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The Dance of Broken Souls	By : Provocateur Category: M through R > The Phantom of the Opera > Het Views: 3149 -:- 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
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The Dance of Broken Souls

A/N: I briefly removed this story because I was not sure when I would finish it (even though I promise that I will), but I've decided to re-post it for the benefit of those who go for a little kink from time to time ;).

This is just some heavy erotica to brighten your day, or ruin it, whichever you prefer lol. This is primarily a Kay-based fic, but I’m going to use Gerard Butler’s portrayal (with the Leroux/Kay deformity on one side). It works better this way, trust me dear readers, trust me! This will be a relatively short tale, 5-6 parts is likely.

I am not a historian or even well versed in the Middle Eastern days of old, so excuse any errors on my part, this is mostly fantasy material. Enjoy!

This section contains voyeurism and solo.

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or situations created by Gaston Leroux, Susan Kay, and Andrew Lloyd Webber. I make no profit off of this.

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A lonely and barren land held no promise of splendor. One such as I had no right to ask for it, or even expect it. To wish for it was presumptuous, not to mention futile. Life was but a series of disappointments. I learned from an age all too young that happiness was promised to those who possessed great or passable beauty, not beautiful or passably brilliant minds. A mind comes second to a face, and without a face we are nothing. When you hold up a mirror, the image materializing before you is not a reflection of your soul, but a reflection of how the world sees you. Are you the angelic and delicate specimen? Or how about a strong and able-bodied one? The shy genius? The choice is theirs.

What do they see when they look upon a man half-demon, half-angel? Which do they see? Which would you see?

The woman above me smiled a sinister smile, one laced with perverse glee. The sun splayed silver down her long black hair, unbound and falling carelessly about her olive-skinned shoulders. The statuesque frame before me was beautiful. The artistic collar bones and slim arms creating an image of feminine fragility and gracefulness. Even with her face masked with a black veil, a stark contrast to the white porcelain shielding the demon, she was darkly beautiful.

What I did not expect to see was the grimacing face at her side. A pale face gifted with full lips and light brown eyes. She wore no veil; perhaps because she was clearly of European descent she eluded Persian custom. A lucky girl indeed. Or perhaps, not so lucky as I would have imagined…

The young woman flanking the dark-haired wicked vixen was a strange case indeed. A prisoner in a foreign land, she occupied the most beautiful cell imaginable and received the greatest luxuries. Her face remained uncovered, stroked and caressed by the hot touch of the Persian air. The sun darkened her pale skin as the wind blew her long brown hair wildly about her, tangling the soft tendrils as they curled about her face like a seductive serpent.

Her body was slight, still untouched by the thickening and softening of womanhood. Lithe and firm, her small breasts tapered into a narrow waist that expanded into thin hips. She could not have been over 16, but in her eyes shone a darkness that only I could see as I silently beckoned her to look upon me.

Not since Luciana had I felt such ravening lust overwhelm me. To lust was to die, to forever forsake one’s living body in aching need. I was but a normal man, the demon covering my face did not extend to the throbbing organ that began to awaken and harden as I bantered salaciously with the Khanum.

“Show me your face magician.” The Khanum purred erotically, her tongue flicking out to moisten her full brown lips. The pale seductress at her side remained solemn, her eyes lowered, her mouth and brow twisted into a frown. Fear. She feared the devil hidden under the porcelain fortress.

They all feared it, but even in their fear they wanted to see it. Perhaps they would appreciate their flawless faces after viewing mine, or perhaps they would look upon it with amused indifference. Perhaps they would begin screaming with terror, averting their eyes and covering their mouths to still the shrieks that forced their way into my soul and ravaged me over and over again.

“I would rather not remove the mask, you understand.” The shock glimmered in the light brown eyes of the Khanum’s companion. They shot upwards at my impudence. Wide beyond belief, they blinked once, twice. How aghast were those eyes at my refusal!

How aghast would those eyes be if I sang her into oblivion and parted those slim thighs, burying myself within her hot, wet depths?
Why oh why did my thoughts travel down terrain best left untravelled?

“Magician, are you aware of the fate that befalls a Chinese eunuch? Would you like to carry your genitals around in a small jar?”

“Madame, you underestimate me! A small jar would not contain me, this I assure you.” The shocked eyes grew wider even as jovial laughter erupted from the Khanum’s mouth, colouring the air with shocked amusement.

