Fresh Meat

Angie took a lungful of fresh air as she stepped out under the overcast sky for the first time in a month and a half. It smelt of manure but was otherwise cool and fresh and free of the whiff of furniture polish, which she had long become accustomed to.

Nervous, Angie stepped further into the farmyard. She had managed to find riding clothes which just about fit the bill. Knee-length boots, tight riding trousers and a white shirt which sculpted to her body. She was pretty sure that Victoria had intended to tie her up or take her over her knee in those clothes to provide her with some rustic rural thrill, but they hadn't gotten around to trying that yet.

After so long, Angie was no longer self-conscious about her outfit betraying the shape of her body. Given how much fitter she was, it was something to be proud of. Also, given the sparse nature of the local population, she no longer felt like she towered over everyone. It was strange not to feel like an outcast being so central to Victoria and, therefore, the new household she found herself in.

The farmyard was old, lined with moss-covered grey stone walls and red brick buildings. The ground was mostly paved with cobblestones but chipped and worn, with the odd one missing. Maybe this had been a working farm once, but it seemed somewhat retired now, if not having completely fallen into disrepair. There was certainly a lack of modern farming machinery.

The buildings down one side appeared to be stables, the top halves of their doors open. The large shapes of horses moved lazily within. A light brown head with a white nose poked out curiously. Angie had never been this close to a real live horse before; they were so much larger in real life than she had expected. She approached, tentative and nervous, not wanting to spook the horse or herself.

Angie experimentally raised a hand and stroked the horse's muzzle. It graciously held still and flicked its ear to ward off a troublesome fly. She continued to stroke, as much to calm herself as to pleasure the beast. "What's your name?" She asked the animal quietly.

"Heather," a strange male voice answered. Angie stepped back rapidly as if she'd been caught with her hand in the biscuit tin. An older man was striding towards her, dressed for the outdoors in Wellington boots, an overcoat and a flat cap.

In a flurry of paws, a black and white sheepdog rushed past the man and up to investigate Angie. Covering her embarrassment, Angie knelt to greet the hound, which accepted her fuss gratefully.

"Were you looking at taking a ride?" The man asked, his voice stern, and with the thick rural accent Angie heard from everyone on the estate except Victoria. He seemed to be a similar age to Cook, his hair grey and curling out from under his cap. Under all his outdoor clothes, he appeared thin but vital. His greenish-grey eyes watched Angie critically as she greeted his dog.

Leaving the excitable hound, Angie stood again and gestured to her outfit. "These are the only clothes I have which are suitable for the outdoors at the moment," she replied in an apologetic tone.

"You're Mrs McCarthy's new girl?" He raised an eyebrow, his face suggesting disapproval.

Not knowing what else to say, she simply responded, "Yes." It struck Angie that she should properly introduce herself. "I'm Angelica." She winced inwardly at introducing herself with her full name, but she wasn't sure if this man was friend or foe.

"I'm Keats. I take care of the estate for Mrs McCarthy." He pointed down at the dog sniffing around Angie's riding boots. "That's Buster, you've already met Heather and the other mare is Lucy," he gestured towards the stables.

They were silent for a moment, seemingly sizing each other up. "So, she let you out?" Keats asked cryptically. Angie wasn't sure how much he knew about what went on inside the house, but she could sense his suspicion and disapproval.

"For the moment," Angie conceded with a slightly defiant air. She looked at the horses; a third stable door stood open. "What's in there?" She asked to try and move the conversation on.

Keats' face darkened. "The Pig," he answered; his tone was dour but suggested that capital letters were warranted. Curious, Angie looked in through the third stable door. It was dark inside and full of heaps of straw. It stank of farmyard, stronger inside than outside. A strange wooden piece of furniture reinforced with metal bands stood in the middle of the floor. It was weathered, and Angie couldn't determine its purpose.

As her eyes became more used to the gloom, Angie saw movement accompanied by rustling in the hey. There was definitely something inside; she scanned the heaps of straw for signs of life. Something moved near the back, pale but mottled, perhaps streaked with dirt. Suddenly, there was a face, blue eyes, sunken cheeks, the shadow of stubble on its head, and then it was gone again. Angie leapt back in shock. It had been a person. Maybe a woman, but it was difficult to tell.

