The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Miss Lancaster

“Thank you, we’ll let you know next week.”

Miss Lancaster sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose between her eyes as the nervous middle-aged woman slipped out of her office. That was the fourteenth interview today. None of them were good enough. None of them had the strength to replace Angelica.

They thought they had solved the Angelica problem with Carol, but she nearly had a psychotic episode during her first Muse Session. Then they tried Stephanie, but she quickly started asking too many questions. They were looking for their third replacement to Angelica, which they needed before they could fill the other vacancies in the staff.

And it all fell on Miss Lancaster.

She alone had to manage Camille’s mental state. She had to keep Emma a secret. She had to manage the business and legal side of Camille’s work. She was acting as agent, babysitter, employer, and confidant. On top of that, Camille was unravelling. She had become increasingly paranoid that other people knew about Emma. She said she had writer’s block. The editors said that Camille’s work rambled or sometimes lacked coherence. She spent long hours in her room, rereading old poems she had written to Laura Karnstein.

It had been a miserable fucking month.

Miss Lancaster went to the bar cart and fixed herself a drink. It was getting late, and she needed the sleep. Some of the staff had been commenting on how tired she’s been looking recently. She sighed and turned to the mirror. She still thought she was beautiful. Pretty. Mostly pretty. Tall in heels, pale honey-colored Asian skin, long black and straight hair, soft brown eyes. It wasn’t bad. But she couldn’t escape the wrinkles setting into her skin, strangling her beauty. She couldn’t ignore her thinning hair. She was starting to look like the unsexy half of middle-aged.

She tried everything she could think of: concealer, face masks, a facial, a spa trip, long nights sleep. Nothing made her feel rested. Nothing smoothed out her crow’s feet or hid the bags under her eyes. If you couldn’t look relaxed, the least you could do was feel relaxed.

Miss Lancaster sat in her chair, drink in her hand, eyes closed. She knew she should work through some of the recent contracts sent over by the publishers. She should probably revisit the kitchen’s budget again. There were ten dozen things she should be doing, and all she wanted in the world was to take a bubble bath and go to sleep, but the longer she sat in her chair, dozing off, avoiding her work, the less time she would have for relaxation. More than likely she’d have the bath anyways, and get less sleep.

A knock came at the door.

Miss Lancaster sighed. “Who is it?”

“It’s me. Laura.”

“Come back later, I can’t talk right now.”

“Who do I talk to about the power being out in my room?”

“What?” Miss Lancaster felt her blood pressure spike as she went to open the door. The short, brown haired woman was standing in the hallway with a candle in her hand. “What are you talking about?”

“My room, and a bunch of rooms around me, just lost power.”

“The whole manor?”

“Half? A third?” Laura shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Miss Lancaster sighed. She’d been doing a lot of sighing lately. This was traditionally Angelica’s problem. She knew the plumbers or electricians or carpenters that Camille liked. That Camille approved of. She was remarkably picky for someone who would never see or interact with the help.

“I know it’s getting late,” said Laura, “but I didn’t know who else to go to. Should I get Claire?”

“Claire couldn’t find the breaker if the lights were on and she had a team of electricians guiding her.” Miss Lancaster looked back at her desk, at the drink sitting there, begging for her attention, at the evening she was not getting back anytime soon.

When she turned back around, Laura was leaning to the right, looking past Miss Lancaster at her desk. “Bad time, huh?” she asked.

“Is there a good time for this to happen?”

“Listen, it’s almost night. There’s light and power somewhere in the house if people are desperate. It can probably wait for morning.” Laura smiled.

Miss Lancaster appreciated it. She never had the problem with Laura that the rest of the staff did. She was, after all, the woman that hired the young editor. Laura was plucky. She was funny. She was hard working, but she didn’t take things too seriously, much like Angelica. Miss Lancaster glanced over the slender brunette, almost finding her attractive. She had short and curly hair, blue eyes, and a mischievous grin. Miss Lancaster typically didn’t care for women, but the sapphic pull of the manor and the obvious erotic nature of the Muse Sessions, the demands of working for Camille, made Miss Lancaster appreciate the female form when it was well presented. She’d seen Laura naked, fucked Camille beside her. She was definitely well presented.

