The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Laura was sore again the next morning. She checked her phone: 8 a.m. Better this time. No knocking on the door either. Laura stared at the landline next to her bed. She could call Nikki or Angelica to get some food. But she hesitated.

Why does she feel better at night than she does in the morning?

That’s not the flu, is it?

She picked up the phone and called Nikki.

“Hello?” croaked a voice on the other end.

“Nikki?”

“Yup.”

“Are you asleep?”

“Not anymore.”

“Sorry,” said Laura. “I thought you’d already be up and working.”

“It’s my day off.”

“Oh.” Laura chewed on her lip. She was being stupid. She should just order the same thing she had yesterday. Angelica was right. The sooner she ate, the better she’d feel.

“Do you need something?” Nikki’s voice was coming in a little clearer, a little stronger.

“To calm down, mostly,” admitted Laura.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing. I didn’t mean to wake you. Go back to sleep.”

“Laura, what’s wrong?” insisted Nikki.

“Nothing. I’m sorry I woke you. Thanks for answering.”

Laura hung up the phone before letting Nikki push further. She wasn’t even sure what she was worried about. It was weird how she was sick each morning and stronger at night. It was weird to feel better so quickly after eating. She’d never been sick like that before, but there were plenty of weird illnesses or whatever out there in the world. It could just be exhaustion or how she slept or perhaps her new bed. She was being silly.

Laura dialed the kitchen and asked Jacque to make her the same thing he made for her yesterday. He grunted something that sounded like an affirmative and hung up on her. She started to sit up slowly in the bed, hoping to regain her strength by standing and stretching. A shower would help. Food would help. The sooner she felt stronger, the sooner she could feel useful to Camille. You can’t miss the first two days of a new job because you feel sore. Especially not this job.

Laura took a long hot shower. Angelica would leave the food for her, and she didn’t care if the eggs were cold. Laura needed to unwind. She stood under the steaming water and ran her hands over body. She rubbed and massaged her shoulders, her abs, her back, her hips, and everywhere else that ached—which was basically everywhere. She soaped up her hands and repeated the massage.

Her body sighed with relief. It’s hard to massage yourself, but when you’re this sore, almost any gentle but firm touch feels heavenly. She needed a moment to herself, in private. She thought she could feel alone in the empty hallways of the mansion or in the privacy of her room, but there were too many eyes. People came into her room at any moment and floated around her. She was watched all the time. She felt it more than knew it. Something about the mansion made it another employee of Camille, another way to contain Laura.

But in the shower, she felt alone for the first time since moving in.

Her mind wandered as she relived the previous night. It was getting harder to remember the Muse Sessions. Something about them made her mind recall them in a different light. They were stranger to her now, removed from the moment, than when she was there. She was familiar with the classic regret and awkwardness of previous sexual encounters. For some reason—the night before—reading to Camille felt normal, almost natural. Now, it felt like some bizarre porno she’d seen on Cinemax.

And when she recalled the Muse Session, Marcilla had a firmer grip on her curiosity. During the reading, things felt wrong or forced. The poems were good, but not legendary. There were problems with anachronisms. Things didn’t line up, and that distracted Laura. But in the shower, going over last night, she didn’t care about the strangeness of Marcilla’s text. All she cared about was Marcilla. She was caught up in the story of Marcilla’s hunt and Laura K’s simple eroticism.

It was like recalling a dream but in reverse. Being in the room was like recalling the dream itself. Things didn’t make sense. Things were obviously imaginary. There was a falseness, a surreal and forced heaviness to each moment. You could only think and tell yourself: “this is only a dream.”

But the following morning was like being in that dream. Everythings feels too real. You need to be pinched or shocked to believe it was false. Like as she slept, the bizarreness of it all slipped away until Laura knew with absolute certainty that she couldn’t wait for another Muse Session. She had so much to read and so much to learn. She needed the words again. Camille faded away and Marcilla reigned in Laura’s mind. She became Laura K and felt the house hunting her, each thing stalking her simple steps and leading her to Marcilla.