“A comedian as well! Remove the mask now!” Her biting retort left little option but to comply with her perverse longing.

With a sigh of resignation I pressed my fingers to my protector and let it slip from my face, leaving me open and exposed to the prying eyes set deep in the sockets of perfect faces.

There were shrieks; shrill hollers of horror permeated the dry hair. The harem women standing as silently as stone statues behind the Khanum began to move and collide with one another in their frantic attempts to retreat from the grotesque site below. Tonight I would visit all of their nightmares, chasing them through deserted corridors intending to have my wicked way with them once they were caught beneath me.

“Cease your incessant squealing!” The orders barked from the mouth of the vixen were harsher than that of a warrior, quieting the dissenting jitters instantly. The woman, nay, girl at her side, remained stoic as her eyes narrowed.

The frantic cries of shock and horror faded away as the scrambling bodies crushed one another to retreat through the glass doors, their voices wrapping around one another as they floated off of the balcony to the rigid men standing below.

“Are you satisfied Madame?” I kept my voice as strong as was possible under such humiliating circumstances, but I found it more difficult as sand swept upwards with the wind and brushed again the parchment-thin skin covering my right cheek.

I could feel their eyes rest upon my sunken one, grimacing in shocked distaste or delight at the sight of something so hideous. Were they all up there thanking whatever divinity they worshipped for giving them faces of flawless perfection?

“I have never seen something so ugly! Oh my, if I wish for entertainment I need not do more than look upon your face. How does one face have both perfection and monstrosity?”

“I cannot answer you that.” I lifted the white porcelain back to my face and pressed it in place, but the quieting squeals did not subside. They had seen what was hidden. Now that they knew what it looked like, they would forever live in fear of the possessor of such a frightening visage as was mine.

The young Caucasian woman still stood above me, her face somber and expressionless. She had the courtesy, or shall I say the audacity, to attempt to hide her horror from me. Neither a stony stare or a ghastly look of terror could move me, my humiliation was complete. The jeering stares and silent insults existed with or without my acknowledgement.

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“You would do best not to displease the Khanum, Erik.” Nadir sat down upon the black chaise and folded his arms across his chest. His expression was grim as he kneaded the wrinkled skin of his forehead.

“Do you mean to imply that I must respect a woman in a country where women are no more than animals, traded and bartered and beaten at the slightest provocation?” I leaned against the window and looked into the glaring sunlight, squinting my one sunken eye as the yellow rays blurred my vision. So much sunlight could surely drive anyone to madness.

“Your opinions will not be appreciated here, Erik.”

“My opinions are not appreciated anywhere, but that does not mean that I shan’t give them if need be.”

“You put yourself in danger with your self-importance.”

“A small price to pay for a little peace of mind.”

The room was tiny, much more cramped and suffocating than even Giovanni’s basement. Yet, perhaps feeling as though the latter was home made this new abode foreign and unfamiliar. Besides, Persian architecture was lacking. No, to say lacking was to be kind, it was disastrous and embarrassing, a black mark on an already backward country.

“I hope that you will enjoy your time here.” Resignation crept into the Daroga’s voice as he stood and walked towards the door, his body stiff and exhausted under the strain of today’s formalities. No doubt he expected to be the one assigned the mildly unpleasant task of slicing my head from my shoulders before the sunset. He was spared at least that minor unpleasantry.

“I’m sure I and this shockingly ill-constructed and dower apartment shall be quite happy together.” I could have sworn I heard an exasperated chuckle emit from the man’s grimly set lips.

“You’re a demanding man.”

“When one lives as I have, they learn that a little coercion and disagreeableness goes a long way.”

“Your philosophies are your own, do with them whatever you wish.” The door creaked loudly as he pried it open, the heavy, aged wood groaning in dismay.

“I shall. Oh, Daroga?” I felt my breath hitch slightly at the words ready to come forth. I knew even as I prepared to speak that my following query was most unwise, but I had not the will or wisdom to silence myself.

“Yes, Erik?” He kept his back to me still, his head raised towards the ceiling as his fingers massaged his neck.

“That European woman, the one with the Khanum…who is she?” Nadir stiffened slightly, his eyes daring back and forth as he searched for words.

“She is…she is, well, part of the harem, but a personal favorite of the Shah and Khanum.” His eyes still did not meet mine as his knuckles whitened from clutching the door.

“She wore no veil, is that not a mortal sin against the laws of this land?” I stepped towards him, idly picking up and dusting off a rusted candlestick lying on its side on the oak table.

