Fresh Meat

Angie’s dreams swirled with the pain of loss, images of little Nate crying because she wasn’t there to play with him and her mum similarly tearful, trying to console him and explain his big sister’s absence. She watched as Victoria, her lioness, became Victoria, her captor, scheming and planning while Angie's head was turned. She tossed and turned and woke to a watery dawn which shone around the edges of the heavy curtains.

Angie sat miserably in bed. She wanted to play with her brother on their familiar living room floor. Her stomach growled, but she still felt no desire to allow anything served by Victoria’s minions to pass her lips.

Still wearing the night dress and knickers she had worn all the previous day, Angie felt a need to be clean and find a change of clothes. A chest of drawers sat against the wall on the other side of the bathroom door from the desk. Tentatively, she explored the contents of the top drawer and found a healthy stock of underwear, seemingly expensive, brand new and in her size. Obviously, Victoria was more a fan of thongs than the supportive knickers Angie was used to.

The bottom drawer contained several sports bras and other Lycra gym clothes. Angie eyed the stretchy material with suspicion. The unwelcome memory of Victoria’s desire to see her in leggings intruded on her thoughts, but there was nothing else to wear, so she chose a few items and headed for the shower.

The bathroom was surprisingly well stocked. There were fresh towels, a new toothbrush and toothpaste, hair brush, comb, hairbands, shampoo, shower gel, safety razors, shaving foam, a body sponge, again, all new. Angie wondered at what Victoria had intended with all of those supplies. Having gotten over the initial shock of captivity, Angie resolved to investigate her prison more thoroughly, but not until she was clean.

Despite feeling faintly violated that someone had shaved her pubic region while she was unconscious, Angie couldn’t help but enjoy the feeling of being able to run her fingers directly over the skin of her sex. She resolved to keep that area clear as well as shaving her legs.

Unsurprisingly, the leggings fit snugly. Angie admired herself in the expansive mirrors. She didn’t often get a chance to take her time to look over her entire body; the mirrors at home were too small for that. The tight material clung to every curve and bulge, unlike the cheap, ill-fitting leggings she wore for P.E. lessons. She was surprised to see that she actually had a respectable figure. The gap between the waistband and sports bra somewhat accentuated her exposed midriff. Realising that she probably wouldn’t have much to do in her solitude, Angie wondered if she should try to work out a bit.

Setting herself down on the rug, Angie decided that she needed to think things through properly. The previous day, she had been too shocked and upset to think of anything but her incarceration and loss, but she needed to make a plan, if nothing else, to try to ease the suffering her family must be feeling.

Angie arranged herself on the rug facing the mirrored wardrobe doors with the carriage clock in front of her as she might in her grandma’s front room. She took herself through one of her grandma’s breathing exercises to clear her mind. She kept her eyes closed and pointedly ignored Miriam as she bustled in with another phoney breakfast.

“I’ll be checking all the cutlery's there when I come back, and Mr Janik is outside if you cause any trouble, youngwan,” Miriam ranted as Angie tracked the sound of her voice behind her, up to the desk and back to the door. She had made up her mind that she had no intention of even looking at the food until she was done with her planning.

With peace restored once more, Angie concentrated on her situation. She was trapped, she didn’t know where she was, or how far from home she was, so escaping her immediate captivity seemed fruitless until she had more information. She thought about Victoria’s sturdy henchman, whom she assumed must be ‘Mr Janik’. There was little chance she could sneak or run past him and the nature of his threat to ‘make trouble’ for her was unknown, but that filled her with dread.

Angie realised she needed to know more. She had many questions, which it didn’t feel likely she could get the answers to by merely asking. Victoria had been kind to her, overly kind in fact, up to the point where she left, which seemed in opposition to the situation she now found herself in. It didn’t seem likely that it was a misunderstanding, and Victoria’s use of a false name and various other measures to maintain her anonymity was telling. But what were her intentions? Angie wondered.

Angie had heard, in the news and elsewhere, of kids being groomed by men and women for abuse, trafficking and prostitution. Often, drugs were involved. Some kids her age were even radicalised by religious extremists. None of these matched Victoria’s game, whatever it was. None of those things would see her locked in a well-stocked palatial suite. Also, the route by which she had arrived there didn’t fit. Victoria had titillated her, wooed her, wined and dined her, even swept her off her feet. If her captor’s intentions had been genuine, they would have certainly worked on her just as they had when she had an ulterior motive. Victoria had played on her youthful inexperience to trap her.

