Fresh Meat

Angie squirmed to get comfortable sitting on Mary's bed. It was Saturday morning, time off for the redheaded maid.

"I'm surprised this is how you want to spend your morning off," Angie commented.

Sitting at the dresser, Mary looked astonished. "Why wouldn't I?"

"Because I'm close to Victoria, and she's the reason why you're stuck in this job that you hate."

"I don't hate it," Mary conceded. "I just wouldn't have chosen it. Anyway, none of that's your fault."

Angie sighed and looked down at her hands. "I keep wondering, you know if I'd only been stronger and resisted Victoria's offer?"

"Then perhaps I'd be sitting here with some other girl. Or some other girl would still be locked up in your room or somewhere worse."

Angie huffed. "I bet some other girl would have escaped long ago. I'm not that special. Telling me I am was one of the things Victoria used to reel me in."

Mary gave the girl a pointed look. "For once, I agree with Mrs McCarthy. Some other girl, some empty-headed bimbo, would probably have been caught trying to escape by now and be chained to a wall somewhere. You," she pointed a finger for emphasis, "decided to play the long game. You've got a good head on your shoulders, girl."

"A good head," Angie scoffed. "And all this time, my family has been wondering which dirty old man carried me off. I feel really bad that I stopped thinking about them after Janik," she trailed off for a moment, trying to push the memories away. "I just felt like I had to concentrate on survival. I can't imagine how they must have been feeling for the last few months."

"I could try to get a message to them," Mary offered tentatively.

Angie deliberated. It was so tempting, so easy, but she knew that if people started nosing around after her, as undoubtedly they would, that could cause all kinds of trouble.

"No." Angie managed eventually. "That could easily get you into trouble and upset things. I feel like Victoria could go either way right now, and I don't want to make things even more unpredictable."

"You see?" Mary nodded, "a good head."

Angie made an exasperated noise. "You sound like Cook and Keats. You all seem to want me to 'fix' her, like she's broken in some way and it can all be OK if I would just do," she waved her hands around, unable to form the concept into words, "something," she managed eventually.

Mary gave her a sympathetic look but didn't dispute her assertion. "Maybe we need to know more about Mrs McCarthy's past to understand what makes her tick?"

Angie nodded, thinking hard. Eventually, she looked up. "Sometimes, she calls me by a strange name. She did it after we had a minor breakup early on and then more recently too. She calls me 'macushla' or 'acushla'. Do you know what they mean?"

Mary raised an eyebrow in surprise. "They're Irish words. 'Acushla' means 'darling', so 'macushla' literally means 'my darling'." She thought about the connotations for a moment. "I think she has strong feelings for you, Angie, like I know you have feelings for her too. If we could just straighten out this mess, maybe you could be together and free?"

Angie thought about the concept for a moment. It was certainly attractive, but there was one sticking point. "What about my family?"

Mary looked disheartened and shook her head. "I don't know. Maybe you should try to see to what's in front of you and then see what you can do about your family afterwards?" Angie sighed but didn't respond. "Oh, and I don't think taking Victoria to bed is the answer." Mary put in.

"Shame," Angie gave a forlorn laugh, "she is really good in bed."

Mary held up a hand, laughing. "Too much information."

Cook couldn't help but crack a smile as Angie entered her kitchen. She hadn't seen her for about a week, but she knew about the ructions which had occurred between Vicky and this sweet young girl. That particular storm appeared to have subsided for the moment.

Angie looked down at herself, embarrassed. "I'm sorry, I haven't got any less conspicuous outfits which aren't in the wash." She curtsied for effect in her pink gingham dress with excessive petticoats, like she was some kind of farm girl pin-up.

"You look very pretty," Cook conceded, laughing. "I bet Vicky loves you in it." She watched, gratified, as the girl's cheeks flushed pink to match her outfit. "Come and sit down and have a cup of tea."

The girl arranged herself on a chair about the ancient wooden kitchen table. "Thank you for the dessert you sent when I was grounded." Angie put in as she was served with a steaming cuppa.

Cook smiled at the girl; it was always gratifying to have her efforts recognised. "Mary said that you were upset; I hoped it lifted your spirits a little." The girl nodded and sipped her tea.

