Animalslave Rescue

Chapter 3: Big Cat Compound

Felicia explained as her partner threaded their way through the downtown traffic. "People lately have taken to keeping humans as pets along with big cats. Owning tigers and lions in this county isn't illegal; but the person who owns them has to have a license and the humans have to be kept separately. What some have been doing, and this sickens us, is taking petslaves and feeding them to the big cats to appease the cats' appetites, and also to appease their own appetites for cruelty. There are some petslaves who prefer that their lives end like that, as food for something or someone else; there are contracts for that kind of thing, and the petslaves are marked for that. But if the petslave isn't willing, and the owner feeds him to the big cat anyway, that's cruelty, and we can and will prosecute."

They pulled into the parking lot of a huge complex of buildings. The complex was on a flat plain; the sound of human screams would carry quite well in the still air. Mike, Lenny and Frank followed Master Snyder and Mistress Felicia across the lot to where a tall wire fence stood rimming what looked like a huge pit. And, when they got there, Lenny frantically taping everything, they saw that that was indeed what it was. Similar to the large pit/habitats one found in zoos, the concrete walls ran straight down for almost fifty feet, and far below them they could see two huge tigers worrying the carcass of some poor unfortunate male petslave. Felicia sucked in a deep breath.

Mike gasped as one of the tigers stepped back, licking its chops. The battered male in the bottom of the pen had plainly been tortured before being thrown to the big cats; his skin was marked with what seemed like hundreds and hundreds of open, bleeding cuts. Felicia said grimly, "What do you think, Joe? Knife or wire whip?"

Joseph stared at the body in the bottom of the pen, which was barely moving now; only a little twitching, which was probably just death spasms. "Hard to tell from here, there's too much blood. But it certainly looks like a whip."

Felicia whipped out her badge and marched determinedly to the front door, knocking. "SPCP! Open up!"

For a long time nothing happened, but as Felicia raised her hand to knock again, the door was opened very slowly, by a slave girl. Not a petslave, just a slave girl. Her eyes were cast downward as she whispered, "Mistress Donna is waiting for you in the back rooms. Please follow me." She turned, and Felicia bit her lip as she looked at the girl's posterior. The maid's uniform covered only the front half of the girl's body; this was sewn to her skin along the sides, but the entire back of her body was uncovered. And she bore the marks of constant, continual abuse; whip scars, bruises over her kidneys, and other bruises and welts in a variety of colors from red to purple-black on the rest of her back. And she had what had to be an extremely painful torture plug lodged in her anus. It was huge. She walked back down the hallway, stiff-legged, probably to avoid causing any unnecessary pain to her tormented asshole.

She opened the door to an opulently furnished sitting room, and Felicia and Joseph stepped in. Four fashionably-dressed women looked up at him, ceasing their conversation with a frown, as if upset that their afternoon had been spoiled by the two officers. Felicia ignored their frowns of annoyance, focusing instead on the male slave hanging on a St. Andrews cross on the far wall. The cross had been set with a number of long, very sharp nails, and the slave was firmly strapped to it with the nails impaling his flesh. The straps holding his arms and legs apart to the limbs of the cross were so tight that his feet and hands were almost purple with trapped blood. So was his genitals, wrapped in a web of metal bands clamped tight around his cock and balls. The male's head was hooded, but the muffled sounds coming from under the hood indicated he was in extreme agony. The great, bleeding gashes in the front of his body (no doubt left there by the whip one of the Mistresses was holding) was probably a cause of some of that anguished howling.

Mike saw something outside the huge windows, and directed his cameraman's attention to the window. Joseph stepped over to the window, beckoning Lenny and Mike with him.

The window overlooked the big cat pit that they had seen when they pulled up, but it was closer to the cats. From here they could see that the male slave was quite dead, and now mostly eaten. Legs and arms were gone, the head had been bitten into and one of the cats was licking out the cranial cavity while another was cracking open the dead slave's sternum to get at the soft tissue in the chest cavity. Felicia took one long look at the scene outside the window and turned to the Mistresses. "I'm Mistress Felicia, from the SPCP," she started without preamble. "Did that slave out there give consent to being used as animal food?"

The woman holding the whip gave Felicia a long, appraising look, and then raised one perfect eyebrow. "Of course," she drawled arrogantly.

"Can I see the papers? And take the hood off your other slave there, I'd like to ask him some questions."

"I'm not getting up to get any papers," the woman sat back. "And if you want the hog's hood off, get it off yourself. He's very vocal, though; he'll squeal your ear off." Felicia made an annoyed sound and stepped up to pull off the slave's hood.

Once the hood was off, they could clearly hear the muffled sounds the slave had been making were pleas for mercy. "PleasepleasepleaseMistressithurtsmakeitstopplease…"

The woman rose from her chair. "Pig! Are you not a pigslave?!"

"YesMistressplease…"

"Do pigs talk?"

"NoMistressbutithurtssomuchplease…" The woman brushed past Felicia and grabbed the purple-black genital trapped in the cruel cage, and squeezed. The man howled in agony, his hips rising away from the cross, pulling off the nails embedded in his flesh. "PLEASEMISTRESSPLEASE!"