“I appreciate the concern,” she said, “but if Miss K discovers half her manor had no power, I would be in a deal of trouble.”

“You sure? You should get some sleep. It looks like you could use it.”

The smile wilted from Miss Lancaster’s face. “I could use it,” she muttered. “But it will have to wait.” She turned back around and looked at her desk. “The real question is where the number for the electrician is.”

“Not on your phone?”

Miss Lancaster scanned the piles quickly choking the life out of her office. “Angelica left a phonebook of numbers, a physical one, but I haven’t had time to transfer it to my phone. It’s in here somewhere.”

“Want help looking?”

Miss Lancaster turned back around. “You sure?”

“Sure.” Laura shrugged. “I can’t do much else without the power.” Laura pointed to the drink on Miss Lancaster’s desk, “Though I’d sure like a drink for my efforts.”

“Deal.” Miss Lancaster stepped out of the way and moved to the drink cart. Laura stepped into her office and closed the door behind her.

“Don’t want someone to know what we’re doing here,” said Laura when Miss Lancaster gave her a questioning look.

“If half the power is out, I’m sure they’ll figure it out.”

“But what about Camille? What if she walks by?”

“Miss K doesn’t roam the manor, and especially not by my office.”

“Just to be safe?”

Miss Lancaster ignored the suggestion and poured the drink. She took the bottle and went back to her desk, topping her own drink off.

“Long day?” asked Laura.

“Aren’t they all?”

“You know,” said Laura as she started to rummage through a box, “Is it okay for me to look through this?”

“Look. Don’t read.” Miss Lancaster handed Laura her drink. “It’s an old-school address book. That’s what we’re looking for.”

“Got it.” Laura took the drink and tried a sip. “Strong,” she muttered as she pursed her lips.

“You were saying?”

“Right, well, I was thinking,” said Laura as she put down her drink and went back through the box in front of her, “that I don’t know what it is you do exactly.”

“I’m Miss K’s lawyer.” Miss Lancaster took a sip of her drink. “And sometimes her agent. Sometimes her lover, as you’ve seen.” Miss Lancaster sorted through a stack of papers that she had taken out of Angelica’s room. The woman wasn’t foolish enough to keep a diary, but these were the pages that hinted at anything supernatural going on in the household. She wanted to make sure Laura didn’t look through these in case they mentioned Emma.

“And lately,” she added, “I manage her household.”

Laura muttered something about a maid.

“What was that?”

“I said this room could use a maid.”

“Anymore friends you think we should hire?” I’ve gone through half the maid services in town already.

“You’ve taken all my friends,” said Laura. “I was never a popular girl.” Laura sighed as she worked. “Don’t know why.”

“You have a rare blend of curiosity and confidence. It makes people think you’re snooping around for gossip.”

“Is that why Angelica didn’t like me?” asked Laura.

“Angelica didn’t like anyone except Miss K.”

“This box has nothing, mind if I move it?”

Miss Lancaster turned from her stack and saw Laura holding the box she was previously searching. Miss Lancaster nodded, pointing to the far corner. Laura put her box there, and started sorting through another. Miss Lancaster went back to her pile.

“What happened between them?” asked Laura.

“Angelica and Miss K?”

“Yeah.”

“Can’t say.”

“Can’t or won’t.”

“Yes,” said Miss Lancaster. She didn’t have to say much. Angelica’s aggressive protection of Camille was a tell. Everyone knows you’re hiding a secret when you act like a paranoid crone. It was only a matter of time before Angelica’s fanatical worship of their employer destroyed herself.

“I figured,” said Laura. “But you can’t blame a girl for trying to get the juicy gossip. I bet you know everything that goes on here.”

“Likely,” said Miss Lancaster. “Seeing as I hired you all.”

“That’s right. You did.”

Miss Lancaster put down the stack of Angelica’s notes and love letters and went to another box. These were filled with Angelica’s procedural notes for the day to day operations. Behind her, she heard Laura move her box and start on another pile. It may have been risky to let the girl sort through contracts and potential notes on the management of the manor, but she wouldn’t find anything damning. Nothing about Emma. Camille let no one utter the name under pain of death. The command was seared into their minds monthly to make sure it never faded.