A moan escaped Laura as she approached climax. How long had she been in here? How long had she been edging? It didn’t matter. What mattered was that she needed to finish. She needed to go back into her room where Marcilla could watch her, could devour her.

Laura K was such a fool to resist Marcilla’s attention. Laura would do anything to have those eyes of lust, of hunger, of power on her. Even from a woman, it didn’t matter. Lust was pure. Lust was good.

Laura K should expose herself and beg Marcilla to take her.

Laura should expose herself and beg Marcilla to take her.

Laura should expose herself and beg Camille to take her.

Laura came. She grabbed the side of the shower while her knees buckled and gave out. Her thighs quivered. Everything in her begged for her to pull her hand away from her clit, but she couldn’t. She pressed on. Another moan escaped, this one slipping into a shriek. Yes. She didn’t need to stop. She could keep going. She imagined Laura K on her knees, the stupid girl eating out Marcilla. Yes. She should submit.

Laura’s vision went white. Laura pulled her hand away and sunk to her knees, panting as waves of orgasm shook her body. She smiled to herself. She didn’t normally masturbate this much. Even once a day was a lot for her. But if she was going to participate in poem orgies and read sexy romance novels every day, she supposed she should get used to it.

Laura grabbed a towel and stepped out of the bathroom to find Nikki sitting on her bed with breakfast for both of them. Laura blushed, yelped, and scrambled to cover herself with her towel.

“Nothing I haven’t seen before, hun,” laughed Nikki.

“What are you doing in here?”

Nikki pointed to the tray of breakfast. “I’d thought we’d eat together.”

“Can I get dressed first?”

“Be my guest.” Nikki opened her hand, granting Laura permission, but she didn’t turn away. She smiled wider and stared at Laura, wondering what the girl would do.

Laura blushed deeper as she went to the dresser, grabbed herself a simple tank top, panties, and shorts, and went back into the bathroom. Nikki laughed as Laura closed the door. Laura dried herself as best she could, put her hair up so she didn’t look like a drowned weasel, and got dressed. She looked herself in the mirror, took a deep breath, and stepped back into her bedroom.

“Feel better?” asked Nikki.

“Much.” Laura crossed the room and grabbed the chair at her desk. She dragged it close to Nikki and sat down.

“Plenty of room on this bed,” teased Nikki as she tapped the spot next to her.

“I’m not quite feeling well. I’d like the support of the chair,” lied Laura. She didn’t know how much Nikki had heard of her in the shower, but she felt like a slut and an idiot at the same time. It felt like Nikki sensed that and wanted to tease her for it. She’d rather not.

“Awww, again?”

“Yes. But I think food will help.”

“It should.” Nikki lifted the dome off the tray and went to work giving Laura her plate, fork, and smoothie while also serving herself some. “Is that why you called this morning? You know you can call Jacque directly.”

“I know, but that’s not why I called you. I wanted to get your advice.”

“On how to loosen up?” Nikki raised an eyebrow while she took a bite of scrambled eggs and spinach.

“No,” said Laura, looking down at the floor. “I was worried when I was feeling sick this morning.”

“Worried to miss work again?”

“No … well, yes. But that’s not it. I was worried because last night I felt fine and then this morning I felt terrible again and that’s strange, right?”

“A little bit. Not Bigfoot strange, but sure.”

“Right, well I had this idea that maybe—now this is crazy so bear with me—but maybe there was something in my food that was making me better?”

“Yeah, I think they call them nutrients,” said Nikki.

Laura rolled her eyes. “Not like that. Like maybe something or … or maybe it was … someone that was making me sick on purpose and then giving me food to make me better?”

“Like poison and an antidote?”

“Well, when you say it like that …” said Laura. She shouldn’t have said anything. Gosh, she was being stupid. And paranoid. And now Nikki would think she was a stupid, paranoid, slutty girl after only knowing her for two days. Great. Perfect.

“I don’t think anyone’s poisoning you, hun,” said Nikki. “And I don’t think you’re crazy.”

