“Of course,” she said easily, like she’d been complimented on something she’d worked hard for.

Melissa felt something twist in her chest again.

Not shock. Not even confusion.

Just that same quiet recognition creeping back in.

The girl didn’t look embarrassed. Didn’t look uncomfortable.

She looked… pleased.

Like she’d done well.

Melissa stayed where she was for a moment longer, watching, trying to reconcile it with what she was seeing, what she was feeling, and the two refused to line up.

The waitress glanced back at her.

“Well?” she said lightly. “Go on.”

Melissa didn’t move straight away.

But she did move.

Melissa approached just as the girl turned to face her.

“Oh my goodness, look at you,” she said brightly, her eyes lighting up as she took Melissa in. “You got the nipple paint too!”

Melissa blinked, caught off guard by how openly she said it, how happy she sounded about it. There was no hesitation, no embarrassment—just excitement, like they were comparing something normal.

If anything, it made Melissa feel more exposed.

“Uh… yeah,” she said, forcing herself to step closer, even as her shoulders tightened slightly.

The girl beamed.

“You got a name, City Animal?”

Melissa raised an eyebrow at that, the phrasing catching her off guard more than anything else. City Animal.

It shouldn’t have bothered her.

But it did.

“Melissa,” she said after a second. “You?”

The girl shook her head easily, like it wasn’t something worth thinking about.

“Ain’t got one. Just a tag.”

She reached up, pulling her hair aside to reveal a yellow cattle tag pierced through her left ear, turning her head slightly so Melissa could see it properly.

“Farm Animals ain’t Human,” she added, still smiling. “We don’t get names.”

Melissa stared at it for a second. At how casually she said it. At how completely she accepted it.

And for the first time since she’d seen her, something in Melissa’s chest shifted again—not confusion this time, not even discomfort.

Just a quiet, creeping realization that they weren’t the same.

Not really.

“You should let this nice Aunt and Uncle grade you,” the Girl said brightly, reaching out and taking Melissa lightly by the arm, guiding her forward with an easy familiarity. “They’re very good at it.”

Melissa stiffened immediately, her feet dragging for half a step.

“Oh no, I couldn’t—”

The waitress cleared her throat.

“You will,” she said simply.

That was it. No raised voice. No threat.

Just… certainty.

Melissa stopped resisting.

The Girl clapped her hands together, visibly delighted, like something exciting was about to happen.

“Touch her rump first,” she said, turning back to the couple with an eager smile. “That looks like good meat.”

Melissa felt her stomach drop.

The words hit differently now.

Not misunderstanding. Not confusion.

Just… clarity.

The couple stepped closer.

Melissa’s body went rigid as their attention shifted fully onto her, their eyes moving over her in the same way they had with the Girl—measured, focused, already deciding something before they’d even touched her.

“Arms up,” the waitress murmured behind her.

Melissa obeyed.

Not because she wanted to.

Because she didn’t know what would happen if she didn’t.

Hands moved to her hips first, positioning her slightly, turning her just enough.

Then lower.

A firm press against her rump. Not lingering. Not exploratory. Just checking. Testing.

Melissa’s breath caught despite herself, her fingers tightening where they rested behind her head as she tried to stay still, tried not to react, even as her body betrayed her again with the awareness of being touched, being handled like—

Not like a person.

Like something being evaluated.

“She’s good,” the woman said after a moment, her tone thoughtful rather than impressed. “Not Farm quality, but close enough.”

The man nodded, his hand moving briefly to her side, pressing lightly before pulling away.

“City stock,” he said. “But well kept.”

Melissa swallowed.

She didn’t say anything. Didn’t know what she was supposed to say.

The Girl watched the whole thing with a bright, approving smile, like Melissa had just done something worth praising.

And maybe, in this place—

She had.

“Too bad you don’t have much breast meat, though.”

The Girl reached out without hesitation, her hand settling gently against Melissa’s chest, giving a light, absent-minded press like she was confirming something she’d already decided.

“But you’re probably a B+, right?”

Melissa stiffened slightly at the contact, her breath catching for just a second as she tried not to react, tried to stay still the way she had been.

“I dunno,” she said, the answer coming out flatter than she intended. “I’ve never been graded.”

The Girl tilted her head, considering that, her hand withdrawing just as casually as it had come.

“Huh,” she said, like that was mildly surprising. “They usually sort that before shipping.”

The couple exchanged a glance, not concerned, just taking it in.

“First time for everything,” the woman said lightly.

The man gave a small nod, his gaze moving over Melissa again, slower this time, more deliberate now that he had something to compare her to.

