by Uc Amalu, Jr
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
From across the street, he watched as she picked up the
last couple of pavers from the ground beside the front
steps. Just as she had done with the previous few dozen,
she threw them into the wheelbarrow and pushed them
toward the small gate underneath the front porch. She set
the barrow down and began stacking the last of the
pavers inside the small alcove. Her task was almost done
when she stumbled over the handle of the barrow and
dropped a paver, which landed squarely on her toe before
hitting the ground. A stifled scream escaped her and she
hopped around on one foot while massaging the other.
Still cursing and wincing in agony, she threw the last
paver into the crawl space and slammed the door. Leaving
the barrow where it was, she limped her way to the front
porch and sat on the steps where she continued to rub
her toe.
A smile of delight spread across his face. He was enjoying
her pain. A woman such as she deserved to be in pain,
just as the one before her had deserved to feel it. He
bounced from one foot to the other anxiously, his
excitementbeginning to build. The fingers of his left hand
toyed with the edge of his coat, twisting it up tightly
before flicking it free, ready to do it all over again. In his
right pants pocket, his other hand caressed the steely
coolness hidden there. It felt so strong, so sure of its
purpose, the power of it sent tingles down his spine.
His eyes returned to the woman on the porch- but she
was gone. The excitement he felt stalled for a brief
moment before he turned his attentions away from the
house and crossed the road. His feet silently carried him
along the driveway beside the house until he was
standing beside a camphor laurel tree; its thick branches
camouflaged him from the prying eyes of her neighbours.
He climbed up onto its trunk and steadied himself
among the limbs; he now had a bird’s eye view into her
bedroom window. There, between the partially drawn
curtains, he caught sight of her again. She was sitting on
the edge of the bed, her hands busily working a hair tie
around her dusty blonde locks. Perhaps she was running
a bath as he could hear the sounds of water running. His
breathing grew heavier the closer he crept to the window.
With such intensity he watched her, he was sure she
would feel the weight of his stare upon her. Desperation
to get closer nagged at him, but he dared not ruin his
surprise too early. All would fall into place soon; very
soon. For now he just wanted to observe her, try to make
sense of her. Most of all, he wanted to be close to her and
know her inside and out. She would make an excellent
test subject for him, another case study for him to gain
the expertise he craves.
She got up from the bed and crossed the room,
disappearing through a doorway on the far side of the
room. When she returned she was holding a telephone
handset to her ear, he could see her lips moving and was
barely able to make out muffled words and laughter. The
conversation lasted less than thirty seconds before she
hit the end button and threw the handset onto the bed. It
bounced once or twice from the spring of the mattress.
His eyes followed her; she was peeling her clothes off as
she walked towards the sound of the running water. First
the pale, mauve T-shirt, then the black, long legged
shorts. Next she undid the clasp of her dainty, white bra.
It fell to the floor leaving her beautiful bust exposed. Oh
how he loved their busts, so full and supple… ripe for the
picking. All that was left were her high cut, black panties.
She truly was a beautiful creature, or at least she would be
after he had performed his magic on her.
He couldn’t help but allow himself the pleasure of
admiring her body. Her hair was pulled loosely back from
her face and those brown eyes, oh how they looked so full
of contentment. He followed the contours of her body
downwards past her slender neck and wholesome
breasts, coming to rest on her stomach. He took note of
how it was not yet swollen, but not completely flat either;
she would be starting to show signs soon. Or at least she
would be if he were to let her…
His hand tightened around the instrument in his pocket,
its coolness had turned red hot, beckoning him to show
her its purpose. To make her feel its power and most
importantly, his prowess. The tingles running through his
body intensified causing him to shake with anticipation.
He could almost feel the smooth-ness of her flesh, smell
her fear, and taste the salty tears she would shed when
she begged for her life and that of her unborn. But he
would not listen; her cries would fall upon deaf ears. He
would do his job and do it well, showing those in the field
how skilled he is.
She had disappeared from his sight now. His heart began
to beat faster; the blood rushed through his veins,
pumping the adrenalin through his body at a rapid rate.
All the planning, the waiting and watching was finally
leading up to the climax he yearned for. He pulled his
hand from his pocket, checked for the doused piece of
cloth in his carry bag and edged closer to the window. His
nimble fingers felt along its ledge, quietly prying it loose.
