The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

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.

Grauman 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 was 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 in 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. Everytime 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.

Laura woke from the fevered dream drenched with sweat, but a strange peace surrounded her. She wasn’t sick or frightened. It wasn’t a nightmare. No, it was the same dream as before: the cat curled up to her, she pet it, and it bit her breast. Once again, she didn’t feel any pain. Instead, it was like relieving some pressure on her chest, something heavy she was carrying around.

She was covered in sweat, but worse than that, she was still wet from the night before. Or more like the week before. She was hoping she’d dream of Marcilla and be ready to cum as soon as she woke up. Hell, she’d accept cumming in her sleep if it meant relieving the constant distraction and pressure on her pussy.

The arousal was affecting her work. She had to read pages over and over because her mind would wander. She’d come back to focus three pages later and see she hadn’t made a mark in almost two thousand words. That’s never a good sign. Her productivity was more than halved and all her daydreaming and fantasies hadn’t made her life any richer.

She could only get close to cumming if Marcilla was involved. She needed the words, the precious words, to draw her in. She tried to fantasize being Laura K, but that didn’t work. Sometimes, if she imagined Marcilla coming for her, Laura Delazier, she would feel something stirring inside her. But it was nothing like the Muse Sessions. Nothing on this earth was like the Muse Sessions.

Laura wondered if she begged Camille, would her boss let her cum? Would she have to participate? Would she have to touch Camille, eat Camille, or let Camille touch her? Is that the cost of cumming? Is that the price Angelica and Miss Lancaster paid?

Laura hoped not. Yes, she was fantasizing about a woman, but Marcilla was both less than that and more than that. Marcilla was a figment of her imagination, larger than life and supernatural. Marcilla was also a historical figure. There was no chance of Laura ever meeting anyone like Marcilla. So, maybe one woman in all of history turned her on, but that woman was gone. Camille was nothing like Marcilla.

If Marcilla was in the Muse Session, sprawled out before her, nothing could stop Laura from offering herself, from begging to be devoured. But Camille or Angelica or Miss Lancaster were something different. They were too flawed, too human, to be Laura’s lover. They didn’t have the gravitas of the Marcilla in her mind. She wasn’t a lesbian or anything.

Right?

It didn’t matter. Marcilla’s gender didn’t matter. Laura imagined Marcilla as a dark haired man, hunting her, and she ached. She saw Marcilla as an ethereal platinum blonde with white hair, slowly stalking her through the night without yielding. Marcilla could be genderless or asexual. Laura didn’t want Marcilla’s body; she wanted her teeth. She wanted to feel the edges of them running over her skin, nibbling, caressing, and then biting. She wanted to feel the life come out of her and into Marcilla. She wanted to be less so Marcilla could be more.

Laura whimpered as her hand pressed harder against her clit. She couldn’t get any closer. It didn’t matter how hard she tried, how hot or kinky her fantasies were, she couldn’t get any closer than a perpetual edge. Why was this happening? Why now? In a job full of beautiful and sexual people where she reads smutty romance by day and participates in orgies at night, why now, was she unable to cum?

She knew what she had to do. She had to beg Camille to let her cum. She had to join in. Perhaps, if she told Camille how nervous she was, she wouldn’t have to touch her. She could read the words, the perfect and haunting words, and then sit in the corner of the room touching herself. She could cum with everyone else. They could all worship Marcilla together in one chorus of moans.

Laura’s pussy was slick, and the sounds of her pumping her fingers in and out filled the room. Her scent was heavy in the air. She was close. Maybe she could do it. She had to try. She needed to cum. Yes, she would submit to Camille. Camille would lead her to Marcilla, like a priestess leading her to a goddess. Just the thought of it brought Laura closer. If she gave into Camille, it would be like giving into Marcilla, yes. Yes.

The door slammed open as Nikki burst into the room with a tray of food and two smoothies. “I know where the white haired girl is—” she started as walked in, but she stopped when she saw what Laura was doing.

Laura almost didn’t stop. For a moment, she didn’t care that Nikki was gawking at her. She was close. She was so damn close. This was her moment. But Nikki’s shock turned to a grin of amusement, and the mood was dead.

“Shit,” muttered Laura.

“I can come back,” said Nikki. She put the tray of food down on Laura’s desk. “Honest.”

