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The High C	By : HyperHenry Category: M through R > The Phantom of the Opera > Het Views: 7929 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-The High C
- 2-The Breaking of ...
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- 2
Author: HyperHenry

Rating: So R!!

Disclaimers: I owe absolutely nothing, but then, I don't need to...

Summary: How to reach the coveted C3? Read and find out. For those of you who don't know what the C3 is: it's the C that allegedly is capable of breaking glass.

Author's note: Okay, so English is obviously not my first language – so sue me. ;)

I hope you enjoy the story anyway. Remember to tell me how you like it. How else am I going to improve? If you think I deserve to be flamed, go ahead and roast my butt. I kinda like it. However, here's a fair warning first: THIS IS DOM! If you're not into dominance or a little of SM, you probably won't like this. And I intend it to go further. Personally I'm not into it myself, but I find it interesting to explore my own boundaries.

So... for you brave souls: dig in!

THE HIGH C

Chapter 1: C3

He saw her.

He saw every inch of her.

He saw every line, every spot, every molecule of her.

And he heard every sound she made.

And what a blissful combination it made.

The tall, sleek man licked his lips inadvertently and moved a bit restlessly as a certain part of his anatomy started straining the fabric of his trousers. A small, almost inaudible moan escaped his sensuous and full lips. Yet the man lurking in the dark shadows did not perceive himself as attractive. He did not expect that any woman would touch him of their own free will if they knew him.

So he would have to make sure that she never knew him for what he really was.

A monster. A beast.

And she, a beauty. The classical tale.

Oh, dear god, that perfect, cool porcelain skin of hers. And clearly, he was not the only one hooked on that unbelievably smooth surface.

Fascinated, his piercing eyes followed the path of a drop that scooted down the glistening and wet skin of Christine Daee. At first, it seemed in a hurry to leave her body, but then he whispered intense words in the darkness through the two-ways mirror, and the drop came to its senses and stopped its hasty flight from flesh. Like a skier down a slope, it had picked up speed over the fleshy part of her breast. Then, when it reached the nipple, it naturally slowed down and, tasting the skin it was resting on, slowly and excruciatingly bent its way round the rosy perky hill.

And that's when it came no further. It just hung there. Tremulous and tender. Waiting for a cue, a movement, attention, anything.

The 'anything' came when she stooped in the shiny cobber tub to reach for the creamy soap. The drop of water shook gently for a second, as if in pain at the upcoming separation, and then fell with a sigh of regret to join its comrades in arms in the pool underneath her luscious, long legs. The masked man groaned softly again. The strain in his crotch became even more intolerable. His beating heart helped him decide: tonight was the night when she would learn the first lesson. C3. The high C that could break glass. She had coveted it. She would have it. He would hear it. He would feel it.

She would feel it.

He waited until she had donned her undergarments and the first underskirt, and then he summoned her with his rich tenor and dulcet tones. As usual, like in a trance, she followed his every whim and command, and soon she found herself in the cellar by the small altar, like she had done so many nights before. To her, this was a safe haven. Little did she know that deeper down the monster and her doom awaited and rested.

Her rich, dark curls were still damp after the bath, and he could smell the roses of the soap even from where he was standing.

Tonight, he would get his first feel of... flesh. The Phantom shivered in anticipation.

She sang one note. She sang another. One scale after another filled the vaults in the nether region of the beautiful Opera Populaire. She could tell he was very firm with her tonight. It made her tremble. She liked the feeling. She failed the C2 and winced. She keenly felt her Angel of Music wincing as well.

"I am sorry, Angel. I am trying," she whimpered.

"Sorry is not good enough," he intoned brusquely. "Sorry will get you nowhere. You were destined to fill this world with heavenly music, Christine. You must try harder."

"Tell me! Teach me!" she exclaimed, desperate to learn.

"You must... find your centre."

She did not understand what he meant, and she wondered at the tremor she thought she traced in his voice. "Please, Angel," she whispered, a little fearful, "what is my centre?"

"You do not know?"

His voice was gentle.

"No!"

"Your centre. The innermost you. The essence of your femaleness, the essence of Christine. You must find it, stimulate it and draw the high C from it."

"How do I find it?"

There was silence. The silence lasted so long that Christine for a second thought her angel might have left her for the evening. Panic started to stir within her. Had she offended him in any way?

"I shall help you," came the reply finally.

The Angel of Music commanded her to sing. For each scale she would mount a half a note and start again.

"Again," he ordered. "Relax and loosen your pelvis as I have taught you. You are a hollow tube, ready to be filled with music." She bent her legs slightly and opened her midriff. The tone became fuller.