"Can you tell me about Victoria and Cian?" Angie asked, setting her cup aside.

Feeling the hand of the past on her shoulder, Cook felt suddenly suspicious. "Why would you want to know about that, youngwan?"

The girl's face took on a troubled look. "Everyone here seems to want me to persuade Victoria to change, but I don't really understand how or why."

"It's because we all know you're the only one Vicky really listens to," Cook pointed out, thinking about how different her employer had been since she met this girl.

"But how?"

Cook sat back and treated the girl with her knowing look. "Vicky has always been very good at finding points of pressure and using them against people to get what she wants. You can do the same because you are the only pressure point she's sensitive to any more."

The confused girl seemed to have no answer to this, so Cook continued. "Cian was a lovely man, but he had a congenital heart defect. He kept it from Vicky, not wanting it to overshadow their happiness after they met. They were happily married for five beautiful years, then one morning, she woke next to him to find he'd died in his sleep, snatched away. She was shattered." She shook her head sadly at the memory.

"There were baseless rumours that Vicky had caused his death in order to inherit everything, started by people who looked disparagingly at their age difference. Those were dark days. Vicky pushed Cian's friends and family away and severed all ties."

Cook could see that her story had affected the girl profoundly; her face was ashen with shock.

"Vicky's heart hardened to stone, and she's been in a dark place ever since. She never smiles any more."

Angie looked up at that, "but she does, just not when anyone's looking."

A curious frown formed on Cook's face; what was the girl on about? She wondered. "If she only does it when no one's looking, how can you see it?"

Angie blinked and shook her head. "I can hear it." She thought for a moment and blushed. "Victoria likes to use the blindfold a lot, and when she does, and she's enjoying herself, it's in her voice. It's obvious, I can just tell."

It was Cook's turn to look surprised. Perhaps this girl was indeed just what Vicky needed.

Angie sat on the rug, facing the mirrored wardrobe, the carriage clock placed on the floor before her. It was a habit which had become so familiar in recent months that she found it easy to empty her head of thoughts and push the world away. Due to all the unexpected disruption which had occurred after Victoria granted her limited freedom, Angie realised she hadn't simply sat and meditated for a whole week. Perhaps her struggle with her current situation was due to the fact that she hadn't taken the time to mentally step back.

After thinking of literally nothing for 15 minutes, Angie turned her mind to her current problem. When she had first sat on that exact spot to meditate on her situation nearly two months ago, her goals had been different. She had been feeling the acid sting of her captivity and the loss of her family acutely at the time. Now, her homesickness was as a dull ache, minor compared to her angst over Victoria.

Perhaps, she mused, her initial plan was sound? I.e. to return to her family by convincing Victoria to let her go. But then there were so many loose ends to tie up. How would Victoria feel in her absence, given her unintended feelings for Angie? Would Mary still be forced to work there? What about The Pig? And if she went home, she would have to give her family and the authorities some kind of explanation. Could she lie? Claim she ran away from home? She'd have to repeat her final year of school on her own, and Freya would have moved on.

Angie breathed in slowly, counting, and back out again to the same number in order to mentally regroup. Her grandma's words came to her: sometimes you make your home where you find yourself. Like a punch to the gut, Angie realised that going home and helping Victoria were, at least for the moment, mutually exclusive goals. She needed to settle with Victoria, as a lover, not a slave or pet or anything else like that. Perhaps she could reconnect with her family later, but right now, she had to focus.

Angie knew a lot more of the story than she had when she was first captured. Victoria had been torn apart by her husband's sudden death and then led astray by someone called Fiona Hickman, someone Angie had no knowledge of. Those two things had driven Victoria down a dark path where she would take pleasure in the suffering of others, and the law be damned.

A little exasperated, Angie was unsure what her next step should be. She could sleep with Victoria all she liked, but as Mary had so aptly pointed out, that wasn't the solution. Perhaps she needed Victoria to open up, to confront her pain at the loss of her husband? What was the best way to make Victoria feel comfortable and secure enough to talk to her about something so traumatic? An idea popped into Angie's mind; it was so beautiful in its simplicity it made her smile.

