Love. Lies. Dying. Page 9

  Petra’s face brightens. “I have curling tongs.”

  “Let’s give it a go then.”

  Petra frowns in confusion.

  “At trying to curl it?” Katherine verifies. Lord, this girl is dense.

  Petra leads her into the bedroom, just as Katherine hoped she would. It’s a bit different from the lounge though. In here, the walls are dark purple and the double bed is fitted with a white duvet with dark purple runner at the bottom. There are fitted wardrobes, a full length mirror and a huge bottle of perfume sitting on a shelf fitted with a lid in the shape of a bat. Petra sees her looking at it. “Present from my brother.” She explains. “He thinks, because, at home, I go out at night, that I am vampire. He is mad.”

  “Where do you go then? At night?”

  “Dancing. I go dancing. Here. My curling tongs.”

  Katherine’s heart sinks. They are ancient old things in a tatty, split box and when Katherine slides them out, a receipt from Boots falls out with them. It is dated 1998.

  “You’ve had these a while.” Katherine says, suddenly wishing she hadn’t come here and really wishing she hadn’t offered to play hairdressers. Sure she is feeling randy, and yes, this daft girl with her straight, boring hair and slim figure, would be a suitable fucking partner, but Christ, she is so dull!

  She plugs them in. The smell of burning hair fills the room. Pulling a face, Petra waves her arms around and opens a window. The smell disperses and they set to work.

  It takes Katherine ages, but finally she has curled Petra’s hair. Petra sits like a stone throughout, not moving a muscle and barely speaking. Her face, though, when she finally takes a look at the finished product is delighted and she claps her hands together, thanking Katherine profusely and telling her she is wonderful.

  Katherine, relieved its bloody over, tells her she is welcome.

  “But it is beautiful!” Petra exclaims, twirling around in front of the mirror. “I look just like you!?

  Yeah, in your dreams.

  “I’m glad you like it.”

  “I love it! Thank you, thank you!”

  And she flings her arms around Katherine’s neck. Katherine wishes she wouldn’t. She’s starting to get very bored with this strange, foreign woman and she is suddenly very glad she lives miles away, because she has the awful feeling Petra might want her to be a life long friend.

  Petra blows gently in her ear. “You.” She breaths, “are very pretty lady.”

  Katherine stiffens. Oh yes?

  “And I would like to pay you for lift.”

  Now Katherine smiles. “You already have.” She reminds her. “The coffee?”

  “Is not enough I think.”

  Petra’s hand slides down her arm and takes her hand. Gently she pulls her towards the bed. “And I must pay you for my hair. It is only right.”

  They sit on the edge. Their thighs touching. Katherine can smell Petra’s perfume, mingled with the aroma of roast dinners. Petra’s arm goes around her waist. They look at each other, their faces only inches apart and their lips drift closer. Closer.

  The kiss sends a tingle down Katherine’s spine and her hands reach out to pull the other woman closer. It is an awkward angle to be kissing at, twisted round like this, but Petra knows how to solve it and with the smallest of pressures, she encourages Katherine to fall back onto the bed with her. Their legs are still dangling off the edge though and with a little effort, they hitch themselves up until their heads reach the pillows and they can kiss each other comfortably.

  Petra is the one who eventually breaks it off. “You kiss well.” She smiles, brushing hair out of her face. “I wasn’t sure you would like.”

  “Oh, I like.” Katherine smiles, quite happy to dismiss her earlier opinion of the Polish waitress. “What else do you do?”

  “Else?”

  “Yes. Clearly you like girls, so what else have you got to offer?”

  Petra smiles. She understands perfectly well what Katherine means and kissing the tip of Katherine’s nose, she climbs from the bed and walks round to stand beside her.

  Katherine, turning over, lies on her side and supports her head with a bent arm.

  “You mean something like this?” Petra says and unbuttons her jeans. They slide easily down her toned legs and over her white socks. She is wearing white, cotton panties with lace trim around the waist.

