Poetry & Blood Ch. 06

Chapter 6: Silver Tongue

By Trixie Adara

Edited by Abby H.

No one else was in Camille's chambers for that night's Muse Session. Camille sat on the edge of the bed, her feet crossed, naked except for a flattering choker and bright blue heels. Laura's mouth watered.

"Where is everyone else?" she asked.

"Just us tonight." Camille gestured for Laura to sit in her usual seat. Laura gripped the precious book in her hand tightly. She read the whole thing. Twice. Marcilla was a vampire. She hunted after Laura, she loved Laura K, but her prey was indifferent. Marcilla pleaded with her, offered her immortality, but Laura K didn't want to live forever.

The end was hard to sort out. Laura K was certainly a lesbian or bisexual. She served Marcilla's body, but she never satiated Marcilla's hunger. Some poems were dedicated to Marcilla devouring young maids in the city as if to move on or forget Laura K, but her hunger chased her. It beat her. She needed to taste Laura K, to eat her whole, but she wouldn't do it without her consent.

The final poems were a tangle of metaphors about life and death, birth, and bloodlines. Laura thought it had something to do with becoming a vampire. On her first reading, she was sure Laura K did become a vampire and joined Marcilla, but on the second reading she was convinced that Laura K rejected her. There was something about eternity, but it was a "somber bloodline" or a "new vein."

"Did you finish the book?" asked Camille.

Laura nodded. "Twice," she said and blushed, looking down at the floor.

"What did you think?"

"I don't know. The end is confusing."

"Yes." Camille uncrossed her legs and leaned forward. She reached for the book, and Laura handed it over. Camille flipped through the pages at the end. "Each time I read it, I convince myself that Laura will change her mind. She will go to Marcilla and beg to be with her forever."

"She doesn't?" asked Laura. "One time I thought she did but the other ..."

"No." Camille closed the book. "Laura chooses another life. She stays with her husband. They have a child."

"Isn't Laura a lesbian?"

Camille smiled. "I think she would laugh at such a word."

"Why?"

"Because she wouldn't see the point. The word would help us, yes? We hunger for women. We want to know what other women will accept our advances. We want them to label themselves so we know who is off limits and who is free to hunt."

Laura shrugged. "Makes sense."

"She wouldn't care about making it easier on us," said Camille. She laughed at some private joke or funny thought. Laura had never heard her laugh before. It was slight, almost like a sigh.

Camille handed the book back to Laura. She took it but didn't open it. She almost didn't want to read it tonight. She wondered if she could make something up for Camille instead. She could tell her own version where Laura K submits to Marcilla as she should. They are meant for each other. Marcilla could crush Laura K and drink her blood from a corpse, but she wants Laura K to give it to her. It's impossibly sad to get to the end of a story like that and have it end in tragedy.

"I don't understand," muttered Laura.

"What don't you understand?"

"Why wouldn't she give in to Marcilla?"

Camille shrugged. "Perhaps Marcilla wasn't interesting enough."

"Bullshit." Laura started to flip to the page where "Unspoken" was, but she knew the words by heart. "I offer you Lust itself. The very fount of passion and hunger, sex made whole," she recited. "Who doesn't take that offer? What kind of fool was Laura K?"

"I doubt she was a fool," said Camille. There was an edge in her voice.

Laura pressed on. "Yes, she was. She's an idiot. She didn't deserve Marcilla."

Camille pursed her lips, but then a smile spread across her face. "You're getting awfully worked up over a piece of fiction."

Laura blushed and looked away. She was getting awfully worked up. Marcilla may be a real poet, but vampires aren't real. This is some fantasy. It's a story. Just a story.

"You're right," she admitted.

"But that's why we write, isn't it?" asked Camille. "To make the imaginary real?"

"What's the virtue in making a tragedy real?"

"Life is the tragedy, dear. Life is long and cruel and painful."

"Then Marcilla should have put them together. If she had control over it, she could have made the world a better place."

"Perhaps," said Camille. The dark-haired woman stood and moved to the bathroom. Her heels clacked pleasantly over the hardwood floors.

"I would have done it," said Laura.

Camille stopped.

"Done what?" she asked.

