Poetry & Blood Chapter 5: The Words Themselves By Trixie Adara Edited by Abby H.
"I can't believe she just took it," said Nikki into Laura's neck. The two women were curled into each other, naked and sweaty in Laura's bed.
"I know. Not only that, she seemed to take it well. Very well."
"You said she started working immediately?"
"Yup."
"No Muse Session?" asked Nikki.
"Not tonight."
"That's why you're in such a good mood," purred Nikki. She kissed Laura's neck.
"Yeah, I'm sure that's the only reason." Laura lowered herself and met Nikki's eyes. "Can't be anything else."
Nikki kissed her. It was long and firm. Nikki's lips held Laura's, and nothing tore them apart. They didn't need air or tongue. Nikki wanted her, and Laura needed to be wanted.
Laura broke away and smiled. She ran her hand over Nikki's cheek, through Nikki's hair. "You're the prettiest girl I've ever kissed," she whispered.
Nikki rolled her eyes and sat up out of bed. "Funny," she muttered.
"I thought so." Laura took advantage of the space to stretch herself out. Nikki got up and started to put on her panties. She was wise enough not to wear a bra for this visit.
"You going back to your room?" asked Laura.
"It's late."
"Yeah but ..." started Laura. She bit her lip. "You could stay."
Nikki froze in the middle of sliding her skirt up her thick thighs. "The night?" she asked. It was a delicate question, more of a breath, a hesitation, than anything else.
"Yeah. I could put a movie on my laptop. We could watch it until we fall asleep. Or," Laura threw off the covers and spread her legs. One hand went down to her pussy and started to gently stroke her lips. "We could put on a movie and ignore it while we do something more interesting."
Nikki raised a single eyebrow, but then her face was scrunched with confusion. "You want me to stay the night?"
"Please." Laura sat up in bed. "Stay with me."
Nikki let her skirt slide back down her legs and sat on the edge of the bed. She never took her eyes off of Laura. "No one's ever asked me to stick around."
"Well," Laura sat up and scooched to Nikki. She wrapped her legs and then her arms around Nikki from behind. "I'm not like anyone else." She kissed Nikki's neck. Nikki arched her back and gave out a needy sigh. "For one, I'm decidedly more female than anyone you've been with."
"One hundred percent," whimpered Nikki.
Laura's hands moved to Nikki's breasts. Nikki didn't stop her.
"I have one hundred percent more pussy." Nikki moaned as Laura's hands went over the curvy redhead's tits. "Two hundred percent more tits," breathed Laura. "And unlike them, I can go over and over again. No breaks needed."
Nikki moaned again, and then her hands bolted to her breasts, grabbing Laura's fingers and stopping them from playing with her nipples. "Breaks can be good," she whispered.
"Breaks for showers?" asked Laura. "Together showers?" Laura tried to get her hands back to Nikki's nipples, but Nikki wouldn't let her.
"Breaks for food," she said. "Breaks for sleep. We both work in the morning."
"I'm used to working late," said Laura. She kissed Nikki's neck. The kiss turned into a nibble which turned into a playful bite. Nikki gasped and let go of Laura's hands. Laura took advantage to immediately bring one hand to Nikki's pussy and the other hand to Nikki's exposed breast.
Nikki melted into a puddle of whimpers and stopped resisting. "Besides," whispered Laura in Nikki's ear. "I could always eat off of you. Or eat you."
Nikki nodded helplessly, and Laura took her lover back to bed.
Nikki was gone when Laura woke up, but Laura wasn't surprised. Nikki's day started at six a.m. Laura's day started whenever the hell she woke up.
Delightfully, she wasn't sore this morning. She rolled out of bed and hopped in the shower. She wasn't wound up or turned on. She wasn't soaked. Her thighs ached a bit, but it wasn't the same soreness as after a Muse Session. She knew exactly what Nikki did to make her sore there last night.
She felt like herself. Well, herself if Laura Delazier was happy, sexy, and confident. She felt like a better version of herself, the best version of herself. She was excited to get to work with Camille on the new story, and slightly nervous to run into Nikki today. Would they flirt in front of Angelica? Would Angelica care? Would Nikki care?
Laura knew she wouldn't. Something about Nikki felt right. It felt easy. She wasn't pretending or nervous about being someone else in front of Nikki. She could be flirty and sexy and confident and nervous and insecure and needy and aggressive all at once. She was herself with Nikki, and that was true beauty.