  Now she buries her thumbs in the top of them and teasingly eases them down a couple of centimeters. “You want to see more?” She asks, biting her lower lip. “You maybe, want to fuck me?”

  Katherine nods. She can’t believe her luck or how amazingly easy this has been! It’s like she wished for a fuck, and hey-presto along comes this foreign beauty.

  “Let me see you.” She says, reaching over to stroke Petra’s thigh. It is very soft. “I want to see your cunt.”

  Petra slides down her panties. Her fluff has been shaved into a neat ‘ landing strip’. Spreading her legs, she reaches down and parts her pussy lips, giving Katherine the perfect view of glistening, pink skin.

  “I think you’d like to taste me?” Petra says, climbing onto the bed. “Lie on your back.”

  Katherine doesn’t need telling twice and in an instant Petra’s knees are either side of her head. “Lick me.” She says. “Give me pleasure.”

  Katherine grabs her thighs and pulls her close. She can smell the warm, clean fragrance of pussy as Petra lowers her cunt nearer to her face. Her back, she notices, does not seem to be bothering her now.

  Katherine darts out her tongue and delicately touches Petra’s clit. It is the lightest of brushes, yet Petra gasps and Katherine actually sees juice ooze from her vagina. She licks her again, a little harder this time and her tongue scoops up the liquid to savour. Swallowing, she finds the entrance to her cunt and winds her tongue inside, feeling the heat envelop her and Petra’s thigh muscles twitch on either side of her head. Holding her legs tighter, she probes her with her tongue then whips it free to run it along the silky smooth channel between cunt and clit. Petra is soaking and plump and she teases Petra’s clit with barely there touches until Petra starts to squirm and gasp and beg to be fucked.

  Katherine figures she’s probably earned it and so she does as she is asked, and moving her right hand to the inside of Petra’s leg, she inserts her thumb into her cunt and pushes it up as far as it will go.

  In response, Petra groans deeply and her knees sag a little, causing her pussy to press ever closer to Katherine’s face. Katherine doesn’t let it go to waste and with her thumb pumping in and out of Petra’s soaking wet and very warm cunt, she uses her tongue to find and torment her clit, running it over and around before pressing the tip of it hard against the swollen nub, causing Petra to shake almost uncontrollably.

  “I am.. coming!” Petra gasps and her legs give a little more, mashing her sopping pussy against Katherine’s face until Katherine’s tongue can barely move against the pressure and she is finding it difficult to breath. In response, she works her thumb, shoving it harder and faster into Petra’s cunt. Keeping the strokes firm and swift whilst Petra’s muscles twitch around her and sticky juices run down her hand, her wrist.

  The smell of sex hangs heavy in the air.

  The sound of Petra rushing towards orgasm is all she can hear.

  She thrusts and with a final grunt, Petra comes, riding Katherine’s thumb like she has a dildo between her legs. Her pussy is molten and squashed hard against Katherine’s face. Her pussy lips are soft and yielding. A mushy pillow that envelopes everything it touches.

  Petra comes and shouts something in Polish before collapsing onto the bed in an undignified heap. Her thighs are slick with juices and she writhes with the tiny jolts from orgasmic after shock whilst Katherine watches her, licking her thumb dry and hoping it is now her turn for some seriou
s fucking. Her pussy is aching with the need to be touched and she is sure she has creamed her knickers.

  Eventually Petra sits up and it is only then that Katherine realises she never got to see her breasts. They are still buried under her top. Her hair she notices is already beginning to lose its curl.

  But before she can say anything, Petra is on her feet, one leg already sliding inside her panties.

  “I make drink.” She says, stepping into her jeans. “You must be thirsty.”

  Randy more like, Katherine thinks but she accepts the offer. Might be a good idea to put some moisture in before she lets anymore out.

  Petra leaves the room and Katherine stretches out on the bed. Her groin feels warm and is throbbing slightly. Gently she gives herself a little squeeze and writhes with anticipation when a ripple of pleasure shudders along her cunt. God, she needs a good fuck. Especially after that little lot. Maybe she can get Petra to flash her tits as well. Bet she has amazing nipples. Wonder if they’re pierced?

