CHAPTER TWELVE

Kara returns a few minutes later.

Riley notices her immediately. The marinade has left her mother’s skin a warm golden brown, a healthy roasted color that looks almost natural under the soft lights of the waiting room. Compared to the dark treacle sheen still coating Riley’s own body, the difference is striking.

Kara stretches slightly as she sits down beside her.

“I slept like a log,” she says with an easy sigh. “That was so nice.”

The smell reaches Riley as she settles into the chair. Savory herbs and roasted meat, richer and deeper than the sweet smoke clinging to Riley’s skin.

“You smell great,” Riley says with a small smile.

Kara glances over and gives her a warm look in return.

“You too, honey.”

For a moment the two of them simply sit there together in the quiet waiting room, both of them carrying the unmistakable scent of dinner.

Riley glances down at the watch still strapped to her wrist.

“Don’t think we’ll get home in time to eat dinner,” she says, tilting it so Kara can see the time. “It’ll be late by the time we get back.”

Kara barely looks concerned.

“We’ll just grab something while we’re in town,” she replies easily. “Fast food places do Animal meals.”

Riley blinks at her.

“But you’re still naked.”

Kara looks down at herself briefly, as if checking the obvious, then shrugs.

“And?”

“We’re ready,” says the same Service Stock who supervised the marinading earlier.

She appears in the doorway with the same calm, professional smile she’s worn the entire visit.

“This last part shouldn’t take too long.”

Riley stands, the chair creaking softly behind her as she rises. Kara gets up beside her, stretching slightly after the long soak.

The Service Stock turns and gestures down the hallway.

“Right this way.”

Riley and Kara follow her toward the next room, the scent of honey barbecue and roasted herbs drifting with them as they walk.

The next room is warmer than the others.

Not steamy like the baths, but warm in the steady, comforting way of a kitchen where something has been cooking for hours. The air carries a deeper smell now—smoke, honey, butter, herbs. Something sweet layered over something savory.

In the center of the room stands a padded table.

Beside it sits a tray of brushes.

They look almost like pastry brushes from a bakery. Some are wide and soft, others narrow and precise, their pale bristles already darkened with the glossy liquid resting in a shallow bowl nearby.

The Service Stock gestures toward the table.

“Up you go, Meatgirl.”

Riley climbs onto it, lying back as instructed. The padding is warm beneath her shoulders and hips, clearly heated for comfort. Kara settles into a chair nearby, watching with mild curiosity rather than concern.

“This is the finishing baste,” the woman explains while selecting one of the wider brushes. “It seals the flavor and evens the coating.”

She dips the brush into the bowl.

The liquid clings thickly to the bristles.

When she lifts it, the smell reaches Riley immediately. Honey and smoke again, but richer now, darker. Butter. Pepper. Something herbal beneath it all.

The brush touches Riley’s shoulder.

The sensation surprises her.

The bristles are incredibly soft, gliding across her skin in a slow, careful stroke that spreads the warm glaze in a thin shining layer. The warmth of the baste sinks into her skin immediately, leaving behind a glossy finish that catches the light.

“There we go,” the woman murmurs approvingly.

The brush moves again.

Across her collarbone.

Down the curve of her arm.

Each stroke is slow and deliberate, the woman working the glaze evenly across Riley’s body the way someone might finish a carefully prepared roast. The warmth of the liquid spreads wherever the brush passes, leaving behind that same thick scent of barbecue and honey.

Riley exhales slowly.

The sensation is strange.

Relaxing.

The brush moves to her stomach next, spreading another careful layer while the woman works in patient, overlapping strokes. The bristles slide across her skin again and again, smoothing the glaze until it shines evenly across her body.

“You took the marinade beautifully,” the Service Stock comments. “Nice, even absorption.”

The brush moves lower.

Along her hip.

Across the curve of her thigh.

Every stroke is careful and unhurried, the woman occasionally stepping back to examine the finish before adding another light layer. The room fills steadily with the smell of the baste as it warms against Riley’s skin.

It feels good.

Almost too good.

Riley tries not to think about it, but the warmth spreading through her body makes it harder to ignore the strange tension building low in her stomach.

The Service Stock selects a smaller brush now.

“This part needs a little more precision,” she explains casually.

The smaller brush moves higher along Riley’s thighs.

The narrow bristles are softer than she expected, barely more than a whisper against her skin as the Service Stock works the warm glaze into the places where the marinade had collected. Each stroke is slow and deliberate, the woman spreading the baste in thin, careful layers.

It tickles.

More than that, actually.

Riley ends up biting lightly against the side of her finger, trying to keep herself from making any embarrassing noises while her mother sits only a few feet away watching the process.