“You don’t?” Laura looked up to watch Nikki. The redhead was watching her intently, but with a look of tenderness, not of judgment.

“I don’t. Think about it. Who would do it? Jacque? Why would he put you through some type of system like that. That’s crazy. He’d lose his job and Miss K would have him deported in a second. Who else? Angelica? She’d never do anything to piss off Miss K. And Miss K doesn’t make sense. When you’re sick, you don’t work. She hired you to work. What good are you if you’re sick? So, unless you’re accusing little ol’ me of poisoning you,” Nikki smiled and winked at Laura, “then I think you’re out of suspects. Anyone in this house serves and loves Miss K. We’d never risk pissing her off by hurting her new favorite thing.”

Laura felt a soft warmth rise to her cheeks. She conceded Nikki’s logic, surprised at her insight. But more than that, she latched onto the idea that she was Camille’s new favorite thing. Camille liked her? A lot? She knew Camille appreciated her, but she would never dare describe herself as a favorite of Camille’s.

“And you’re not crazy,” added Nikki. “This place is a little spooky. It has this effect on everyone.”

“What effect?”

“Suspicion,” said Nikki. She cleaned the side of her mouth with her napkin and finished her smoothie. Gosh, the girl could eat fast. Laura took the time to appreciate what Nikki was wearing. Nikki was a thick girl, with pronounced curves and a heavy chest. She wore a grey v-neck t-shirt and short, flirting with too short, jean shorts that showed off her powerful thighs. She was gorgeous. There was so much woman to her that Laura had to look away for fear of being accused of ogling her co-worker.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Old houses and money attract wealthy people like Miss K and scare us regular folks away. I spent the first few weeks here sure there was a ghost or several ghosts haunting this place. It creaks. Things sound like footsteps. It messes with you. You start to suspect something sinister around every corner.”

“And there are a lot of corners,” said Laura. She finished her eggs and braced herself to drink the smoothie as quickly as possible.

“Indeed.”

A silence bloomed around them. Laura focused on her smoothie, taking it in with tiny sips, but Nikki was clearly uncomfortable. She tapped her foot nervously while waiting for someone to talk. Laura smiled to herself, happy to see the awkwardness get to someone besides herself for a change.

“Do you know how old the house is?” asked Laura, trying to help the girl.

“No one does. Well, maybe Miss K does, but no one else does. It’s been here since the 1800s at least. It’s one of the few houses so close to the river that it survived the fires and yellow fever plague that struck after the civil war. Apparently, Miss K inherited it.”

“Wait, she inherited it?”

“Yeah.”

Laura finished her smoothie and put down her glass. “I always assumed she bought it with the money she made writing.”

“She had the money first. She’s an heiress whose family line goes all the way back to nobility in Austria, apparently.” Nikki cleaned up all the dishware from breakfast and moved the tray across the room.

“So, what, she writes romance novels for fun?”

“Pretty much,” said Nikki as she sat back down on the bed.

“Must be nice.”

“Must be,” admitted Nikki.

“I mean,” Laura could feel some heat building in her. She knew it was petty jealousy, but she knew if she simply had the right attention in the publishing world, she could probably put Camille to shame with her own writing. But no, she wasn’t born a millionaire. “I wouldn’t even need all the money or the house,” continued Laura. “If I had enough money so I didn’t need to work, I’d love to have the time to write. Think of how much better writers we could have if every one of them had the means to write full time.”

“Better than Miss K?”

Laura looked away in embarrassment. “No … I mean. Better in general. I mean, too many people work jobs just to pay the bills, and here she gets to do whatever she wants because the bills are paid.”

“And then some,” added Nikki.

“I mean, do you have a passion for being a maid or is this just a job to you?”

“Well, no, I didn’t ever want to be a maid.”

“Exactly.”

Laura got up and went into the bathroom. She grabbed her hair brush and let down her hair to let it dry and began brushing.

“But this isn’t just a job to me,” added Nikki.

“What do you mean?”

“In a way, this is sort of my dream job.”

“Being a maid?”

“Working for Miss K,” said Nikki.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“How did you get the job?” asked Laura.