Angie felt a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach as she blindly swung, suspended from above. It had been easy to convince Victoria to bind her in such a way. They had dinner together where wine was consumed, perhaps more by the hostess than the girl. Afterwards, Angie had suggested that she wanted to try something with Victoria in the playroom, and the older woman had been understandably intrigued.

Angie had rushed to change into her riding outfit, sure Victoria had intended her to wear it for some purpose involving bondage. Sure enough, Victoria had a leather harness which encircled the girl's body while clad in the form-fitting gear. Her arms were secured behind her back and held straight by a number of loops off a wide central strap, and her legs bent double into a hogtie. Her body had been ably supported by connecting strong points on the harness to some overhead suspension. Of course, Angie hadn't expected the blindfold, but she was willing to concede as long she wasn't gagged.

Angie couldn't help but grin as she felt herself swing, tightly bound as she was, at Victoria's gentle touch, the air filled with her delicate floral scent. As always, blind and tightly bound but controlled by the older woman, Angie felt safe and secure in a way which was hard to explain.

"Is that tight enough?" Victoria asked with a tone of tipsy indulgence.

"Perfect," Angie purred, creating creaking sounds in the leather harness with her squirming, something she knew Victoria loved.

"I wanted to tell you about my friend Milla," Angie began, as if speaking to the surrounding darkness.

"Oh?" The darkness replied, a warm hand on her cheek gently turning Angie toward the source of the voice.

"Her family came over to Britain from Poland when they joined the EU back in 2004. She was my best friend growing up. I don't really do big groups, but with Milla, I didn't have to. Sometimes, I would wonder what I would do without her."

Angie smiled at the memory of her friend and wondered what she would think if she could see her now. "Then Brexit threatened, and Milla's family went back last summer. She went, too." The pain of the loss was still within Angie but not as raw as it once was.

"I didn't know how deep our friendship was until she was gone. I mean, I suppose I moved on; I had no choice. I found a new best friend called Freya, but we weren't anywhere near as close, and then I met you." Angie couldn't help but smile as she remembered her early days with Victoria when everything was new, and she swept her off her feet.

"I don't know if I was attracted to Milla; you were the first to show me that I could look at another girl in that way. And once you had, I wondered about Milla and what would have happened if she'd stayed. Would we have tried kissing once and found out neither of us were into it, or could it have been the start of something more?"

"Whenever I think of my friend now, I wonder what could have been, and it's like a little stab of pain each time. It's maddening. Now I don't want to remember Milla because the thought of what could have been hurts too much."

"Where are you going with this, macushla?" The voice from the darkness asked, amused.

"I wanted to tell you about the only serious relationship I had before being with you so that maybe you could tell me about yours."

"You're feeling jealous of my previous encounters?" Amusement still permeated the voice.

"No," Angie murmured carefully, "I wanted to ask you about your husband."

Silence. The darkness was complete for Angie, and for a moment, she felt utterly alone and helpless. Victoria obviously hadn't expected her question. "Since you let me roam, I was bound to find out." The stubborn silence continued. "Please? Can you tell me what he was like?" She put a lot of effort into keeping her voice gentle and unthreatening.

The silence continued, but as Angie's ears became attuned to it, she could hear laboured breathing from the surrounding darkness. She heard a few steps, taps of Victoria's stilettos on the hard floor, perhaps moving away?

"You don't know me! You don't know anything about me!" The darkness cried out, distraught, the sound echoing on the wood-panelled walls. There was a further flurry of retreating heel taps.

"No, but I'd really, really like to," Angie called out into the void, but it was too late; she could no longer sense Victoria's presence. She hung dejected in her cage of leather straps, wondering if she could have done something differently, if the encounter could have gone any other way.

Angie was still swinging helplessly and replaying their conversation in her mind when the sound of different feet entered her sphere of darkness.

"What happened?" Mary's voice was cautious, obviously unsure about Angie's mental state.

"I upset Victoria. I think I'll be sleeping alone tonight," Angie admitted, crestfallen. She felt herself being lowered and the cool floor beneath her belly. Mary's welcome hands began to untie her, removing the blindfold first.

