Poetry & Blood Ch. 12

Abby gasped as she felt the woman gently kiss her pussy. Then, without warning, the dark woman let her tongue dance out. Abby slid further forward, bringing herself to the mysterious stranger, her poet no doubt.

"Run your tongue over," prayed Abby, and the stranger obeyed. She pressed her lips against Abby's pussy and lovingly dove into it. Abby moaned and let her finger slip down, teasing her clit while the woman continued to lick, letting her tongue dance into and over Abby's wet pussy.

Abby rocked her hips back and forth, grinding against the woman's mouth. As she came closer and closer to orgasm, she clenched her eyes shut. There, floating before her in her mind, was her dark woman. She was pale and nude, her skin impossibly white. On her flesh, written in bright red ink, were the last lines of the poem. She heard them then, like a song, and she sang along with it.

"Her bare thigh and taste." She smiled as she sang. "How sweet it is to devour."

A hot, white pain sprang from her thigh, but it was then washed out by a warm, oozing pleasure. From her thighs to her pussy, spreading up over her body, like a deep blush, pleasure washed over her as Abby came for her dark stranger and slipped into darkness.

***************

The sound of paper sliding over the floor woke Abby up. Her heart fluttered as she caught sight of it, the pale paper catching the moonlight. She was up before she could think better. She never questioned how she got into the bed or how the time had passed. All doubts and thoughts floated away at the sight of another message from her mystery poet.

She held up the page. It was a single line written in a strange, thick, and dark red ink: "Find me in the orchard."

Abby didn't hesitate. She had a thousand questions for this poet, and this was the first chance to find out who she was and what she wanted. Abby put on some clothes: dark jeans, a tank top, a cardigan, and some simple boots, and headed outside the house. She wasn't sure what the rules were, but surely she was allowed to leave her room at night, right? This wasn't a dorm room, and though Miss K was some combination of landlord and employer, she couldn't be against people leaving their room, right?

Abby wasn't entirely sure where the orchard was, but outside was a reasonable first guess. Luckily the moon was full, lighting up the gardens of the manor in an eerie silver light. Abby reached for her phone to use the flashlight on it, but found that in her rush, she'd left it in her room. She found herself becoming lost wandering the expansive grounds. At first, she panicked as she passed through hedges and gardens and gates. She wasn't sure she'd be able to find her way back after so many twists and turns. Slowly, however, she began to enjoy the beauty of the cool evening. Around her, the city was quiet. The night was cool but neither freezing nor lonely. The garden was beautiful, and she was alone. She felt at peace, seeking out her mystery poet in a magical wonderland.

Abby was halfway through the orchards before she realized it. Apple season had just passed but, even so, Abby found herself tripping on apples before she looked up and around. For long rows in front of her and to her side there were nothing but trees in ordered rows. She felt less like she was in a garden or a forest and more like some other world that went on flat and straight in every direction. The manor was gone. The city was gone. There were only the trees.

A woman in a dark cloak stepped out from behind a tree in the distance. The cloak was thick and almost purple, and the woman had her hood up, disguising her identity. However, as she walked towards Abby, her body slipped out of the cloak, revealing her pale and naked skin. She was too far away for Abby to make out details, but her body was a silver blade against the night striding towards Abby.

Abby knew that it would be reasonable to run, but she couldn't. No. She could, but she didn't want to. She felt herself clam up and blush. This was real. It was all real. Some part of her had wondered if it was a dream, or if she was going insane, but now she could clearly see the dark woman almost floating towards her. Each step was smooth and confident. She glided, claiming the earth beneath her, coming to fulfill the promise of her poems.

Abby felt the urge to fall to her knees and cover herself all at once. She felt the chill in the air and wrapped her cardigan tightly around her. She felt her body warm with lust and need. She felt as though her favorite character had stepped out of the pages of a book to meet her, both surprising her with the wonders of the world and terrifying her as the supernatural crashed against reality. Her mind had no compartment for this, so she froze as the mystery poet approached.

Abby could see her features now. Her hair was medium-length, barely going past her shoulders. It had some adorable curls in it, soft and easy. Her eyes were blue, and the pale light they looked bright like ice. They were framed with black, thick-rimmed glasses. She was shorter up close, only a little bit taller than Abby. Her body was lithe and tight, her breasts small and perky. Her nipples were hard and dark, coming to a pronounced point under the swaying cloak. She had on bright red lipstick and, when she smiled, Abby knew she was the same woman that tasted her before. Only before with her words, and now as the creator.