The brush slides along the inside of her thigh again.

“You’re trembling, Meatgirl,” the woman says with a teasing note in her voice.

She doesn’t stop working while she speaks.

“Are you starting to enjoy this?”

Riley’s shoulders tense slightly on the padded table.

The brush moves further inward, the strokes becoming smaller and more precise as the Service Stock works the glaze into the delicate crease between her legs.

“Perhaps we’d better pay extra attention to that lovely fillet,” the woman adds casually.

The smell of honey and smoke grows stronger with every pass of the brush, the warm glaze leaving Riley’s skin shining beneath the lights while the woman continues the careful finishing work.

The brush slips higher between Riley’s thighs.

The bristles are so soft they barely feel real, just the faintest tickling glide against her skin as the Service Stock spreads another thin coat of the warm baste. The sensation runs straight up her spine, sudden and electric.

Riley shivers.

A small squeak escapes her before she can stop it.

The woman chuckles softly.

“Good Meatgirl,” she says, her tone warm with approval rather than mockery.

The brush doesn’t stop moving.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” she continues. “Animals should enjoy this kind of attention.”

The bristles glide slowly back again, careful and patient as the glaze is worked into place. The room smells strongly of honey and smoke now, the warmth of the baste lingering wherever the brush passes.

Riley keeps biting lightly against her finger, trying to steady her breathing while the woman continues the careful finishing strokes.

The brush continues its slow work between Riley’s thighs.

The soft bristles glide back and forth, spreading the warm glaze in careful strokes while the scent of honey and smoke fills the room. The sensation builds quietly with every pass, a steady warmth spreading through her body.

Riley feels the tension rising again.

The same tightening feeling she’d felt earlier during the hair removal treatment, that slow gathering pressure she hadn’t known how to stop even then. It builds now in the same way, curling tighter and tighter in her stomach while the brush keeps moving.

Her fingers grip the edge of the padded table.

Her breathing grows shallow.

She opens her eyes.

Across the room, Kara is watching.

Their eyes meet.

For a moment her mother simply holds her gaze, calm and unbothered by what’s happening. Then Kara gives her a small, gentle smile—soft and reassuring, the same kind she might have given Riley when she was younger and nervous about something.

The tension snaps.

Riley gasps as the wave breaks through her, her body trembling against the padded surface of the table while the sensation washes through her in a sudden rush.

The Service Stock pauses only briefly before finishing the last careful strokes of the brush.

“There we are,” she says calmly.

Riley trembles where she lies on the padded table.

The rush of sensation still ripples through her body, leaving her limbs weak and heavy against the warm surface beneath her. Her breathing comes in shallow bursts while the last of the wave fades slowly away.

The brush hasn’t stopped.

The Service Stock continues her careful work, the soft bristles still gliding gently across the sensitive area between Riley’s thighs as she finishes spreading the final thin layer of glaze. The strokes are light now, almost soothing, smoothing the baste into an even shine.

Riley shivers again.

The warmth of the glaze, the softness of the brush, the lingering tremor in her muscles—all of it blends together into a strange, floating feeling as she slowly comes down from the height of it.

The brush makes one final pass before she lifts it away, stepping back to inspect the glossy finish across Riley’s body.

Riley’s hips jerk upward just as the brush lifts away.

The movement is sudden and involuntary, her body still riding the last fading tremor of sensation. The padded table creaks softly beneath her as she settles again.

The Service Stock notices immediately.

A small grin spreads across her face.

“Easy, Meatgirl,” she says gently.

She sets the brush back onto the tray beside the bowl of glaze, the bristles still glistening under the lights.

“All finished.”

Riley lies there for another moment, breathing slowly while the warmth of the baste lingers across her skin. The scent of honey and smoke clings to her body, thick in the air of the room as the woman steps back to admire the final glossy finish.

She studies her work the way a chef might examine a finished dish, head tilted slightly while the light catches the smooth glaze across Riley’s skin.

“Perfect.”

There’s no attempt to clean the dampness between Riley’s legs.

Instead, the Service Stock simply guides her off the table and ushers her toward the row of chairs along the wall.

“Sit with your mother while I prepare fresh baste,” she says pleasantly.

Riley lowers herself into the chair beside Kara, the glossy sheen of glaze still warm across her skin while the woman returns to the tray of bowls and brushes.

For a moment neither of them says anything.

The silence stretches awkwardly between them.

“You okay?” Kara finally asks.

Riley shrugs a little.

“I guess,” she says. She rubs one hand along her arm absently, watching the light catch the smooth, sticky shine of the baste.

“When I saw you looking at me,” she adds after a moment, “it kind of sent me over the edge.”

Kara studies her face carefully.