“You know what,” said Laura as she sorted, “there was one thing you never told me about the Muse Sessions when you hired me.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes. I remember it clearly. You kept using vague language, talking about the sexual things that would go on around me.”

“The truth would terrify most people, as you saw with Carol.”

“Who?”

“Oh, right. You don’t go to them anymore. Carol was an attempted replacement for Angelica. She went to her first Muse Session and practically attacked Miss K. She called our employer some things I don’t care to repeat and was promptly asked to leave.”

“Yikes.”

“It’s not an agreeable arrangement for most people.”

“If you had told her ahead of time, before she was hired, you could have avoided the scene.”

“But I could not have maintained Miss K’s privacy. Trust me, the hiring process here is highly ritualized for a reason.”

“Fair enough.”

The fell into silence, but Miss Lancaster’s mind kept turning. This was just another obstacle to another obstacle to another obstacle to getting to bed. She had to get the electrician to work without disturbing Camille. Then there was paperwork. There were more applications to inspect. Then bed. Hopefully.

“You said there was something I didn’t tell you.” Miss Lancaster turned to another box as she asked the question, hoping conversation would distract her from self-pity. “What was it?”

“Oh, right,” said Laura. “It’s just that … well, now the cadence is all off. It feels silly.”

“There’s not much else to do while we search but talk.”

“Well, it’s just that … you didn’t tell me I’d enjoy it.”

“The Muse Sessions?”

“Yes.”

Miss Lancaster shrugged. “I couldn’t have guaranteed that.”

“Right, but you made it sound like work.”

“For us, it is work.”

“Maybe at first, but … I don’t know … don’t you like it? You seem to like it.”

Miss Lancaster turned to give Laura a gentle smile. As she turned, she saw Laura was no longer searching through boxes, but looking at Miss Lancaster. Her eyes had lost some of the casual goofiness that was her signature look. There was something determined in her gaze, and for a moment, it reminded Miss Lancaster greatly of Camille.

“I admit that it grows on you, or rather, Miss K grows on you.”

“That’s it?” asked Laura. Some of her lightheartedness returned to her face and tone. “It’s all about Camille for you?”

“She is the focus of my attention.”

“None of the other woman fucking and moaning around you turns you on?”

“No,” said Miss Lancaster. She turned and went back to her box. She was like Laura when she started. She was curious and overwhelmed but mostly floored by how much Camille was willing to pay her. Once the Muse Sessions started, Miss Lancaster thought it was a PR and legal nightmare. There was no way Camille could keep them a secret, and more importantly, there was no way someone would willingly engage in that behaviour for her.

That was years ago, and since then, both Camille and Miss Lancaster had become quite skilled at getting participants for the sessions. They had used many methods to keep someone engaged or silent. For people like Laura, they started with male attendants. There was always the Non-Disclosure Agreement. Sometimes there was blackmail. Sometimes they ended up like Nikki. Angelica was the only one who was sent away with her life and no threat looming over her, but then again, Angelica would die before she’d betray Camille.

“That first night,” said Laura after a long silence, “using the male servants was because I was straight. Wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“You all didn’t think I’d be comfortable with women fucking Camille in front of me.”

“No.”

“Strange to think how much someone can change in such a short amount of time.”

Miss Lancaster finished her drink and refilled it. At first, she refused to participate in the sessions. Then, Camille slowly weedled her down as she did with everyone. Camille was a force of nature, like erosion of the wind and waves. No one could withstand her forever, and eventually Miss Lancaster found herself naked and in Camille’s bed. She only had eyes for Camille. She never looked at the other bodies, never engaged with them or touched them. Some staff members would have affairs with each other, driven wild with lust by the tease of the sessions, but not Miss Lancaster. Some, like Laura, found themselves preferring women as their ideal mate started to look more and more like Camille, but not Miss Lancaster. She had done her best to remain herself through a decade of service, and she had done so by strength of character if nothing else.

“The sessions don’t change everyone,” she said.