"Hello, pet," whispered the stranger. Her voice was like shifting ice, like the cracking of a branch in a long dead and solitary place. It was sharp but gentle.

"Um ... hi?" Abby crossed her arms together across her chest and shifted her weight back and forth.

"Are you my lovely editor?" asked the stranger.

"I ... uh ... lovely?" Abby blushed. "I mean ... um ... yes. Yes, if you are my mystery poet, that is."

The stranger stepped forward. "Envision a thigh," she whispered.

Immediately, Abby saw the words of the poem dance across her vision. She replayed each sound in her head and whimpered slightly. Then, embarrassed, she blushed and stepped away from her poet.

The stranger chuckled and threw back the hood of her cloak. She looked around at the orchard, smiling to herself. "Beautiful isn't it?"

"Yeah," muttered Abby. "I had no idea this was here."

"I stumbled upon it by accident. It was a pleasant surprise."

"So strange to find an orchard in the middle of this city."

The stranger stopped and locked her gaze on Abby. "This is a very strange place." She stepped closer. "Or hadn't you noticed?"

"Oh, um ..." Abby stepped backwards. "I noticed."

"The Muse Sessions?"

Abby's eyes widened. "You know about them?"

"Tell me," a smile danced across the stranger's lips, "do you wake up sore? So sore that they insist you have a smoothie from Jacques?"

Abby's mouth dropped and her lips quivered. No one knew that. She told no one, not even Angelica who seemed to know more than she let on. "Who are you?" she whispered.

"You haven't guessed?" she asked. "You don't think you've been exchanging poems with Angelica all this time, do you?" She chuckled to herself.

"You're Laura," said Abby. It was the only thing that made sense. She was the only person in the manor she hadn't met.

"I hear I'm infamous," said Laura. Then she swept her arm under her and bowed low to the orchard floor. "Laura Delazier, at your service. I am reclusive employee, exiled editor," she stepped closer to Abby, the look of amusement vanishing as something darker, something hungrier, replaced it, "and aspiring poet."

Abby moved to step backwards, but Laura reached out and grabbed her hand. Abby's whole body tingled from the touch, her body buzzing. She blushed, and quickly slipped her hand away from Laura's.

"Why?" asked Abby. "Why me?"

"You seem to be the only one in the house with a true love of literature," sighed Laura. "I tire of those people that are all talk."

Abby nodded. She had suspected as much, but she wasn't vain enough to assume so. If this was the Laura editing Miss K's work, she had little respect for her employer's literary opinion.

"Did you, um, did you ..." Abby didn't know how to phrase it. She had barely processed it: this afternoon with the poem and the voice and the pressure and the dark woman.

"You want answers," said Laura, stepping forward.

"Yes." Abby stepped back.

"What if you don't like what you hear?"

"Please," begged Abby. "Tell me."

"Lips on lips," whispered Laura, and the air seemed to change around her. It was as though Abby was looking through extreme heat, as though she could see something moving in the air, or it was as though the crystal puff of Laura's breath washed over Abby, like she could see the words themselves.

Abby's concerns, her doubts, her nerves, faded away. She stood on her tiptoes and rose to bring her lips to Laura's. Laura smiled before leaning down and kissing the girl gently. Abby blushed, her whole body blushed, and she felt the attention and affirmation of Laura consume her. It didn't matter why Abby was chosen. All that mattered was that a beautiful woman and talented poet wanted her. She came because she was wanted and she'd never been wanted, never been pursued like this before.

She'd never been hunted.

Abby broke the kiss a little dazed, and Laura's smile widened. "I chose you because I need you," said Laura. Abby blushed again. Her whole body was flushed with dark heat, with overwhelmed acceptance and attention. "You're the only one," continued Laura, "that has the skill to help me."

"Help you do what?"

Laura brushed the back of her hand over Abby's cheek. Abby squirmed at the touch, beside herself with need and lust and submission and flustered weakness. Laura smiled at Abby's display of weakness.

"I want to save Camille," said Laura. "My tactics in my feedback have been crude and fruitless. I've tried talking to her, and she threw me out of the Muse Sessions. She won't listen to me, but she might listen to you."

"Save her from what?"

Laura's hand slid down Abby's cheek to her neck, giving it a slight squeeze. Abby whimpered.