"Your diaphragm is not strong enough. You must continue doing to excises I have instructed you to. Now lean forward over the altar – AND CONTINUE THE SCALES," he added firmly as his instruction almost muted her. She sang, and bent over the altar.

"Feel it? Do you feel what this position does to your windpipe and midriff? Now, I will show you where your centre is and how to stimulate it. Beware, child, for I am coming out, and you are not allowed to turn and see me."

Christine, completely lost in the scales and the trance of the music, took heed of his words and did not turn even when she felt hands resting calmly on her skirt. She merely jerked a little and the next note was not completely in tune.

"Easy, child," the angel murmured, his trembling hands travelling downwards. "Now, do the scale again and hold every other note for five seconds."

She did as instructed and his right hand snuck round her waist to rest on her midriff.

"Feel that?" he whispered intently, "those muscles, you MUST exercise. But your centre is further down and deeper inside of you."

And his hands continued its journey from her diaphragm, round her hipbone and further down her thigh. Again, she jerked a little when the hand crept underneath her fluffy and laced underskirt to make contact with her quivering flesh, but his mesmerising voice slowly calmed her down and the hand moved exquisitely slowly on to her buttocks.

Slowly, very slowly the Phantom, while keeping a left hand on her working midriff, let his right hand lift up her skirt and sneak a finger down behind the rim of her pantalets. Your centre is near, he whispered, making sure to keep her in the trance and maintain his power over her. The sight of her sweet, round faultlessly smooth cheeks, however, nearly undid him. Her behind was so perfect it was all it took for him to keep from ploughing it with his throbbing shaft. His breath became ragged. He was so close!

Then in one swift movement he pulled down her pantalets. She gasped, stopped singing and almost turned, but his left hand grabbed her neck and wrung it back to face the wall, and he leaned in and hissed in her ear: "You do not disobey me or I will get angry. The voice of music must be heeded. I am your master and you do-not-thwart me."

His angry, just-under-the-molten-surface voice scared and excited her to no end. She sensed that there was about to be a very magnificent change in their relationship, which seemed almost religious to her. He would show her her centre! And she would learn the ultimate, high C! The C3!

Slowly she started leaning down again, and her scales filled the vaulted room again. A bit hesitantly at first, but when he touched her buttocks again, the tone became stronger and more powerful.

Erik, the Phantom, could almost not believe such beauty before his eyes. Right there. In front of him. Was the most breathtaking sight. Two pairs of irresistible lips, beckoning him to touch them, red and swollen from excitement, both the inner and outer, and already glistening almost in a demure fashion. He licked his finger.

"Now... sing the scale from C2, work your way up and when I say 'now' you land on C3."

As Christine sang, his hand now moved from its resting place on the top of her rump down between the perfectly shaped canyon between her cheeks. Fingers first, it headed for her entrance. The tender flesh beneath him shivered gingerly. The Phantom took one, quivering breath, before he cried 'NOW' and, as she attempted to take the high C, dug in his finger directly to her centre past slick and humid vaginal walls.

Christine straightened with a squeal that went way past its musical target, and his left hand pressed her to his chest while his finger, still imbedded in her gender, started to rub her centre gently. "AGAIN!" he yelled, pressing her tighter.

She aimed at the C again, higher and higher it went, matching the pace with which his finger massaged her inner centre. Oh, god, she was so wet, willing and wanting. Oh, god. His rock hard manhood was screaming to be released.

"AGAIN!" he roared, rubbing her centre point increasingly harder.

The C went higher, higher. Christine's chest heaved and fell in the same rhythm as his finger and her song. The tone became temporarily shriller as she approached her peak. His ragged breathing in her ear urged her on and when she reached the summit of feelings and pleasure, she let molten lava baptise the fingers and hand of the Phantom as she reached the highest note in her life.

Then nothing but heavy breathing could be heard.

The Angel of Music left his finger in her centre for a little while yet, savouring the feeling of ... her. Then, slowly, he let the finger retract, slick and wet with her delight. Still making sure she did not turn, he put the finger in his mouth.

Aaaaaaah.

Such ambrosia.

And then he disappeared in the shadows, leaving an exhausted, yet sated Christine at the altar.

Not bad.

Not bad for a first time.

She hadn't really reached the C, but she had been very close. It had been more like a G.

Yes, one could definitely say, she had found her G spot.

The End?

Whatcha think? Should Erik take her to new heights? Should they go for a higher C – or G? Should he forget about the sissy finger and let Erik Junior get down to real business?

You decide. R&R and tell me if this story is worth continuing.
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The High C