Felicia snapped out, "That's enough. We're going to take the pigslave; he's in dire need of medical care, and if he's talking that means he's broken whatever contract he's had with you to become your pigslave. Joseph, if you would…" The man stepped to the cross and pulled the hood off the pigslave. Under the hood, he was crying in agony, eyes red and nose dripping. Joseph reached for the cage imprisoning the slave's genitals, and carefully released the lump of blackened flesh from its cruel imprisonment. The male howled again in anguish, and fell to his knees as Joseph released the shackles binding him to the cross. He crawled slowly across the floor to Felicia's feet, where he lowered his face to her shoe and started kissing it fervently. "Thank you, Mistress," he wailed.

Felicia stroked the sweat-soaked head. "You're welcome, pet," she said. "Can you tell me something? Who is that…who was that slave out there?" she gestured to the window.

The pigslave looked fearfully at Mistress Donna, but he knew that with the cruelty officers present she couldn't kill him for talking. "Mike, Mistress," he said tremblingly. "Pigslave Mike. He wanted to be used as food for the Mistress's table, but she violated her part of the contract and fed him to her big cats instead! She's been torturing him all morning, drawing blood to spur the tigers into a blood frenzy, and threw him in with them when he was too weak from the torture to fight them and get away." He looked into Felicia's eyes pleadingly. "Please, Mistress, please take me with you! Don't leave me here!"

"It's okay," Felicia patted the pigslave's head. "You're coming with us. Mistress Donna, we find you've violated your contract with your slaves, and therefore you're not entitled to keep them. If you'd just sign the surrender form, please…"

Donna ignored the paper held out to her. "He's mine! You can't just take him away from me!" she pointed to the slave. Slave Greg. Get back into your cage immediately!" The male cringed against Felicia's leg and whimpered.

Joseph interposed himself between Felicia and the pigslave, commanding Donna's attention immediately. "All right, so you're not signing the surrender papers?"

"Absolutely not!" Felicia said hotly, looking indignant. "He's my slave, I can do what I want with him! You people have no right coming in here and—"

Felicia interrupted. "Excuse me, we have every right. If a petslave is being mistreated, then we have the right to revoke the owner's right to possess one. Now, do you have any other petslaves here?" She turned to the cringing male. "Are there any other petslaves here?"

"There is a sowslave out in the holding pens. Mistress Donna has induced lactation in the sow and is feeding a litter of real pigs on the sowslave's milk. Other than her, Mike and I were the only ones."

"What about you?" Felicia addressed the maid wearing the torture plug. "Are you a petslave?" The girl stared at the floor and didn't answer, so Felicia turned to Greg. "Is she?"

Greg shook his head. "She's Mistress Donna's maid. She's a slave, but not a petslave."

Felicia frowned. "I'll have the regular slave assessors come out and look at her," she said to Mistress Donna. "Be aware; if she seems to be abused, you will probably lose her as well, and state regulations forbid the possession of any other petslaves or slaves once you have been found guilty of abusing any slave under your care. You'll be contacted soon about a court date for this petslave." Felicia unwound a leash from her belt and snapped it onto Greg's collar. "Joseph, if you'll go out to the barn to collect the sowslave, we'll take both to the SPCP."

Mike and Lenny followed Joseph as the man strode across the yard to the barn that stood at the end of a gravel drive and threw open the door. Inside was a female pigslave; a sowslave.

She was tied kneeling over some sort of machine. Milking cups were attached to the sowslave's teats, and were pulling on them unmercifully, extracting jets of thin, runny white lactose from the huge, dangling, udders. Tubes attached to the milking cups funneled the human milk to a retaining tank, which had artificial teats like those found on a real mother pig. Four squirming pink piglets were suckling greedily at the artificial teats, drawing out the milk that the human sowslave was giving.

It didn't seem especially cruel to Mike, who had seen sowslaves before…but then he noticed that the straps binding the sowslave to the frame were much too tight, cutting into the skin. The sowslave seemed to be in some pain, yanking back on the straps as if to free herself from the frame, and as Joseph leaned over and turned off the milking machine, the sow raised her head, and her tear-streaked face came into view. There was a large spiked ball thrust into the slave's mouth and between her teeth, and the spikes were cutting cruelly into the lips and teeth and tongue of the slave. Joseph hastily unstrapped the sowslave's front forelimbs, and Mike watched as the cups came free of the slave's breasts. The suction must have been fierce indeed, because the breasts flesh was all red and swollen, and there were hard 'teeth' around the base of each milking cup that must have been digging into the sow's udders. Joseph released the slave's back strap, then went to tend to the sow's rear legs. Mike went around back, and saw that the sowslave had been positioned in front of a fucking machine, which had been battering at the sowslave's sex. Joseph spoke grimly. "There's some thinking that fucking while the sowslave or the cowslave is being milked increases production and speed. The theory's so popular that people have built fortunes on machines that will fuck the milked slave relentlessly, and also cause a lot of pain." The sowslave's fuck hole was red and inflamed, gaping from the size of the phallus that had been shoved into it and rammed back and forth by the relentless machine. Joseph sighed. 'She may need some reconstructive surgery to tighten the hole back up. Let's get her back to the SPCP and see what the Doc says." He led the shuddering, silent sowslave out of the barn. "Don't worry about those," he said to Mike, who was looking at the piglets. "We'll have the regular SPCA come out and get them.