Her breakfast was already waiting for her when she got out of the shower. Luckily, Jacques had upgraded to sausage, eggs, and a croissant. The smoothie remained, but Laura had come to enjoy them. It wouldn't be breakfast at the Kontalban Mansion without a green, slimey smoothie.
What did surprise Laura was what accompanied breakfast. Next to the tray was a separate tray. On it was the book, Marcilla's book, and a note. Laura didn't touch the note. She went right for the book. She picked it up with reverence; her hands shook. This was it. Marcilla was alone with her. In her room.
All the rest and relaxation of the morning fled from Laura's body. Her knees were weak. Warmth flooded her cheeks and thighs. Her pussy was damp. She ached. She was hungry. She wasn't a confident girl anymore. She was small. She was delicate. She was delicious, and Marcilla was with her now.
Marcilla was everything, and Nikki was nothing.
Laura was nothing.
She flipped through the pages glancing over familiar titles. "The Yawn," "Proper," and "Unashamed," along with "Him," "Those Not Here," and "Substitution." Page after page of the dance between Laura K and Marcilla. This was it.
She flipped to the first poem she hadn't read yet, "In the Blood," and shivered. Laura K had sent a note to Marcilla with one word: "tonight." She was finally ready to give herself to Marcilla. She had shown interest and recognized Marcilla's hunger for her. Tonight Marcilla was going to have her. Laura read:
In the Blood
Under her heavy sheets, She sleeps with skin bare, Body curled and unfurling, My rose in bloom, Her lips wet with tongue.
She moans in her sleep. I quiver, she must know. Her soul cries out for me. My blood calls out for her.
A knock on the door. Laura almost dropped the book in surprise.
"Yes?" she asked.
"I have a message from Miss K," said Angelica from behind the door.
Laura sighed with relief. She didn't know who she expected or what she expected, but when she turned to put the book back on the tray she hesitated. She didn't want Angelica to see it. Angelica didn't need to know. No one needed to know. This was between her and Camille and Marcilla.
"One moment," she said and turned to put the book in her underwear drawer. Once it was covered with plain white panties, she turned back around. She looked down. She was still naked. She ran to the bathroom and grabbed a towel.
"Come in," she shouted once she was sure she was covered.
Angelica parted the door and peeked in. When she saw Laura wasn't clothed, she closed the door. "I can come back," she said from the other side.
"It's fine," said Laura. "I just got out of the shower. You can come in."
Angelica slowly parted the door and entered. She didn't take her eyes off the floor: strange behavior from a woman who regularly ate her boss out.
"I was told to make sure you saw Miss K's note. I left it with your breakfast."
"No," said Laura. "I just stepped out of the shower. I haven't looked at it yet."
Angelica looked at the tray that formerly held the book. The note was still there, undisturbed. "I see," she said. "Well, Miss K wanted to make sure you saw it. She said you may have the day off, but she wants to do a Muse Session tonight for your ..." she cleared her throat, "new project."
"Right. Thanks. I'll take a look at the note when I'm dressed." Laura smiled at the short blonde's discomfort. She didn't dislike Angelica exactly, but Nikki had told her enough stories to convince Laura that if you shoved a piece of coal up Angelica's ass, in two weeks you'd have a diamond.
Angelica nodded and stepped out of the room. Laura sighed with relief and dropped her towel. The shock of being caught doing ... what? What was she doing that was shameful? Reading? Enjoying what she was reading?
Laura went to her dresser and started deliberating. If she had the day off, she wanted to be comfy. If she was going to spend it chasing Nikki, she wanted to be sexy. If she was going to spend it with Marcilla, she wanted ... easy access. She could try all three, but when she imagined her day, she didn't see herself following Nikki around. She imagined herself right here, taking meals in her room, Marcilla in her lap and her hand barely leaving her pussy. Yes. She wasn't going to leave Marcilla for Nikki. Nikki could pretend to be Marcilla, but she'd never be the real thing. She'd never have the words.
Laura stuck to pajamas: loose pants and an oversized shirt. No panties or bra. She didn't want anything obstructing her hands while she read. She went back to her desk and sat down to eat. She knew better than to wait too long to finish breakfast. She wasn't sore now, but it could creep up on her later today. She didn't want any distractions today.