“Well, it started in grad school. I was studying to be a biochemist. I was focusing especially on botany and plant interactions with living materials compared to their interaction with more raw materials, through processes such as photosynthesis.”

“Let’s pretend I know what that means.”

“Venus fly traps. They can turn living flesh into nutrients. Other plants use more direct sources, like nitrogen and water from the soil and sunlight. I wanted to know how they did it and why and a bunch of other things.”

“Oh,” said Laura. She had to admit, she would have never believed Nikki had studied to be a biochemist. Biochemists sounded like stuffy nerds, and Nikki was anything but that. She was a sex bomb: confident, flirtatious, fun, and bold.

“I know. Not the most exciting,” said Nikki, but her face betrayed her. She was glowing now, like something she long missed was awake inside her. “But anyway, it’s a lot of dense reading of journals and publications and research and blah blah blah all the time. So when I came home, I didn’t want to read anything dense or complicated. I always read to relax, but Virginia Woolf was not appealing after a day of parsing protein strands into some form of English.”

“Makes sense.”

“I went to the bookstore and went straight to the romance section. I wanted cheesy dialogue, simple plots, basic description, and hot men with hard bodies. I would plough through a book in a day or two after spending time in the lab. It wasn’t terribly satisfying. Sure, it turned my brain off. It turned me on. But it didn’t compel me. That was, until I found Miss K’s stories. There was something special about them, something I couldn’t articulate. For one, they were much sexier, almost pornographic. A lot of romance authors dance around the material, but not Miss K. She never faded to black when a couple fell into bed together. In her books, you went to bed with the couple. You did more than watch what they did, you felt what they did.”

Nikki blushed, brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear, and looked away from Laura. “Needless to say,” she continued, “I became obsessed. Miss K doesn’t just write about lust. I mean, she does, and it’s hot. But she writes about love. True love. It isn’t damsels in distress finding a hot man to make their life easy and perfect like most stories. There is real conflict in her stories. She wants to see estranged people reconnect. She loves to take broken couples and fix them. She is always healing a wounded relationship, like The Magician’s Mistress.”

“So you have read it!” I laughed.

Nikki smiled. “Pages here and there. Whenever she asks me to take a manuscript to an editor or publisher, I flip through it. I can’t help myself.”

Nikki smiled again. She looked young—almost young and in love. There was something so endearing and so simple in her look. It was the same look an old couple has when they talk about each other, like they can’t help but be in love with the other person and they know it’s a little naive and overly romantic, but that’s the way it is with them.

“How does a super fan become a maid to their favorite writer?”

“Blind luck,” said Nikki. “I’d suspended my studies at grad school. I couldn’t afford the tuition. There was supposedly a grant coming, but then it got denied. I didn’t want to take out even more loans, so my professor agreed I could continue studying in a year or two when I had figured out my finances. So I was looking for a job online when I saw a posting for a maid position and the address was this address. Of course, I knew this was Miss K’s house. I’d sent fan mail here. I’d driven by just to look at it and see if I got a glimpse of her. But the posting didn’t mention that it was Camille Kontalban. It just said it needed a job for a live-in maid for a highly private employer. I didn’t have to think. I submitted my application an hour later.”

“Wow,” said Laura.

“I know. And it was perfect. I knew that if I got the job, yes, I’d be closer to Miss K. I’d see her more often and get to know her. But more importantly, I’d be helping her. Now, I can’t write a novel or catch a typo to save my life, but I can clean a house. I can do dishes. I can bring her food. I can do everything I can to make sure she is happy and comfortable so she can focus all her energy on her writing. That’s why this is my dream job. Even though I do such a small thing, the thing I do helps my favorite writer create. I help in the way I can. It’s intoxicating.”

Laura was impressed. She hoped that one day she’d inspire such devotion from fans of her writing. She also found a new respect for Nikki. It wasn’t just the biochemistry. Nikki had always struck her as someone that was flighty and fickle. She was always seeking a new guy or a temporary fling when she went out. Laura had come to think of her as shallow or even slutty. But this version of Nikki was like Angelica: fiercely loyal.