“It won’t matter.” Laura tossed the covers off the bed and stood up. “Mind if I shower?”

“Can I yell at you while you do it?” asked Nikki.

“Sure,” said Laura with a shrug. Nikki didn’t like to wait. Nikki didn’t like silences. This meant that most mornings were filled with them shouting back and forth at each other over the shower curtain while Laura washed off the previous night’s Muse Session.

Nikki had become like a roommate, quickly replacing Claire. She harassed Laura, mocked Laura, and pestered Laura with a hundred questions, but it was all strangely comforting. It was like background noise that fought off loneliness, and somewhere in all the pointless banter, Nikki would be a good ear for Laura and have remarkable insight and clarity.

Every morning, the two girls had breakfast together. Laura had finally accepted that she needed to have breakfast first thing to fight off the mysterious soreness that haunted her. But each day, she was getting stronger earlier in the day. Normally, all it took was a shower and smoothie and by nine a.m., she was her normal self.

“Still hot and bothered?” shouted Nikki over the hot water.

“Shut up,” muttered Laura.

“What?” shouted Nikki.

“Sort of,” shouted back Laura.

“Want to borrow my vibrator?”

“Ew?”

“I’ll clean it first, jeeze. Don’t be such a prude.”

“It’s not prudish to be sanitary.”

“It’s not like you don’t know where it’s been,” shouted Nikki. “It’s been in my pussy. That’s all.”

“Changing subjects now,” shouted Laura.

“We need to get you laid.”

“Changing subjects again,” pleaded Laura.

“I’m serious. You’ve been a puddle for almost a week. When was the last time you got laid?”

“It’s been a long time,” admitted Laura.

“How long?”

“A year?” guess Laura. The last person was a bad hookup she found at a party as a rebound to finding out her boyfriend was cheating on her. She didn’t remember the guy. She didn’t remember the sex. She remembered finding a used condom in her flats the following morning. That sticks with you.

“Cheese and rice, a year?!”

“Not so loud,” hissed Laura.

“A year?”

“That’s not abnormal. It’s practically healthy to have plenty of time between relationships.”

“You don’t need a relationship to get laid, hun.”

“Don’t I know it,” muttered Laura.

“What?”

“I know it,” shouted Laura.

“Are you almost done in there?” asked Nikki.

“I haven’t even started shaving.”

“You can shave out here.”

“I have to shave … everywhere,” Laura said, her face going warm.

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“I don’t want you to see me naked.”

“I’ve seen you with two fingers in your pussy and you’re afraid of me seeing you with a razor over your bush?”

Laura didn’t say anything for a long time. Nikki liked to tease her and push her buttons. She thought of Laura as a stereotypical book worm with no sex life and practically still a virgin. She was close, but she wasn’t right. Lately, Laura imagined her thoughts were twice as depraved as Nikki’s.

“I’m sorry,” said Nikki. It sounded like her mouth was full. “That was too far.”

“I know you were kidding.”

“Still. Too far.”

“Thanks,” said Laura. “I’ll be out soon.” Laura grabbed her razor and started to work on her legs. “Any adventures in man-hunting last night?”

“Hunting is a strange term. It’s more like fishing. I put my breasts out as bait, and the fish swarm to me.”

“Catch any live ones?” said Laura, giggling at the bizarre metaphor.

“Just one, but I let him go.”

“Aww why?”

“He was a tit grabber. It’s a bad sign.”

“Why so?”

“Anyone so eager to grope me in public is going to be shit in bed. He’ll be all enthusiasm and no skill.”

“Poor guppie,” teased Laura.

“Poor me is more like it. If a man can’t deliver, my night is wasted. I don’t have abundant free time to get laid.”

“Join the club. I’m booked each night until the end of time for Muse Sessions.”

“Yikes,” said Nikki. “They that bad?”

“Haven’t you been to one?” Laura felt she was pushing her luck. She tried to avoid talking about the Muse Sessions with Nikki whenever she could. She wouldn’t bring them up with Angelica or Miss Lancaster if she could help it. It was like talking about the naked pictures of them you found on the internet that they meant for the boyfriend. The acts in the Muse Session were for Camille. Everyone else acknowledged that they happened, but never spoke about what happened during them.