So what did Victoria want with her? More sex? Some kind of trophy? It seemed unlikely that she was a serial killer unless the entire household were in on it. Surely, she would realise that Angie would be less than cooperative as a prisoner. She shuddered as she considered that perhaps Victoria didn’t need her cooperation; maybe she could compel her to do whatever she needed. It was perfectly within her power to do so with drugs or threats or blackmail, maybe even by threatening her family.

Angie had meant it when she had forgiven Victoria for kidnapping her. Her experience of the first evening more than made up for that, and she had been prepared to defend Victoria from the awkward questions which Angie’s family would inevitably raise. But robbing her of her freedom? Keeping her from her family, friends, and home? That she couldn’t forgive.

Breathing deeply, Angie tried to bring her thoughts together. Her first impulse was to fight, to smash everything, smear faeces over the walls, block the toilet and sink so that they overflowed, to show how thoroughly she disapproved of being kept prisoner. But what then? Such behaviour could only make her situation worse. She wanted to escape, to get back to her family, and for that, she needed a plan that didn’t result in her current captivity being made more restrictive.

Angie realised she wasn’t going to escape past Janik and was unlikely to get any sympathy from Miriam, which meant she had to work on Victoria, who was away for however long. What should she do in the meantime? The fully stocked bathroom had suggested that the suite had been carefully prepared for her, but she needed to search it thoroughly to understand what she had to work with.

Angie uncoiled her stiff limbs after nearly an hour of sitting on the rug in her silent contemplation. She started with the bathroom. A wall-mounted cabinet contained birth control pills, dental floss, deodorant, nail clippers, moisturiser and various other skin care products. The cupboard under the sink held washcloths, extra toilet roll, tampons and sanitary towels. A wicker basket sat in the corner where some of the discarded clothing from the first night had been deposited; she added her discarded underwear in the hope that it was a laundry basket.

Angie was startled by the amount of supplies, all of it unused. Victoria obviously intended her to live there long term. Now that she wasn’t using the shower, she realised it had a dedicated douche attachment, the flow to which could be varied independently from the main shower head. She wondered if that meant that Victoria intended to continue to take her anally, a practice which Angie viewed with mixed feelings.

Angie padded barefoot back out into the main room. Breakfast looked like it had been appetising when it was still hot, but she didn’t want to tempt herself despite her stomach’s urgent demands to be filled. If Victoria wanted to keep her and passive defiance was her only tool for leverage, she would use it as best as she could. What were they going to do, force-feed her?

The desk mainly contained beauty products, including an expensive hair dryer. The draws held little more than she had already found. There was nothing there which Angie could wear that would appear normal if she were out on the street. Perhaps that was part of Victoria’s plan to keep her prisoner: ensure she had nothing to wear outside.

The vast mirrored wardrobe seemed to confirm that theory. It was certainly full of clothes, but none which Angie would be seen dead wearing in public. However, they were an insight into Victoria’s motives. The outfits within appeared to have been arranged as discrete ensembles, not as components to be mixed and matched.

Prominent was a French maid’s outfit with accompanying high heels and fishnet stockings. Angie had seen cheap versions of such outfits in the windows of costume shops, but the one Victoria had provided was of much finer quality, if still racy. She fondled the frilly knickers and petticoats with a combination of fascination and distaste before moving on.

A girly school uniform caught Angie’s eye. It was obviously far more titillation than practicality, comprising of a low-cut short-sleeved blouse, a short pleated skirt, a skimpy thong and bra set, white thigh-high socks and black leather shoes with high but blocky heels. She was sure she would have been sent home if she had turned up to class in that outfit but ironically might have had more success attracting the attention of her male peers.

Angie reached her limit when she found the ‘princess’ outfit, obviously obtained as a result of her charged conversation with Victoria just before Christmas. The dress was blue, silky and low cut with huge puffed shoulders and half a dozen petticoats. It was accompanied by thick white stockings, sparkly pumps and even a costume tiara. At the time, Angie had been excited by the thought of being dressed in such an outfit and taken over Victoria’s knee, but now she could only imagine her former lover as a real villain rather than the pantomime variety.

The wardrobe nearest the bed contained what Angie could only describe as ‘kink’. There were gags of various kinds, including the one she must have worn in their final session in the bondage chair. It was indeed a facsimile of a penis in black veined rubber. Various restraint-related harnesses were present, including the white leather ‘pet’ harness, complete with collar, cuffs and lead. Angie shuddered at the memory of the bedroom tryst which that outfit had led to. There were a few hoods, both leather and rubber. In fact, the latex outfit Angie had worn in the bondage chair was neatly folded on a shelf.

