I chewed and ate the meat slowly, sucked two or three pieces of bread and drank the milk, which was still warm from the cow and foreign to my modern taste buds. I did not particularly like any of it, but I needed to keep my strength up as much as possible for it could yet be a long time before I had even the slightest opportunity to escape, and I didn't want to find myself fainting away if the chance presented itself.
All too soon, it was time for the gag and the mask again. Erik had the good grace to look apologetic and he promised he would take the things off me again as soon as he could, but for now I was to be walked in the woods and then paraded on the lawn before the library windows, probably, I assumed, so that Gregory Hacklebury could be reminded of the control Meg now had over his wife, the bitch dog she had created.
To my relief, when we arrived at the back of the house there was no sign of either Hacklebury or Meg, though two maids did appear from the direction of the kitchen. They stood watching and giggling as I was paraded back and forth across the lawn, though admittedly at some distance from us. I peered out at them from my mask, trying to see if I could recognise one of them as Polly, but although the taller girl looked vaguely familiar, neither one of them was the poor maid from my dream. Not that it would have made much difference, I reflected as Erik turned me to walk back down through the trees, but at least it gave me something to think about for a few minutes rather than just plodding mindlessly along at the end of my lead.
A dog's life, I concluded grimly, could be a very boring life indeed.
Which abruptly gave me cause to wonder just why I had been transported back this time, for my previous visits had apparently been timed to coincide with particularly traumatic stages in Angelina's captivity. Oh, this dog thing was traumatic enough and I fully expected Erik to take advantage of my helplessness yet again before the day was much older, but it did not compare with the earlier thrashings, nor even with the shock I had experienced upon being transformed into a mock canine for the first time.
Unless...
Maybe I was now supposed to inhabit this body fulltime, keeping Angelina safely out of the firing line, so to speak. After all, my breaks back in my own time did not appear to bear any direct relationship to the passage of time here. If I were now being returned to this body at the same time and place as when I left it previously, that would certainly protect Angelina's sanity. Yes, it made sense. If there had been any continuity gaps, they could only have been during hours when this body had been sleeping, when it would have made no difference which of us was in occupation.
Lucky little Angelina, I mused as we once again came in sight of my kennel and yard. Not only saved the pain and the shock, but the boredom, too. And yet, although everything seemed to have settled into a mundane routine, I could not get away from the feeling that something felt slightly different and that something, possibly something of great importance, was about to happen.
There are many forms of torture in this world. Some are physical and involve the inflicting of pain. Some are psychological and can range from humiliating the victim to imposing a regiment of deprivation not only of the senses but also of more abstract things like freedom.
Take, for example, boredom. Boredom, combined with humiliation and the sense of being forgotten and neglected, is a very effective form of torture, indeed. I stood in the middle of my tiny world, the sunlight filtering in through the vents in the wall, and through the door beyond the short passageway outside my cell, my only contact with the outside world until Erik chose to return again.
He had indeed chosen to use me after our outing but he had done so with a detached attitude, entering me and pumping in and out of my defenceless sex as if it were a routine chore and not an act to be savoured. Afterwards he patted my head, gave me water through the funnel and left me without another word. For who needs to exchange words when all the words that can be said have been said? Besides, I would still be here when he returned and still be as available to him, a four-legged parody useful only for base relief and the amusement of captors who now seemed to be tiring of me. It seemed I was surplus to any real requirements, my presence a burden even though my continued existence was presumably still preferable to my death, at least for the moment. Whatever plans Meg and Hacklebury had were being pursued without the requirement of my immediate involvement. If they needed to keep me alive, they were doing so in the cruellest of ways, yet even this unbearable situation might prove to be only temporary.