"Save her from obscurity, from pointlessness, from squandering some real talent."

"What talent?" Abby heard herself say, then covered her mouth with her hand in shock. "Oh my gosh, I didn't mean that. I meant -"

"You read Marcilla's poems during the sessions?" interrupted Laura.

Abby nodded. "Those are pretty ... well ... those are ..."

"Hot," finished Laura. "And good."

"Yeah." Abby averted her gaze and blushed.

"Marcilla is Camille. Camille wrote those poems."

"What?" Abby looked back into Laura's eyes. "How's that possible?"

"Doesn't matter. What matters is that Camille can only truly write when she feels like it, when she's properly motivated."

"You're telling me."

Abby broke eye contact with Laura. She couldn't stand it. Her eyes were too bright, too sharp against the dark forest, like two pale blue moons.

"Have you had the dreams?" asked Laura.

Abby's eyes widened, but she didn't look up. How could Laura know about them? How could anyone know about the black cat climbing through her window, up her bare breast, biting it. She'd had it over and over since moving in, each morning she woke up when the cat bit. Each time, she felt the mark throughout the day.

"The soreness? The aches?"

When Abby didn't respond, Laura grabbed the girl's chin again, bringing Abby's eyes to meet her own. Abby didn't fight or resist.

"You have so many questions, little one," whispered Laura. Abby felt goosebumps and shivers take over her body. No one had spoken to her this way before. Laura was like an elder sister and a monster and a lover all in one. She was something dangerous and powerful and wise and hungry.

Abby nodded, though her chin barely moved in Laura's hands.

"I have answers. I know this is a strange place, and the truth is even stranger. What you must know now, and what you must believe, is that you are in danger and your only hope is me."

Once again, the air seemed to shimmer and warp around Abby. She felt her goosebumps flee as her body warmed under the breath of Laura. She relaxed her head into Laura's hands, letting the weight off her shoulders and neck. Laura was holding her up now. She didn't need to work so hard. All she had to do was relax and let Laura take over. Yes, Laura would take care of it now. She would take care of everything.

"But you didn't come here for politics," said Laura, smiling. Abby noticed her teeth. They were white, unusually white. Maybe it was the moonlight, but Abby couldn't help but wonder if they were entirely human.

Laura released Abby's chin. Abby's head drooped, but she caught it. Laura smiled wider, then shrugged off her cloak with a simple motion, and Abby saw her in her pale glory. Abby didn't pull her eyes away. She didn't blush. She didn't flinch. She was captivated. Laura was not the kind of body filling lingerie ads, but with her head tilted back, her eyes wide and dangerous, her smile sharp and eager, her shoulders thrown back, her chest pushed forward, her arms spread wide, her whole body a dare and an invitation, Abby had never felt closer to divinity.

Laura tilted her head down, her eyes glinting in the moonlight, her body demanding Abby's attention. "You came here for poetry. Isn't that right, pet?"

Abby nodded slowly. It was hard to think. Too much of her mind was busy trying to figure out if this was really happening or if she was experiencing pure wonder and lust that it was happening. There was no room for answering questions, for words, for conversation.

Abby stayed frozen as Laura approached her. The pale poet grabbed the waist of Abby's jeans and pulled her in closer. Abby let her, standing limply while Laura kissed her lightly on the cheek. Abby whimpered as Laura slowly, so slowly, moved and kissed the other cheek.

Her lips kept moving past Abby and to her ear. She kissed it lightly, then whispered, "Shall I compose you a poem, pet?" She crossed back to Abby's lips and hesitated. "Or perhaps you have more feedback for my last poem?"

Laura smiled, then wrapped her arms around Abby's waist, stepped forward, and kissed the small editor. Abby hesitated for only a moment, then her knees gave out. She crumpled, and Laura held her up, kissing her with all her might. Laura sucked gently on Abby's bottom lip, and then bit them playfully. Abby gasped, but she didn't pull away. Pulling away required too much thinking, and Laura was taking care of thinking now.

Laura unbuckled Abby's jeans and slowly let her pet sink to the orchard floor. Abby smiled, still weakly trying to kiss Laura back as she felt the chilly air wash over her pale thighs as her jeans were pulled down.

Thighs.

Abby blushed and tried to sit up, one rational part of her mind waking up, but Laura lazily pressed down on Abby's chest, keeping her prey pinned to the orchard floor. Abby didn't panic when she realized she couldn't escape. Panicking required thought.