“She’ll place fine,” he said. “Might not fetch top bracket, but she’ll move.”

Move.

The word sat strangely in Melissa’s head.

Like she wasn’t part of the conversation. Like they were discussing something that wasn’t her, even while standing right in front of her.

The Girl smiled at her again, bright and encouraging.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “You did good.”

Melissa didn’t feel like she had.

“I didn’t do anything?” Melissa said, the confusion slipping through more clearly now. “All they did was feel me up.”

The Girl laughed at that, not unkindly, just amused by the phrasing.

“People touch Animals all the time,” she said easily. “I’ve been touched all over since I was little.”

Melissa frowned slightly, the words sitting wrong in her chest.

“You make it sound like a good thing.”

The Girl shrugged, still smiling, like the answer was obvious.

“It ain’t a bad thing if you learn to enjoy it.”

Melissa’s jaw tightened.

That was the part she couldn’t get past.

Not the touching. Not even how open it all was.

Just how easily the Girl accepted it—like there wasn’t anything to push against, nothing to question.

Melissa glanced back toward the couple, now stepping away, already losing interest, their attention shifting elsewhere like she’d been something temporary.

“Enjoy it,” she repeated under her breath, like testing the words.

They didn’t fit. Not the way they were supposed to.

And yet her body—

She shut that thought down quickly, her shoulders stiffening slightly as she forced herself still again, hands still held where they’d been placed.

The Girl was still watching her, bright and encouraging.

Waiting for her to catch up.

Melissa wasn’t sure she ever would.

“Okay, Meatgirls, if you have time to chat, you have time to show yourselves off,” the waitress said, her voice carrying just enough to cut through the low hum of the room. “Go to a table and invite customers to touch you.”

Then she looked at Melissa, her tone dropping slightly.

“You can accept pleasure from them. The Farm Girl can’t.”

Melissa frowned. “Why not?”

“They aren’t sexualised at the Farm,” the waitress replied simply. “I doubt she’s ever had an orgasm.”

Melissa blinked at that.

It shouldn’t have surprised her, not after everything else she’d seen, but it did. Even now, even here, some part of her still measured things against what she used to know.

Because back then—

That had been normal. Expected, even.

An Animal’s freedom to chase pleasure was something they taught early, something schools made sure everyone understood so there were no misunderstandings, no shock when it happened in public. It was framed as a right. A release. One of the few things that still felt like it belonged to them.

And yet—

This Girl didn’t have that.

She’d been denied Humanity entirely.

And somehow, even that.

Melissa glanced over at her.

The Girl was already moving toward another table, posture open, hands lifting behind her head without needing to be told again. A customer reached out, and she leaned into it easily, smiling, reacting—but not in the way Melissa understood.

Not like it meant anything more.

There was no tension in her. No hesitation. No second layer to it.

Melissa watched for a moment longer, trying to find it, trying to see the same thing she would have felt in that situation.

It wasn’t there.

And somehow, that made it worse.

Melissa approached a table with a small family of four.

Parents. Two kids. Close together, plates half-finished, the kind of scene that should’ve felt normal if it had been anywhere else.

“Oh look,” the mother said, glancing toward her daughters, her voice warm with a faint English accent. “She’s come for pets.”

The girls looked up immediately, curious, watching.

As if to show them it was fine, the mother reached out and ran a hand slowly down Melissa’s stomach, her touch light but deliberate.

“Such a nice belly,” she said. “Oh, I’d love to try her.”

“We can’t afford that,” the father replied, shaking his head without looking up from his glass. “You heard what the other table said. Too rich for us.”

Melissa stood there, arms shifting slightly before she remembered where they were supposed to be, forcing them back into place.

“I haven’t actually been graded, so—”

The slap came sharp against her rear.

Melissa flinched hard, a small yelp escaping before she could stop it, the sound cutting awkwardly through the table’s quiet conversation.

“Don’t undersell yourself,” the waitress said from behind her, voice low but firm, like a correction rather than a reprimand. “You present what you are. Let them decide.”

Melissa’s breath came uneven for a second, the sting still fresh, her body reacting before she could settle it.

The mother gave a small, amused smile, like nothing unusual had happened.

“See?” she said softly to her daughters. “Responsive too.”

One of the girls leaned forward slightly, studying Melissa more closely now, curiosity outweighing anything else.

Melissa swallowed, forcing herself still again.

Let them decide.

“How old are you?” the youngest one asked, leaning forward slightly, her voice curious more than anything else.

Melissa’s mouth opened before she could stop it.