"Submitted," said Laura. Her face must have been bright pink, but she didn't care. Camille was being foolish. Camille, who had such a great gift with words, should know that art should make the world a better place. Even tragedies, even bleak art, should propel us to our better selves. If Laura was going to work for her, she had to know that Laura took this seriously. Marcilla was wrong as a writer. Laura K was wrong as a character. The whole world lost out when they didn't come together. The world full of it's ugly and simpleness shouldn't miss out on what could have been beautiful, even if it was dark and twisted.

"Really?" said Camille.

"Yes."

"You know that Marcilla was a vampire? She didn't want to fuck Laura. She wanted to devour her."

"Yes," said Laura.

"Death," hissed Camille.

"Beauty," countered Laura.

Camille's heels clacked back towards Laura. She stood behind Laura, leaned over her shoulder, and whispered into her ear: "Do you want to die, pet?"

Laura's body erupted in shivers. She wanted to squirm away, to run back to her room and masturbate, but she was trapped with Camille's lips a centimeter away from her ear.

"I want to be devoured," she whimpered.

Laura felt Camille's breathe lower to her neck. "Like this?" she asked. She gave Laura a light kiss on the neck.

Laura shuddered. "More," she whispered.

"Like this?" asked Camille. She kissed Laura's neck again, this time like a lover. Laura felt the pressure of Camille's tongue.

Laura tried to slide down in her seat. Her legs went wide and her hips slid forward, but Camille pinned her to the seat, not letting Laura's neck escape her lips.

"More," whimpered Laura.

"Like this?" Camille ran her tongue up and down Laura's neck. Laura's head tilted back as she sighed with pleasure, and Camille nuzzled her mouth under Laura's chin, gliding her tongue into the crook of Laura's neck.

"More," moaned Laura.

Camille began to lightly nibble on Laura's neck. Her teeth barely glazed over the skin.

"More," demanded Laura. She reached back with her hand and grabbed the back of Camille's head, pressing her against her neck.

Camille's nibbles turned to bites. Laura felt the teeth sink down and press into her skin. There was a slight pinch of pain, and Laura's body tensed. Then, the teeth released for another bite. Laura's body relaxed and she sighed with pleasure. It went on like this. A vice of pain followed by a flood of pleasure. Laura felt her body relax into the cycle. She wished she was naked. She wished she could feel Camille's teeth over every inch of her body.

"You like?" whispered Camille between bites.

"More," begged Laura. "I want more."

"Then what about this?" Laura felt a sharp pain stab into her neck. She yelped and jumped out of the chair. Her hand flew to her neck. She pulled her hand away and saw it run red with blood. She turned to yell at Camille, but paused.

Camille stood before her in a new light, in new glory. Her curly hair was wild around her, swept to one side and cascading down her back and over her shoulders. Her green eyes caught the candle light of the room. The thick black velvet choker drew attention to how pale she was. She was moonlight and silver. She was ethereal. She was a spectre and a dream, an angel and a ghost, all at once. She had bright, cobalt blue heels and her arms were spread wide in a gesture of magnificence. She was ready for her worship, her adoration, and her terror. She was a sight to behold, but Laura could not escape her lips. On top of ink black lipstick was a slight slash of scarlet. Blood. Laura's blood. Camille smiled, and two sharp fangs shimmered in the gloomy chamber.

Laura wanted to shriek and run. She wanted to stop and stare. But more than anything, she wanted to fall to her knees and tilt her neck to one side. She would be no Laura K. She would stay true to her word. Faced with a beautiful oblivion, she would not let her life be a bland tragedy.

"You're not afraid?" asked the vampire.

Laura shook her head. "More," she whispered and tilted her neck, offering it.

Camille laughed to herself. Again, it was a song and sigh. "You are too precious to die like cattle," said Camille. "Though you do taste wonderful, like the autumn. Cinnamon and apple. Your blood is sweet and makes me think of older and warmer times."

Laura shuddered. She felt her knees go weak. She lowered herself in the presence of true power. "Please," she whispered.

Camille shook her head. "No. Not now. Maybe not ever. I need your mind and your tongue." Camille stepped in front of Laura and placed her hand under Laura's chin. She lifted Laura's eyes to meet her sharp green ones. "Though your service and loyalty are noted. It's not a small gesture to offer your life." Camille lifted and Laura followed, rising to her feet. Camille ran and hand over Laura's body, her skin was gooseflesh and her nipples stiff. Camille smiled and brought her hand into Laura's panties. She was soaked. "Your body tells me you were sincere. That earns you more than you may understand. But sit, this moves things up for me and there is much you must understand."