"Don't go in," Keats warned, but Angie was already at the gate. As she opened it, he reached for Buster's collar. "Then, for god's sake, don't let the dog in there." Heeding his warning, she closed the gate behind her, still in shock at what she had seen.

"Hello?" she called gingerly. Straw rustled. Angie moved towards the sound. The occupant of the stable obviously realised she was coming for her and fled to the corner, curling up defensively as Angie followed. She stopped, and made shushing sounds in an attempt to calm the creature. "It's OK. I'm not going to hurt you, I promise."

Whether the figure understood her or not, it didn't respond. As Angie moved closer, she made out a stick-like figure of a woman. Naked, streaked with dirt and somewhat emaciated. She cowered in the corner, trying to make herself as small as possible. The creature flinched when Angie stroked her, but she didn't stop. Seeing this wretched creature put her at a loss. Her immediate instinct was to treat her with mercy and compassion.

"I wouldn't bother," Keats commented from the gate. "She's been here for years. Her mind's long gone."

The woman made furtive glances at Angie as she continued to stroke her. After a bit of coaxing, she even allowed Angie to stroke her filthy cheek. The horrified girl looked deeply into those blue eyes, and sure enough, there was no one behind them. She gently pulled back, resigned and turned to Keats.

"And you just turned a blind eye?"

The older man looked distinctly uncomfortable. "This is Mrs McCarthy's estate. Her word's the law around here," he mumbled.

Angie felt anger rising from within. She couldn't stand by and allow such mistreatment to continue. She stomped out of the stable and back towards the house. She returned a few minutes later with a bucket of warm, soapy water and a sponge and re-entered the stable. Keats and Buster had withdrawn to a safe distance, away from the girl's boiling fury.

Although it took a lot more coaxing, Angie managed to get The Pig to allow her to try to sponge her clean. She wondered if it was really worth it, but realised that were their positions reversed, even with her mind gone, on some instinctive level, she would appreciate the compassion she was now showing this poor wretch.

"Be careful. Mrs McCarthy won't tolerate having her set free." Keats cautioned, his tone has lost some of its harshness.

"That's probably true," Angie conceded without turning, "but this was a person once. Whatever she did to offend Victoria, we can at least show her some compassion." She heard Keats move away.

The Pig seemed utterly incapable of standing. Her knees were scarred in various ways, but there seemed to be two straight lines above each knee, which suggested they were deliberate and that there was a reason she was relegated to crawling. Another revelation was that the woman appeared to have no tongue. She didn't try to make any sound, but when she opened her mouth, there seemed to be only a shadow of a stump behind her teeth.

Having sponged off as much dirt as she could, Angie scrubbed The Pig clean with straw and continued to stroke her arm comfortingly for a while. She realised this was a glimpse of Victoria's ruthless side. Who had this woman been? Had she been one of Victoria's previous pets? Why was she here? Had Victoria tired of her? Is that the fate that awaited Angie when her lioness eventually tired of her? She'd move on to a new mate and relegate Angie to the farmyard?

Upset and depressed, Angie left The Pig to bury herself in straw and huddle in the mid-March chill.

---

Angie sat on her bed thinking about the Victoria who had imprisoned The Pig. It was the same Victoria who had kidnapped her in the first place and possibly the one who had taken the cane to her. How could she reconcile that with the Victoria she admired, played with, slept with? Angie guessed that she had seen Victoria angry only a handful of times, and she had only really seemed vulnerable once, after Angie had worked to calm her. When she had slept in Angie's arms that night, the older woman had seemed guileless and innocent. Which was the real Victoria? The frightening thought occurred: perhaps they were all part of the same person.

The door clicked, and before Angie had time to habitually check the clock, it flew open. Victoria stood at the threshold, fuming. Angie's first instinct was that the older woman had come to her for comfort, as she had before. She stood, ready to minister to her.

"You stay away from The Pig," Victoria demanded, like a clap of thunder.

Angie thought of how she had treated The Pig, and then about her brother. She hated it when people looked down on him or treated him like he had some mental handicap. When treated with respect, compassion and consideration, Nate was just like an ordinary little boy; people who treated him otherwise raised her urge to fight. Angie's feelings about The Pig were similar.

