Victoria could see the girl drifting as she was reminded of her family.

“Why would I need a television when I have a sofa big enough for two?” Victoria pointed at the long leather upholstered affair, which was almost long enough for two people to lie on arranged head to toe.

Angie purred with interest and made a move for the seat, but Victoria held her back. “I think if you sit down, I’ll never get you back up again. If you’re going down, my dear, it should be on the bed.”

Angie giggled and blushed and allowed herself to be led deeper into the house. Victoria watched with satisfaction as she marvelled at the sheer number of books in the library and took in the 'playroom', as the hostess liked to call it, with a shivering breath of anticipation.

They made it back to Angie’s suite without incident and, in the light of bedside lamps and the moon streaming in from the big window, disrobed each other. Angie seemed to take particular pleasure in stripping Victoria to her underwear. She had gotten much better at it since their first night together. Angie was no longer all shaking hands and clumsy fingers and thumbs.

Even full of dinner and seasoned with a little wine, the girl seemed full of energy and spared no effort in the attention she heaped upon Victoria. For her part, the older woman wanted to make the most of the evening and made use of strap-on toys to maximise their mutual pleasure. The energetic girl finally ran out of steam around midnight. Exhausted, they slipped back into their silken nightgowns and beneath the frictionless sheets.

Victoria spooned the girl she had spent so much time and effort to acquire. When they next talked, she knew Angie might have a very different attitude to how events had panned out, but that didn’t matter. Victoria had her prize and had even been able to enjoy a night of exuberant passion with her before she was relegated to the position of plaything. Oh, the pleasure she would derive from this girl; Victoria shuddered with anticipation, ecstatic that her plan had come to fruition without a hitch.

Victoria squeezed and kissed the semi-conscious girl behind her ear in celebration of a job well done.

Angie stirred. Although her eyes didn’t open, she turned slightly and smiled. “I forgive you for kidnapping me,” she murmured before fading from consciousness.

Victoria was caught off guard by those six little words. What did she mean? Did she really mean what she said? Had she known all along? What did this mean to her plan? Stricken and baffled, she held the sleeping girl in mute confusion until she finally dropped off herself sometime in the early hours.

---

Angie woke at the touch of Victoria’s hand caressing her cheek. She felt warm and comfortable, Victoria’s faintly floral scent in her nostrils, the memory of her company at the forefront of her mind as it had been in her dreams, as if one had seamlessly morphed into the other. Blearily, she smiled. “Good morning,” she managed before realising that her mouth tasted of old carpet and her body was stiff in all kinds of unhelpful places.

Fully made up and dressed, Victoria leaned over and spoke in a low voice. “I have to travel on business for a few days. I’ll be back soon. The servants will take care of you while I’m away.”

Groggy, Angie was struggling to string more than two thoughts together. “But, you’ll come back to me?” She asked vaguely.

“Of course, macushla.” Victoria purred before leaning in further so that they could enjoy a languid kiss. Victoria pulled away and allowed Angie to drift back off to a contented sleep.

---

A few hours later, Angie found it easier to wake at the clatter of a service tray on the desk.

“Breakfast, youngwan,” a harsh female voice called with the tone of someone who considered sleeping in to be the height of laziness. Her Irish accent was thicker than Victoria’s.

“Hello?” Angie blinked, bleary-eyed. The blurred image before her resolved into a short, tubby, middle-aged woman in a grey and white utilitarian maid’s uniform. She had pale, pitted skin and beady dark brown eyes.

“I’m Miriam, the head maid,” the woman announced, seemingly in an attempt to impress the girl. “You should eat that before it gets cold, or Cook won’t be pleased,” she chided.

“Er, thanks,” Angie mumbled, stalling for time while she tried to get her scattered thoughts back together. She remembered the latter part of the previous day as if it were a dream, and before that, she had a fuzzy memory of rubber and being strapped to a chair and an orgasm painful in its intensity. Soberly, she finally thought about her family and getting home and how she would explain everything.

About to ask the maid what day it was, Angie turned to find her at the door, pressing her thumb to a pad next to the frame. It beeped, the door clicked, and Miriam was gone. Still groggy, Angie looked between breakfast and the door, finding decision-making difficult. Given how much of the previous day she had spent trying to keep the difficult questions at bay, she chose the door.

Angie pressed her thumb over the pad. No beep, no click. Worried now, she tried again and then a third time. Thinking that some mistake had been made, she knocked on the door, lightly at first and then more urgently.

“Hello? It’s locked. Is someone there? Can you help me with the door?”

No response.