“The Shah and Khanum wished for you to see her.”

Oh. I must confess that the answer given came as a curious shock. I was a guest of sorts, but not one in need of reverence, certainly not one needing to be impressed by the submissive children lingering in the bodies of grown women. In fact, I had come to the land with the importance of a rare and unusual animal, impressive to behold, but too dangerous to touch.

“Why might that be?” I raised my visible eyebrow and peered at the man who shuffled his feet nervously. “Out with it, stop shifting and shrugging like a child!” I was not a patient man.

“She is a virgin, Erik.”

“That’s very special, but it does not answer my question.” My retort dripped with indifferent sarcasm. I hated to be kept waiting with fragmented and non-sensical meanderings when I searched for answers.

“She is of English descent, her family was attacked and murdered here when she was an infant. Light-haired women are a rare delicacy, she was raised in the palace and allowed to live as freely as woman may in this country, but the time has come for her to accept her duties. She is seen as profound incentive for you to remain, she is such an unusual creature in these parts.” His lips curved upwards into an encouraging smile, hoping mine would follow suit after being informed of my welcoming gift. A creature that I could call my very own!

I nearly spat at his feet.

“A gift horse for me? How ever do I show my thanks?” The table in front came crashing to the floor under my boot, the wood splintering and cracking as my leather-clad foot crushed it. Nadir jumped in surprise, his eyes squeezing shut as I proceeded to disassemble the pitiful piece of carpentry with my flailing limbs.

“Erik, it’s an honor…”

“I HAVE NO TASTE FOR RAPE!” I was called many things, the names of which were not flattering, but I had never hurt a woman before, not in my rage or my lust. I had no intention of starting with a mindless concubine renowned for her hair colour. I would not bed a sobbing woman who gagged in revulsion at my touch, I would not!

“It is not rape, Erik! She will belong to you, you can do with her what you please.” His exasperation had turned to anger that he tried to suppress even as his olive skin became tinted with pink.

“To enter a woman’s body without her desire or consent is rape. If she is incapable of refusing, it is rape. Do you need a lesson in terminology? I shall not hesitate to provide you with one!” The air was coloured red with my wraith and insult.

“You are becoming intoxicated by righteousness!” His bark caught my attention as I lifted my foot from the splintered remains of the table below me, evidence of my potent rage.

“I am intoxicated on indignation!” A man such as myself could not even be expected to win the affections of a woman outside of lawful coercion. I was to be given a whore like a dog is given meat. I did not know who should have been more insulted, myself or the nameless woman preparing to be gift-wrapped and sent to me in expensive muslins, or perhaps as naked as the day she was born. A shameful stirring manifested itself in my loins at the thought of her standing bare by the window, the sun creating a white glow across her nudity as I drank in the sight of exposed female flesh for the first, and probably the last time.

“If you refuse her you will insult the Shah.”

“And has he not insulted me?” I cried out in return, my anger fading to dumb disbelief.

“He seeks to honor you.”

“I find the flesh trade insufferable, not to mention pathetic.”

“Your beliefs are your own, but here, I beg of you, please respect our customs. I do not want to see you strung up and beheaded Erik, even though my life would be far more peaceful if you were.”

“I appreciate your well-wishes.” It would seem that banter had crept into our heated confrontation.

“Right. I only wish to make things easier on you Erik, and perhaps this woman will provide you with some satisfaction.”

“I prefer to entertain myself.”

“One’s hands are never a substitute for a woman’s flesh.” His smirk was fleeting, his playful glance growing serious when I turned to face him.

“If you had not shown me such graciousness these past few weeks I would kill you where you stand.” I kept my back to him even as I twisted my neck to meet his eyes with a glare.

“We are men, Erik. We have needs. Tonight you will have the pleasure of watching over the harem with the Khanum and your concubine. Please be gracious, if not for your sake then for mine.”

“You think me a considerate man, Daroga?” I returned to the window as the sky began to darken with dusk.

“I think you insane beyond all reason. Behave yourself, Erik.” Without awaiting a biting response from yours truly, our good-natured if not ignorant friend left me in silence. The wind had long since stopped pressing against the glass, leaving the room hot and dry.

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The solitude was most welcomed as I prepared for the nights festivities with a reluctant if not heavy heart.

The women were indeed beautiful. Dark-skinned goddesses with luscious breasts and full hips moved seductively in a silent, sensuous rhythm. Each of them let their long, ebony hair flow as their hips and backsides grinded against the air that caressed and molded their bodies like imaginary lovers.