“Oh really?” said Laura. Miss Lancaster heard her voice approaching, but she didn’t turn around. “You don’t find yourself looking at women differently, wondering what they look like with their clothes off? Wondering how they taste? Wondering if they’re shaved or unshaved?”

“I’m not a child,” said Miss Lancaster.

“Clearly not.”

Miss Lancaster turned around, almost ready to slap Laura. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

Laura’s confidence seemed to melt as she saw the rage in Miss Lancaster’s face. She must have known she’d gone too far. Good. Miss Lancaster could handle comments about needing sleep, about looking overworked. She did need sleep. She was overworked. It may have been callous, but they were only telling her the truth. Besides, she knew it was true. She couldn’t lie to herself. Every day she looked in the mirror and saw the crow’s feet spreading. She saw her hair greying. She thought she had more time. She was barely forty, but time had caught up with her. The speed of the transformation had taken her off guard, but no matter how often she went to the gym, no matter how much makeup she put on, no matter what she did, she couldn’t avoid looking more and more like her mother. Laura could tell her she needed a nap, but no one, not even Camille, could tell her she was old.

“N-nothing,” stammered the thin brunette.

“Are you saying I’m —” Miss Lancaster took a deep breath. Laura didn’t look like someone who’d done something malicious. She looked like she’d just accidentally stepped on a landmine, which she had.

“I’m saying that … oh Jesus, now I’m scared to say it.”

“What?” Miss Lancaster took a step towards Laura. The girl had few allies left in the house. If it wasn’t for Camille’s strange attachment to the girl, she’d have been in the dungeons months ago. Miss Lancaster had read Angelica’s reports. Laura never talked to her father, her only family, and the rest of those that cared about her worked here. She could slip away without too much of a problem, but everytime Angelica or Miss Lancaster suggested it, Camille would insist that she stay. She would take away responsibility and freedom, but she never wanted Laura gone completely. Miss Lancaster often wondered if Laura was a pet, or a prisoner.

“It’s just that … okay, when I say you’re clearly not a child, it’s a compliment, okay?” Laura blushed a deep red and looked at her feet. “It means that … I just …” Laura stepped away from Miss Lancaster. “Nevermind.”

Miss Lancaster followed, resisting the urge to grab Laura’s arm and make her look up. “No,” she said. The urgency and neediness were obvious in her voice, but she didn’t care. She was tired, more tired than she believed possible. If someone, anyone, was finally going to pay her a compliment, to notice and appreciate her, she wasn’t going to pass it up.

“Tell me,” she said.

Laura looked up, embarrassment clear in her face. “It’s just that … well, for me at least … that you were one of the great parts of the Muse Session. I mean, watching you at least. Looking over your body, your strength, your abs, your … everything.”

Laura blushed and looked back down at the ground. “You’re clearly not a child in the best way,” she whispered.

Miss Lancaster’s smile flickered on and off. She was unsure of how to proceed. Laura belonged to Camille. It was a property thing with the vampire. She was easily made jealous. That was one of the things that made her get rid of Nikki so quickly. But, as tears flooded Miss Lancaster’s tired eyes, she wanted to hug the young woman. She wanted to wrap her in her arms and thank her for the kind words, for the gentle gift of relief.

“Thank you.” She managed to say it without her voice cracking. “And sorry for overreacting, it’s just that … I’m a little sensitive about … certain comments.”

“Absolutely,” said Laura quickly. “I realized it as soon as I said it. It was insensitive. My bad. Really.”

“Yeah,” croaked Miss Lancaster. It was all she could manage.

“I’ve always thought it a shame that Camille kept you all to herself.” Laura stepped closer to Miss Lancaster. She took a tissue from the desk and offered it to her. “She kept all of us to herself.”

“Yeah.” Miss Lancaster wiped the budding tears from her eyes, saving her makeup. “But it is her house. Her rules, after all.”

“Right, and her …” Laura lowered her voice, “being what she is. Who can refuse her?”

“Best not to talk about those things.” Miss Lancaster straightened. “Let’s find the electrician’s number.”

“Right.”

