by Carla Blake
The thought rocks through her brain and closing her own eyes, she breathes deeply until it goes and she can concentrate on the tingling between her legs.
Why this turns her on, she doesn’t know, but it does and the tingling is growing in intensity. She wants to fuck, to be fucked and her pussy is swelling with lust. She touches herself and feels moist heaviness. Her clit is demanding her attention and she sits on the edge of the bed, beside the prone body of Sophie, and starts to rub herself.
It is wonderful! And she rubs harder, bracing herself by leaning back on one arm whilst her hand slips up and down her pussy, feeding the lust, smothering her fingers in juices as she moans and bites her lip, her finger circling round and round her clit and in and out of her cunt, fucking herself, bringing herself closer and closer to the sweet release of orgasm.
She comes with her head hanging over her tits. Her orgasm is deep and satisfying and she finishes by feeding her fingers into her cunt and screwing the last bit of pleasure out of herself.
Then she dresses and stands over Sophie.
They will know it was me, she thinks. My fingerprints are everywhere. Sophie’s blood is everywhere.
How tedious.
Leaving the bedroom, she goes downstairs and walks into the kitchen. It is warm down there and still smells of the dinner they shared. She roots through the drawers until she eventually finds what she is looking for.
Taking out a handful of tea towels, she twists them into ropes and lights the gas hob.
The first tea towel flares bright, the flame leaping up the material in a tall, thin column of orange with a suddenness that surprises her. Dropping it, Katherine lets it smoulder at her feet before rummaging through the drawers again, shoving aside knives and forks and serving spoons...
The serving tongs are perfect and she snaps them together like castanets before using them to hold the next tea towel well away from her body as she dangles it over the naked flame and watches it catch fire. Then she carries it quickly to the lounge where she drops it onto the sofa and waits a moment to watch what happens. Nothing much does. The sofa is obviously flame resistant and the burning tea towel does little more than make a smoky, black stain before burning itself out.
Disappointed, she tries again and aims the next tea towel at the curtains. She smiles when they catch with an audible whoosh!
They burn. Oh, how they burn! In seconds there is a bright tower of flame hungrily devouring the fabric as it quickly fills the room with a harsh, flickering light.
Hurrying back into the kitchen, she drags a pile of newspapers left bundled by the back door for recycling, though to the dining room and sets fire to them. These positively burst into flames and chuckling to herself, she runs upstairs with another flaming tea towel and drops it on Sophie’s duvet. The duvet catches fire with surprising ease, the flames eagerly ripping through the thin fabric to get at the filling beneath, and she retreats quickly, not wishing to see what will happen once the fire reaches Sophie’s body.
The lounge is alight now, the curtains falling apart. Bits of them are floating like deadly kites to land on other stuff and set it smouldering. A cushion catches fire and splits down the middle. Pages of a book turn brown, curl up at the edges and then burst into flame. A picture frame cracks, the photo beneath practically dissolving.
It is perfect. The fire will destroy everything.
Chapter Fourteen
The magazine is doing okay. No thanks to Katherine.
Alex, sitting at her desk in the outer office, fiddles with a cold cup of coffee and counts her blessings. Geoffrey Parker, she admits, has been a Godsend. Turning up the moment she was certain Katherine was not coming back, and so far, handling things perfectly. Even Claire Swallow hasn’t dared start with her ‘take over’ noises such has been his calm efficiency and if anything the magazine is growing in popularity rather than decreasing.
Clearly there’s nothing like having a potential murderer for an ex editor to boost ratings.
But why?
The question goes round and round her head like a Duracell powered carousel.
Why did Katherine kill Amy Aster? Why did she run? Where the fuck is she? Is she ever coming back? What the hell does she do now?
“We keep calm and we carry on.” Is Geoffrey’s take on things. “Katherine may never come back, but that doesn’t mean we have to loss our living as well. We can keep this going, Alex, you and me. The magazine doesn’t have to suffer! If anything we will make it bigger and better!”