Angie started to get angry. She had never been locked in anywhere apart from the dreaded cupboard under the stairs, and Victoria had taught her to shed her fear of that darkness, but being held like this was demeaning. She started to bang on the door and yell. It was made of sturdy wood that felt like it was reinforced with metal; certainly, it didn't give as she expected an ordinary wooden door would.

Angie continued her efforts for a minute or so before there was a click, and she hurriedly stepped back as the door swung open to reveal a tall, heavily built man with a crewcut. The warmth of his tanned skin was belayed by the coldness in his slate-grey eyes.

“You, stop that,” he rumbled with a thick Eastern European accent.

“But it’s locked! I want to get out. I want to go home,” Angie demanded, unimpressed.

Seemingly, with little effort, the man shoved Angie with a meaty hand hard enough for her to fall on her backside onto the rug.

“You stay here until Mrs. McCarthy come back. No more banging, little girl, or I make trouble for you.” The hulk growled before slamming the door shut, the lock clicking a brief second later.

Angie lay on the rug in her night dress where she fell and stared at the door for a full minute as the implications of the altercation trickled through her mind.

She was trapped.

She couldn’t go home.

She couldn’t see her family.

By ‘Mrs McCarthy’, had the heavy meant Victoria? When they’d first met, hadn’t she been introduced as Miss O'Connell? Selected memories of the previous evening filtered through; whenever she had tried to broach the subject of where she was or going home, Victoria had brushed it off, changed the subject or diverted her. Who was Victoria? What did she really want with her?

As her vision of the previous night’s reality crumbled, Angie burst into tears. Alone, her cries echoed around the walls of the suite as she sobbed uncontrollably.

At some point, Angie moved back to the bed, where she hugged her knees and continued to cry. As well as mourning her love affair for the second time, she was angry at herself for being duped. Her new reality laid Victoria’s motives bare. The false name, the heights of discretion, the escalating levels of passion and kink designed to hook her young mark.

Angie wondered about their brief break-up, but it didn’t take so much effort to realise that Victoria had used it as an opportunity for leverage and to increase Angie’s dependence upon her. She remembered back to the caning; how pleased she had been at its conclusion that she had earned Victoria back. What must the older woman have thought of her? A besotted little girl, easily enticed with sex, groomed from day one, a gullible child?

Angie found herself embarrassed to have not seen the signs before, not to have heard alarm bells in her head. She should have backed out earlier, just not turned up one day to quit while she was ahead. And now it was too late.

Shedding renewed tears, Angie thought of her family, whom she had been lying to about her Friday night whereabouts since the previous October. She blamed herself for her current situation, but what must her family be suffering due to her unexplained disappearance? She missed her brother and grandma the most. For her grandmother, it would be like an open wound and, for little Nate, a mystery. Who would explain that his big sister couldn’t play with him any more? Would he understand? Would he still remember her by the time he could?

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph, what a waste of good food.” Angie recoiled, having not realised Miriam had entered. Her tone was as haranguing as before. Angie hadn’t felt remotely hungry after being repelled by the giant, and now she wondered if there was anything untoward in the food. She also wondered how much Miriam was a part of the plot to ensnare her. Certainly, she felt no urge to trust her or the food she bought.

“Don’t be such a little eejit and eat some food,” Miriam demanded, replacing the tray of cold and congealed breakfast with lunch. She looked at the snivelling girl one last time and left. Angie caught sight of the big Eastern European man, watching and waiting out in the corridor, arms folded as Miriam opened the door. It clicked shut behind her, and the imprisoned girl got the impression the giant was there to ensure that she hadn’t tried to escape.

Angie looked at the luncheon tray. A ham sandwich on farmhouse bread, a jug of ice water, a glass and a pot of yoghurt with a teaspoon. It looked innocuous enough, but how could she trust anything in this place? Thirsty, she drank from the cold tap in the bathroom and returned to the bed.

Seemingly having cried out every tear, Angie sat on the edge of the bed, the satin sheet wrapped around her and watched the dull afternoon slip into dark evening. The glass was double-glazed, and the room was on the first floor, so there was no escape through the window. Instead, she sang a little to feel less lonely and remind herself of her family.

“Say ‘Night-ie night’ and kiss me,”

“Just hold me tight and tell me you’ll miss me,”

“While I’m alone and blue as can be,”

“Dream a little dream of me.”

As the lyrics of her favourite song tumbled out, Angie realised that, as well as her family, she was mourning her relationship with the fictional Victoria, who had never really existed. She knew her family were out there somewhere, in pain because of her. She felt the guilt hit her like a physical blow.

Miriam came and went with a tray of food for dinner. Angie ignored her and the food, despite her hunger. What point was there in eating except to give the cruel Victoria, who had captured her so easily, what she wanted?

Hungry and exhausted, Angie cried herself to sleep.