They went back to work quietly. Laura went through another stack of paper, still bringing her candle with her wherever she went despite the lights on in the office. Miss Lancaster flipped through a stack idly, but she wasn’t paying much attention to it. Her mind was going over the Muse Sessions, the ones from weeks ago when Laura was permitted to come. Did she look at Miss Lancaster? Did her eyes roam over Miss Lancaster’s body? She wasn’t sure. She never looked at Laura during the Muse Sessions. She only ever had eyes for Camille. It was part of her job. She was there to please Camille and then leave. That was it.

But as she thought of it now, she thought she remembered Laura looking at her. It had been so long since that happened. Abby hid behind her book, pained to be in the same room with the rest of them. Carol practically wept uncontrollably at the sight of two women pleasing each other. Angelica was cold towards everyone except Camille, whom she worshipped. No. Now that she thought about it, the room was lonely without Laura. Cold. Miss Lancaster had never noticed. She must have been looking at Miss Lancaster, appreciating her, admiring her.

“You really liked what you saw?” she whispered.

“Absolutely,” she said. “But if you’re not interested, I totally understand. I don’t want to be that creepy pushy girl at work. Just because we’re both gay and an orgy happens at work daily doesn’t mean we need to fuck, right?”

Miss Lancaster turned to Laura. “But I’m not …” She stopped herself, looking over Laura’s body. The girl was in a comfortable tank top and short pajama shorts. She looked like she’d just gotten out of bed, but her hair was done. Her makeup was smokey yet pale. She looked good, like she wanted to look good, but not like she wanted to appear like she wanted to look good.

“Is the power really out in the building?” she asked as the pieces fell together.

“Not exactly, no,” said Laura. She didn’t smile sheepishly or act embarrassed. She stepped towards Miss Lancaster with confidence, claiming each inch of space between them. “Though the lights are off in my room if you want to go check.”

Miss Lancaster felt her body warm. She didn’t know for sure who she was, but she knew she liked the way Laura was looking at her. It was the way men used to look at her when she went to parties. It was the way Camille looked at her when she first started, before she joined the Muse Sessions. Laura looked like she wanted to devour Miss Lancaster, like each inch of her was a delectable treat, a precious piece of heaven. She looked at Miss Lancaster like a lioness looks at a gazelle.

“What do you want?” she whispered.

“You,” said Laura. Miss Lancaster shivered at her words, at the new strength in her voice. “Since I first saw you in this room, since you first joined us in the Muse Sessions. I know who really runs this house, who keeps things together, who has all the answers. I know where the power is, and it’s with you.”

Laura put the candle down on the desk next to Miss Lancaster. She was inches away now. Miss Lancaster could feel the heat of her, the pressure she exerted on the air around her. Behind Laura’s words was another sound, a strange pulse or rhythm. It was her own heartbeat, the blood pounding in her veins, warming her ears, her neck, her thighs.

“I don’t think so,” whispered Miss Lancaster. She felt like a girl again standing in front of some longtime crush, hoping he’d ask her to the prom. “You don’t know what Camille is capable of.”

“Really?”

“You don’t know what she’ll do to get her way.”

“She doesn’t appreciate you.”

Miss Lancaster started to speak but stopped herself. There was no reason to lie. Camille had used her to fill the role of a dozen employees. She kept her from having a social life or romantic life. Miss Lancaster hadn’t even seen her family since her mother’s funeral, and hadn’t seen them for years before that.

“No,” whispered Miss Lancaster.

“Poor Lucy,” said Laura, using Miss Lancaster’s first name. Laura reached out and stroked the side of her face. She wanted to moan, to lean into it. When was the last time she’d been touched like that? Certainly not Camille. Camille was obsessed with her own pleasure, her own method of being inspired to write. Everyone else was expendable, just meat and flesh to her.

“Let me show you what I see.” Laura stepped away, grabbed her candle, and went to the door. She stopped and turned around. “Follow me,” she said. Miss Lancaster shivered. She had to hear what Laura had to say, to see what she had to show her.

Laura led her down the hallway to one of the bathrooms, opened the door, and ushered in Miss Lancaster. Miss Lancaster stepped into darkness, and Laura went in behind her, closing the door. The room was only lit by Laura’s candle and the mirror reflecting the candlelight. Miss Lancaster turned and looked at the mirror, seeing the two dark shapes huddled against the yellow light.