“No,” said Nikki. “Not one.”

“Really?” Laura assumed after Miss Lancaster appeared that there must be some type of rotation. Surely, Nikki’s turn would come soon.

“Yeah.”

“Why not?”

“They said I was too new. I hadn’t earned the right to be there.”

“But I get to go,” said Laura.

“Yeah, but you read. They want to make sure I’ve been around for a year or so before I wait on Miss K during such a sensitive time.”

“Do you know what goes on during one?”

“Not really,” admitted Nikki. “I know it’s supposed to be inspirational for Miss K’s writing. Other than that, I have no idea besides poetry reading.”

“Yeah, that’s about it,” lied Laura. “There’s a little pomp and circumstance to it, like a meditation or a scene from Dead Poets’ Society, but that’s about it.”

“Count me out,” said Nikki. “Poetry is not my thing.”

“It’s pretty good poetry,” admitted Laura. “Some of it is pretty hot.”

“Oh really?”

Laura turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. “Really,” she said and grabbed a towel.

“Is that what’s got you wound up this morning, poetry?”

Laura pointedly did not answer the question. She dried her hair as best she could with the towel. She used a second towel for the rest of her body.

Nikki stepped into the bathroom, looked at Laura, and raised an eyebrow. “You know I’m the one that has to wash those, right?”

“I know,” said Laura cheerily.

“Trying to annoy me isn’t a good way to make me forget about your slutty morning.”

Laura blushed and pushed past Nikki. “There’s nothing slutty about masturbating.”

“For me? Sure. For you? That’s one step away from whoredom.”

“What do you mean? I’m allowed to masturbate. I masturbate.”

Nikki followed Laura into the bedroom. Laura picked out her clothes for the day: black pencil skirt, tight and sleeveless white blouse, plain white panties, and grey flats.

“How often?” said Nikki.

“How often what?”

“How often do you masturbate?”

“That’s none of your business.” Laura turned away, took off one of her towels, and thoroughly dried her body before getting dressed.

“Prude,” taunted Nikki.

“Slut.”

“If that’s your word for a sexually active woman, you’re just proving my point.”

Laura turned around to face the redhead. “My god, you’re incorrigible. Would you drop it?”

“Come with me tonight.” Laura noted the lack of apology. “We’ll go out. We’ll find you a guy you can fuck and forget. It’ll be fun.”

“I don’t think the big step in feminism and sexual freedom is to use men the way they’ve used us.”

“I think the big step in feminism and sexual freedom is to do what you want and makes you feel good among consenting adults and not give a damn what others think.”

Laura glared at her friend, then turned around and finished getting dressed. Nikki didn’t say a thing while Laura got changed, and the silence between them quickly soured.

“Sorry,” muttered Nikki when Laura turned around again.

“It’s fine,” sighed Laura.

“Convincing.”

“I’m not trying to convince you.”

“Clearly.”

They both went over to Laura’s desk. Laura sat down and started eating. Nikki cleaned her plate and watched Laura guzzle down her smoothie.

“Damn girl, slow down,” she said like a joke.

Laura finished the smoothie, glared at Nikki, did not even grin, and put the glass down.

“You don’t need to hook up with anyone tonight. And we don’t even need to go to a club or anything like that. Just come with me tonight. Anywhere. You haven’t been out of this place since you moved in.”

Laura wiped her mouth clean with her napkin, put it gently on the tray, and sighed. “I don’t know. I want to hang out with you. That sounds like fun. But can’t we do it here?”

“We’re always here,” whined Nikki as she rolled her eyes and stood up. “I mean, I work here. Would you want to spend your day off at your job?”

“I guess not,” muttered Laura.

Nikki turned on Laura, rushing towards her friend and falling on her knees. “Then let’s go out!” She grabbed Laura’s hands. “Please.”

“I don’t know any place interesting.”

Nikki’s pleading face turned to one of disappointment. “Every place sounds interesting compared to here.”

“Here? Not at all.”

“It’s a mansion filled with writers.”

“Sounds like heaven.”

