**Part 3.5: Questions**
**Laura**
Miss Lancaster greeted her at the Muse Session that night. “Good evening, Laura,” she said through a fake smile and gorgeous teeth.
“Hello, Miss Lancaster.” Laura felt goosebumps rise all over her body. She had to tread carefully.
“I heard you weren’t feeling well.”
“I’ve been feeling off in the morning, but once I get food in me, I feel fine.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
Laura raised the stack of paper in her hands. “I got plenty of work done today though. This is the draft Miss K sent me yesterday. It’s finished.”
“Oh, wow. May I see?”
Laura handed the stack over to Miss Lancaster. The Asian woman flipped through the pages and clicked her tongue as she did. “Ah, I see.” She handed the stack back to Laura. “Unfortunately, that draft is already a little out of date.”
Laura’s heart sank. “Really?”
“Unfortunately. I believe Miss K sent it to you so you could familiarize yourself with the story, but she tossed out that version last week.”
“Oh.”
“I’ll make sure you get the latest draft tomorrow, okay?”
“Sure. Thanks.”
“Brighten up, Laura,” commanded Miss Lancaster. “You don’t want to be gloomy during the Muse Session.”
“Right.” Laura put a fake smile on her face. “Of course.”
When she opened the door, Camille was already sitting on the bed, naked. No one else was in the room. Laura stopped and turned around.
“Am I early?” asked Laura.
“Not at all,” purred Camille. She smiled and pat the chair next to the bed. “It will just be us tonight.”
“Us?” squeaked Laura. She didn’t move.
“Yes. I don’t want any distractions during this poem. It’s one of my favorites.”
“Um, okay.” Laura moved into the room, closed the door, and sat on the chair next to Camille. This was closer than she’d ever been at a Muse Session.
“Don’t worry. I won’t touch you or ask you to touch me.”
“Okay,” said Laura. That’s exactly what she was worried about. She was neither a prostitute, dumb enough to sleep with her boss, nor was she a lesbian. If Camille wanted sex between them, Laura would quit on the spot and disappear forever.
“Unless you want me to,” suggest Camille with a lazy shrug.
“Um … no thank you,” said Laura.
Camille gave a soft chuckle. “I’m sorry. I flirt with sexual harassment a bit too much. That was improper of me.”
“It’s fine,” lied Laura. “I just … uh … don’t feel that way about girls.”
“Ah, but what about women?” said Camille, sitting up and leaning closer to Laura.
Laura blushed, but before she could respond, Camille let out a loud laugh. “I’ve done it again, and worse this time if I don’t miss my guess. I apologize Laura. I’m foolish when I’m naked, but aren’t we all?”
“I guess so,” said Laura. She kept her eyes focused on the floor. The floor wasn’t naked. The floor wasn’t hitting on her. The floor was safe.
“I just want the words tonight. I won’t need any help. Though I warn you, I tend to talk back to this poem.”
“How so?”
“You’ll see. You may begin when you’re ready.” Camille tapped the old book of poems on the bed. Laura was nervous to reach for it, it was touching Camille’s naked thigh, but she didn’t want to push her luck with Camille. She already refused her sexual advances.
Laura grabbed the book and turned to the poem after “Proper.” It was titled “Unashamed.” Camille fell back onto the bed and spread her legs. Laura read over the poem once before reading aloud. She wanted to read aloud. It was her job to read aloud. But she was choked by the silence. Normally, there was the sound of Camille eating strawberries or Angelica or Graumann eating out Camille. There was some other sound beside Laura.
But now Laura felt naked. Before, she was watching Camille make love to Marcilla’s words. Now, she was going to be guiding Marcilla’s words over Camille’s naked body. She would be part of it now, no longer a bystander. It wasn’t a simple thing to begin. If she spoke, the room would be full of her voice. She would was only a foot away from Camille and Camille’s spread legs. She could almost smell Camille and the scent of her pussy.
No, this was entirely different from the other times.
“Read to me, Laura,” commanded Camille.
Tingles ran over Laura’s body, and she obeyed:
***Unashamed***
*The bath steam rolls up*
*Over my thin, moonlight skin*
*Sweat replies in other women*
*Rolling down curve and crevice,*
*Following the peels of clothing.*
*Shadows of propriety and modesty*
*As good as shadows to hungry eyes.*
“Yes, Laura,” whispered Camille. “I’m so hungry.”
Laura looked up from the page. Camille was staring right at her. Her legs were spread, one hand was on her pussy, gently swirling over her folds. One finger ran long strokes along her slit.