Laura turned to face the mirror as well, raising the candle up. The light washed over Miss Lancaster’s face while her shadow kept Laura’s in darkness. Laura pressed up against Miss Lancaster from behind, and, again, she resisted the urge to moan, to let herself go in the moment.

“Do you see what I see?” asked Laura.

Miss Lancaster looked over herself. She was tall, taller than Laura for sure, almost six feet. She had a lean and lithe build from years of running. Today, she decided to go without her traditional pantsuit. She wore a white shoulderless peplum top and tight black slacks with red heels. Her skin was tan, though not as tan as it used to be. Her long hair was straightened and left to hang loose, coming to her waist. She was elegant, but that was always a word used for older women. Used women. No one called her cute or adorable. Not anymore.

“What do you see?” asked Miss Lancaster, fishing for compliments.

“I see what she turned you into. I see the fading glory in her skin as it wrinkles and sags.” Laura raised the light, letting it wash over Miss Lancaster’s arms. Instinctively, Miss Lancaster almost pulled them away, tucking them away under the other. In the darkness of the room, it was hard for Miss Lancaster to see clearly, but she thought she saw liver spots on her arms, by the elbow. She could see her veins through the papery skin covering her wrists. She was old. When did she get so old?

“She used you up,” continued Laura. “Sucking you dry like a raisin.” Laura pushed the light forward over Miss Lancaster’s shoulder, letting the light wash over her face. “When was the last time you got a good night’s sleep?”

Miss Lancaster didn’t answer. She stood there, taking it. Laura was only telling her all the things she knew were true but couldn’t stand to hear said aloud.

Laura’s free hand wrapped around the other side of Miss Lancaster’s face. She lovingly brushed a finger over the corner of Miss Lancaster’s eyes. “You look like you’re in your fifties,” she whispered. “You wear each line of stress, each burden she’s put on your shoulders is another crack or wrinkle in your skin. Look at what she’s done to you, you poor thing.”

Miss Lancaster was thankful for the shadows and darkness as she blushed with shame. Seeing herself now, in the dim light, she thought Laura was being kind. She almost looked like she was in her sixties. She could see where the black hair was turning grey. It was a paler black, and soon it will be stark white like her mother’s was. She could see spots on her face where she missed this morning, putting on her makeup. She never missed spots. Each day was spent meticulously making sure that every part of her skin looked lively and flawless. When had it gone wrong?

“But that’s not what I see when I was in the Muse Sessions,” whispered Laura. She lowered her hands away from Miss Lancaster’s face. “You see, stuck in that office all day, you are a real Miss Lancaster. A woman with no first name. Never a girl. Never a personality. All work and no play.”

Laura’s moved to the side so Miss Lancaster could see her face in the dark reflection. The shadows cast over Laura’s face gave the corners of her eyes a cruelty. Her chin looked sharp, and her eyes, her bright blue eyes, looked yellow in the candlelight.

“You’ve lost Lucy,” whispered Laura, “but that’s who I see.”

The image in the mirror softened, brightened, almost shimmering. There, standing strong, her back arched and straight, was Lucy Lancaster. Her skin was rich and radiant, the beautiful deep color was back in it. She looked firm and supple. She looked fierce and bold. She looked twenty years younger but with the eyes of someone who knows her power, who isn’t trying to prove herself anymore.

“This is what I see during the Muse Sessions,” said Laura. “This is who I can’t take my eyes off of.” Laura’s free hand wrapped around Lucy’s waist. “This tight body,” said as she ran her hand over Lucy’s stomach. The abs there obvious and firm. “With these curves.” Laura’s hand rose and cupped Lucy’s breast. Lucy moaned as she felt Laura’s thumb graze over nipple quickly once. Just once, but she wanted more.

“You see her?” asked Laura.

“Yes.”

“You’ve lost her.”

“Yes.”

“You want her?”

“Yes.”

“Who took her?”

Lucy paused. She knew the answer, but to say it aloud, even to whisper it, in this house was … treason. It could result in a fate worse than death. Ask Nikki. Ask Angelica.

