**Chapter 4: New Appetite**
**Laura**
The sounds of slurping and sucking almost distracted Laura from Marcilla’s words.
Almost.
She looked up briefly. She still couldn’t believe Miss Lancaster was part of the Muse Sessions, but not only was the intimidating woman there, she was on her knees sucking Camille’s toes and worshipping every inch of Camille’s foot. Laura’s boss was naked, but she kept her heels on while she served Camille. They were bright blue power heels that Laura could never pull off. Her free hand was pounding away at her pussy, and the sound and scent of her lust filled the room.
She wasn’t alone. Angelica was here tonight as well. She was naked except for a garter belt that held nothing up. She wasn’t on the floor this week. Currently, she was on the bed with Camille, eagerly licking Camille’s clit and pumping three fingers in and out of Camille’s pussy.
Graumann and Jacque stopped coming to the Muse Sessions a few days ago. It was Angelica for a little while (Camille and Laura hadn’t been alone for a week), but two nights ago, Miss Lancaster joined them. There was no explanation or justification. Laura walked in, and Miss Lancaster was naked—except for her heels of course—and on her knees, waiting for Camille to step out of the bathroom.
Laura hesitated before reading further. Camille hadn’t cum yet. She didn’t want to start another poem if Camille was close, but each night, the Muse Sessions had gotten longer and longer. In the almost two weeks since Laura had arrived at the mansion, they’d covered almost half the book.
Camille thrashed on the bed for a moment, spasming. She was close. But when she sat up, glared at Laura, and pulled on Angelica’s hair—smothering the blonde with her pussy—Laura knew to read on to the next one:
***In Negative***
*When I step forward,*
*She does not flinch.*
*She does not look for*
*An insubstantial husband.*
*She does not turn an eye*
*To the women in the room.*
Marcilla was impatient with Laura K. With each poem, she wanted to know why Laura K would put up with such a traditional life if it bored her. Past poems were lengthy attacks on Laura’s husband and men in general. Some poems were agony as Marcilla speculated if Laura K was asexual. Her prey showed no more interest in women than men.
*When I take her hand,*
*She does not hesitate.*
*She does not ask*
*Where I am taking her.*
*She does not blush*
*Or look away from intimacy.*
Laura squirmed in her seat, sinking lower. Tonight might be the night. She lowered the book in her lap, pressing it down hard against her crotch. She wanted to cum, needed to cum, tonight. She hadn’t been able to since her one-on-one Muse Session with Camille. No matter what happened, she could only get close if she were reading Marcilla, and they never read long enough for her to climax. But tonight, with two poems, she might be able to get off. She lifted her hips, grinding into the book. She couldn’t stop reading, and she couldn’t start touching herself in front of Camille, but maybe she could use Marcilla to help her alone.
She entered deep into her own mind. One part of her focus was on the room with Camille and the girls, transcribing symbols into sounds, moving her tongue and her lips to read those symbols aloud as words. But the core of her mind was in the room with Laura K and Marcilla. She could see them, finally alone in a separate room. No watching women. No husbands or men of any kind. Marcilla is hungry, aching, and Laura K is intrigued but detached. She watches Marcilla out of curiosity more than desire. Marcilla can’t stop herself, she takes Laura K’s hand. Of course, the prey doesn’t mind. This is a more primal mating ritual. The predator must present herself, show her strength, fight off challengers. The woman, the prize, lounges in heat, deciding if the predator is worth spreading her legs.
*When I kiss her wrist,*
*She does not recoil.*
*She does not permit*
*Her pulse to quicken.*
*She does not play coy*
*As she sighs into it.*
Camille and Laura sighed at the same time. They burned with the words. Laura felt Marcilla’s kisses start at her wrist. They were dry, but the air tingled above the skin as the phantom lips pulled away. The chilly sensation climbed up Laura’s arm, and she sighed again.
Camille let out a growl. Laura looked up to see Miss K grab Miss Lancaster’s hair and pull the Asian woman up off her knees, bringing her primary assistant onto the bed. Angelica’s head was released, but the blonde didn’t separate herself from Camille’s pussy. Camille started to kiss Miss Lancaster, almost as if to devour the amazon of a woman, and Miss Lancaster’s sighs joined the chorus.
*When my tongue crawls up,*
*She does not hide her arm.*
*She does not cover her chest*
*As she leans into my kisses.*
*She does not utter a word*
*As I devour the taste of her.*
Laura’s sighs turned to moans as she began to hump the edge of the book’s spine. She was close. She wanted to be devoured. She wanted to lean into Marcilla’s kisses. She wanted the words to be true in her and for her. She wanted to be the words. More and more each day, she was sure she would succumb to Marcilla in a moment. Laura K was a fool. Every time Laura envisioned her literary counterpart, Laura K was bored and sighing and yawning. She was languid and pale and weak. She didn’t deserve Marcilla. Marcilla was blood and poetry. She was life and passion. She was lust and hunger. Laura K should give in. Laura certainly would.
Laura K’s exposed chest was a mockery and tease, but it didn’t heave with pleasure or excitement as Laura’s did now. Her heart didn’t threaten to burst or legs beg to give out as Laura’s did now. The only thing the two Lauras had in common was their silence, though Laura certainly wished she could moan and howl as Camille and Angelica did now.
*As my teeth graze her neck,*
*She does not beg to die.*
*She does not succumb to lust*
*As it thrums under paper skin.*
*She does not call out my name*
*As I retreat in shame.*
Laura wouldn’t retreat. She would pursue Marcilla, follow her, and beg to feel Marcilla’s teeth on her skin. She would beg for flesh to be broken, blood to be free, and to finally let Marcilla devour her. Her skin was thin, and her body was ready. Laura K was such a fool. If skin was paper to Marcilla, let her write on you. Let her etch into you her precious words. Let it be in blood if it must be in anything. Bleed, and she owns you. Belong to her, and you’d be free.
Camille’s body went tight as the poem ended. Laura looked up to see both Miss Lancaster and Angelica eating out their employer, their mistress, as Camille’s body quivered with wave after wave of pleasure. The two women hovered over Camille’s crotch, until Miss K’s hands grabbed their back of their heads again and drew the two women into a kiss. They obeyed, making out and fingering themselves.
They were close. Laura was close. But they would have the privilege of cumming. For Laura, her frustration gave way to familiar darkness.
Once more, reddit forces me to split chapters. The rest will be posted this evening, darlings. If you’re eager for more content, you can find me on Patreon, Twitter, or my whole library on Amazon, including this series.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/la9shi/poetry_blood_part_4_ff_bdsm_mind_control_vampire