Even if they did break me and temper my will to theirs, my usefulness to them was surely limited. Once they got whatever it was they wanted, I would become a liability and a potentially dangerous one, at that. Far easier to slit my throat, choke the life out me with a length of cord or slip something into my food than to keep me around; simple, quick and fatal. No more Angelina and maybe no more Teena, either. I pondered the threat to my existence and waited. There was nothing else I could do but wait, a sorry four-legged captive with no voice and no face save for the pug-like leather visage they had given me. It shouldn't happen to a dog, I thought grimly, and then might have laughed had I been able to, for it wasn't happening to a dog. It was happening to me.
The sun continued to move across the sky, its steady progress revealed only by the shifting shadows. Somewhere outside birds twittered and called to each other and somewhere, in another world, in another time, another body waited in another limbo, a body to which I fervently prayed I would soon be returning.
Not long after darkness fell, the limbo in my little prison came to an end in a way I could never have foreseen. Eric had dropped in earlier for a few minutes, just long enough to unmask me so I could eat, though I had to suffer the gross indecency of feeding myself from a metal bowl on the floor with only my teeth and lips to grab up the morsels. Another bowl was also filled with water and I was thus able to drink at will, at least all the time the leather dog mask remained hanging on the hook by the door. With my tongue still hampered by the clamp, it was no easy or tidy matter to suck in my sustenance, but it was better than starving to death and dehydrating, so when he left me alone, I gratefully took advantage of small mercies.
The problem was that without the need for regular visits to water me Eric would be appearing less, and less. Even if his visits more often than not resulted in us playing doggies together, that was better than being increasingly bored by my confinement. Therefore, when I heard his heavy tread again and saw the flickering lamplight beyond my door, I was actually intensely pleased.
He hung the lantern on the wall, put down the small bag he had been carrying in his other hand and instructed me to stand upright. I had actually already been standing when I heard him approaching but had obediently resumed my dog stance before he arrived. I got back on my feet and stood motionless while he prised my mouth open and loosened the gag clamp to pull it off.
'Thank you,' I said once he had withdrawn the device. I ran my tongue around my mouth, if only to prove to myself that I could still do it. 'I've managed to eat everything,' I said, looking pointedly down at the empty food bowl.
'Good, and now washing you we shall be for smelling bad you are.'
I flushed at this directness but there was no arguing the truth of his statement. Besides, washing meant I would be free of the confining dog suit, if only for a brief interlude. I stood passively while he began tugging at the laces. Then there was the sound of more footsteps outside and he paused as both of us automatically turned our heads in the direction of the door. At this time of night, the only likely visitor was Meg.
Sure enough, she appeared in the doorway, but instead of tossing the expected sneering comment in my direction she remained silent, her face taut and pale, and a moment later I saw the reason for her expression. As she stepped into the room she was followed by a second figure, a shorter, brown- skinned girl with jet-black hair dressed in rough country clothes. She was undoubtedly of Indian origin and had huge, almond-shaped eyes I could tell were the deepest brown even in the dim light.
Immediately I realised that I knew her, or that Angelina knew her, and I knew, too, that her name was Indira, though beyond that there were only confused images and an intense sadness associated with her. However, whatever her relationship with Angelina, it was immediately obvious that Indira was not on Meg's side for in her right hand she held an enormous pistol, the muzzle of which was pressed firmly into the small of Meg's back. In her left hand she gripped the handle of a knife, the blade of which was stained darkly with what could only be blood. She looked straight at Eric, who had frozen in surprised indecision.
'One wrong move from you, you great blond lump, and I'm going to put a hole through this bitch you could fit your head in. Understand?'
Eric gaped at her, but nodded.
I, in the meantime, was stunned to hear such a blunt threat uttered so fiercely by an Indian girl this far back in time in an accent that was clearly not ethnic or even contemporary. Something was very wrong. Or very right...
Indira looked at me, and winked. 'Listen,' she said abruptly, 'I don't really know quite how this has all happened, but it's happened and we have to take advantage of it. First, you need to get out of that lot and put something else on. This bitch is a bit bigger than you, but her dress will have to do until we can find you something better.'