Nikki rolled her eyes and stood up again. Laura wanted to tell her the truth, but she didn’t know how to say it. She couldn’t leave, not now. Not ever maybe. She wanted to find Marcilla, to dive into her words. She could only do that here. She wanted to cum. Dear God, she wanted to cum. Only Marcilla brought her close. This was the place for her. She wanted this place, and this place wanted her. She could feel it wrapping around her, keeping her safe, bringing her deeper and deeper into itself. It had more words for her, more answers.

“I’m worried about you,” said Nikki, breaking Laura’s train of thought.

“Me?”

“Yes, you.”

“Why?” Laura was about to stand up, but Nikki sat on the bed next to her.

Nikki moved in closer. “Because you’re a beautiful girl in your prime, reading sexy stories all day, reading sexy poetry at night, and masturbating in the morning. You deserve better than your right hand.”

Nikki grabbed Laura’s right hand for effect.

Laura blushed. She could feel Nikki’s breath on her skin. Sure, she’d been this close to Nikki before. Hell, Nikki had seen her naked. But never while they talked about Laura’s sex life. Never while Laura could feel Nikki’s breath on her.

“I tend to use my left hand,” whispered Laura.

Nikki smiled at the weak joke. “You deserve better.”

“I’m not like you,” said Laura. “I can’t go and get laid. That’s not how sex works for me. There needs to be more than attraction.”

“Romance?” asked Nikki. Her other hand moved to the small of Laura’s back.

“Relationship,” whispered Laura. “And … I don’t know … obsession.”

“Obsession?” breathed Nikki. Laura felt it on her neck.

“Yes. I want it slow. I don’t want lightning to strike two lovers from across the room. I want a love that smolders.” Nikki’s hand moved up Laura’s forearm. “I want something small that turns into a bonfire.” Nikki’s other hand moved under the top of Laura’s skirt. “I don’t want to be struck in a moment.” Laura kept her eyes looking forward. She couldn’t look at Nikki, not when she talked like this.

“You want to burn.” Nikki’s lips grazed lightly over Laura’s neck.

Laura felt tingles sprawl over her body. Goosebumps exploded over her skin. Her crotch went wet and warm at the same time. God, she needed to cum. Dear God, she needed to cum.

Laura stood up. Not now. Not like this. Not with Nikki.

“Umm …” said Laura as she crossed the room.

Nikki sighed but stayed on the bed. “What’s wrong?”

“Don’t play innocent. You know exactly what’s wrong.”

“What? I wanted to help you. You can’t fuck a stranger? Fine, fuck me.” Nikki stood up and swayed her hips as she stalked towards Laura. “We’ve got attraction and relationship and, unless I’m wrong, some obsession.”

Laura backed away. “Not like this.”

“This isn’t the first day I’ve come in and found you touching yourself. It’s not the first time I’ve noticed the smell of eager sex in the room when I walked in.”

“W-w-what?” asked Laura as she backed away, further and further from her friend and predator.

Predator.

“Let me help you ease that itch.”

Laura hit the wall behind her, but Nikki didn’t stop.

She was being hunted.

Her knees gave out, and she sunk to the floor.

Nikki wanted her.

She felt her hands working to unbutton her blouse on their own.

Nikki wanted to devour her.

Nikki smiled. Laura whimpered.

Nikki sank to the floor in front of Laura, stopping Laura’s frantic hands as they tried to take off her clothes. Laura waited, afraid and eager at the same time. Nikki leaned in and kissed her.

The kiss was soft and quick. It was like a snowflake landing on Laura’s tongue. It was over before it had begun, but it lingered long after the fact.

As Nikki pulled away, Laura whimpered. She opened her eyes and saw Nikki smiling, almost giggling at her.

“Yes?” asked Laura.

“See? That wasn’t so bad.”

“No. It was almost perfect.”

“Almost?”

“Too short,” said Laura. She grabbed the back of Nikki’s neck and pulled the redhead in for another kiss. This time, Nikki didn’t hold back. All of her, her impressive tits, her curvy hips, her freckled skin, crashed into Laura and the wall shook. Laura took in the wave of her friend. She wanted to be devoured, to be caught in the undertow of Marcilla, but Nikki was close enough.

If she closed her eyes, she could hear Marcilla’s words in her head. They guided the two girls to the bed. They tore off Laura’s clothes. They left Nikki clothed: the huntress in a crop top and skinny jeans. They led Laura to lie back, her proxy floating before her and above her.