"How can I write a poem," said Laura, "without something to write with?"

Abby wanted to answer but could not make words without thoughts. She could only use the words given to her: "The heavy tongue thick between your teeth," she whispered.

Laura laughed gently. It was soft and high, something inhuman and predatory. "Like this?" she asked. Laura sank to her knees between Abby's legs and ran her tongue over Abby's thighs. Abby couldn't see, but when she closed her eyes, she could imagine Laura's tongue spelling out letters, writing a poem on her thighs.

Abby wanted to squirm against it, to writhe away, to reduce the overwhelming sensation taking over her body, but she held still for Laura. She didn't want to the ruin the poem. She was an editor. Her job was to help the poet create her poem. They were creating together again, but now Abby was the paper and Laura the pen. Abby's skin held the words and drank them deep.

Laura wrote their poem with Abby's latest revisions. Abby whispered each word as Laura's tongue composed it, both of them writing in the same breath, the same hushed prayer of their bodies. As Laura went, she gave tiny nibbles to Abby's thigh. Abby giggled to herself.

"How sweet it is to be devoured," whimpered Abby.

"How sweet indeed," hissed Laura. She sat up, looking over her prey, smiling to herself at her work. "But not today."

"What?" Abby sat up, the shock clearing her mind.

"When you have served my purpose, I promise to devour every inch of you." Laura stood and picked up her cloak. "For now, we have much work to do."

"Work?"

"Yes, miles to go and all that." Laura took out a thin leather strap with a sapphire on it. She stared into the gem, smiling at herself. "Miles to go."

"Please," whined Abby. She lifted her pelvis, creeping it towards her dark poet.

"Please what?" Laura cocked her head, amused.

"Please devour me. Please let me cum."

"Oh, pet," sighed Laura. "Indeed there will be time."

"Please, dark goddess, please." Abby had lost all reason, lost all fear and doubt. All she knew was the hunger, the emptiness inside her that only the words could fill, only her poet could fill. The words made and remade her, and the poet gave her the words. That made the poet her goddess, her dark goddess.

"Remake me," she whispered.

Abby laughed. It was high and clear, like a song. This was more than she had hoped for. She had planned for prey, for a slave. She had never expected an acolyte.

"As you wish, pet." Laura went to her knees, the leather strap still in her hand. She grabbed Abby's panties without hesitation and slid them down. Abby didn't resist. She showed no concern, only the peace of release, the ecstasy of devotion.

Laura was unsurprised to find the panties soaked. She slid two fingers into Abby's pussy unceremoniously. Abby arched her back, and moaned.

"You want to be remade?" mused Laura. "Fine. Let's write a new poem." Laura used her free hand and wrapped the leather strap around Abby's left thigh, above the knee. "This marks you as mine. You belong to Laura, now and forever."

Abby felt the cold rush of breath and power wash over her again. Her mind went fuzzy and then numb entirely as the words sank into her.

"Repeat," ordered her dark goddess.

"I belong to Laura, now and forever."

Laura pumped faster once the strap was in place. Abby watched her dark goddess carefully, trying to memorize each detail of this moment, her ascension, her second birth. Laura smirked as she saw the adoration in Abby's eyes.

"You belong to Laura, mind and body."

"I belong to Laura, mind and body."

"You belong to Laura, blood and soul."

"I belong to Laura, blood and soul." Abby strained against Laura's touch, feeling her body building to explosion. She tried to control herself, to stay still for her goddess, but her body was eager. It was weak.

"You will obey her commands, even to death."

"I will obey her commands, even to death."

Laura tapped the strap around Abby's thigh. "This is a collar around your veins."

"A collar around my ... uhhn ... veins," moaned Abby.

"Your blood is mine."

"My blood is yours."

Laura bent down and bit Abby's thigh, hard. Abby arched her back, almost trying to squirm away, but she didn't want to escape Laura's fingers. She held still as best as she could, writhing and bucking against Laura. Laura bit harder, letting blood trickle out over her lips and tongue. Abby moaned in pleasure, her body relaxing into the pain. She belonged to Laura. Her body, her blood, belonged to Laura.

"You thigh is mine," hissed Laura as she pulled away, wiping the blood from her chin.

"My thigh is yours," moaned Abby. She was close, so close.

"You will serve me in secret."

"I will serve you in secret."