The lowest shelf seemed to contain ‘toys’. The dildo harnesses they had used on the first night were present, as were a number of separate dildos and butt plugs, also some strange clips with bells on which Angie didn’t recognise. The shelf seemed to contain several varieties of lubricant, something she was grateful for given the size of some of the plugs.

Whilst the contents of the kink cupboard aroused her, Angie was in no mood for eroticism. She experimented enough to determine that some of the dildos vibrated and their batteries had sufficient charge. Angie realised she could have diddled herself using the shower’s powerful jets without anyone demanding she stop wasting time, but what would be the point? Masturbation had little meaning for her since she had discovered how much better it felt to have someone else satisfy her.

Angie took stock. While there were lots of things in her cage, as she thought of it, none of them were useful for affecting her escape. She couldn’t use a butt plug to pick a lock. Could she distract someone by tripping them on a pool of lube spread over the floor? Probably, but Janik would be waiting for her just outside the door. There were leather cuffs in the kink cupboard but no ratcheting handcuffs that she might use to trap and restrain someone. In fact, she had access to nothing overtly sharp. The nail clippers and safety razors had blades but had been specifically made to do no harm.

Stuck for the moment and with nothing better to do, Angie resolved to see what stretching and exercises she could do given the limited facilities. She tried to remember all of the appropriate activities she had ever been subjected to in P.E. lessons and prioritised those in terms of the areas of her body she wanted to work on. She definitely wanted to work on her tummy and her thighs and bum, too. She hoped the activity would make the time before Victoria returned pass quickly.

Hunger didn’t make exercise fun, but she drank plenty of water from the cold tap and counting reps helped her pass the time in her boredom. When she became out of breath, she meditated but used a pillow to sit on after the stiffness her morning session had produced.

Miriam came and went with more meals. Angie felt her best strategy was to ignore her and, for as long as possible, the food she bought so that it appeared less appetising when she finally did look. With each visit, the maid seemed to become more angry and frustrated, which led Angie to feel like she was succeeding, despite the hollowness in her belly.

---

Angie sat in bed contemplating another day of solitude, boredom, hunger and exercise. It was getting on for 9 o’clock in the morning. Her body clock had woken her late, not knowing whether it should be getting up for school or lying in for a weekend.

Angie sighed heavily. Miriam was due with breakfast, and she wasn’t looking forward to another pointless altercation. She resolved to ignore her but was tempted to sneak a peak at what was on the breakfast tray. Her hunger had reduced to a persistent dull ache, which faded to the background when she wasn’t thinking about it but returned as soon as her mind had nothing else to occupy it.

The lock clicked, and Angie averted her gazes so as not to engage with the cantankerous middle-aged maid. She heard footsteps proceed to the desk and the clink of the tray being set down. The smell of fresh toast reached Angie’s nostrils, but she gripped her knees tighter and shut her eyes.

“Please, eat something.” The voice wasn’t Miriam’s; it was younger with an edge of desperation. Angie looked to the source and beheld a short girl, perhaps in her early 20s, with red curly hair and a faded tan. Her face would have been pretty if it wasn’t strained by worry, her blue eyes stark in their entreaties to Angie. She wore a plain maid's uniform similar to Miriam’s but with a lot less real estate to cover.

Seeing that she had Angie's attention, the girl continued, “Mrs McCarthy ordered us to take care of you. If you get sick, I’ll get into trouble.” Although the nature of ‘trouble’ was not defined, Angie could see that the girl was close to tears. It suddenly occurred to her that maybe not everyone was willingly complicit in Victoria’s plans.

Angie allowed herself to uncurl a little. “What’s your name?” She kept her voice neutral. Speaking felt strange after spending most of the previous two days in silence.

“Mary,” the girl responded nervously in an Irish accent as thick as Miriam’s.

Suspicious, Angie nodded to the tray. “What’s in the food, Mary?”

For a moment, Mary didn’t seem to understand; then it dawned on her. “Nothing.” She stuttered and then immediately corrected herself, “I mean, it’s not drugged or anything. I watched Cook make it. It’s safe to eat.” She stole a glance at the locked door. “Please, Mr Janik’s outside. If I take too long, he’ll get suspicious, and I can’t get into trouble.” Mary’s tone was beseeching.

Angie felt pity for her and decided not to push too hard. “I’ll eat your food if you tell me what the day and date are.”

Mary looked relieved. “It’s Wednesday,” she had to think a few more seconds, “that’d be the 6th of February.” She hurried for the door, and sure enough, Janik was scowling at Mary for the brief second he was visible. The maid cringed and quickly disappeared into the corridor.