Camille stepped away from Laura, clicked her heels back to the bathroom, and grabbed a sheer black chiffon robe. She didn't tie it close around her as she sat on the edge of the bed. She gestured to Laura, and Laura sat in her seat.

Laura moved slowly, as though underwater. She was in awe and shocked. Camille was the same woman she had been the entire time, and yet she was something entirely new. She acted as though this revelation was nothing, but it was everything to Laura. She was Laura K now with the rare chance to live out the story and change the ending, but Camille was uninterested in consummating the relationship of prey and predator.

"You have questions," said Camille.

Laura nodded.

"Begin with the simple ones."

"You're a vampire?" asked Laura.

Camille nodded.

"Vampires are real?" asked Laura.

Camille nodded.

"How old are you?"

"It's never polite to ask a lady's age, even an immortal lady."

Laura nodded. "What's true about vampires? What's myth?"

"That's a much longer and honestly biological and academic conversation. Neither your body, nor mine care much for academic understandings of my body right now."

Laura shivered.

Camille laughed again, the same delightful and girlish laugh.

Laura smiled. "Do you kill people to live?"

Camille's face grew serious. "I can. I don't have to."

Laura nodded, trying to process all of this. "Did you know Marcilla?"

"Ah, now the story begins," said Camille. "But first, we're both hungry, yes?"

Laura's eyes widened. "What?"

"Food, dear. This will be a late night."

"You eat food. I mean, besides blood?"

"As you can eat dirt, so I can a strawberry. The good news is that strawberries taste much better than dirt." Camille smiled and Laura relaxed.

Camille sent for some food to be brought up. She was right; Laura was starving. Laura washed up in the bathroom, trying to calm her body down. Everything became so unbearably normal. Angelica brought food. Did she know about Camille? Camille got dressed. People told jokes. They talked about what they would do tomorrow. It was painfully normal, as though they didn't know the world had changed in a moment. As though they didn't know how close Laura was to oblivion and how desperately she wanted to go back there.

Camille urged Laura to leave the bed chamber and follow her out into the suite. There, a small table was set with food. Camille only had a bowl of strawberries at her seat.

"Now," she said as they both sat, "you want to know about Marcilla."

Laura nodded.

"I am Marcilla," said Camille without hesitation or profundity. "I've had many names over the ages. For a long time, I acted under the name of Carmilla, but that name failed me. When I came to the United States, I took a new name."

"Then ... Laura Karnstein is real?" asked Laura.

"Unfortunately and fortunately, yes. Your namesake is a real woman, a real lover of mine. The book of poetry chronicles our love affair, and my youthful obsession with her."

"You wrote the poems?"

Camille laughed. "Yes. The same power you found in my writing for The Magician's Mistress is in those words. Did you not recognize it?"

Laura shook her head.

"Ah, when you asked about it, I thought perhaps you were on to it."

"Oh," said Laura. She looked down at her food and distracted herself with eating.

"Laura is real, though I think she would laugh at me if she read my silly book, but I don't know what else to do."

"What do you mean?"

"Laura ran away from me. Well, that is an extreme word. Laura's husband was stationed in Stryia. He was then assigned to a new post in Germany, and she went with him. Of course she did. She was pregnant with his child. I wrote letters, but I never saw her again after that. She never wrote back. Ever since then, I've been writing to her. Each story is about her. Each poem is for her. Each word on the page has power because it calls out to her, begging her to come back to me."

"But ..." Laura paused to show delicacy. "Wouldn't she be dead?"

"No." Camille's lips pursed. Her voice tightened. She looked away for a long moment. "On our last night together, I drank her, and she drank me. Our blood danced and mingled within us. We were one flesh in ways humans can only dream. We were one organ, one circulatory system, and I sired her, brought her into the Sisterhood of the Night."

"And she still left?"

"Yes," sighed Camille. "She still left. She was furious with me. She blamed me for something, I know not what, and called me a demon, the devil. She said I had cursed her, shamed her, and she left with her husband."

"I'm sorry." Laura wanted to do something, to comfort her, to reach out her hand and take Camille's, but it all felt foolish, like a toddler comforting a wife after losing her husband of sixty years. Camille was ancient, and Laura was nothing. How could she comfort someone like this?