“How long have you been working for her?” asked Laura.

“Only six months or so. I’m still earning her trust.”

“Having to steal peeks of her stories?”

Nikki blushed. “Well … yeah. For now. But I hope someday I can become more useful to her with her stories. Or at least get into her head on how she creates them.”

“Well …” Laura bit her lip. This was risky. And stupid. But she liked Nikki, and she wanted to help her out. The poor girl gave up life as a serious academic to be Miss K’s made. She deserved a little treat for all her hard work. “I could let you read over the pages she sends me.”

“Really?”

“In secret, of course,” added Laura.

“Of course!”

“I think it’s technically a violation of my non-disclosure, but you won’t tell anyone that I gave them to you, right?”

“Absolutely not.” Nikki held up her right hand like she was going under oath in court. “Girl Scout’s honor.”

“And you won’t tell anyone what happens in the stories? No leaking spoilers or earlier drafts?”

“I swear. I won’t even take them out of the room. I’ll read them in here. You can watch me.”

Laura shrugged. “Sounds good.”

Nikki looked over at Laura’s desk, at the stack of papers. “Can I start now?”

“Sure, but let me stay ahead of you so I can work. You can read the pages as I finish them.”

Nikki clapped wildly. Laura laughed and got up to stretch. She felt better already. The conversation and food did her good. She was tired of lounging about all day. She needed to work. She went over to her desk and put on her glasses. It wasn’t much that Miss K had sent her, only sixty or seventy pages. Yesterday, she went through it quickly, but today she needed to make sure she was annotating as she went. She had the shape of the story, but now she needed to help shape the story. Laura sat down, and Nikki brought a chair over next to her.

“Don’t rush me, okay?” said Laura.

Nikki nodded.

“Okay, and I work in relative silence, alright?”

“Relative?” asked Nikki.

Laura turned some music on via her phone. It was classical. She couldn’t listen to anything with lyrics while she read. She also couldn’t listen to nothing. This was the best middle ground she could find.

“Gotcha,” said Nikki.

Laura put a finger to her lips and made the “shhh” sound. Nikki nodded, and Laura got to work.

The next three hours went by in a blur. A painful blur. Editing is not as glamorous as writing. Yes, she got to answer special questions about character and where the plot was going. She was an influencer. But she didn’t have the power. And writing words is much more fun than searching for incorrect or missing words.

It’s also more difficult than one would think. Autocorrect and word processors have made it easier and harder at the same time. Writers make less mistakes now, but it’s harder to find the mistakes you do make. The human brain is incredibly powerful. As such, the mind can easily scramble words like cofmrotable into comfortable. You may never tell the difference. Your brain autocorrected it for you. But for most readers, that typo can take them out of the narrative and make Miss K look like a fool.

This is what copy editors were for. They helped the author not look like a fool. They helped keep the audience into the flow of the narrative. They trained their brains not to autocorrect mistakes, but to find mistakes and fix them. It’s incredibly painful work for the mind. It goes against what the brain wants to do. It also wasn’t terribly difficult. Typos are easy to fix. But you weren’t allowed to zone out. If you did, your mind would go back to autocorrecting and you would miss most of the errors. It was like having to do incredibly basic math problems non-stop for three hours. If you let your mind wander, you’d start getting them wrong.

Luckily, Nikki kept things interesting. The girl practically purred next to Laura as she was handed pages that were annotated. Laura had never seen a girl so happy to read a book. While she waited, her legs bounced and her hands fidgeted while she waited for her next fix.

Again, The Magician’s Mistress struck Laura as mostly unoriginal. She appreciated Nikki’s opinion that Camille wrote about love and not lust, but she felt she had to disagree. There was a lot of lust in these early chapters. The magician was having an affair. His wife was having an affair. The mistress had a girlfriend while seeing the magician. There were hints at threeways approaching with one of the key members of the love triangle. It was all steamy, if you were into wild infidelity, but Laura didn’t find many signs of actual love in this story.

