Curiosity Broke Kat - Chapter 1: Risky Business
My gut tells me I should turn around, leave and never come back...but I already accepted the goddamn contract. Using the moonlight to check my watch for the umpteenth time tonight, I sigh with relief, realising I'm still on schedule.
Three days ago, a woman had approached me, offering me a crazy sum of cash to sneak into her ex-husband's house and steal a ring. Being an odd-job sort of girl, it hadn't been the first time I took on such a mission. In fact, this particular lady had heard rumour of my services -- Katherine Bloomer's Risky Business --through a friend she met at her local yacht club...fucking rich people.
The job sounded easy enough...but standing here now, peering through the wrought iron bars and down the long lane to the country estate, I'm beginning to realise I should have charged her double. I sigh dramatically and resist the urge to tap my foot as I wait for the porch light to turn off, twiddling my long red hair before tying it up in a tight bun.
"And there it is," I say with a small smile as the porch is suddenly pitched in darkness. I tug my leather jacket tighter around me, pulling the zip up to my neck, then proceed to climb up and over the stone wall. Landing gracefully on the perfectly manicured lawn on the other side, I pick my way across the open gardens, pausing momentarily behind bushes to assess the area. It takes me a good four minutes of ducking and weaving through hedges to reach the west wing. The manor looms above, the main facade adorned with ivy and intricate store carvings which seem to catch the moonlight, emphasising its timeliness.
I pause, pressing my back to the wall as I catch my breath. According to the client, a library should be just beyond the window to my left. I edge along the wall, then lean my head to one side, peeking through the dirty, single pane window. It's quiet inside, vacant besides the endless shelves of books. Carefully, I slip my fingers under the window, and lift. Despite my client telling me the windows are never locked, I'm surprised when the glass lifts with ease, the mechanism still utilising the old victorian method of a string pulley system. Holding the window open with my shoulder, I lift my left leg inside, followed by my right, then slowly lower the pane without a sound.
The butler may be along soon...I should keep moving, but my feet stay rooted as I stare at the shelves surrounding the walls before me. My gaze travels up and up, the ceiling at double room height, with a mezzanine level featuring even more books. On the far wall is a fireplace, and just before that lies a soft, cream rug and three red Chesterfield sofas. I sigh, shoulders slumping slightly. I can only dream of having a library like this someday...such a room isn't for the likes of the lower class like me.
Shaking my head, I tip-toe over the old, rickety floor, towards an oak door with a stained glass window. Glancing through, I nearly groan when I see the hallway beyond painted red through the glass, almost like a bad omen. Nothing moves, no butler around to catch the cat-burglar creeping along the corridor. I open the door, grimacing when the old hinges creak. Waiting a moment, I hear no footsteps racing down the hall or doors opening inside the house, so I step out and continue towards my goal.
Creeping along the stone floor, I continue towards the grand staircase, my mouth dropping in awe of the solid oak beams and polished banister either side of the marble steps. My gloved hand rests on the curvaceous wood as I soundlessly climb the stairs. The second floor is just as opulent as below, with tapestries depicting naked women being carried away by medieval knights, or demons taking their unwilling victims on a bedroom floor. I pause at the final painting...there seems to be a theme going on here. The painted woman before me has her head thrown back in ecstasy, her arms tied above her head and a man between her thighs, his tongue tantalisingly close to her hairy pussy. I lick my lips without thinking, the gesture bringing me back to reality.
Last room on the right, last room on the right. I continue my mantra, ignoring the erotic depictions surrounding me and my suddenly very hard nipples. Sneaking into the far room, the curtains are open allowing moonlight to pour through the window and bathe the room in a soft glow. Thankfully the place is empty, just like the client said. Though, upon closer inspection, the duvet and blanket on a beautiful four-poster bed are all caked in a layer of dust, just as the small side table and chairs against the wall are equally dusty. She had informed me this was her room...how long had the couple been divorced?
Again, I shake my head. Not my problem, no need to concern myself. I march -- very quietly -- over to the chest of drawers. On top is a beautifully ornate mother-of-pearl jewellery box. I open the lid and inside is the gold ring I was contracted to steal, the diamond easily five carats and well above my pay grade...but something else catches my eye. A stunning but much less extravagant pair of pearl drop earrings. I pick them up to inspect the semi-precious stone in the low light of the moon, the glow only serving to enhance their beauty. I tuck the pair in my pocket, along with the gold diamond ring, then close the jewellery box.
Tiptoeing out of the room, I'm heading for the staircase when a dim, red light switches on down the opposite hallway...What was that about curiosity and the cat? I suppose dying of boredom is ultimately worse than dying from a little intrigue. I continue to watch the glowing red light, the way it lights up an entryway...inviting me...taunting me.
"Fuck it," I mumble to myself, abandoning my exit-strategy and heading for the possible death trap. My steps slow as a soft sound grows louder, a thumping noise nearly making me jump. My heart pounds in my chest, nipples still hard and pussy pulsating from the adrenaline when I finally recognise the sound.
Chains rattle and a woman moans just beyond the open door. Either I'm about to witness something traumatising, or something very private...or possibly both. I mean, who could turn away from that? With one hand planted on the doorjamb, I slowly lean my head in, and take a deep breath.