“I haven’t been able to cum,” breathed Laura. “Not matter how hard I try.”

Nikki nodded and licked her lips as she memorized the curves and folds of Laura’s pussy. Laura physically felt Nikki’s gaze rolling over her body, kissing each inch of her skin. She had been naked in front of Nikki, but this was entirely different. She’d never been consumed by a woman’s eyes before.

Except for Camille.

Nikki lightly traced a finger over Laura’s pussy. “Jesus, you’re soaked,” she said with a grin. “How long has it been?”

“Too long,” said Laura. She sat up, grabbed the back of Nikki’s neck, and guided Nikki’s mouth to her pussy.

Nikki didn’t hesitate to start.

At first, Laura couldn’t fathom how different the experience was from her fingers or a vibrator or a man. Nikki was nothing like anything she’d experienced before. She knew exactly where to go, exactly how long to go there, and exactly how to exploit each spot of Laura’s body for the maximum amount of pleasure.

Several times, Laura felt she was close. She was sure she was going to cum, but her body wouldn’t obey. No matter how good Nikki was, and NIkki was the best Laura had ever experienced, something still evaded her.

Nikki’s hands snaked up and toyed with Laura’s breasts. Laura’s back was arched in pleasure for minutes. It could have been hours. Time was irrelevant. Everything was measured by how close she was to cumming. It was a pendulum of arousal and stimulation. It would build. She would moan. Nikki would pinch her nipples and pull on them tightly. Nikki’s tongue would press down on and swivel over Laura’s clit, and then the moment would pass and the pleasure would fade. Nikki tried using her fingers on Laura’s clit or to tease Laura’s g-spot. It was always the same. They were so close but never close enough.

The words. She needed Marcilla’s words.

“I read to Camille, to Miss K,” she moaned. Nikki looked up and pulled her mouth away from Laura’s pussy. Laura grabbed Nikki’s head, as she’d seen Camille do a dozen times, and pressed it back down into her crotch. “I read her poetry while Angelica or Miss Lancaster eat her out.”

She felt her crotch warm up again. Yes, the words. She needed a confession. She needed Marcilla. She could invoke the poet, bring her here to the bedroom with them, put her idol between her legs.

“I read erotic poetry. It’s centuries old, but I can’t get it out of my mind. It’s written by a woman, a goddess, named Marcilla. I can’t stop thinking about her. I can’t get her out of my head. When I read her, I get close to cumming. I can almost taste it, but it never happens. The Muse Sessions never go long enough. I need more time. I need her words.”

The warmth spread up her legs, over her tummy, and to her breasts. Her nipples became sensitive, more than she could stand, but she didn’t fight it. She grabbed Nikki’s hands and clamped them down against her breasts.

“Pull on them,” she ordered. Nikki obeyed. “Whenever I think about her, I’m desperate to cum. I want to be devoured by her, owned by her, consumed by her very presence,” admitted Laura. The sensation in her nipples became too much and her talking became incoherent moaning.

She grabbed Nikki’s hands again, stopping her. “I want to be owned by Marcilla,” she shouted. “I want her to be real more than anything so I can give into her.”

The world went white with swirls of blue. Something in her pussy switched on, and each lick of Nikki’s tongue was electric. Laura’s body began to spasm, like Camille’s, and quiver. She lost complete control, but Nikki didn’t stop. The redhead kept licking. Each flick was thunder and ocean and death and birth and heaven and hell and Marcilla and Marcilla and Marcilla.

Laura’s moans became a shriek. Her body locked up, and she grabbed Nikki’s tongue to stop her. Nikki stopped giggling as thunder rocked every cell in Laura’s body.

When she calmed down, she let go of Nikki’s head and collapsed onto the bed. Nikki crawled up the bed and snuggled next to Laura.

“Someone needed that,” she said.

“Someone did.”

Nikki kissed her neck, and she smiled.

“Was all that stuff about the sessions true?” asked Nikki.

“Shit,” muttered Laura. “You have to promise not to tell.”

“No shit. Fat chance they’ll let me keep my job if they know I know all about their kinky writing sessions. If they didn’t tell me, they don’t want me to know.”

“Right,” sighed Laura. She wasn’t thinking that far ahead. Right now, she had a beautiful woman, her first beautiful woman, cuddling against her naked body after eating her out for what felt like forever.