“Does that scare you?”

Riley shakes her head.

“I doubt it’s the first time an animal has came with their mom watching, right?”
“Yeah probably.”

Kara’s turn goes much the same as Riley’s.

She climbs onto the padded table with the same casual confidence she’s shown through the entire visit, lying back while the Service Stock prepares a fresh bowl of baste. The brushes move over her skin in the same slow, careful strokes, spreading the warm glaze evenly across her body while the room fills again with the rich smell of roasted herbs and butter.

Riley watches from the chair this time.

The process is almost identical, though Kara remains far more composed beneath the soft brushes. She relaxes into the treatment easily, closing her eyes at one point as the woman works along her arms and stomach.

When the brush moves between her legs, Kara simply exhales and lets the sensation pass.

No trembling.

No sudden gasp.

No mess.

When it’s finished, the Service Stock steps back with the same approving look she’d worn earlier.

“Very nice,” she says. Then she glances briefly toward Riley. “A very Human reaction.”

Kara sits up, stretching slightly before sliding off the table to join her daughter again.

The Service Stock begins cleaning the brushes while giving them their final instructions.

“You’ll want to let the baste dry completely before sitting in a car seat,” she explains. “Otherwise it’ll smear.”

She gestures toward the glossy finish still shining across their skin.

“You can shower in a few hours,” she adds. “The colour will wash away, but the flavour enhancement will remain.”

The woman gives them both a satisfied look.

“You’re ready.”

“I’ll taste good when I cook?” Riley asks.

The question comes out half curious, half joking, though she isn’t entirely sure which part of it she means.

The Service Stock pauses.

Then she crouches down in front of Riley, bringing herself level with her seated height. The movement is slow and deliberate, almost ceremonial.

Without warning she leans forward and drags her tongue lightly up Riley’s cheek.

The taste is quick but unmistakable.

Honey.

Smoke.

Butter.

When she pulls back, she presses a gentle kiss to the same spot.

“You already do, Meatgirl,” she says softly.

She studies Riley’s face for a moment, her expression thoughtful now rather than teasing.

“But you have some thinking to do about your future, I’m sure.”

The woman rises smoothly to her feet again, returning to the tray of brushes as if the small tasting had been no more unusual than sampling a sauce in a kitchen.

“What was she on about?” Kara asks as they step out of the building.

The door closes behind them, and the shift in temperature hits immediately. After the warm, heavy air of the spa, the autumn chill feels almost violent against their bare skin.

Riley sucks in a sharp breath.

The cold air rushes over her body, raising goosebumps along her arms and stomach. Her nipples tighten instantly in the cold, the sudden sensitivity making her instinctively want to cover herself.

She resists the urge.

Animals don’t wear clothes.

The thought passes through her mind automatically now.

She folds her arms loosely instead, mostly to warm herself as they start down the steps.

“I think she meant the Companion Animal thing,” Riley says after a moment.

Her breath fogs faintly in the cool air while the sweet smell of honey barbecue still clings faintly to her skin.

“She mentioned it earlier while she was wiping me down.”

Kara glances sideways at her as they walk.

“Companion Animals?” she repeats.

Riley nods.

“Rich people buy them,” she explains. “Like… keeping a whole human life in their house.”

The words sound strange even as she says them aloud.

“There are laws about it apparently,” she adds. “Because they represent the System.”

Kara exhales slowly, the cool air curling in front of her face.

“Huh.”

They continue walking for a few steps in silence, the cold air slowly stealing away the warmth the spa had soaked into their bodies.

“Do you want to try for that?” Kara asks.

Riley doesn’t answer right away.

They walk slowly down the street, the cold autumn air biting at their skin while the lingering warmth from the spa fades away. Yesterday’s panic still sits somewhere deep inside her, sharp and raw, but today it feels… different.

Quieter.

More distant.

The idea that she’ll be slaughtered doesn’t feel unreal anymore. It’s starting to settle into something she can actually think about without breaking apart.

After all, they just spent an afternoon letting strangers marinate and baste her like dinner.

“I don’t know enough yet,” she admits finally.

Kara nods without hesitation.

“We’ll research it when we get home,” she says. “If it means you get to live, I’m happy to try.”

That answer comes so easily it makes Riley’s chest tighten.

She smiles.

Without thinking too much about it, Riley steps closer and wraps her arms around her mother, pressing her naked body against hers in a tight hug. The warmth of Kara’s skin feels almost shocking in the cold air.

“Thanks for coming out with me today,” Riley says softly. “It was really weird… but kinda fun.”

“Sure thing, baby.”

Kara strokes Riley’s hair absentmindedly while they stand there on the sidewalk.

“Anything for you.”