It is the most Geoffrey has ever said to her.
Nor has he said as much since.
Alex pushes the coffee cup away and collects her coat. She is due to have lunch with Megan. She has been seeing a lot of her recently. The pair of them brought together by a common theme which sees them try hard to talk of other things before inevitably sliding back towards the topic of Katherine.
It is no different today.
Pushing open the door to the coffee shop, Alex spies Megan at their usual table in the corner and wonders why they don’t go the whole hog and just get a ‘reserved’ sign for it.
She greets her with a peck on the cheek and orders coffee and a slice of walnut cake from the guy behind the counter. Megan has lemon drizzle. She always does. They should have ‘reserved’ on that too.
“I have to go back to the house in Devon.” Megan says as Alex settles herself down. “I don’t want to, but I think someone should go back now and then just to pick up the post and keep an eye on the place. I was kinda hoping you might come with me?”
“When were you thinking of going?” Alex asks, smiling at the waitress who sets down their order and makes some quip about ‘maybe having something different one day.’ “ I’m kinda busy at the moment.”
“Weekend after next I thought. I had the bills redirected to the house up here and the electricity lot are asking I read the meter, so I’ve got to do that. And there’s probably stuff going off in the fridge that needs to be cleared out.”
“Sounds fun.” Alex says dryly. “Guess I could manage it. Are you planning to stay overnight?”
“I thought I would.” Megan nods, driving a fork into the lemon drizzle cake. “It’s a long drive down.”
“True. So when exactly are you planning? Friday or Saturday?”
Katherine prowls the house like a caged panther. She has given up getting dressed these days and just slouches around in jogging bottoms and sweatshirts. She hasn’t worn a dress since slaughtering Sophie and that dress is now ashes in the back garden. Nor has she been out, not since Sophie recognized her. Instead she spends her evenings avidly watching the TV news, searching the channels for items about her. So far she has seen three. None of them flattering, all of them warning the public to be on the look out for her.
She wonders if she’ll be on Crime watch soon.
Fame at last.
This evening is no different and Katherine is sprawled on the sofa in the lounge. The TV is on but the lights aren’t. It’s eight thirty and Eastenders has just finished. She’s eaten dinner of sorts, a microwave lasagna washed down with bottled water and can’t quite get her head around why, when she has all those lovely bottles of wine just sitting in the cellar, she doesn’t fancy any of them.
She has no idea what she is going to do. Clearly the lovely Sophie has not been missed yet, don’t nightclubs ever worry about their staff? Because there’s been nothing on the news and no one has come bashing on the door. But it must have aroused some attention! She burnt the bloody house down!
Maybe that happens a lot in Devon.
Turning down the volume on the TV, she snaps on the desk lamp she keeps low on the floor so the light doesn’t shine through the window and picks up the book she’s been reading. It’s one of Nancy Goodwill’s, the prolific porn writer. And it’s bloody good!
&nb
sp; Nancy doesn’t pull her punches, but goes straight for the jugular, or pussy in most cases, and it isn’t long before Katherine is starting to bubble nicely.
I want a fuck, she thinks, cradling her rapidly swelling pussy through her jogging bottoms. I want something in me! Something long and hard. Something I can bloody grip onto it as I come.
Her water bottle is too flimsy and too round, she’ll only get a tiny portion of the neck inside her before it will go no further. She doesn’t fancy a wine bottle either, the thought of sod’s law coming into play and the bottle shattering inside her when she’s all alone too graphic to contemplate. What can she use then? Her fingers are no good.
She reads another couple of paragraphs just to keep herself humming and wanders into the kitchen. Bottles everywhere, but she daren’t.
There is nothing else.
She climbs the stairs to the bathroom. Again, loads of bloody bottles, but none she fancies inserting into herself. The bedroom then. She wishes she had a dildo and smiles as she wonders why Uncle Alfred didn’t think of that, he thought of everything else!