However, she felt compelled to keep reading. There was something about Camille’s words, some power they had over her. She didn’t need to know what was going to happen next; that was rather obviously telegraphed. Instead, she was hungry for Camille’s description. She wanted to read a future scene just to see how Camille would paint it with words. What description would she use? Would she be sparse with her adjective and adverbs (she often was) or would she dip into flowery and flowy metaphors about each thing (which she did occasionally)? It was beautiful prose and weak story, but the effect was powerful either way. Laura wanted to keep reading. She didn’t want to put the work down. Neither did Nikki.

The redhead whined when Laura finally took off her glasses and started to rub her eyes.

“I need a break,” muttered Laura. “I could use some food.”

“Come on,” whimpered Nikki. “Just a few more pages.”

“You said that two chapters ago. And the chapter after that.”

“I won’t say it after the next chapter. I promise.”

“Why do I have my doubts?” asked Laura.

“Cause I’m lying?” Nikki smiled.

Laura smiled back. “Exactly. Let’s go stretch our legs.”

“Fine,” sighed Nikki.

The two girls got up and headed out into the mansion. They didn’t have a location in mind, and somehow the walk became an impromptu tour. Nikki showed Laura a few shortcuts that existed between her apartment and the kitchen, the dining room, and Camille’s quarters. She also showed her the servant’s passages which were used so staff could get around important rooms without special guests seeing them. It helped them to appear magically wherever they were needed and kept them invisible when they were unwanted.

Speaking of invisible, they didn’t see anyone else while they walked through the building. Nikki explained that when one of the staff was off (she indicated herself) the others tend to have to be doubly attentive. That means when one has the day off, you can normally find no one. They are either staying close to Miss K or doing a dozen other chores they normally have help with. Nikki only got one day off a week, but she got paid overtime for the sixth workday and anytime she had to do anything after four o’clock, which was everyday.

“All in all,” said Nikki as they rounded yet another corner. “I get paid pretty damn well for a maid.”

“You know, I never really asked how much I get paid.”

“Really?” said Nikki, stopping in her tracks.

“Really. I was too shocked that I got the job at all. Asking about money seemed rude.”

“I get that.” Nikki kept walking. She was showing Laura to the pantry so they could get a snack without needing Jacque’s permission. “I’m sure you get paid pretty well.”

“More than 20k?” asked Laura, nervous. She hated money.

Nikki laughed. “Hun, I get almost 50k. I’m sure you get much more than me.”

This time Laura stopped in her tracks. “Shut the front door.”

Nikki turned around and smiled. “What?”

“You get almost 50k for being a maid?”

“Like I said, I work a lot.”

“But still.”

“I know.” Nikki shrugged. “That’s part of the reason everyone is so loyal to Miss K around her. We either love her or love her generosity. She’s a really good boss to have.”

“I’m just trying to figure out how much she spends on staff,” said Laura, doing the calculations in her mind. “I mean, she pays you, Grauman, Jacque, me, Miss Lancaster —”

“And a bunch of other part time people like her lawyer and accountant,” added Nikki.

“Right, and the third maid. The one I haven’t met yet.”

Nikki stopped and turned to her. “There isn’t a third maid.”

“The one with white hair?” asked Laura. “I saw her the other day in the orchard. And then my first night at a Muse Session, she fled from the room when I came in. I thought she was wearing a maid’s uniform.”

Nik’s eyes went wide. “You’ve seen her?”

“Yeah. What’s her name?”

“Shhh,” said Nikki. “Not so loud.”

“I wasn’t being loud.”

“Too loud for this conversation.”

“What conversation?”

Nikki looked around them, grabbed Laura by the arm, and pulled her into a smaller room that had a private seating area and a beautiful view of the garden.

“Let go of me,” said Laura as she yanked her arm away. “What’s wrong with you?”

Nikki went to the door, looked both ways down the hallway, and closed it. “Listen, this place has secrets, right?”

“Sure.”

“That’s why we live on the grounds. That’s why we all sign non-disclosure agreements. Miss K isn’t worried about her stories being scooped. She’s worried about people asking too many questions about her.”