  The quiet alerts her to the fact something is wrong. Petra has apparently left the bedroom to make a drink but why is there no hiss of water filling a kettle? Or the clink of wine glasses? Why is there no sound of anything?

  Katherine gets up. The bed creaks a little, but not too loudly.

  Walking to the door, she peers out. The narrow strip of hallway is empty. There is no sound as she walks along its short length. At the end she again sneaks a peek round the door leading into the lounge and sees Petra sitting on one of the grey sofas, carefully going through her handbag.

  It is enough to make Katherine freeze, before her face sets into full ‘ ice queen bitch’, mode.

  She takes a deep breath.

  “And what do you think you’re doing?” She demands, nostrils flaring to let it all out again as Petra looks up in surprise and panic. “Looking for payment for services rendered?”

  “I.. don’t.. understand.” Petra flounders. “Services...?”

  “Oh, don’t give me that innocent, I don’t speak the language shit!” Katherine says, wrenching her handbag out of Petra’s hands. “You know perfectly well what I mean.”

  “I know ‘perfectly well’ that you come here hoping to take advantage!” Petra bites back, giving up the charade. “It is only fair that I take payment.”

  “Right. So you’re a prostitute now as well as a thief.”

  “I am not a thief!”

  Katherine laughs. It’s worse being a thief than a prostitute? Petra’s stance is amusing, but it doesn’t detract from the reality that she was trying to steal from her. “Yes you are!” She reiterates. “I don’t know about where you come from, but here, going through someone’s else’s handbag without their permission, is called theft! And that’s what you are, a nasty, little thief! Does the pub know what you get up to?”

  Petra rises to her feet. “You will not tell pub.” She says, hands clenched into fists. “I lose job.”

  “Yeah? Well, you should have thought of that before you went through my things. And I am going to have to tell them. I doubt they will want someone who goes through their customer’s belongings working for them.”

  Petra slaps her. It’s not gentle and there certainly isn’t any warning. She just lashes out, catching Katherine across the side of the face and causing her to take a couple of stumbling steps backwards, dropping her handbag to the floor.

  “You bitch!” Katherine cries, clutching her cheek. “How dare you!” And she moves forwards herself, shoving Petra in the chest and sending her sprawling back against the sofa.

  Leaning over her, she points a finger at her face. “I’ll..”

  But Katherine doesn’t get any further. Petra has grabbed her hair and is pulling and suddenly she has no choice but to go with it, her head and neck twisted back at an awkward angle until Petra’s angry face is inches from her own. “You tell pub.” She hisses, “I kill you.”

  “Fuck off!” Katherine hisses and pounds her fist into Petra’s stomach. The effect is instant and Petra’s mouth opens in pain as she releases Katherine’s hair in favour of clutching her midriff. A stream of Polish issues from her lips.

  Katherine looms over her. “You.” She says quietly, running her hand through her hair, “do not mess with me!”

  “Fuck you!”

  “Yeah? I think you’ll find that was the other way round. Goodbye Petra. I suggest you start looking through the ‘situations vacant’ pretty soon.”

  Katherine turns and picks up her handbag. The contents are all over the place but there doesn’t appear to be anything missing. She opens her purse and checks the notes. She isn’t about to leave a hefty tip here.

  It is a mistake. She has given Petra time to recover and in a rush of movement she is on her again. Shoving Katherine roughly to the floor, the edge of the table missing her face by inches as she lands heavily, the weight of the girl on her back keep her pinned down. Her handbag goes flying again, her lipstick rolling out and disappearing under the sofa, whilst above her, Petra is screaming in Polish and trying to grab her hair. Katherine screams herself and reaches back to grab Petra’s wrists. She drives her nails into her skin, feeling them sink into the flesh before Petra yelps in pain and her hands disappear, giving Katherine a precious second to quickly roll over onto her back. But Petra is waiting and she slaps her far harder than last time, the blow bringing stinging tears to Katherine’s eyes.