Her pussy is starting to return to normal and she slips her hand down her knickers, giving her clit a quick stroke to keep herself plump. It feels good. So good she is tempted to just carry on until she comes, but then her cunt throbs and she continues her search.
She settles for the handle of her hairbrush. It is more square shaped than rounded but it isn’t very wide and pulling down both jogging bottoms and panties, Katherine lies down on the bed, draws her knees up and slides it easily into her cunt. Christ, the amount of handles she’s had in her recently!
She fucks herself slowly, groaning with pleasure, not minding that the bristles are rough against her palm. The sensation in her cunt is worth the discomfort as she feeds the brush in and out, in and out. Now she is practically squirming with desire and using her other hand she plays with her clit. The first touch is so amazing, she nearly gives in completely and comes.
Instead she slows everything down still more, drawing the handle carefully in and out of her hole, filling her juices pull and cling to the handle. Abandoning her clit, she reaches inside her sweatshirt and fingers her nipples. They grow hard almost instantly and she pinches them, loving the way each squeeze sends another pulse of pleasure deep into her groin.
Her hand slides down her stomach, a finger dips into her navel and out again. Her fluff feels springy to the touch. She plays with her slit, spreading juices up and down without actually touching her clit. Her pussy feels plump and full. Her cunt is sucking at the handle of the hairbrush and she shoves it in a little further and just holds it here, allowing her muscles to clench around the plastic.
She wants to come and her fingers find her clit. She is wet, so very wet and her fingers slide around the little nub with ease. She works the handle again, pumping herself hard with it, knowing that come morning she is probably going to feel sore, but right now, not giving a shit.
The pleasure mounts. The whole of her cunt feels molten and sticky. She fucks herself and plays with her clit, moaning, her legs beginning to tremble. She fingers herself, rubbing herself with increasing frenzy. Her orgasm is starting to take hold. She can feel it, throbbing deep inside her groin. She carries on, the handle slipping in and out, the plastic so slippery she is finding it difficult to keep a grip. She rubs her clit, her finger swirling around the swollen flesh and suddenly the pleasure reaches its apex and she rattles over the edge. Coming hard, moaning and gasping and gripping onto the handle buried deep inside her cunt. Her fingers rubbing furiously at her clit, making the orgasm last for as long as possible.
Afterwards, she is exhausted and slumping on the bed, she removes the handle of the hairbrush from her cunt, and licks it clean of pussy juices.
“Megan? It’s Alex. Look, I’m really sorry, but would you mind if I followed you down Friday night? Geoffrey’s organized this bloody meeting and I can’t get out of it. So would it be okay if I just met you at the house?”
“Sure.” Megan says brightly, although inside she’s crumbling with disappointment. She’d been looking forward to traveling with Alex.. She’d dug out some crappy, old CD’s and had visions of them enjoying a good ole sing along as they went. Now she’d be on her own. Probably listening to the radio.
“I’m really sorry.” Alex continues, “I’ll try and get away as soon as I can. Can you give me the post code though? I’m okay as far as the village, but after that I’m gonna have to rely on the Sat Nav.”
Megan reads out the post code and gives her a few pointers for good measure. Like the post box on the corner, set into the wall and the farm house with the old cart wheel propped up against the side. “You should be okay.” She says, trying to think of what else she can tell Alex. “It’s kinda straight forward even though it’s all country lanes. I’ll even have the kettle on.”
Alex smiles down the phone. “You a star.” She says. “And I promise I’ll be there before midnight.”
“Great. Okay, well I guess I’ll see you Friday then.”
Friday morning.
Katherine no longer prowls around the house, she stalks, looking for things to take her boredom and frustration out on. There is so little to do! She doesn’t want to read anymore and daytime TV is starting to rot her brain. She even caught herself writing down a recipe for beef casserole until it dawned on her she probably couldn’t get the ingredients, because getting anywhere from the house is a nightmare! The trip to the nightclub and from Sophie’s burning house actually took longer than the amount of time she was actually out and she’s terrified now of being recognized, especially if she’s in a public place without much chance of escape. The grim reality is, she’s trapped. In this house. And she’s fucking bored!