Laura was in what her old roommate, Claire, would call slut-mode.' Claire said she would enter this state of absolute lust where she knew what she was doing was irresponsible and maybe stupid, but she didn't care. She wanted it, and she knew the smallest distraction would take her out of that trance-like drive. Claire would take every precaution as she slipped into slut-mode' to remove any distractions or reminders of her responsibility. She would call in sick to work the next day. She would turn off her phone. She would avoid Laura. All that mattered was that she wanted to be reckless and let the adult world be damned.
Laura felt that now. She finished breakfast and the smoothie. She set the tray in the hallway and locked her door. She turned off her phone. She turned off any lights and drew in most of the curtains so passerbys would think the room was empty and not bother knocking. She left a small crack in the curtain so a beam of light illuminated her bed. She was ready. Today, she would spend time with Marcilla. That's all that mattered.
Before she sat to read, she looked at the note Camille had sent with the book. It read: "Take the day off. I've been quite productive on the page, and it's all because of you." Laura found herself blushing at the compliment. Before, she didn't feel like a participant with Camille in the writing process. She observed Camille's work. She did maintenance on Camille's work, but she didn't create. She cleaned up, but she didn't participate. Now she felt not only like she could contribute, but that she was a driving force behind the work. She was writing with Camille in a way.
And like that, Laura thought of herself as a writer for the first time.
She smiled, her fingers running over the words on Camille's note over and over. It was almost enough to make her forget about Marcilla's book buried beneath her panties. Almost.
She went back to her dresser and unearthed the book. She sat cross legged on the bed, holding the book in front of her. She ran her hands gently over the cover, over the spine. She let her thumb finger the pages, but she didn't open it. Not yet. This was time with her and Marcilla. No Angelica or Miss Lancaster or Jacques. No Nikki. No Camille. This was her time with the mysterious poet.
Somehow, she felt like she knew Marcilla. The sapphic poet had led her to Nikki. Was Marcilla responsible for the new urges and hunger inside Laura? It made sense. She spent night after night in a lesbian's mind as Marcilla pined after Laura K and hunted her. She was surrounded by women who ate out women, women who were eaten out by women, and all these women did so while listening to the ancient words of a lesbian. All of them did so while fingering themselves and cumming. Even Laura was aroused and drawn to the edge by Marcilla's vision of women.
Marcilla didn't just see women as beautiful. Women's beauty was a matter of fact. They were the cultivators and owners of beauty. No. Marcilla saw something else. She saw their vulnerability, not as weakness, but as delicate. As though filet mignon was more delicate than rib eye. She didn't want to dominate women or punish them. She wanted to consume them. She wanted to taste them. Laura had never wondered what women tasted like before she read Marcilla. She had heard people talk about what pussies tasted like, but Marcilla wanted to know what their skin tasted like. Their wrists, their necks, their thighs, their lips, their ears, their breath, their blood. She wanted every inch of them. There were so many inches of women Laura had never wondered about before.
She felt nothing but fascination for what Marcilla felt until she tasted Nikki. She knew now that women were a symphony of sensations. They were different flavors and scents and textures and curves and entrances and exits and multi-faceted pleasures. It was like eating hamburgers your whole life from a fast-food place and then one day, not only having a burger made by a master chef, but being introduced to new cuts of beef or new ground meats. It was like having your palate awakened all at once. It was like seeing color for the first time.
Marcilla saw women for the complex world they were, and she wanted to enter into that. She wanted to explore women. That was what drove her towards Laura K: endless curiosity. Laura K was a puzzled to solve. She had so many complex flavors, so many surprises to dazzle Marcilla's palate. Marcilla wanted to taste her, and Laura wanted Laura K to give in. She wanted to read how Laura K tasted and feel the flavors on her own tongue as Marcilla wrote for her.
Laura smiled as she felt her hand slip into her pants. Yes, she would read Marcilla as Marcilla was meant to be intended. She reached back and gathered pillows around her. She leaned back, pulling up her knees to prop up the book. She never pulled her hand away from her pussy as she restarted the poem from earlier:
In the Blood
Under her heavy sheets, She sleeps with skin bare, Body curled and unfurling, My rose in bloom, Her lips wet with tongue.
She moans in her sleep. I quiver, she must know. Her soul cries out for me. My blood calls out for her.