"I don't know what she did to you; perhaps she deserves her fate. But she was a person once and deserves to be treated with at least a little compassion and respect. I can't stand by and leave her to rot out there," Angie countered, her face set in defiance.

Victoria's face flushed alarmingly. "You don't know the first thing about what she did, but I can certainly show you what she deserves!" She was almost shaking as she yelled the words. "Strip. I want you here and naked by the time I come back." She added, her voice chilled to sub-zero, and then she was gone.

Angie's heart was pounding. She'd had a blazing argument with her captor, the person who held her life in her hands. Was that a good idea? Probably not, she conceded. Angie realised that the best way to calm things was to submit. Victoria met confrontation by coming out fighting; continuing to argue would only escalate matters. Reluctantly, she divested herself of her clothes and anxiously waited for the return of her goddess of thunder.

As it turned out, Victoria didn't take long. She returned with some leather paraphernalia. She laid the largest item on the hard floor. "Get in," she ordered abruptly, her eyes still blazing. Angie wanted to say something, perhaps words that might cool the furious woman, but her instinct was to hold her tongue and do as she was told.

The leather item was a suit, all enclosing except the head. Angie had to bend her arms and legs back on themselves to fit into the sleeves and legs. Victoria roughly zipped up the back, trapping her in the awkward position of a creature with four stubby legs. Without waiting, Victoria ordered her up onto her elbows and knees, which gained little protection from the hard floor by the layer of leather.

With little regard for Angie's comfort, Victoria fitted her with a combined muzzled head harness and collar, humiliatingly affected into the shape of a snout. The girl's mouth was ably filled by some obstruction on the inside, rendering her mute. Finally, Victoria unzipped the suit a little above her backside so that she could unceremoniously insert a butt plug with a long furry tail at the base. Although Victoria had applied lubricant, she wasn't gentle, and Angie grunted with indignation.

Angie was in intense discomfort; her mouth and rear filled, and her elbows and knees were beginning to feel the pain of supporting her entire weight. Victoria attached a leash to Angie's collar and pulled her towards the door. Outside, she triggered the wall-mounted intercom.

"Mr Janik. Prepare The Pig. We shall be taking our pets for a walk." Her words were curt. She didn't look at Angie as she pulled her towards the stairs. The girl found the effort of walking, restricted to supporting herself on elbows and knees, arduous and painful. She tried her best but could only move slowly behind Victoria. Luckily, the older woman moved at a sedate pace, perhaps realising that dragging her would only lead to strangulation.

By the time they reached the farmyard, Janik was already waiting, in his hand, a leash attached to a collar around the neck of The Pig. Also muzzled, she waited on hands and knees as any well-trained dog might. Although Janik's face betrayed no emotion, his eyes glittered, and the leather of his leash creaked as he twisted it in his hands, seemingly in response to seeing Angie trussed up like a tame animal.

Sweating in her leather prison, Angie ignored him in an effort to simply survive her current ordeal.

"Let's take our pets for a little walk, shall we Mr Janik?" Victoria suggested haughtily.

"They look like they need exercise," he agreed.

What followed was a painful trial in which Victoria and Janik led their charges on a circuit of the estate. The hard cobbled and paved paths were a particular ordeal for Angie, still placing all of her weight on her elbows and knees. The parts where she could walk on grass were a partial relief. The Pig crawled on hands and knees without making any sign of protest. It seemed apparent that this was a regular occurrence for her.

They returned to The Pig's stable. Janik led his pet over to the wooden piece of furniture in the centre. He opened hinged portions, and the creature seemed to know where she had to go. Her belly rested on a central trestle while her neck and wrists fitted into the holes of a set of stocks. Her ankles fitted into a second set, effectively securing her in place. Metal rods were fitted through loops, locking the stocks closed. Again, The Pig made no protest or attempt to escape.

Angie was positioned in a corner so that she could see The Pig's face, devoid of emotion, and the length of her body. Victoria held her there at the end of the lead. The girl simply tried to get her breath back and find a kneeling position that took the pressure off her painful elbows and knees. Janik left the stable but returned soon enough, followed by a familiar enthusiastic scrabble of paws.