'I... I don't understand,' I gasped. 'Who are you? I mean, I know your name, I think, but where have you come from?'
'Well, if you know my name here then you know more than I do,' the girl replied, and smiled suddenly. 'But yes, you do know my name, and I know yours, Teenie.'
'Andy?' I felt like as though the ground abruptly shifted beneath my feet. 'How? I mean—'
'Haven't got a fucking clue,' my transvestite lover replied, shrugging. 'All I know is that one minute we were quite happily doing the thing we both like doing most and then suddenly I was here, or to be more precise, I was about half a mile or so away, standing just inside a fence where there was a small gap between the palings, next to some guy lying in a heap on the ground with this knife sticking out of the back of his neck. That's where I got this gun. It's a lovely piece of workmanship. Probably not very accurate, but fires a whopping great lead ball.'
'I should have slit your miserable little throat!' Meg hissed. 'You dirty little black whore! You'll pay dearly for this!'
'Whore I may be,' Andy retorted, 'but from what I can see I'm brown, not black, and I happen to be the one holding the big gun and the nasty knife, so shut your mouth if you don't want me to stick this thing in your arse a few times. It looks very sharp to me and would go straight through your skirts as easy as through butter. And you,' he pointed the knife at Eric, 'get that stuff off my friend and don't try anything clever unless you want bits of this bitch all over your nice clean shirt. And don't think I won't do it.'
'You only have the one shot, little Indira,' Meg said abruptly. 'Just one shot, and the noise is sure to bring others running. You won't get away.'
'Well, in that case we won't be any worse off than we already are, will we?' Andy said brightly. 'But you'll be very, very dead, which has to be an improvement judging from what my friend has told me about you, Megan Crowthorne. Now shut your noise and get out of your skirt and shoes and don't try anything stupid.'
It took several minutes for Eric to complete the laborious unlacing process, by which time Meg had been standing in her stockings and corset for quite a while. Her eyes were cold with rage but she knew she was impotent in the face of the pistol and, mad or not, she wasn't stupid enough to defy certain death. I dragged her dress over my head and turned so that Eric could fasten the hooks at the back. It was a loose fit, but better than nothing, and certainly an improvement on what I had been wearing.
'The shoes are a waste of time,' I declared, quickly trying one on. 'She must be three sizes bigger than me. I'll be better off barefoot, unless there's something suitable in the next room. There's certainly stuff there we can use to tie these two up with.'
'That's good,' Andy said. It was almost his own voice, or at least a version of Andrea's he used, but not quite, and I was still somewhat in shock at hearing his words emerging from that pretty mouth in that undeniably feminine and alien face. We moved into the next stall, where several items of bondage equipment, along with boots and corsets, were stored.
'Use those,' Andy instructed Erik, pointing to where a pair of thick leather cuffs dangled on a short chain from one of the nails in the wall. 'Buckle them good and tight, with her hands behind her back, and make sure those little lock things are done up properly.
Erik obeyed with alacrity, and though for a moment I thought Meg was going to resist, she submitted in the end.
'Now you, big boy,' Andy said, waving the pistol at Eric. 'Stand facing the wall and put your hands behind your back and don't forget, one wrong move and the bitch gets it.'
I gaped at Andy, not quite able to take everything in yet and not quite able to believe the silly bugger actually seemed to be enjoying all this. It was a bit like a scene from a James Cagney movie, but neither Meg nor Eric would have been able to appreciate that as Mr Cagney wasn't even a twinkle in his father's eye yet. Come to think of it, his father probably wasn't even a twinkle in his father's eye yet, either.
'Use those metal cuff things, Teenie.' Andy pointed to where a set of steel manacles dangled next to a rather complex arrangement of leather straps. 'They look solid enough to hold even him. My, but you weren't exaggerating, were you? He's a big bugger, for sure!'
Big bugger or not, Eric soon stood as helpless as his mistress and at last I felt we could relax, if only for a little while. 'I still don't understand how you came back here,' I said.