As soon as the lock clicked on the door, Angie was out of bed and pounced on the tray of food. The toast was warm and topped with real butter. She inhaled deeply and savoured the aroma, having not eaten in more than 60 hours. She slumped in the chair and took her time over the rest of the toast. The orange juice was fresh and cool and still had the pulp, very different from the cartons of supermarket own-brand stuff her mum bought, which was thin and made from concentrate.

Angie mentally counted back. It was the Wednesday after her last visit to Albert Drive. She had been locked in her room for the previous two days and had woken next to Victoria in the afternoon of the day before that, which must have been the Sunday. That meant she had been unconscious for the best part of two days, time enough to smuggle her to wherever she was now and still have time to shave her pubes. How far could she have travelled in that time? The evidence suggested she might be in Ireland, but she would only know for sure by asking. She idly wondered what else might have been done to her in that time, but it was a waste of her mental effort.

Having showered and dressed, Angie sat down on a pillow for morning meditation to consider the latest development. She spent some time clearing her mind and then concentrated on her meeting with Mary. She was certainly older than Angie, old enough to work as a maid. That suggested that she was working under duress rather than a prisoner like Angie.

Mary had been afraid. Afraid of getting into trouble and afraid of Janik, which implied he was not to be tangled with if at all possible. Or was it an act? Angie wondered, but such a charade would be a little elaborate. Given Janik was actually waiting outside, she decided to take Mary’s motives at face value.

Angie wondered about the nature of ‘trouble’ in the context of Mary. Did Victoria have some hold over her? Was she blackmailing her? Had Mary been in Angie’s position once until a suitable point to leverage had been discovered to ensure that she would remain without having to be kept under lock and key? Was that the fate that awaited Angie? Was Victoria going to return and somehow blackmail her into working for her?

Such questions had no answers for the moment. Although Mary was her best source of information and perhaps even assistance, pushing her to do something which would jeopardise her situation for Angie’s sake felt faintly immoral. Was she so desperate to escape that she would put her own well-being over that of a seemingly innocent stranger? She hoped not.

Angie’s mind slipped sideways to realise that when she woke next to Victoria, she should have been taking Benji for his walk. Her concentration faded as she remembered how much she missed Benji, her grandma, Freya, and her life. She cried a little and then started stretching and exercising as best as she could to take her mind away from things she couldn’t change.

---

Mary returned at midday with a tray of lunch and appeared to be intensely relieved to see breakfast had been eaten. Angie kept her distance; she was taller than Mary by a fair way and didn’t want to appear threatening.

“Can you tell me where we are?” Angie asked tentatively as Mary moved to collect the breakfast tray.

The maid looked conflicted. “I can’t,” she wrung her hands.

“Please, I just want to know how far away I am from my family.” Angie tried not to whine, but it really was important to her, and her reasons seemed to have struck a chord.

“You’re at Mrs McCarthy’s estate about an hour’s drive from Dublin,” Mary whispered and made to leave quickly but was hampered by the tray.

“Do you mean Victoria?” Angie threw out on the off chance she would get a response before Mary's departure.

“Yes!” Mary hissed back as she awkwardly thumbed the lock and disappeared past Janik, ever-present outside.

Angie felt guilty for pushing, but at least she knew where she was in the world now and that Victoria was her captor. She ate lunch and tried to find things to do in a room with no sources of stimulation.

In the end, Angie resolved to try on every one of the outfits in the wardrobe, but not the kink cupboard. Normally she would have felt embarrassed; she didn’t like dressing up because it made her feel too self-conscious, but who was going to see her? Each costume was strange and arousing on some level, and they all fit perfectly. Angie eyed herself in the mirror in each outfit before carefully replacing them in the wardrobe. She wondered what they implied about her role there and whether Victoria expected her to participate voluntarily, although she couldn’t imagine how.

When Mary returned with dinner, Angie, back in her workout uniform, retreated and spoke from a safe distance. “I’m sorry for pushing. I don’t want to get you into trouble.”

Mary looked away, embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I can’t help you.”

Although Angie wanted to escape, and Mary might be able to help her eventually; right now, she sensed she needed to give her space.

“You shouldn’t feel guilty about something you can’t do anything about. I won’t blame you.”

Mary blushed and nodded, and quickly left the room.

As Angie silently contemplated dinner, she felt her guilt. Her situation was the product of all she had done and said since she had met Victoria. She remembered their first meeting, resolving not to go in but doing so anyway. She cringed at her own stupidity. Trying to resolve to work on Victoria to gain her freedom, whenever she eventually reappeared, was all well and good but she still couldn’t help beating herself up at her own foolishness.

Angie decided that she had to do better, to think things through, not to act so rashly or be so easily enticed. She had gotten herself into her current mess, now she needed to get herself out of it.