Buster bounded in. He moved straight to the restrained figure of The Pig in the centre of the floor and sniffed all around her, giving special attention to her backside. The Pig remained still as if she hadn't noticed Buster's interest and the pink protuberance growing beneath the hound that signalled his arousal.

Angie watched in shock as Buster climbed on top of the prone creature and began to thrust and hump enthusiastically. From her position, it was difficult to tell if the dog was making progress. Compared to a human penis, Buster's appendage wasn't that big, and he was mounted too high to be able to fit inside The Pig's pussy.

It was when The Pig gave a long, drawn-out grunt into her muzzle that Angie was appalled to realise all of Buster's efforts had allowed him to penetrate her anus. His thrusting became less erratic as he concentrated on filling his passive mate with his seed. After her initial expression of discomfort, The Pig merely produced emotionless grunts in response to each thrust. She seemed to neither enjoy nor be repulsed by the experience.

A great outpouring of sympathy for The Pig filled Angie's heart. The most shocking part was for the creature to be so traumatised that such a violation was just part of life for her. It was sickening. On some level, Angie was glad there was no one left in that emaciated human shell to feel disgusted.

After only a minute or two, Buster subsided. He turned to retreat but appeared to be stuck. Angie suddenly remembered what Victoria had told her long ago about the shape of a dog's penis and how the base would engorge to prevent it from being pulled loose by a rival or the bitch herself. She had never seen it in Benji; having been neutered, he just wasn't interested, but now she feared she was witnessing the phenomena first-hand.

The Pig's grunts suggested she was feeling discomfort as the hound tried to pull the engorged knot at the base of his cock free from her puckered ring. Buster whined and kept pulling and tugging on his stuck appendage. Angie stared in morbid fascination for the few minutes the tug of war lasted. Eventually, Buster managed to free himself and retreated to a corner to lick his cum-glistening pink wand as it slowly receded back into its furry pouch.

Victoria tugged the lead, forcing Angie painfully back onto her elbows and knees. She drew the girl's muzzled face close to the backside of the now silent Pig. The creature's rear entrance was red, dilated, slowly closing and betrayed a sheen of dog seaman.

"This is what she deserves," Victoria hissed into her ear before raising and tugging her back towards the house. Angie's journey back to the suite was the most tortuous. She moved as best as she could given her exhaustion and discomfort, but progress was slow.

At journey's end, Victoria wrapped her leash around a hook on one of the bed posts, which meant that Angie had to remain standing on all-fours until released.

"You're grounded until further notice," Victoria's frigid voice informed the trussed-up girl before she left the room. Angie wailed into her muzzle, almost in tears at the pain in her body and the loss of her freedom. Worse was Victoria's disappointment. She had only felt it once before, after their brief hiatus during their courting period. It was a feeling she detested, like a black hole inside threatening to swallow her.

Sometime later, the lock clicked, and Mary entered. "Mrs McCarthy sent me to see to you," she began before taking in Angie's predicament. The tethered girl gave a pitiful whine through her gag that caused Mary to run over and release the lead, allowing her to roll over onto her side and finally take the weight off her tortured elbows and knees.

Tugging the muzzle off, Mary asked, "What the hell happened? Mrs McCarthy seemed really pissed off."

Angie had to work the stiffness from her jaw and cough a few times before she could answer. "I think I messed up. I'm locked up again." Angie's voice was laced with pain and dismay.

"Well, whatever it is you're wearing is worn through completely at the elbows and knees. You're a mess, girl."

Angie couldn't see the full extent of the damage until Mary released her from the bitch suit, but she could feel the pain. As it turned out, her elbows and knees had been rubbed into bloody ruin. Shakily, Angie allowed her friend to help her towards the shower so that she could clean off her body and wounds and finally remove the plug, which had made its presence felt all the way through her ordeal.

Mary had to fetch the first aid kit to dress Angie's bloody wounds. "Did you know about The Pig?" Angie asked finally as she lay back, aching and depressed on her bed.

Mary shook her head. "I knew we had horses, but I didn't think we had a pig. I mean, just the one? Do they keep it for meat?"