"Well," the redhead maid declared, "at least I'm not having to pull giant toys out of your arse this time." They both laughed, but Angie's chuckle came with a slight air of despondency.

---

Victoria stalked down the corridor, her mind laden with pressing issues. Dita's preparations for her fetish art gallery project were moving on a pace. She continued to solicit for Victoria's engagement and had also been asking after Angie, whether they had given any more thought to sending her over to stay with them in Hamburg for a few weeks.

Victoria wasn't ready to let the girl out of her sight, but having increased attention drawn to her from the outside just made things more complicated. As if to make matters worse, Angie had started asking questions about Cian. Why would she be pushing? Victoria wondered. What was her goal? Was she trying to push her off balance in an attempt to exploit some weakness?

Victoria was really struggling to figure the girl out. One minute, she was driving her up the wall with her disobedience; the next pandering to her by submitting completely and then starting to ask deep and personal questions. What was she looking for? Blackmail material? A way to force Victoria to release her? And now that she had given her an iota of freedom, she and Mary had become thick as thieves. Was her junior maid a threat, too? A part of some burgeoning conspiracy against her?

Victoria needed to get to her office computer to answer an e-mail from Dita. As she rounded the corner, Angie was standing by her door, waiting for her. She felt momentarily flustered, a feeling which she nearly never experienced and that made her even more unsettled.

"I wanted to say I'm sorry about last night," the girl began, seeming to be genuinely contrite. "I didn't realise my question would cause you so much pain. I don't want to pry."

Victoria frowned, waiting for a 'but' to be appended, but Angie remained silent, searching her face for clues as she often did. Suddenly, she found the girl's expectant stare intolerable. She seemed to have the ability to give and give, asking little in return, and that created an implicit demand in Victoria's mind, a debt which she struggled to understand or pay.

"I-I-I", Victoria stuttered, unsure what she wanted to say and frustrated by that. She was never so flustered. Her instinct was to retreat, regroup, something entirely unlike her. "It doesn't matter," she managed to get out eventually. She managed to stop herself short of saying 'sorry', but the instinct to apologise was strong.

Struggling with the thumbprint lock to her door, Victoria rushed inside but caught a glimpse of Angie's hurt expression as she fled. Safely inside, she realised that it wasn't a look of pain she had witnessed but intense sympathy, which seemed far worse.

With relief, Victoria heard reluctant steps as the girl retreated. Safe inside her inner sanctum, she slumped at her desk and lifted the cheap frame which had been lying face down since the debacle with Angie and The Pig the week before. She looked at the girl's smiling face and tried to understand the feelings which rose to the surface as she did so.

The whole situation was such a mess. Sending Angie home would be incriminating and more than that, Victoria suddenly realised, she would miss her. Her estate would be drab and quiet without her. She could try to find physical satisfaction in the ways in which she used to, but it wouldn't be the same, she wasn't even sure she would enjoy it any more. The girl had changed her.

Victoria continued to stare at the photograph for a while, wondering what had happened to her since meeting Angie and otherwise lost in thought. Her phone ringing jerked her rudely from her revelry. The screen displayed the caller's name: Fiona Hickman. Victoria frowned, she didn't want to talk to Fiona or anyone right now, but denying the call would be rude and send entirely the wrong signal to a women with powerful connections.

"Hello, Fiona?"

"Ah, Victoria," the aristocratic voice poured from the little speaker. "I'm likely to find myself nearby your humble abode later this afternoon. Could I drop in on you to discuss a business proposal?"

"Well, I," Victoria began, but the English woman headed her off.

"It could be very lucrative, darling." Fiona's voice purred in what Victoria recognised to be her most persuasive tone.

Fiona was habitually pushy and rarely accepted 'no' for an answer. Victoria sighed inwardly, the path of least resistance was to accept and see what happened. She could make sure that Angie was carefully tucked out of sight until Fiona was safely seen from the estate.

"Of course. Shall we say 7 o'clock?" Victoria conceded trying to hide the reluctance from her voice.

"Splendid! I shall see you then." Fiona gushed and then hung up before any further discussion could take place.

Victoria sighed. A visit from Fiona was one more thing she could do without right now, but she could put her problems with Angie aside for one night and deal with them once her old friend was safely out of the way.