“She’s old enough,” the waitress cut in smoothly, not even looking at the girl as she spoke. “Prime meat. A little chatty, though.”

The words landed flat. Casual.

Like they didn’t mean anything more than a description on a label.

The waitress stepped in closer then, her presence suddenly right at Melissa’s side, her voice dropping just enough that it didn’t carry beyond them.

“Speak when spoken to,” she said quietly. “Not another word otherwise.”

A brief pause.

“Or we escalate punishment.”

Melissa felt her throat tighten.

The sting from before still lingered, sharp enough to remind her what that meant without needing it explained.

She nodded slightly.

Careful. Controlled.

The youngest girl watched her for a second longer, then leaned back again, losing interest just as quickly as she’d gained it.

The moment passed.

But Melissa stayed still.

Hands where they were placed. Eyes forward.

Waiting.

“Turn around, then,” the father said, his tone casual, like he was asking to see a product from another angle. “Let me see what we’re working with.”

Melissa hesitated for half a second, then turned.

The movement felt slower than it should have, her body stiff as she repositioned herself, aware of every set of eyes on her now. She kept her face neutral as best she could, thankful—at least for once—that the makeup dulled the heat she could feel rising in her cheeks.

Behind her, she heard it.

Giggles.

“Her bum is red!”

“She’s been naughty!”

The girls’ voices were bright, amused, the kind of laughter that didn’t understand what it was looking at.

The adults laughed too. Softer, but no different.

Melissa’s jaw tightened, her eyes squeezing shut for just a second as she tried to block it out, the sound of it pressing in harder than she expected. She didn’t want to be here. Didn’t want to be standing like this, being looked at like this, talked about like—

A hand landed against her.

Right over the tender skin where she’d been slapped.

Melissa flinched sharply, her breath catching as the pressure settled in, deliberate and firm.

“When an Animal misbehaves,” the father said, almost conversationally, “you have to remind it of its place.”

The words were calm. Measured.

Like he was explaining something simple.

Melissa forced herself still again, even as the sting lingered, even as her chest rose unevenly with the effort of holding herself together.

Hands behind her head. Stay still. Don’t speak.

Just… endure.

Then she heard it.

Small feet pattering across the floor, quick and light, circling the table.

Before she could react—

A softer slap landed against her.

Not sharp like before.

But enough.

“Bad girl!” came the bright, unmistakable voice of one of the daughters.

Melissa flinched again, her body reacting instantly, even to the lighter touch, her shoulders tightening as she struggled to stay still, to keep her arms where they’d been placed.

“No, no,” the mother said, reaching out and pulling the girl back gently but firmly. “You don’t do that unless they’ve been bad. She was already punished.”

The girl looked up at her, confused for a second.

“Apologise to the kind waitress for hurting her Animal.”

Melissa’s breath caught.

The words didn’t even register properly at first.

Not her.

The waitress.

“Sorry,” the girl said, her voice small now, genuine in a way that only made it worse.

Not to Melissa.

To the woman standing beside her.

The waitress gave a small nod, accepting it like that was the correct response, like everything had been handled properly.

Melissa stood there, unmoving.

The sting from the second slap barely registered compared to that.

Not hers.

Not even enough to apologise to.

Just… something that belonged to someone else.

Something that could be corrected.

And then moved on from.

“Alright, thank you, but we won’t be able to purchase you, dear,” the wife said, her tone soft, almost apologetic. “Oh, how I would have loved to take you home with us.”

Melissa stayed where she was, still turned slightly, still holding the position she’d been placed in.

“The UK has such wonderful maturity programs for Animals,” the woman added with a small sigh, like she was talking about something genuinely admirable.

The husband nodded faintly in agreement.

“They really do,” he said. “Proper development. Keeps the quality consistent.”

Quality.

Melissa swallowed.

The words passed over her like they belonged to something else, something she wasn’t part of, even while they were talking about her.

The woman gave her one last look, something almost fond in it.

“Such a shame,” she murmured.

Then just like that, they were done.

Their attention shifted. Conversation resumed. Plates, glasses, the quiet rhythm of their evening picking back up as if nothing had happened at all.

Melissa didn’t move straight away.

Didn’t know if she was supposed to.

Didn’t know what came next.

She just stood there for a second longer, hands still behind her head, waiting—

Until the waitress stepped in again to guide her away.

“Not bad, Meatgirl,” the waitress said, her hand settling briefly against the flushed skin on Melissa’s butt, rubbing over it in a slow, deliberate motion that made the reminder clear without needing to say it out loud. “You should try and be more like the Farm Girl. She’s such a good Animal.”