Lucy looked to Laura. The short woman was still looking in the mirror, her eyes still burning with a pale yellow light. Part of Lucy—perhaps the cold, stressed, and calculating Miss Lancaster—knew that flattery meant nothing. She knew that Laura was telling her what she wanted to hear. But the other part—Lucy—needed to hear this. She had been abused, discarded, and forgotten. To be seen, to be trapped in the lustful eyes of another? When did she last have that? When would she ever have it again?

“You know what she is,” whispered Laura. “We all know it.” Laura let go of Lucy’s breast and her free hand grazed over Lucy’s neck. “She keeps it to herself. All that strength. All the power. All that beauty. All that youth,” a drop of hot wax from the candle spilled onto Lucy’s exposed shoulder. She moaned as it dripped down her skin and hardened immediately.

“Oops,” whispered Laura unapologetically. “Eternal youth and beauty. She keeps it to herself when she has the power to give it away freely. And who deserves it more than you?”

Another drop of wax fell from the candle. Lucy gripped the edge of the countertop, biting her lip, trying to resist the urge to moan again, to moan louder.

“Who deserves it more than the woman that runs this house? That manages her affairs? Would she be a writer without you?

“No.”

“Does she deserve that power?” Laura leaned in and whispered in Lucy’s ear. “That beauty?”

“No.” Lucy sighed as Laura dripped more hot wax on her exposed shoulder. As it dripped down and hardened, it made her skin feel taut and young. As Laura spoke, she felt more and more like the Lucy in the mirror, the Lucy she used to be.

Laura let her free hand sneak down Lucy’s body, sliding her hand under the waist of Lucy’s skirt, slipping them under the band of her panties, letting them glide over Lucy’s wet lips. Lucy held her breath, her whole body tingling in anticipation.

“I heard a rumor that you like wax,” whispered Laura.

“Yes,” said Lucy. All questions, all attempts to understand what was happening or what Laura wanted fled her mind. She kept her eyes locked on the beautiful woman in the mirror, her younger and hotter self, the girl she lost when she began working with Camille. The Lucy in the mirror was biting her lips, her eyes hooded with lust, her shoulders shrugged forward as her arms gripped the corners of the countertop. Her hips were pressed back against Laura, and as Laura’s fingers began to tease and glide over Lucy’s lips, she pressed back further, grinding against it.

Behind her, Laura’s gleaming yellow-ish eyes held the candlelight. Other than that, her face was hooded in shadow. The shorter woman was barely visible behind Lucy, but her eyes were unmistakable in this gloom. Lucy didn’t care what she promised her or what she asked of her. All she knew was that those eyes held her. In Laura’s eyes, she was Lucy again. She was tight and strong, sexual and supple, beautiful and young.

“Take off your top,” whispered Laura.

Lucy eagerly obeyed, peeling off her top and bra quickly. Laura’s fingers slid into Lucy’s pussy, and she moaned, bucking her hips back and chest forward as pleasure rippled throughout her body. Laura pressed against her, pushing her hips against the countertop, arching her back. Lucy tilted her head back, and Laura’s tongue slithered from the base of her neck to her ear.

“You’re delicious,” whispered Laura in her ear. “You deserve to be devoured.” Laura nibbled her ear. Lucy whimpered, arching her back into Laura again.

“See this skin?” Laura playfully bit Lucy’s shoulder while moving her fingers faster and faster. “All this beautiful,” she dashed some wax across Lucy’s breasts, “tight,” she dripped more, “skin.” She dripped again, and Lucy saw white, her body overwhelmed with everything Laura was doing to her, with the stinging feeling of hot wax and the soothing burn that followed, with the firmness and youth it gave to her skin, her breasts, with each drop.

“You deserve to have this forever,” whispered Laura. “To be like Camille, forever a goddess and never a crone.”

“Yes,” moaned Lucy.

“She keeps it from you.”

“Yes.”

“She’s selfish.”

“Yes.”

“Spoiled.”

“Yes.”

“After all the work you do for her. What has she done for you?”

“Nothing,” moaned Lucy, bucking her hips as her knees gave out. She pressed against Laura harder and then pushed back against her hands, grinding against them.