The music was light and wispy, not strong or tremendously overpowering as was the sounds that emanated from church organs. The soft red cushion beneath my body shifted as I moved to bring my knees to my chest as I glimpsed the seductive dances. Like the mating call of beasts they spoke to me, urging me to take the sacrificial offering of erotically covered feminine flesh

The subtle movements of the female form dictated a man’s thoughts. With one tiny gyration of her hips or dismissive wave of her hand, a man either became an untamed beast or a perfect gentleman. Animal urges were below the common man, were they not? The need to ravage and thrust wildly into hot, wet warmth was an urge deemed shameful, not to mention sinful.

Yet, as the bodies of the woman moved with the grace of a gentle breeze, pressing their soft skin into the thin muslin fabrics shrouding them, thoughts of a most sinful nature arose in my mind as my blood heated.

What would one of these graceful creatures look like lying beneath me, nude but for the thin sheen of sweat coating her lithe body as I moved inside of her, pressing my very life into her body as we danced together as nature intended man and woman to dance?

The silky red curtains drifted open, parting like the legs of an excited young maiden preparing her body for her lover as he lowered himself to rest between her thighs. The moon was invisible tonight, hiding behind gauzy white clouds that were surrounded by tiny silver specks igniting the black sky with light.

The numerous windows were large, nearly four feet in length and rectangular save for the rounded tops. Each window was open, the curtains blowing gracefully into the dimly lit room with splashes of red, blue, and gold. The candles flickered and danced as they cast their golden light upon the golden bodies moving with the breeze, seducing all who watched.

A small woman brought her velvet lined cushion close to mine and sat gracefully, her honey-brown hair falling about her shoulders in soft waves. It was the soft, fine hair that begged for the touch of a man’s fingers. It would look most ravishing spread across his naked chest and onto the white silk pillows, loose and tangled from hours of coital bliss. Or a fast, hard fuck.

“Magician, is it?” A faded English accent greeted my pleasant reverie. Or not so pleasant reverie, as it was indeed filled with fantasies that were salacious rather than pleasant.

“Some call me that.” I turned to glance into the soft brown eyes of the European woman. My gift horse, if you will. A surge of mortification and shame overcame my detached enjoyment of the sensual spectacle unfolding before me, crushing my passionate longings as though they were no more than scurrying ants. Small, tiny, insignificant ants.

“What shall I call you then?” Her glance was flirtatious if not slightly reserved. Her lids were heavy and painted with dark kohl, her lashes thick and black as night. A fine, pert nose adorned her oval-shaped face that complimented by generous lips coated in a thick, pink, shimmery gloss. Streaks of blonde were finely distributed in her light brown locks, a natural, earthy hair colour.
The colour that made her a rare and precious jewel waiting to be plucked, shaped, and worn by a worthy gentleman.

“Erik.” I kept my face away from her; looking instead to the dancing women who had long since lost their hold on my mind and my manhood.

“Erik…” She seemed to test the name, letting it roll across her tongue as though it were an unfamiliar fruit. “I’m Elizabeth.” I had to fight the urge to place a chaste kiss to her hand, such affection was best avoided. Perhaps If I was as aloof as possible she might be deterred from entering my apartment so that I may claim her innocence as she claimed mine. Not that mine mattered or was worshipped in any way. In fact, what is more cursed than male innocence? Ugliness perhaps, but inexperience is just as distasteful, is it not? Two black marks marred my image, pity.

“Are you enjoying yourself, Erik?” Her thin blue muslin shift pressed against her breasts as she stretched her hairless legs out in front of her, the tan skin smooth in the candlelight. In fact, her arms were also free of hair.

“I suppose I am.” The truth in all of its explicit glory was often best left unsaid, for reasons of civility of course.

“It will get better soon.”

My interest was piqued. Nay, it was ignited!

“Will it now?” I was most surprised at her lack of discomfort or revulsion. She had seen my face; she had stared at it in mock silence. Perhaps she was not aware that it ‘twas her ‘duty’ to lie with me. I would not be the one to reveal the plans of the almighty Shah.

The Khanum entered the room like a bolt of lightning striking the earth when there was no rain. An atmosphere of languorous sensuality turned dark and tense. The lioness circled her prey, daring them to run or challenge her mastery as she held them in place with one ruthless glare.

