**Part 2.5: Hunger**
**Laura**
A knock on the door. This one was gentle, like a tree branch in the wind on the side of a building. Laura opened her eyes. The details of her dream quickly ran from her. She was in bed, a cat of some sort crawled up on her lap. She was naked. She pet the cat. It purred and rubbed against her. Then it bit her breast and fled. But Laura didn’t shriek in pain or wake up. She felt the tiny sliver of blood run down her breast and sighed with relief.
“Come in,” she said. Already, her voice felt stronger. Jacque really was a miracle man.
The door opened to reveal Camille. She was in a beautiful navy blue dress. It was form fitting, tightly sculpted to her body. It stopped only inches below her waist. Beside the miles and miles of legs, it was modest. No cleavage or plunging neckline. Her shoulders were covered, but small cut outs along it revealed peeks of skin. Her curly and kinky hair was down, cascading over her shoulders and down her back. She smiled when she saw Laura.
How could Laura not smile back?
With Camille was a strange and short man. He had grey and balding hair. He wore glasses and a three piece brown suit. He only came up to Camille’s shoulder in height.
“Good morning,” sighed Laura. She reclined back into the pillow, relaxing.
“Are you feeling better?” asked Camille as she came in. The short man followed behind her.
“A little, yes. Food helped.”
“Excellent.” Camille stepped to the side and gestured to the short man. “This is Dr. Spielsdorf. He’s an old friend.” Camille smiled, but the doctor looked less comfortable. “He’ll be looking after you. You’re in excellent care. Isn’t she, doctor?”
“Y-y-yes,” stuttered the man. He sounded like a cartoon character, impossible to take seriously.
“Then go to work.” Camille gestured towards Laura. Laura started to sit up, but Dr. Spielsdorf motioned for her to relax. The doctor pulled away the covers, and Laura panicked, hoping he wouldn’t see any evidence of her touching herself.
Thankfully, there wasn’t any puddle or stain, but Laura expected there to be one. Also, the good doctor never touched her below the waist. He did a routine exam, listening to her body and asking if this or that hurt.
Camille watched the doctor with intense interest, but when she spoke, it had nothing to do with Laura’s heath: “Were you comfortable with the Muse Session last night?”
“Uh … what?” asked Laura. The doctor had his head almost against her chest.
“The Muse Session. Some girls don’t stay very long. They’re not comfortable with it.”
“I … uh …. No. I mean … I was fine. It didn’t bother me. My roommate was pretty wild in college. I’ve seen plenty.”
“Ah, yes.” Camille smiled. “But now you participate.”
“I mean. I read,” admitted Laura. She tried not to get explicit with the doctor right next to her. What would he say or think about their literature orgy?
“Which do you think pleasures me more: Graumann’s tongue or Marcilla’s words?”
Laura looked at Dr. Spielsdorf, but he didn’t miss a beat. “Graumann?” suggest Laura.
“I can hire anyone to be Graumann. Not everyone can read Marcilla like you did last night.”
“Oh.”
Silence fell over them. The doctor stepped away from Laura and rummaged through a bag he had brought with him. Camille’s eyes never left Laura’s. She wanted to shiver, to show her discomfort, but she didn’t want to offend. She didn’t want it to end.
“I … uh … think I blacked out at some point in the middle or something. After you … uh … after you … ummm …” Laura glanced back at the doctor.
“Orgasmed, dear. It’s just a word. You’ll read it plenty in your work for me.”
“Seemed like more than a word last night.” Laura watched the doctor, but he either couldn’t hear, understand, or care about what they were talking about.
Camille smiled. “Yes, it is always something special. But you were not disturbed?”
“It was nothing stranger than some pride parades I’ve been to.”
“Excellent.” Camille looked to the doctor for the first time. “Doctor, will she be able to read to me tonight?”
“She may need to be weclined,” said the doctor, his voice sounding like his mouth was thick with cotton balls. “But she should be alwight to wead. Nothing mo stwenuous.”
