Poetry & Blood Ch. 15

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you want?” she whispered.

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

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

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

“Really?”

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

“She doesn’t appreciate you.”

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

“No,” whispered Miss Lancaster.

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

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

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

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

“Do you see what I see?” asked Laura.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You see her?” asked Laura.

“Yes.”

“You’ve lost her.”

“Yes.”

“You want her?”

“Yes.”

“Who took her?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Take off your top,” whispered Laura.

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” moaned Lucy.

“She keeps it from you.”

“Yes.”

“She’s selfish.”

“Yes.”

“Spoiled.”

“Yes.”

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

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

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

“Yes,” she whimpered.

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

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

“Yes.”

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

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

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

“Please,” whined Lucy.

“Please what?”

“Please take me.”

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

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

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

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

Darkness swallowed them as Laura extinguished the candle.

“What’s happening?” asked Miss Lancaster.

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

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

“How can I trust you?” she asked.

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

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