The tip of Laura's nail teased her clit. She smiled. It cried out. She could see Marcilla, hovering over a sleeping Laura K. Her husband was gone; he was always gone. Marcilla in her nightgown, or perhaps pale and nude before her prey.
I don't wait again, As Laura wouldn't do for me. Were she to want me, She would take me, As I must her now.
Time swings heavy between us, Measured by her thick breaths Against the thin dance Along her exposed neck.
"Do it," whimpered Laura. "Take me." She pulled down the neckline of her shirt and stretched her neck. "Please." Laura K was a fool, but Laura was different. She knew Marcilla was watching her. Marcilla was just above her now, on her lap, above her pussy. The book shook as Laura's hand moved faster. Marcilla wanted her; she could take her. She should take her. Laura wasn't running. She wanted to be taken.
Prudence is a damned whore, Expecting pay and diligence In matters of lust and heat. Here, now, rage is wisdom.
I slink beside her, Hovering bare teeth over Porcelain and parchment skin. Her neck invites, and I accept.
"Please," begged Laura to an unseen goddess, an unknown monster she would sacrifice herself to. She could see herself as Marcilla saw her: meat. She shuddered at the thought, her hand moving faster. She was an object to be taken, flesh to be devoured. Her only value was her flavor and if it pleased Marcilla. She only wanted to please Marcilla.
My fangs nick the skin, Razors over delicate flesh, An appetizer of thin blood Runs in a fine and straight line.
My prey stirs, but all is red. All is thin and draining into the bed. What ought to be in my mouth Is wasted on bedding.
Laura felt a slight prick on her neck, the phantom of wishful thinking, and moaned.
I lick and drink, letting My tongue curl the blood down. Her eyes dart open To the monster inside me, The monster in my blood, Her blood inside my monster.
Coarse and wet pressure glided over Laura's neck. She was there, in Laura K's bed, underneath Marcilla's tongue, so close to being in her goddess' mouth.
She doesn't flee from my monster, Nor does she curl into me. She does not invite, and I do not take. Under her cold eyes, I am bare, More naked than she, More ashamed to need her.
Of course, Marcilla was a monster. She won't just enjoy Laura's pussy. She will take Laura's blood and her skin and her muscle and her breasts and her thighs and her neck and her neck and her neck.
Laura was no fool. Marcilla wasn't speaking in metaphors. She was a monster. She is a monster. Even now, her spell kept Laura gripped to the bed. Her power to trap her prey, like a spider, held Laura in place. Marcilla would be the end of Laura.
But Laura was a new kind of prey. Laura K was a fool, but Laura welcomed her role as prey. She would offer her killer her neck. She would extend her limbs in weak surrender and beg the darkness to take her.
And she, unfeeling, kisses me. My fangs a danger she cares not for, My lust a goddess she doesn't serve. And after passion, she rolls away To sleep, to forget, to dream Of things more noble than me.
Rejection strikes truer
Than starvation ever could. Her bored acceptance burns
More than sensual terror would.
Laura turned the page without thinking. She needed another poem. Laura K could reject Marcilla, but she wouldn't. She would read until the dark huntress descended upon her and took her away. She was singular in her existence: prey. A foolhardy prey runs straight into the dragon's jaws, and Laura could not wait. She was ready.
Unspoken
"Kiss me," I call to my prey "My teeth are fountains. Feed on their promise."
Laura's hands moved faster. She was close. She wanted to cum, but she wanted to wait for Marcilla's permission. Marcilla would tell her. She had set the trap, and she would spring it. Laura needed only to wait, to beg, and to touch.
"Show me the soft Line of a quivering neck. Tease me with vein And pulse, thick with need."
Laura's eyes shot open. She found herself standing in a dark hallway. Before her stood a woman dressed in a black nightgown. It was like a robe, thick and heavy. It wasn't wrapped tight, and a tempting slit ran down between the woman's legs as she stepped. The woman's skin glowed pale from the moonlight, but the shadow masked her face. Her long curly hair cascaded down her back to her waist, and Laura shivered.
From above, or within, came a soft whisper. It sounded like the prayers of a young woman. Her voice was thick and breathy, as though she were tired or running. She prayed:
She sings in silence, Calls back in chorus Of choking absence.
Laura watched the woman in black move closer towards her down the long hallway. She was not the voice in her head. It was something else, someone else, calling out to her.