Huffing, she crosses to the patio doors leading out to the garden and stares out at the bird table. A couple of blue tits are feasting on the bread she put out last night and in the apple tree a robin is patiently waiting his turn. She envies them their freedom and wishes she had wings to fly away on. She’d go somewhere hot for sure. Away from all this shit.
Away from the constant feeling that someone, one day, is going to coming knocking at the door.
Megan has crossed the Devon border. It’s just gone six in the evening and she is pretty pleased with the progress she’s made. The roads have been fairly quiet and so far, the expected rain has held off, so its all good.
Alex has called too, about an hour ago to say she was just leaving, so with fair winds and a sympathetic M25, she might just make it down about nine, nine thirty, or by the way Alex drives, half eight.
Indicating left, Megan eases the little car into the turning for Honiton and then relies on memory and her Sat nav to get her the rest of the way. She is surprised by how much she remembers.
Katherine is in the kitchen, her head stuck inside the fridge. She’s hungry but she doesn’t know what she wants. She is sick of eating things out of a can and admits that if she’d been stuck in the nuclear bunker for the reason it was originally built for, she would much rather have taken her chances with radioactive fall out than spend years cooped up in the tiny rooms with nothing but tinned peaches for company.
Christ, what she wouldn’t give for a nice, crisp apple. Or a slice of water melon.
Or anything!
The sound of tyres crunching on the gravel outside are, however, enough to drive any such desire clean out of her head and slamming shut the fridge door, she gazes around the kitchen in a panic, trying to remember if she has moved anything. She can’t tell! She can’t be sure, but she can’t worry about it now. Someone is here! At the house. She has to get back to the cellar.
Letting herself into the house, Megan closes the front door behind her and pauses in the hallway, her hand still on the latch. Frowning, she looks down the hall and into the kitchen, wondering what it is that is making the hairs on th
e back of her neck bristle to attention. Whatever it is, she doesn’t much like it and she flips on the light, frowning again when she still can’t put her finger on it.
“You’re just being daft.” She tells herself, stepping over the pile of mail to wheel her suitcase to the bottom of the stairs. “Everything is fine..”
But everything is not fine. She can feel it.
“Shit.” She says.
The kitchen echoes with the sound of her footsteps as she dumps her handbag on the table and examines the state of the floor. There is a trail of muddy footprints leading from the back door to about half way across and it suddenly dawns on her that they must have been left by the police when they visited. She’d known they were coming of course, because they’d borrowed her keys, and if that arse Clifford had been one of them, he would undoubtedly have trailed dirt into the house just to spite her.
At least it explained why things had felt ‘different’ when she’d walked in. Things were different. The police had been here.
It makes her wonder what sort of state the rest of the house is in?
Messy is the answer to that one. The lounge carpet has crumbs on it, help yourselves to biscuits why don’t you? And stuff has been moved. Both things she can equate to. What she doesn’t get is why there is an open book on the end of the sofa, and even more weirdly why it is one of Nancy Goodwill’s. She certainly never read her stuff whilst she was staying here and as far as she was aware, neither did Katherine. So why is it there now?
Picking it up, she closes it and stares at the cover as if it might offer some clue as to who was reading it. Then she puts it down and wraps her arms around her chest. She knows she is being ridiculous, but she is feeling a little creeped out here and she wishes like mad that Alex would put her bloody foot down and get here!
The office is in a right state, but thinking about it, she’s not surprised. It’s the obvious place the police would have looked for clues as to Katherine’s whereabouts, even though she knows, thanks to a phone call from Detective Marsh, that they’d had no success. Katherine is gone. For the moment, officially vanished from the face of the earth.