“But it makes sense that it’s been winding you up. I’m just glad I could be of service.”

Laura wrapped her arms around Nikki and squeezed her tight. “Do you think you could be of service later today?”

Nikki kissed her. Laura licked her lips and tasted cotton candy.

“It is my day off,” said Nikki.

She smiled and kissed Nikki back. “Good,” said Laura. “Sounds like I win.”

“How so?”

“Wouldn’t you say staying in beats going out?”

Nikki sighed. She brought her hand to Laura’s crotch. Laura whimpered. “Unfair. You didn’t tell me you had such a tasty pussy before.”

“I … uh … didn’t know you ate pussy before …”

“I didn’t,” said Nikki.

“What?”

“You’re my first.”

“I’m your … what?” Laura sat up.

“First. I’ve never been with a girl before.”

“But you talk about …”

Nikki waved a hand dismissively. “All talk.”

“Then why did you … today .. with me?”

“I don’t know.” Nikki sat up. “Something came over me. Seeing you all turned on and helpless turned me on. I wanted to help, but more than that, I wanted to take you. I just felt aggressive, like I could take you and you would want that.”

Laura blushed. She tucked a strand of semi-dry hair behind her ear. “You weren’t wrong. It’s just …”

“Just what?”

“Nothing.” Laura leaned in and kissed Nikki softly. “Just make sure to do it again, okay?”

Nikki smiled. “Later today?”

“I’m done for Miss K by five.”

“Then I’ll have you for dinner,” said Nikki with a wicked grin.

“I hope so.”

Nikki cleaned up and left, giving Laura one last kiss goodbye. Laura looked at the time and decided she could take another shower, do her hair and makeup, and change her clothes before getting to work on The Magician’s Mistress.

But while she did that, she couldn’t get out of her mind the strange coincidence of what happened between her and Nikki. It was their first time? Both of them? A life of men turned in an instant into passion between two women?

But even stranger was her confession about Marcilla. That’s what she needed more than Nikki’s tongue. She needed Marcilla there, between the both of them.

Every day, Laura’s patience with The Magician’s Mistress died a little. It was one thing to have to read a crappy romance novel. Most women could get into a crappy romance story. Hollywood clearly proved that, and Laura could turn off her brain and enjoy the twists and turns of a cliche love story.

The frequent and graphic sex scenes didn’t bother Laura either. They weren’t exactly her thing, but she wasn’t immune to tiny flutters of tingles or simple aches in her as she read about different positions and sensations between the characters. Secretly, she kept hoping something would happen between the magician’s wife and the magician’s mistress, but Camille kept things heterosexual. Laura would be surprised, considering Camille’s fascinating sex life, but she knew that straight sold. Anything outside of men banging their women was niche and kicked you off the bestseller list.

Today, she was reading a beautiful passage about a rainy day when she almost lost her mind. It was in the middle of a fight between the magician and his wife. She found out about the mistress. Their conversation was dull and predictable. Anyone could probably quote it without having read it. But the prose cut Laura to the quick. The narration moved out of the house, away from the thick silence hanging between the magician and his wife, and it dwelt along the sidewalks of the noisy city. Laura was there. Any reader with half a brain would be there. There was the gentle and unpredictable patter of rain kissing an old woman’s shirt. There was a fruit stand, blessed with shelter, but the covering made a lazy jazz over the head of the fruit vendor, a young woman hiding from the rain with him until it passed. They made small talk about clementines. She thought it was a beautiful name, one for a daughter. He thought it was a beautiful fruit, and he offered her one. But the scene left them like wisps of smoke. It danced further down the alleys and away from the noise and fighting of the city. It was gentle, as though you danced with a camera and came to understand a city and a people and a couple fighting all at once as one thing, painful and necessary and its own kind of tender.

That was what made Laura storm out of her room to go find Camille. It was one thing to write cheesy romance. It was fun and harmless. It was popular and lucrative. But to be talented like she was, to have a genuine gift with words to lure an audience in and express the ineffable, that should not be wasted. If she wanted to use such an extraordinary gift on romance, that was fine, but she was wasting herself on the utter shit that was The Magician’s Mistress.