But the woman in black approached, and Laura watched the cold moonlight reveal Marcilla's beautiful and cold features. She was something else, something darker and older than Laura had ever seen before. She was beautiful as a statue is beautiful and hungry as a wolf is hungry. She was feminine, but not in the way Laura knew femininity to be. Laura knew of softness and modesty. She knew of curves and delicacy. Marcilla was primal. She was moon and blood. She was shadow and fang. She was claw and ocean. Laura knew woman as Life; Marcilla was woman as Death.
She whispered to Laura as she glided ever closer:
"I offer you a body, Mine and yours, One flesh, a new heart Entwined and beating."
Laura felt her heart pounding against her chest. No. She heard it. Outside of herself, echoing throughout the hallway, her heart shook the walls of the mansion. With it, pounding in harmony, was Marcilla's heart. Her heart was deeper, heavier than Laura's. Laura's heart was snare and wood, but Marcilla's was the heartbeat of night and forgotten places.
Marcilla stopped only two feet away from Laura. She smiled, and Laura found herself mimicking. Marcilla lifted her hands to grab the sides of her robe, and Laura did the same. Marcilla pulled apart her robe, showing her bare body and milky skin, her ivory breasts and dark hair. Laura did the same, but she did not feel naked in front of Marcilla.
It wasn't until Marcilla smiled again, revealing two sharp and long fangs that Laura felt naked. She was vulnerable. She was trapped. She was dead. She was wet. Inside, she whimpered with lust and heat. Yes, she was dead and Marcilla was her afterlife. This was heaven and hell. This was nightmare and fantasy.
"Behold what I am: Beauty and macabre, Holy and hungry, Pale shadow of night."
Marcilla words hung in the air. Yes. Beauty and macabre. Holy and hungry. Laura knew demon had been pursuing her, and now she knew it was an angel as well.
Once again, the voice that was within and without Laura sang throughout the corridor:
Her eyes rolling In bare amusement Are Sisyphean boulders To a needy heart.
Against her will, Laura rolled her eyes, as though unimpressed. She sighed, disappointed, and looked away, past Marcilla, down the hallway as though looking for her husband.
Inside, her mind was a madwoman. She raged and rebelled against her stupid and sluggish body. She wanted to fall on her knees. She wanted to offer Marcilla her neck. She wanted to offer her own wrists and watch Marcilla greedily devour her. But Laura was a stowaway in someone else's vessel, and she could not change the course.
Marcilla's amusement turned to a snarl. She raised her hands to slap Laura, but stopped herself. Slowly, she lowered her hand and looked down, disappointed and rejected. With resignation and hurt in her voice, Marcilla whispered:
"I offer you Lust Itself. The very fount Of passion and hunger, Sex made whole."
Silence erupted and settled between them. Laura wanted to speak, to shout, to curse, to beg, but her body would not obey. She waited for Marcilla to say something, to fight with her, to offer again her eternal night, but the goddess did not move. She lifted her eyes and held Laura's rebellious stare, but she was trapped in time as Laura was trapped in flesh.
Without permission, Laura's body shrugged, as though bored with the whole thing, and turned to go. The foreign voice, needy and aching, whimpered throughout the corridor as she went:
She walks away in echoes. The only sound A saint may make Is forgetting the taste Of sin.
Laura closed her eyes and clenched as her legs locked up. Her fingers applied more and more pressure to her clit. She was close. So close. She should cum. She needed to cum. But Laura K walked away. Laura K didn't care. She wanted to read of Laura's demise, and she was disappointed again.
"I offer you Lust itself. The very fount of passion and hunger, sex made whole," echoed Marcilla in her mind. Laura opened her eyes, saw the book before her, and came. She saw herself clearly accepting Marcilla's offer, the very fount of passion and hunger, sex made whole, and her body shuddered in pleasure and pain. She took on Lust itself, disguised as Death, and felt Marcilla's teeth sink into her soft neck. Her body was rigid as a corpse and soft as raw meat. She longed to be in heaven, but this pleasure, this mockery of true pleasure, was hell. And yet, she came again and again.
** If you want to follow me, get more of my writing, or support me, check me out on Patreon at https://www.patreon.com/trixieadara or my Tumblr at https://trixieadara.tumblr.com/
Fellow writers can get in contact with my fantastic editor, Abby H., via email at alewdeditor@gmail.com **