"Never mind." Angie dismissed the topic, not wanting to draw Mary in. She considered that if she told Mary, the maid would either have to do something about it, as Angie had tried to or keep quiet and be complicit in The Pig's captivity. She welled up, thinking that by not telling her friend, Angie was complicit. She realised she had finally been compromised by her relationship with Victoria.

---

Mary bustled into Angie's suite with a tray of lunch. The girl had been recovering from the ordeal Mrs McCarthy had subjected her to the previous day, locked up as she was in her suite. She still hadn't told Mary what the whole thing had been about. The girl was lying in bed in one of her silk night dresses. Although it was one of the few garments which wouldn't agitate her injured elbows and knees, now covered in dressings, Mary suspected she wouldn't have bothered to change anyway and hadn't left the bed since breakfast.

Angie looked deeply unhappy about something which seemed to have nothing to do with her injuries. Mary set the tray down. "What's wrong, Angie? I mean, more than just the physical stuff."

Angie looked up at her with red-rimmed eyes. "I found what was left of one of Victoria's old human pets. I wonder if that's how I'll end up?"

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph, what you mean, girl? Did you find a body or something?"

"I can't," Angie stuttered and sniffed back a tear. "If I tell you, you'll have to deal with it or be part of the cover-up. I don't want to do that to you."

Mary had no answer, but as she watched, tears began to brim from the girl. "But by not telling you, I'm covering up for Victoria now." She began to cry in earnest. More words came out in fits and starts between sobs. "I'm never going to see my family again. I'm just going to end up like another used-up animal in the farmyard."

Mary felt so much for the girl. She sat on the bed, hugged her and let her cry for a while. Eventually, she pulled back. "I think Mrs McCarthy cares more for you than you think, Angie."

The tearful girl gestured to her wounds. "She has a funny way of showing it. I keep tripping over things that make her angry. Insanely angry. How many more times can I do that before she gets tired of me and decides to get rid of me? Or worse, she decides to keep me, but in a state of perpetual suffering."

Mary wasn't sure what Angie was talking about, like she was suggesting some kind of 'fate worse than death', but she couldn't imagine what that might be.

"It won't come to that," Mary tried to comfort the crying girl but wasn't sure if she believed it. "You said yourself how good she can be; you just need to focus on that. You need to work on her, get through to her, to convince her."

Angie pulled back, a look of despair on her face. "Convince her of what?"

"That you're a person, not some plaything to be discarded when she gets bored."

The girl shook her head, "What makes you think she'll listen to me?"

"You convinced her to let you out of here, didn't you?" Mary pointed out.

"I wasn't even trying. I'm not sure what I did, and I have no idea if she'll ever let me out again." New tears began to fall.

"You know the worst part?" Angie sobbed. Mary shook her head, unable to bring herself to speak in the face of the girl's raw anguish. "I still like her. She can be so much fun when she's not trying to hurt me." She sighed heavily and looked down at her hands. "I wonder if this is what it feels like to be the wife in an abusive relationship? You hear about these women who turn up with black eyes, bruises, even broken bones, but they never report it, never kick up a fuss because they can't live without their husbands, even though they beat them."

Mary felt shame that she had nothing to console the poor girl with. She pulled her back into a hug and held her tight as she cried some more. I have to do something, Mary thought to herself; I can't let this place be the end of her. Even ending up on the streets would be better than that.

---

Victoria slumped in her office chair, her coffee nearby. She hadn't slept well and had been steering clear of the camera feeds from Angie's suite. It was her watching the limited surveillance footage of Angie in the farmyard which had started the trouble in the first place. She could remember her blazing anger at seeing Angie enter The Pig's enclosure and, worse, return to give her further undeserved attention. Now, she felt deflated and unhappy that the girl's limited freedom had ended so quickly.

The screen flickered into life allowing Victoria to watch the live stream of Angie's suite. The girl was lying in bed on top of the covers reading a book. Bright white dressings were clearly visible on her elbows and knees. Victoria scowled. Usually, Angie would be stretching or working out by now, certainly dressed. She moved to historical footage to look back over the few days since she had grounded the girl.