“Thank you, doctor. You may leave.” Camille stepped aside, showing the doctor the door. The little man scrambled to pack up his things and vanished.
“I look forward to hearing you tonight.”
Camille didn’t turn to leave. She didn’t pause to look out the window or find something else to talk about. She held Laura fixed in her gaze. Her eyes urged Laura to talk. Laura wished she could pull up the covers. The doctor didn’t notice, but surely Camille knew. Camille could smell the lust and shame on Laura.
“I was wondering …” confessed Laura.
“Yes?”
“About the book you had me reading.”
“Yes.”
Camille slinked towards the bed and sat gracefully on it. Her eyes never left Laura.
“I’ve never heard of Marcilla.”
“She is certainly lesser known. She was a lesbian, as I’m sure you’ve inferred from the first poem. She was a kind of Sappho of the Elizabethan era, but she wasn’t surrounded by open-minded Greeks like Sappho was. She was persecuted and hunted. Most traces of her works were destroyed. That book is a rare treasure of mine.”
“Will I be reading her tonight?” asked Laura.
Camille leaned towards Laura. “We will read it every night until you tire of it.”
“Uh … thanks …” said Laura. She looked away from Camille, looking out the window. She couldn’t bear another second of eye contact, another moment of Camille looking at her and looking into her, of devouring her with her eyes. “I look forward to it,” whimpered Laura.
Camille patted Laura’s lap, like she would a small child, and stood. “Perhaps you should walk the grounds bit. Build up your strength. It’s stuffy in here.”
Camille didn’t wait for a response before leaving. Laura didn’t offer one. She did need to get out of bed. She needed a shower and to stand on her own two feet, to stretch her back. When she stood, she felt the room spin. She grabbed the corner of her bed and steadied herself. She needed to focus. She wanted to read more that night.
She had to read more.
**********
Laure felt much better after a shower. She decided to walk to the kitchen instead of call for something to eat. Jacque didn’t speak in much more than grunts or broken English with a thick accent, but the desire for soup got across. The soup helped even more than the shower.
After that, she walked the grounds. The sun felt good on her skin. The mansion was always a bit stuffy and dark, but that helped it feel authentic and luxurious. Laura was almost shocked to see the twenty-first century waiting for her outside the front door. Cars. Skyscrapers. Streetlights.
Honestly, it all felt a little busy compared to Camille’s little nook. It was like Laura had found the adult version of Narnia. Behind those doors was a whole other world with orgies and erotic poetry and smutty writing. It was two hundred or more years ago, and Camille was a Baroness or Duchess.
But the outside was loud. And bright. People honked their horns. Everyone was on their phone as they walked: either talking, texting, or listening to something. Everything wanted her attention. Time was faster here, but it wasn’t more pleasant for the speed.
Unfortunately, cell phones are a plague, and Laure felt hers heavy in her pocket. Her mistake with Claire made her want to check in with her dad. For all she knew, Claire had called him yesterday claiming Laura had been kidnapped.
“Hello?” her dad’s soft voice came through on the other side.
“Hey Dad,” said Laura through her smile. Claire was her roommate, but her dad was her best friend. Her mom died in childbirth, and they were all the other had in the world. They both loved reading for hours and hours at a time. He gave her a love of stories and writing. They could sit for days at home, reading next to each other, eating at the same time with a book out, and not say a word. But they always felt close. Her father’s silence was familiar to her, like a favorite blanket.
“Hey you,” he said back. She could hear his smile.
“Did Claire call you?”
“Why would Claire … did you two have another fight?”
“No. Nothing like that. It’s just, she was freaking out yesterday and I figured she would call you.”
“Why was she freaking out?” asked her dad. “Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s great.” Laura felt it sounded a little forced, but it was true. Everything was great. She was freaking out a little this morning, but she’d been feeling better since Nikki visited and she ate. Camille helped too. And the doctor didn’t say anything was wrong with her. Yeah. Great. She felt great.
“I got the job.”