  “Cunt!” Katherine hisses and reaches for Petra’s throat. Her hands grip strongly and she sees Petra’s eyes first widen in surprise and then in alarm as she struggles to prize Katherine’s away from her windpipe. But Katherine has the advantage and she squeezes even tighter, watching her thumbs sink into the pale flesh, listening to Petra gasp and choke and make small whining noises.

  She knows she is killing her.

  She knows it.

  She knows that if she doesn’t release the Polish woman very soon, she will start to go limp and red in the face and then she will die, but she really doesn’t care.

  The power is on her! That wonderful feeling of strength, of invincibility. It is surging through her veins like a powerful narcotic, filling her with energy and exuberance.

  She can do anything! Anything!

  It is amazing!

  Petra is fighting, her whole body now jiggling and twitching in an effort to escape this deadly embrace. Katherine holds on. Her eyes bright and shining. This is it! This is the defining moment! If she lets go now, Petra will live. She will have a throat the colour of the Northern lights, but she’ll go on breathing. If she doesn’t, she will die.

  Petra’s bulging eyes are pleading with her, her hands flapping ineffectually at her throat like exhausted butterflies. Her tongue is starting to protrude from between her teeth. Only the smallest of sounds are escaping her. Please..

  Katherine hangs on. She cannot let go. Her hands will physically not obey her.

  The power is within her, driving her on. She squeezes. Grits her teeth, squeezes some more. Harder, tighter.

  Petra is gone.

  Smiling Katherine begrudgingly lets go. She is buzzing. High as a kite. Her whole body is tingling with adrenaline, and she feels like she is plugged into the mains. Her cunt, though, is still throbbing and shoving the dead woman aside, she unzips her jeans, thrusts her hands inside her panties and fingers herself until she comes in one huge, shuddering orgasm.

  Chapter Eight

  Katherine is back at the house her uncle left her. It’s a little after nine in the evening and her headlights sweep expansively across the front of the house before she switches them off and darkness again collapses over everything.

  She turns off the engine, then sits quietly behind the wheel, her head numb from recent events. She has killed Petra, her second victim, yet she feels nothing and the knowledge sits silently in her head. There is no s
creaming nor shouting nor striving to make her feel bad. It just sits, as mundane a piece of information as her shopping list.

  The flat has been left spotless. Petra’s abundant supply of bleach and cleaning materials making the task of cleaning up an easy one. She has wiped everywhere she touched. The sheets from the bed have been shoved into the washing machine on a hot wash. The glass she used scrubbed clean and shoved back in the cupboard. The curling tongs back in their ancient old box and slid under the bed. There is nothing to connect her with the killing, and even if some bright spark at the local constabulary does manage to connect Angela’s and Petra’s deaths, though she’s damned if she can see how, there is nothing to find that will lead them to her.

  Except...

  ..oh shit!

  Her bloody lipstick? She saw it roll under the sofa, but she forgot to pick it up again. How could she have been so stupid!?

  Her fingers grip the steering wheel as panic flutters around her heart.

  She forces herself to calm down.

  It’ll be okay. It’s just a lipstick. Sure it’s crawling with her DNA, but she’s not on file remember, she’ll be okay.

  Maybe they’ll think it’s Petra’s?

  And maybe not.

  How many Polish barmaids does she know who wear Dior?

  Screw it. She can’t go back now.

  And besides, after her cleaning sensation, she’d trashed the place. Quietly. Turning over sofas and sweeping pictures and ornaments off shelves. She’d broken several figurines under cushions to dampen the sound and then scattered the bits, then pulled out drawers of clothes and pulled back some of the carpet in the bedroom as if searching for a safe in the floor. She’d done a good job. A thorough job.

  But it still might be a good idea to get the hell out of dodge.

  “We’re going back to London.”

  Katherine is in the hallway facing Megan, who wearing a red bath robe over tartan pyjamas has clearly been enjoying an evening of total slob. Proof of which can be seen through the open door of the lounge behind her. A spread eagled book, a half eaten bar of fruit and nut, and an empty glass of wine, definitely slob material.