Th King in Yellow Chapter Twenty-two

GRIGORI’S KITCHEN

A six-wheeled, government-surplus transporter rolled along the driveway of the convent and drew up at the rear of the building. Pierre climbed out of the cab and went to open the door at the rear. One by one Zora, Maria, Eva and Kristina jumped down and lined up in the twilight. While he searched for the key, a woman’s shrill scream broke from somewhere inside the building, and Kristina started in alarm. Pierre turned to her and spoke calmly in his cultured voice.

“Do not be afraid, little one. Your death is assured, and you will scream when it is time”. He put a gentle hand to her face. “You are meat. Meat need never be afraid”. She kissed his palm and blushed prettily. He opened the cellar door and led them down a narrow flight of steps to a small room where the furnace made the air oppressive and it was a welcome relief to be ordered to strip. The women pulled off their clothes and shoes.

“Everything goes in here,” Pierre told them, swinging open the furnace door “belts and boots as well. Yes, and watches. You won’t need any of them”. They tossed rings and necklaces onto the glowing coals, delicate wisps of French and Italian lingerie bought especially for the occasion. Maria wore only two hoops in her ears and a wedding ring, so she was the first to turn to help Kristina; by the end, all three were working at the defrocked nun’s multiple piercings with trembling fingers while she stood passive under their ministrations. When her skin was utterly denuded of steel and silver Pierre slammed the heavy door closed again. He guided them up a wooden staircase and held the door at the top with old-fashioned courtesy. It led to the kitchen.

As they trooped in, they saw a nude girl barely out of her teens hanging by a steel hook from the rafters. She was freshly killed, and streaks of blood still ran over her round belly from deep gashes in her full breasts. Pierre paused to gather some on his fingertip and tasted it absently.

“Good evening, Pierre” said Grigori from behind the hanging corpse. He was naked save for an apron and boots as he worked on the pale torso of a butchered woman, hacking off the one remaining arm before rolling the carcass into a huge steel dish. Surrounded by cuts of meat, with female hands and feet placed to one side and bowls of livers and kidneys brimming with blood ranged about him, he licked juices from his fingers and grinned. “Tonight” he told them, “you will find out how good a woman tastes”. And he turned back to his preparations.

“They should see this” Pierre said, signalling his charges to wait. The women stared, fascinated, while Grigori rubbed a thick sauce into the flesh of the body and deftly sewed up the great gash where the innards had been pulled out. Gleefully he took a long roasting spit from the side and, with a grunt of exertion, drove it right through the corpse from cunt to neck. None of them could take her eyes from the glossy, white flesh of the slaughtered victim. Maria’s eyes were drawn to the little tattoo of a butterfly on the corpse’s hip. Grigori wiped his hands down his apron and then, laughing, pulled it off to use as a hand towel. His cock stood as hard as wood against his round belly. His eyes met Maria’s and he reached out to squeeze her breast. She howled her excitement and almost buckled at the knees but he moved past her to where the new girl-corpse hung. He took the warm body in his brawny arms and lifted it from the hook over to his butcher’s block. Laying his victim next to the skewered torso he spread the limp legs and aimed his pulsing prick into the dead cunt, still glistening wetly. As he fed it easily inside, he looked over his shoulder at Maria.

“I will have you here, like this” he promised and began to thrust maniacally, flushed and sweating. The dead woman’s head rolled from side to side and her legs flapped loosely. Maria cried out, gripped by an intense orgasm, and Kristina put out an arm to steady her as she fell sideways against the wall in a spasm. They all watched entranced until at last Grigori threw back his head, his face frozen in a fierce snarl, and spurted from the crotch to the breasts. He snorted and shook his greying curls from his face.

“You!” he commanded, eyeing Maria knowingly where she lay slumped in a corner with her hands balled into fists and clenched between her thighs. Rising obediently, she looked from the pools of warm spunk on the dead girl’s stomach to Grigori’s face then, at his nod, fell on the corpse like a starved bitch – licking and sucking ravenously until no drop remained.

He hoisted the prepared torso over to a roasting-jack in the open fireplace and positioned the meat to be slowly roasted. Casually, Grigori slapped Eva’s arse then turned to Maria and pressed his fingers briefly but roughly into her dripping cunt. He returned to his cooking and Pierre led them further into the building, towards the sound of music and screams.

 

KATYA’S SACRIFICE

After looking at her watch for the tenth time Katya finally allowed herself to check the street outside. She went to the window just as a blue van drove around the corner and parked outside the high security unit. The passenger door opened and closed again – the arranged signal.