Victoria was distraught to see how different Angie seemed from her previous period in captivity. She mostly stayed in bed. Early on, her wounds showed signs of blood, which had seeped out, but that changed over time as Mary kept replacing the dressings. The girl herself appeared lethargic. She stayed in her night dress, hardly left the bed, and didn't stretch, work out or meditate.

At one point, Victoria caught her singing. It was the same song she used to sing early on in her incarceration, but now she burst into tears before reaching the end. In fact, the recordings showed Angie crying a lot. Listening to her conversation with Mary the previous day gave Victoria the insight she needed to understand why.

Victoria suddenly realised that she had gotten so angry because she was ashamed. Angie had discovered a side to her that she had been hiding. Before meeting Angie, she had willingly objectified men and women without remorse.

The Pig had been one of the first; although she had not been chosen to be a toy, she was merely an inconvenient obstacle that needed to be contained. Victoria had taken what pleasure she wanted from her suffering and, as her interest waned, relegated her to the farmyard. She cursed herself for not having Janik dispose of her long ago.

Victoria had hatched a plan to find a new toy to objectify: Angie. But that plan had failed utterly. No matter how she tried, she couldn't treat her new girl that way. Somehow, she had achieved something no one had since her husband; she had found a place in Victoria's heart. In fact, causing Angie pain was only hurting herself.

Victoria looked at the photograph of the girl, smiling up from her desk. Ashamed to be under the gaze of those adoring eyes, she carefully laid the frame face down. It was all such a mess. What could she do?

---

The door clicked, but Angie didn't bother to look up. It could be Janik coming to seek his revenge, not that seeing her dragged around like a dog on a lead might not have been enough for him; she no longer cared. She was resigned that this was probably the place where she was going to live out the remainder of her days. Drained of all emotion, she no longer had strength enough to fight her fate.

The slow click of heels on the parquet floor woke Angie from her desolation. It was the sound of Victoria's tentative advance. The urge to retreat was difficult for Angie to resist. As the older woman sat on the edge of the bed, Angie couldn't help shuffling back a little, distancing herself.

Finally, Angie looked up and saw her face. It was ashen; Victoria's life and vitality seemingly sucked from her features. She stared at Angie, her eyes hollow as if trying to decide how to begin.

Angie felt stricken. This was nothing like any version of Victoria she had seen before. This woman, though elegantly dressed, manicured and couffered, seemed hollowed out by shame and remorse. The older woman averted her gaze so as not to have to look Angie in the eye.

Much as Angie felt she should treat The Pig with sympathy and compassion, so she felt for the woman before her. She was in torment; it was plain to see. Perhaps she had realised the pain and suffering which her anger had caused. Angie had never seen her like this, and her heart went out to this older woman, who seemed suddenly tortured by a conscience she didn't know she had.

While Victoria still struggled for words, Angie reached forward and placed a single finger on her lips. The older woman raised her head in alarm.

"My lioness apologises to no one," Angie declared with quiet authority. It was a kind of forgiveness of sorts, and she suddenly realised why all of those abused women kept returning to their husbands. Every one of them hoped that if they could just change them a tiny bit, soothe their violent nature, they could live happily ever after. Wasn't that what Mary had been trying to tell her?

As Angie withdrew her finger, she could tell Victoria was profoundly shaken. Knowing that she had done something wrong had been made all the more painful by being forgiven without a word. Her eyes became glassy, but she held back any tears.

Unable to tell precisely what Victoria was thinking but sure she was suffering emotional pain, Angie drew their lips together. The older woman's response was tentative, much less powerful than usual, but still engaging. For the first time, it felt like a kiss of equals rather than between mistress and slave.

They disengaged; Angie treated the older woman with a look of sympathy so intense Victoria was forced to lower her gaze again. "The lock will open for you." her voice was low and hollow. Without another word, she stood and beat a hasty retreat, her heels beating a rapid tattoo.

Angie stared at her back and the closed door after Victoria had gone. Something was different; something had changed within her captor, perhaps broken. She still felt that she would be walking on eggshells whenever she stepped outside her sanctuary. If she had been offered a lifeline, she couldn't tell what it was, and in that case wasn't sure if she had achieved anything. Only time would tell, inevitably accompanied by struggle and pain.