“She doesn’t want what’s best for you,” whispered Laura. “She’s too obsessed with Laura K. With her past. With Emma.” Lucy’s eyes opened and widened with shock as she tried to process what Laura was telling her, what Laura knew. “She forgets the people that make her great, the people that take care of everything for her.” Laura pumped harder and faster, taking longer and deeper strokes with her hand. Lucy’s mind shut off as she found herself wanting to agree with everything Laura said. She’d agree to anything as long as Laura kept fucking her.

“Yes,” she whimpered.

“She wants Miss Lancaster, the overworked, elderly, ugly woman that takes care of all her problems.” Laura dripped the rest of the wax across Lucy’s chest. She moaned, arching her back and head as it the stinging danced over her skin and breasts, the fire gently kissing her nipples.

Laura put down the candle, grabbed Lucy’s chin, and held the asian woman’s face still, looking into the mirror. “This is what I want,” said Laura, forcing her to look at herself, still radiant and young, but now with slashes of red wax across her chest, drops like blood. “I want Lucy, the beautiful young woman with a brilliant mind, with her own ideas, with her own power and urges that I help her satisfy.”

“Yes.”

“Is that what you want?” Laura pumped faster and faster. Lucy tried to hold on to her mind, to her ability to respond to Laura’s questions, but it was melting into another world, another place full of pleasure and heat.

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

She was sure. The more she thought about it, the more obvious it became. Everything that was happening, every terrible thing that Lucy had to manage was Camille’s fault. She overworked her and underappreciated her. She took advantage of her time, energy, and body. Did Lucy want someone else? Someone that appreciated her and saw her as she wanted to be seen?

“Please,” whined Lucy.

“Please what?”

“Please take me.”

Laura worked faster, her free hand sliding down and pinching Lucy’s nipple, playing with it in her fingers, twisting and flicking it. Lucy bucked as the orgasm took over her body, as her mind lost all sense of place and purpose. There was only the now. There was only darkness and the mirror, the shadow and the bright yellow eyes.

Then, in a snap, clarity came back. The orgasm finished rolling through Lucy’s body and Laura stepped away, unceremoniously taking her fingers from Lucy’s pussy. Lucy caught her breath, realizing now where she was, who she was talking to, and what she had done. The shame of the moment shook her. The fear of what Laura knew and wanted gripped her. She needed to get out of here, to find someplace safe, to tell Camille what was happening and what Laura was up to.

And then she saw herself. Lucy wasn’t her reflection anymore. The woman looking back at her was Miss Lancaster. Liver spots, sagging skin, wrinkles, stretch marks, crows feet, bags under her eyes. The truth was apparent: she was old and ugly. Behind her, the yellow eyes of Laura had been replaced by their natural blue.

“What happened?” she asked as she ran her hands through her greying hair. She searched for her top in the dark, trying to cover her embarrassing and sagging tits.

Darkness swallowed them as Laura extinguished the candle.

“What’s happening?” asked Miss Lancaster.

“If you want to be the woman in the mirror again, you will do exactly as I say,” whispered Laura. “I can make you Lucy forever, but I need your help. Camille is selfish, lazy, and weak. I’m going to take her down, and you’re going to help me, aren’t you?”

Lucy waited in the dark for a long time. She wondered what Laura was doing, if she was looking at her in the near total blackness that surrounded them. She knew that if she went to Camille, Laura would be killed, and her life would go on looking like this forever. But what if she sided with Laura? What would that life look like?

“How can I trust you?” she asked.

She felt the cold pressure of Laura’s hands wrapped around her throat. She groped for Laura’s wrists in the dark, but Laura didn’t squeeze. She held her neck tight. Finally, slowly, the room glowed with a pale yellow light, the yellow light from Laura’s eyes right in front of her.

“You can’t,” hissed Laura, and Miss Lancaster knew that serving Laura would be nothing like serving Camille. As she hesitated, Laura’s free hand went back to Miss Lancaster’s pussy, entering again as though she owned it. She stroked slowly, easing Miss Lancaster into what would be her second of several orgasms that night.