Laura stormed through the mansion. She passed Miss Lancaster who has having some conversation with Jacque about the cost-effectiveness of something. She moved towards the west wing of the second floor. She turned a corner and bumped into Angelica. The small blonde spun away from her. Something clattered to the floor. Laura didn’t stop.

“Laura?” said Angelica from behind her. “What are you doing?”

Laura turned around. “Is Camille in her office?”

“What?”

“Her bedroom?”

“Miss K can’t be disturbed right now,” said Angelica firmly.

“Where is she?”

“No one is to disturb —”

Laura turned back around and marched towards Camille’s quarters. She heard Angelica chasing after her. She didn’t care. Enough was enough. All the Muse Sessions hadn’t helped Camille. She was doing the same thing: selling herself short. She had a gift, a gift Laura would kill for, and she was throwing it away on smut. Trash. Borderline porn. She was no better than a soap opera writer but with far more cock, cum, and tits.

Laura thought she knew what she was signing up for: a paycheck. It was going to be a simple gig to establish connections and move her way up in the world. She would scout for an agent or a publisher to take a liking to her. She would look for typos or consistency errors. It would be easy work. Instead, she got a brilliant author writing garbage. She got Virginia Woolf writing telenovelas.

A hand grabbed her shoulder and yanked hard. Laura spun, saw Angelica, and pushed the small girl backwards.

“Don’t touch me,” she snarled.

“You do not have permission to —”

Laura turned and almost broke into a run. Angelica didn’t give chase. She called after her, but Laura didn’t hear. And as she approached Camille’s door, Angelica got quiet.

Laura had the presence of mind to knock instead of barging in. No answer. She knocked a second time, a little louder. No answer. She checked the door. It was unlocked.

Laura took a deep breath. Angelica had to be overreacting. She was a stickler for the rules. The Camille Laura knew was gentle and powerful. She was kind and larger than life. She wouldn’t take off someone’s head for going into her office. She wouldn’t fire Laura for asking a question.

But still she hesitated.

Was it worth it? Was it wise to tell an author they were capable of better? Was it right to chastise your boss? Laura didn’t know, but she knew the words. Camille’s words were good. They were always right. They were firm but supple. They were vivid but left things to the imagination. The reader danced with Camille, but it wasn’t a graceful dance. Camille could do better. Her readers could do better. Laura just wanted to see a beautiful dance.

She turned the door slowly and peeked into the room. It was almost pitch black. There was a faint glow from the windows, which were covered in thick black curtains. No sign of Camille. Laura creeped into the Camille’s quarters. No sign of life. There was only the faintest amount of light seeping through the thick curtains.

Laura stood outside of the door to Camille’s bedroom. Her hand hovered over the door. Where was she? She kept late nights, but it was almost three in the afternoon. She couldn’t be asleep could she? If she was, should Laura knock? Should she wake Camille for a lecture?

Yes. Camille was worth it. The words were worth it. Laura carefully turned the door handle. She opened the door slowly, careful to look into the room before she entered. It was complete darkness in there. Not even a trace of light floated in. Laura squinted, but kept pulling the door open, hoping to enter. Her eyes would adjust to the dark.

As she stepped in, she felt the presence of something. Something was in the room with her. It wasn’t breath. It wasn’t a presence she heard or saw. She felt it in her bones. It was with her and wanted her. It was there in the blackness. It was as though the very nature of the house, the house calling her in and keeping her safe, was in this darkness. It was the darkness.

Laura moved deeper into the darkness. She knew this room well, almost as well as her own. She moved around the seat, her seat. Her hand reached out for Marcilla’s book. It wasn’t there, but Laura could feel her, Marcilla, in the darkness with her.

“Laura?” said a sleepy voice from the bed. Laura heard the sound of ruffling sheets.

Oh shit. “Camille?” asked Laura. Laura stared into the darkness as her eyes adjusted. Camille was sitting up in bed, the sheets slid off her torso, revealing her pale chest.

“Can I help you?”

“I-I-I didn’t mean to wake you. I was just … I’m sorry. I tried to be quiet, it was —”

“I could smell you.”

“Smell me?”

“Yes, your lust is thick in the air.”

Laura stepped away from the bed. She didn’t like the sound of Camille’s voice. There was something thick in it; something dangerous and hungry. “I’m sorry. I’ll step out. I didn’t mean to —”

“Stay.” Laura froze in place. “What do you want from me, dear?”