“That’s great! Oh, sweetie, I’m so proud of you!” Laura brimmed with energy and delight to hear that from her father. For months she was afraid she wouldn’t accomplish anything, wouldn’t put her degree to use. She would be another failed English major, another useless aspiring writer, another person who wanted to study books and instead, wasted their tuition on semi-professional book clubs.
But she wasn’t that now. She was a copy editor. She had a job. She lived on a lush estate. She hadn’t failed him. She was doing something with her silly love of books. And maybe Camille would be a good contact to get her foot into the industry. Maybe Camille could look over some of the stories Laura had written or even blurb Laura’s first book. Anything was possible now. Everything was moving so fast.
“Wait,” said her father, “Claire was freaking out because you got the job?”
“Yes, but no.” Laura chewed on her bottom lip.
“Explain.”
“Well, the job came with some unexpected perks. One of which, was a new place to stay.”
“They gave you your own apartment?!”
“Sort of?” squeaked Laura. She was afraid if he knew the whole truth, than her whole fantasy would crumble down. Her dad would tell her that this wasn’t safe. She needed to get out. But Laura didn’t want to leave. She could feel the house pulling on her to stay, to make a life there. Even now, she felt the house urging her to go inside, to get out of the bright sun and noisy city.
“Explain.”
Laura sighed. “Part of working here is an intense privacy thing. They want me to live on the grounds, in the same estate that Camille does.”
“You live with her?”
“Not like that!” squeaked Laura as she blushed. “I live on the opposite wing. The house is unbelievably huge. It’s *Secret Garden* huge.”
“And is she a Mr. Craven?”
“Not at all,” smiled Laura. “She’s something else entirely. I’ve never met someone like her before.”
“But you’re safe? You’re sure?”
“Safe as houses. Mansions, in fact. Safe as mansions.”
“That’s strange, asking you to move in,” said her father. She could hear him running it through his mind, trying to figure it out.
“She has staff that live there. It’s like that. I live on the same floor with the other staff. It keeps me nearby. She prioritizes her privacy and she works weird hours. She didn’t start writing last night until almost midnight.”
“Wow. So she’s one of those needy artists that can only write if everyone around her is wearing yellow?”
*Or nothing at all*, thought Laura. “Something like that.”
“But you’re okay?” asked Laura.
“Yes.”
“You’d tell me if you weren’t?”
“Of course.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
It wasn’t technically a lie. Laura was okay. Sure, she was sick, but she was feeling much better. She didn’t need to worry her father with the strange details of the muse sessions, and she’d die before she ever talked to her dad about sex. He wouldn’t even let her read *Mrs. Dalloway* in high school (she read it at the library anyway), and that book was scandalously tame. There was a hint of a rumor of a potential sighting of a potential kiss between two women. That’s it.
No, she wasn’t going to tell her father about the poem orgy.
“Do you need help moving out?” he asked.
“Oh, no. Her servants packed all my stuff and moved it for me.”
“Ah, hence the Claire freak-out,” said her father.
“Hence.”
“Did they forget anything? Do you need anything? I can send you some of those veggie straws you love so much. Or I can …”
Her dad kept talking, but Laura wasn’t listening. She saw something move off in the distance, on the grounds. It looked like a person, a girl. She had shoulder length hair. It was platinum blonde, almost white.
“Hey Dad?” asked Laura.
“Yeah.”
“Can I call you back tomorrow?”
“Sure.”
“K. Bye.” Laura didn’t wait for her dad to respond. She was already moving, following the girl. Was she a child? She seemed short from a distance. Laura walked around the corner of the house. There was a grove of trees behind the house, and Laura saw the wisp of white hair fade into the trees. Who was that girl? Is she the same maid that ran out of Camille’s room the night before? Did that girl have white hair? Laura couldn’t remember. And the girl just now, the one that ran off into the trees wasn’t dressed as a maid.
Laura wanted to follow, but the sun was going down. It would be time for dinner soon and then the Muse Session. Laura didn’t want to miss another chance to read Marcilla. More than that, she didn’t want disappoint Camille, who went through so much trouble to make sure Laura was ready for tonight.