“If she wanted privacy, she shouldn’t have us live on the grounds.”

“She wants the help. What’s the point of being rich if you can’t have servants.”

“Sure,” conceded Laura.

“I don’t know anything about the white-haired girl. I’ve seen her a few times. She’s around here, but she doesn’t work here, okay?”

“Then why is she here? Is she related to Miss K?”

“I don’t know. I know that I was stupid enough to ask about her once to Miss Lancaster, and the lady practically fired me on the spot. She told me my job was to clean, not think.”

“Yikes.”

“Exactly.”

“You think it’s something illegal?”

“I doubt it,” said Nikki. “Miss K is more strange than criminal, you know?”

“Yeah. Sure.” Laura chewed on the inside of her mouth. She had a dozen questions, but all of them were pointless. Nikki wouldn’t know, and most of her questions needed more information first. Was the white-haired girl really a child? Was she allowed on the grounds? Did she have a room here? If so, where was it? Could they find it together?

“Wait,” said Laura. “If she lives here, someone has to clean it, right?”

“Right.”

“Would it be you?”

“I’ve never cleaned a room of someone I didn’t know.”

“Damn. So it must be Angelica.”

“Or no one.”

“Right. But maybe if I followed Angelica and figured out where she went on —”

“Shhh!” said Nikki suddenly. She covered Laura’s mouth with her hand and pressed her up against the wall of the small room. Laura slammed into it but didn’t cry out. Nikki’s eyes were full of panic. Laura listened intently and heard the sound of two people talking and walking down the hallway outside her door. It sounded like Angelica and someone else, but she couldn’t make out who the second voice was.

“She’s asking too many questions,” said Angelica.

“She’s curious. They always start out that way,” said the second voice.

“She’s different. She’s smarter than the people you usually hire.”

The feet stopped moving. “Are you implying that I’m to blame?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Good. If you’re concerned, I trust your judgement.” The footsteps continued.

“What do you suggest I do?” asked Angelica.

“Nothing for now. Despite what you think, Miss K does want thinkers working for her. She just wants loyal and obedient thinkers. Help her keep focused on her job for now. Help her excel. Miss K doesn’t like it when we go through employees too quickly.”

Angelica and the stranger seemed to turn a corner and their voices faded. Nikki released Laura’s mouth, and they both released the breath they didn’t know they were holding.

“Holy shit,” muttered Nikki. “That was close.”

“Who was that?”

“Angelica and Miss Lancaster.”

“Oh,” said Laura.

“The real question,” said Nikki, her voice was soft and her face wrinkled with concentration, “is which one of us they were talking about?”

“What do you mean?”

“If that was Angelica and Miss Lancaster, there are no other female employees that work here. That means they were either talking about me or you. Which was it?”

Laura gulped. “Shit,” she whispered.

“Shit indeed.”

“I should get back to work,” said Laura. Panic was creeping into her voice. What had she done wrong? She got sick, that was all. She didn’t ask questions. She kept to herself. She minded her own business. Sure, she talked with Nikki, but there’s no way they knew about that. She hadn’t asked about anything else except …

Marcilla. She had asked Camille about Marcilla. Stupid, stupid girl. Do your work. Keep your mouth shut. Keep your job. It’s not hard. Shut up and do your job.

“Right,” said Nikki. “I should get out of here. Go for a walk or something. I just need to get out of the house for a bit.”

“Right. Okay,” said Laura. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

The two girls hugged briefly, stepped into the hallway, and went in opposite directions.

Laura spent the rest of the day working diligently. She ordered lunch and dinner to her room so she wouldn’t have to stop. Maybe if she could present Camille with a completely annotated manuscript at the Muse Session, she would shake off any annoyance or suspicion. She couldn’t lose this job. Not after bragging to Claire and her dad about it. Not after finally getting somewhere with her passions and dreams. She couldn’t lose this. Not over some unknown lesbian poet. That wasn’t the hill she wanted to die on.

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 Grauman 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 was 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.