“It’s nothing. It was stupid. It can wait.”

Camille slipped off the bed, rising before Laura. She loomed over her, and despite the thick darkness of Marcilla, her pale skin seemed to light the room around them.

“Speak,” commanded Camille.

“It’s just …” Laura took a deep breath. “I was working today. Earlier today.”

Camille smiled. Her white teeth flashed against the black. “Is that why you ache? You liked it?”

“Yes. What?” Laura stepped away from Camille. “N-n-no. I mean, it had nothing to do with that.”

“What is it, dear?” Camille stepped toward her. “Tell me.”

Laura started to talk, but stopped herself. She needed to choose her words carefully. Her fire was gone. She didn’t want to lecture Camille. She wanted to get out of the room safely. She wanted to keep her job. She wanted to look away from Camille’s smooth skin.

She swallowed. “You’re better than this story.”

“Which story?” Camille cupped Laura’s chin. “There are many stories swirling around me.”

“The Magician’s Mistress. You’re better than that.”

Camille’s hand fell away from Laura’s face. “What do you mean?”

“You’re a good writer. A great writer. You may be one of the better one’s I’ve ever read, but this story sucks. It’s predictable. It’s boring. The characters are dry. The conflict is unbelievable. It’s contrived and forced.”

“You forget yourself.”

“I know. I know it’s not my place. I’m a copy editor. I check for typos. I’m not some grand author with profound wisdom of the craft. But I know talent when I see it, and you have talent. When you write about a breeze or a kiss or a glance or a smile or the rain—my God, the rain!—it is heaven. It is unbelievably good. And that’s why people buy your books. It isn’t for your plot or characters. It’s your words. Your words, Camille, are magic. You can capture something beyond description, behind the literal. You hold within your words, the very essence of a thing.”

Camille looked at Laura for a long time. The silence became a second darkness. Laura couldn’t see Camille’s eyes, couldn’t read her expression. Was she brooding? Upset? Offended?

“Those are kind words.” Her voice was calm, emotionless. “Brave words.”

“Thank you for taking it well. I love working with you and for you. I love getting to read your stories and help you. It’s an honor. There is so much promise in your writing, but The Magician’s Mistress is not the story the world needs. You can give the world something new, something necessary. You can and should aspire to something so much better than a long approach to a threesome.”

“What do you suggest?”

“Honestly, it’s not my place.”

“You’ve made it your place. Speak your mind.” Camille smiled. “I rather enjoy it.”

“Honestly, you should start over. You should write something new, something better. It can be romance. That’s fine. But it should aim for something larger than getting lonely women off.”

A strange look danced over Camille’s face, one Laura had never seen before. Her brows crumpled as she bit her lip. “I don’t know if I’m skilled enough for what you’re suggesting.”

“I promise that you are,” said Laura quickly. “You have all the makings of a Marcilla in you. Your words have the same hypnotic, irresistible power. You need to redirect that to something powerful, something vital to being human. I’ll help you. Let me guide you.”

“What do you suggest?”

“I’m not sure yet, but I know it doesn’t need to be some housewife’s fantasy. Let’s write your fantasy. Let’s share you with the world. What story is burning inside you to be told? What’s your deepest desire? Tell me.”

Camille looked at Laura for a long moment. Then, she stepped forward, grabbed behind Laura’s neck, and kissed her. Her lips were cold, but the inside of her mouth was warm. It was thick. Laura felt Camille’s teeth dance over Laura’s lips. It was strong, but it wasn’t eager. It wasn’t desperate.

Laura didn’t kiss her back. She held herself, resisting Camille. When Camille broke away, she wasn’t embarrassed or upset. She smiled to herself, looking almost drunk.

“Thank you, Laura. You should go. I have much to write.”

“You’re sure?” Laura stepped away. Camille was different, somehow stronger. Laura wanted to stay. She wanted to be with Camille as she wrote, to help her create, but the dark-haired woman shook her head.

“I need to work. No Muse Session tonight. Tell the others.”

“Yes, Miss K.” Laura gave a slight bow, and left the room. Before she closed the door, she turned around. Camille was already moving to her desk without a trace of light to work by.