Laura went off to eat. She spent the meal gossiping with Nikki. Apparently, Nikki had some stories that Angelica wasn’t as uptight as she appeared to be. Yes, Angelica was kind, but she was a stickler for the rules and way things should be. Laura had a flash of Angelica’s face as she called her a child earlier that day.
Yes, Angelica could be uptight.
Nikki was excited to go out tonight. She had a blind date with someone Jacque had set her up with. Apparently, her date didn’t speak a word of English, but Nikki didn’t mind. She didn’t plan on doing much talking.
Laura needed Nikki to ramble on. She was getting nervous as the Muse Session approached. The first night, Laura had no idea what she was getting herself into. But now she knew she would see Camille again, naked. She would get to read Marcilla’s words. She would hear Camille orgasm and feel it shake the room.
Laura didn’t go back to her room after dinner. She couldn’t sit still. Instead, she paced the halls of the mansion. She explored, looking for shortcuts and new paths to get around. She also kept her eye out for the girl with white hair. She didn’t see her. In fact, she didn’t see anyone. It’s like the rest of the house lay in wait for the Muse Session or drew themselves towards Camille, caught in her gravity. They made sure everything was perfect for the session, and more importantly, that everything was ready for Camille to write when things were finished.
Laura changed her clothes as the time approached. She wasn’t trying to attract Camille’s attention. It wasn’t about Laura. It was about Marcilla and Laura K. Everything else was an echo, an imitation of their dance. But it felt wrong to come dressed casually. What was going to happen tonight was sacred. It was sexual. It was power.
Miss Lancaster wasn’t there to greet her tonight. Nikki was there, making sure things were tidy and ready. Laura looked for Graumann and Jacque, but only Jacque was there. He already had his shirt off, and he was holding the bowl of chocolate-covered strawberries sitting in a larger bowl of ice, keeping them chilled. Laura could hear Angelica talking to Camille in the bathroom.
Instead of a stool, there was a comfortable armchair waiting for Laura. Next to the armchair was a small table. There was the book. Laura wanted to take it, to grab the book and storm out of the room. She wanted to abandon the whole session and sit in her room with Marcilla’s words, to imagine herself as Laura K, to be Marcilla’s prize, her obsession. She wanted to be alone with Marcilla, not in the presence of Graumann and Jacque.
But she waited. Camille wanted her to read. She would read.
Angelica came out of the bathroom. Laura gasped when she saw her. The short blonde was in black lace panties and a gorgeous bra and nothing else. She seemed completely at ease in almost nothing with Laura, Camille, and Jacque to look at her.
“Camille says you can take a seat,” said Angelica to Laura. Then, she got on her knees in front of the bed, right where Graumann had been the night before.
Laura sat in her spot and waited for Camille to come out.
Camille was a vision in a sleek black dress. It looked like she’d come from an upscale cocktail party. Laura expected the robe again or for Camille to be naked. But Camille stood in front of the bed while Jacque unzipped her. She stepped out and turned to Laura.
“Are you feeling well enough for this?”
“Of course,” breathed Laura.
Camille’s skin caught all the light in the room. It was moonlight or what moonlight aspired to be. It was the white of a fang, and Camille’s body cut through the darkness of the night.
“You may begin, but do not skip ahead. I believe “Proper” is next. And go slow. I want Angelica to work with your rhythm.”
Laura looked at Angelica on her knees in front of Camille with an eager look on her face.
Oh.
“Read to me, Laura,” commanded Camille.
Tingles rushed over Laura’s skin. Yes, of course she would read. She opened the old book. She was delicate with the pages, knowing how old it was and how rare it was. She flipped past the “The Yawn” and arrived at “Proper.”
Laura looked back up. Camille sat on the bed. Jacque took his position sitting next to her. He had the strawberries ready for her. Camille spread her legs, and Angelica moved in, placing herself above Camille’s crotch. Angelica wanted to start, but Camille kept Angelica’s mouth at a distance.