The silence grew between them. Laura distracted herself with eating. Camille picked at her strawberries. Laura still had questions, so many questions, but none of them felt right. Nothing felt right. What happened to Laura's child? Did Laura turn her husband? Did she outlive her husband? Did she outlive her daughter?

"Laura loved books," said Camille with a sigh. "It was one of the few things she truly loved. I could lick her for hours, and it moved her body, but the only thing that moved her heart was a good book. I would watch her read for hours at time without interruption, and I wished I could be the book, holding her undivided attention. I wished I could be the author, moving her heart and being."

Camille turned to Laura and smiled sadly. "I have little talent for writing. I can perform a trick or two. It is one of the benefits of my curse, and that is what you have responded to in my poems and some of my stories. But my power is not enough to draw her back to me. If she were with me here, in this room, I could take her under my sway, but the power fades with each iteration as it gets further from me."

"For years, I wrote books to her. I wanted her to stumble upon them in a bookstore, open them, and feel the familiar tug of me on her soul. I wanted to call her back to me. All of my books are one failed attempt after another to call her back to me. But I do not have the talent to write a book that will reach everyone, that Laura will stumble upon in her long unnatural life."

Camille reached out grabbed Laura's hand. "I need your help."

"My help?" asked Laura.

"Yes. We will write this book, the book you suggested. We will fill it with your words and my power. Everyone will beg for it, fall to it, and there is no way it won't reach Laura, my Laura."

"Your power?"

Camille looked at Laura intently, until she was looking into Laura. Laura couldn't break Camille's gaze. She stared into Camille's eyes, until she could see herself in the green of Camille. She could see her eyes in Camille's eyes. In those eyes, were Camille's eyes again. The closer she looked, the more she saw Camille. It was all Camille. Everything was Camille. The deeper you went, the more Camille you found. Something changed inside Camille. The wounded woman disappeared, and the huntress emerged. Camille decided on something, something she wanted from Laura, and she moved to take it.

Camille lifted her thumb and bit it. A tiny bead of blood swelled up. She brought it to Laura's lips, and Laura sucked on it eagerly. The more she drank, the more she filled up on Camille's blood, on Camille, the less room there was for Laura inside her. She became less Laura. She became less human. Even by a tiny bead, she was a tiny bead less in every way.

"You will help me," said Camille. There was less of Laura inside Laura, and it was replaced with Camille's words. Less Laura and more Camille.

"You will serve me," said Camille. "You will be my silver tongue. You will make my words gleam. You will help me find my bride and bring her to me. This will be your purpose, your burning desire beyond and above all things."

"Yes, Marcilla."

Camille smiled. She took her hand away, and Laura whimpered. Camille stood, grabbed Laura's wrist, and brought her into her bedchamber. She sat on the edge of the bed, where she had sat for Muse Sessions time after time for Laura. Laura read for Camille before, but there was less Laura now. Laura didn't need to read now. She needed to serve. She needed to compose. She needed to speak, and words come from the tongue.

Laura fell to her knees in front of Camille. Camille spread her legs.

"Now," said Camille as she grabbed the back of Laura's head, "be my silver tongue." She pulled Laura's head into her pussy, and Laura submitted. Her tongue was eager. It was less her tongue and more Camille's tongue. It belonged to Camille. It was for Camille to use as she pleased. She wanted to cum. Laura would serve.

Camille leaned back, and Laura leaned forward. She started slowly. In another time, maybe a week ago, Laura would panic at the idea of licking another woman's pussy. This morning, she would have panicked at the idea of licking her bosses' pussy. Now, she didn't worry about that at all. She was less. Camille was more. It was her place to serve.

She started with small licks, igniting Camille's desire and hunger, but Camille was impatient. She grabbed the back of Laura's head and forced the younger woman's mouth closer to her pussy, almost into her pussy. Laura could barely breathe, but she didn't need breath. She was less Laura and more servant. She was less brain and more tongue. She was less air and more pleasure. She slithered her tongue as deep into Camille's pussy as she could. She stopped trying to go deeper when Camille stopped pressing down on the back of her head.

"That's right," moaned Camille. "Be my silver tongue. Serve me."

Laura used her nose to stroke Camille's clit, and bent at the neck, moving her head up and down, to stroke Camille. Camille's body writhed on the bed, her back arched, and moaned louder.