Laura almost stopped, almost asked Camille a question, but then she saw Camille’s eyes. There was a yellow hint to them, and they were glossed over. Camille looked to be in a trance, and although she looked right at Laura, it felt as though she was looking through her.
Camille was looking at another Laura, Laura Karnstein. She was in the poem, watching Laura K at the baths with the other women. They all wore tight undergarments. Some were partially nude. The steam swirled around them, distorting Laura’s view. But not Marcilla. Nothing could hide from Marcilla.
Laura continued:
*Laura, just Laura now,*
*In bare skin, dressed only*
*In vanity, the arrogance of nudity*
*And the foreknowledge of desire.*
*Some women stare at her,*
*The audacity of sensuality,*
*They in shifts of maids,*
*She in the flesh of woman.*
“Hide your flesh from me no longer.” Camille’s voice changed. She normally had a slight European accent. You could tell English wasn’t her first language. But now, Camille’s accent was almost a thick German.
“Wear your arrogance like an armor, but show me your sweet flesh, pet.”
Laura shivered. She found herself confined in her own clothing. She was too dressed up for a Muse Session, especially this session. Camille’s legs spread further. Camille never wore anything to a Muse Session, and her attendants always seemed overdressed to Laura. Let those who want to fuck be naked. Now Laura was attending Camille. She was caressing Camille with words, Marcilla’s words, licking each inch of Camille’s flesh with syllables and consonants. She should be naked, too.
*They stare, but I devour.*
*And Laura offers her flesh*
*To my eyes, shoulders back,*
*Chest and neck drawing forward*
*Into my gaze, over my lips,*
*My teeth know her flavor*
*Before my tongue glides over her.*
*Instinct knows, blood always knows.*
“I know,” moaned Camille. “I know your taste. Come to me. Feed me again. Let me drink, Laura. Let me taste you and I will never hunger again.”
Laura wanted to slip out of her pants. She wanted to take off her bra and shirt. She wanted to join Camille and play with herself. But she couldn’t stop reading. The power was in the words. Camille needed the words. If Laura stopped, the spell would be broken. Camille would lose Laura K. Laura would lose Marcilla.
Laura clenched her thighs. She was so close. If she could just touch herself, just a little, she would cum almost instantly. She could cum with Camille. They would both give into Marcilla, serve Marcilla, be hunted by Marcilla, and be devoured. Yes, she needed to be devoured. If she came, she could be devoured. If she were devoured, she would never stop cumming.
*Now she cannot unsee me.*
*Drawn to me, the snare grips her,*
*She dares me to chase.*
*But the rabbit is a fool*
*To taunt the wolf,*
*Unless, she too, in her*
*Soft green eyes, is a she-world.*
*A mate, or a meal,*
*My body cares not, the blood*
*Burns the same.*
“I burn,” moaned Camille. “I burn.” Camille’s legs locked up. Laura’s hand went to her crotch as the poem ended. She couldn’t slip her hand under, not yet, but the pressure drove her wild. She was so close. She needed to cum like Camille.
“I will take you, Laura. I will have you again. Your blood. Your body. Your words,” muttered Camille while her legs shook. Her hand was relentless, never stopping as it grinded further and further into her mound.
Camille’s eyes shot open as she came. Her eyes were fully tinged with yellow, jaundiced. Her pupils were thin slits of black and her iris were almost entirely white.
“I will find you Laura. I will come to you. In the dark of some terrible night, I will slip into your room and finally have you. No part of your body will be safe from me. You will not escape you. You will be mine forever.”
Laura wanted to stand up—she tried to stand up—but she was held in place by lust or curiosity or some power darker and older than she could ever understand. Camille’s voice sounded far-off. She was in a trance, speaking without inflection or tone in a strange cadence.
“Your body is mine. Your skin is mine. Your neck is mine. Your breasts are mine. Your lips are mine. Your mound is mine. Your cunt is mine. You are mine, every inch of you. You may not know. You may not feel the undying ache of belonging to me, but you will. You will be mine forever. There is no escaping me. Not now. I hunger. I have tasted you. I hunger, and my hunger will be satisfied.”
Camille sat up, still appearing in trace, and held Laura’s gaze. She reached out, moving past Laura’s hand, past Marcilla’s book, and placing her hand over Laura’s crotch.
“This is mine,” she hissed.
Laura almost came on the spot.
Almost.
Instead, her body sagged with relief. She was released by whatever power held her, but she wasn’t released from her hunger, from her lust, from the burning that desperately wanted Camille to be talking to her, not Laura K, that wanted to be devoured.
That wanted to be owned.
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Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/l7zeu2/poetry_blood_part_35_ff_bdsm_mind_control_vampire