“Wait for Marcilla,” whispered Camille. She looked up at Laura and nodded.
Laura looked down at the page and began:
***Proper***
*The women drape themselves*
*Over couches, each fanning,*
*Each panting in heat.*
*Stout servants bring chipped ice*
*Rubbed over pudgy forearms*
*Or behind short necks,*
*Up hair, tightly bunned*
*To fight the sweat I don’t have.*
*Nor does Miss Karnstein.*
*Her drowsy eyes amble out the window;*
*The moor gives nothing back.*
*No gossip like the hens about us,*
*Clucking about Michelangelo,*
*And the prospects of Mr. Prufrock.*
*But Miss Karnstein isn’t hungry*
*For rumors.*
That wasn’t right. Marcilla couldn’t have known about Prufrock. T.S. Eliot wouldn’t write that poem for at least two or three centuries.
The sounds of Angelica’s licking lifted Laura’s eyes off the page. Already, strawberry juice was running down Camille’s chin. But tonight, Camille wasn’t patient. She kept her hand in Angelica’s hair and held Angelica’s mouth against her pussy.
The room was filled with soft panting: Camille, Angelica, and Laura. They were all hungry. Hungry for Marcilla as Marcilla was hungry for them.
*A maid passes chilled peaches*
*On delicate saucers with knives.*
*The women gasp with delight,*
*Each taking one dish and knife,*
*But not my Laura, so not I.*
*She takes the tender peach*
*And buries her thick teeth*
*Into the pale flesh.*
*Juice spills down her chin,*
*But the women do not see.*
*I see the drop I desire,*
*The nectar down her neck,*
*A neck never kissed with*
*The long tongue of sunlight.*
The peach. Laura’s peach. The one in her dream. It was fuzzy before, but now it was clear. It was cool and running down her chin, over her hands. It was sticky. Everything was sticky. Was Camille watching? Did she know?
Did Marcilla know?
Laura pulled her hand away from her neck. How long was it there? She looked up. Jacque was gone. There was only Angelica and Camille now. Where did Jacque go? Angelica was naked. One hand had slipped into Angelica’s pussy. She pumped way while Camille kept Angelica’s mouth pinned to her pussy.
Laura wanted to slide a hand to her own pussy. She wanted to join them, but she wanted to know more. She wanted to know what happened to Laura K. Did Marcilla finally get her prize? Laura read on:
*I am at once the peach*
*And the juice and the neck,*
*Devoured and devouring each inch*
*Of Laura Karnstein in the grey*
*Noon light. Private*
*In our impropriety*
*As the drop mingles with her sweat,*
*Drawing deep into her bosom,*
*My eyes trailing and barred.*
Already, Camille was moaning. Was she cumming? So soon?
“Fuck,” hissed Camille. “Do it, Angelica. Do it. Eat it.” Camille growled. Was she dreaming she was the peach? Was she Laura or Marcilla? Who was devouring whom? Laura read on. She wanted more. Camille wanted more. Angelica wanted more. They needed the words. The words running over their bodies. The words calling them deeper into themselves, into their lusts, into the places of wildest abandon.
Camille howled with pleasure as Laura read:
*I sigh, the spell broken,*
*And see once more the room return:*
*The clinks of knives on dishes,*
*The soft pale blue of Laura’s eyes,*
*On me, knowing, and unashamed.*
Laura’s eyes were blue too. And as the room sagged back into reality, as the supernatural pulse faded, she ached to feel the spell break over her. But tonight she felt no shame. No embarrassment as Angelica fingered herself to orgasm, sprawled out on the floor. No awkwardness as Camille pinched her nipples. No fear as she watched Camille’s chest heave and fall with each needy breath. She was Laura, and Marcilla was watching over them all.
And as the room formerly known as debauchery faded to black, Laura only felt tomorrow’s hunger burning inside of her.
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Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/l52zq3/poetry_blood_part_25_ff_bdsm_mind_control_vampire