Andy shrugged. 'Who cares? We can think about all that later, but for the moment we need to get as far away from here as possible.'
'And then what?' I demanded. 'I've got no money, I'm wearing a dress that's too big for me and I don't have any shoes. We're miles away from anywhere and we have no way of knowing which way we should go. And if we do manage to get somewhere, what then? I'm supposed to be married to Hacklebury and you've just killed one of his servants, unless it was the man himself.'
'No, you said Hacklebury was dark and the bloke I got the pistol off had fair ginger-coloured hair as far as I could see in the moonlight. But hey, I never killed him. He was already dead when I slipped into this body.'
'Oh, right, so that's okay, then. We just go to court here and tell them how you've come back over a hundred years and weren't in charge of Indira's body when she stabbed the guy. Yes, they'll let us off no problem, and maybe even give us a few guineas for our trouble. You idiot, Andy! All the time you're here in that body, you're Indira and you're responsible in everyone's eyes for anything and everything she's ever done or likely to do, same as she'll be responsible for anything you do while you're in her body.'
I could see Meg's eyes widening as I talked. Whether she fully understood what it was I was saying, and whether or not she believed a word of it, I neither knew nor cared, but I could see that she was both alarmed and baffled. Erik, on the other hand, remained as impassive and expressionless as ever.
I turned to Meg. 'Don't even try to understand,' I said, 'but listen to this and listen very hard, whether it makes sense to you or not. I'm not actually Angelina, but I'm not some double like the one you used for your little wedding farce, either. Don't even try working it out. Let's just say that now the boot is on the other foot and I'm not the sweet little innocent victim you thought you had. After what you've done to me, I feel like taking that knife and cutting your fucking tits off, you bitch, so don't give me even the slightest excuse or I'll make you wish you hadn't been born.' I stopped to catch my breath and turned back to Andy. 'We need clothes, shoes, food and some money,' I said firmly, 'and there's only one place hereabouts where we can get them, and that's up at the house.'
'Where Hacklebury is sure to be, along with those other maids and probably a footman or two,' he pointed out, 'not to mention the charming friends you told us
all about.'
'I hadn't overlooked that, but it's dark out and there aren't any lights in the grounds.'
'No electricity here yet,' Andy agreed, 'but they'll have lanterns and candles inside the house.'
'In the main rooms they have plenty of light, but not that much in the rest of the house, especially not in most of the passageways. If I can get inside without being seen, I can probably persuade one of the maids to help us, especially if you give me that knife and I explain how my friend is down here holding a pistol on their dear mistress. Polly and the other girls are just simple souls and they'll frighten easily enough.'
'It all sounds a bit risky to me.' Andy shook his pretty head with its long dark tresses.
'Not if I wait a couple more hours, or so,' I said. 'Unless dear Gregory is planning another house party, they'll all be starting to hit the sack before long. No telly or radio here, don't forget, and they get up early in the morning.'
'But what if anyone comes down here in the meantime? What if these two are missed and they come looking for them?'
'Then we'll have ourselves some more prisoners,' I replied bluntly. 'Besides, Meg here comes and goes all over the place and Erik does what she tells him to like the good boy he is, so if she isn't in the house, Hacklebury will assume she's down here tormenting me for her amusement. He seems to have mostly lost interest in me himself and I don't think he ever actively goes seeking Meg's company. I don't think he likes the bitch.'
'Well, that's one thing we have in common with him,' Andy said, and chuckled. 'But I still don't like it,' he added soberly.
'Neither do I, but we don't have much choice. Neither of us has anything on our feet; we look like a pair of tramps. We won't get five miles like this. And apart from food and clothing, there's probably a coach and horses somewhere around here.' I turned back to Meg. 'Where are the stables, bitch?'
She regarded me with a look that was pure venom, but there was no fear in her eyes now. 'Find them yourself, slut,' she snapped. 'You seem to think you know everything.'
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