“It has begun, Erik!” My gift horse’s excitement was endearing, but her need to repeat my name after every sentence was becoming tiresome. I knew that it was I who she was addressing, I was also well aware that my own name was, in fact, Erik.

With her joyous proclamation a young Persian woman came forward and stood in the middle of the floor. Her eyes were also darkened with kohl and her hair fell nearly to her backside. It was too long for my tastes, but someone of my physicality had little right to judge others by appearance. Shit, I could judge whomever I wanted, it was the right of the bitter to be resentful!

The young woman laid down upon the Peruvian marble floor laced with flecks of gold and maroon and let her arms drift to rest above her head. Her head turned, pressing her cheek to the floor, away from where I sat.

“Soon the eunuchs will come, Erik.”

What was the girl’s obsession with my name? She was like a child abusing her knowledge of a new and special word. I grunted an acknowledgement and looked back to the brown-skinned beauty draped across the tiles.

The speaker of prophecy next to me was correct in her commentary; a eunuch entered the room soon afterwards and came to rest between the prone woman’s spread thighs.

I fought to control the evidence of my excitement as it tented in my pants.

The eunuch was a strange looking man who possessed a great deal of breast tissue and protruding hipbones covered by thick flesh. He was a man in face and appearance, but there was femininity about his body. Ah, such was the fate of an incomplete man deprived of his testicles at a young age. A barbaric tradition to say the least. I may be unpleasant to behold when my mask is lifted away from half-corpse face, but I was every inch a man below my neck. The near-painful bulging in my pants reminded me of that.

The man who was not quite a man swiftly lifted the girl’s muslin shift, leaving her nude upon the ground where she lay. Her skin puckered with cool night air, her nipples hardened into tight brown buds that topped full, soft breasts. I had never before seen a woman nude, it was difficult to control the raging in my blood that caused unbearable heat to course through my veins as I looked upon her relaxing in her most natural state.

The eunuch’s hand gently cupped and kneaded her breasts as low moans escaped her parted lips. How would such softness feel beneath my own hands? It pained me to imagine the hard bud tickling my palms as I stroked the sensitive flesh, gripping it firmly and pressing hot, wet kisses to the sensitive skin.

Would the stubble of my beard on one side of my face tickle and tantalize her sweet flesh?

Glancing down briefly at the woman intended to be my future masturbatory machine, I imagined cupping her breasts. They would likely flatten beneath my palms should she raise her hands above her head as had the woman on the floor. Perhaps her nipples would become erect and engorged, swelling with her pleasure.

My silent fantasies were interrupted when more curvaceous young Persian beauties took to the tiles, laying themselves open with the soul purpose of receiving wanton pleasure at the hands of men who are not quite men, not quite women. It was a shame that these men who played with their bodies so expertly could not bring them release through intense, soul-searing fucking. Did these men awaken each day in a state of physical frustration as I did, knowing that their misfortunes were not their fault, but still haunting them like a curse, forever curtailing their natural urges?

Committing the dire sin of comparison, I gently brought a hand to my left cheek and felt along the firm, young flesh, ignoring for a moment the mask. If the woman at my side were to come to me with the purpose of providing me with sexual release, I would be able to enter and climax deep within the hot confines of her flesh. These men would never be granted such a fortune. Yes, perhaps in some ways, I was more fortunate than they.

Another young maiden had spread herself apart but mere inches from my fascinated companion and I. With the utmost strain and pressure building deep within my loins, I watched as a eunuch began to mindlessly pry the red garment up and over the woman’s head, exposing naked skin inch by agonizing inch.

Firm, slim thighs gave way to a hairless pelvis and gently rounded belly adorned with a circular blood-red ruby. Her breasts were rather large for a woman of her size, the large dusky nipples hardening when touched by the cool air, just as the first woman’s did.

“Is France beautiful?” Elizabeth spoke, her voice a conversational whisper distracting me from the unveiling of the treasure before me.

“Hmm?” Now was not the time for idle chitchat. Nay, it was the worst time imaginable!

“France, do you miss it?”

The naked beauty in front spread her legs in a silent invitation, exposing her chocolate brown cunt to my prying gaze. I felt a nearly detached temptation to stroke the petal-soft folds and taste the glistening moisture, to see if the scent would indeed drive a man to commit the most animalistic and frantic of acts.

“No.” Words were superfluous.

“I would love to see Europe again.”

“Right.” The young woman drew her knees upward and let her thighs part until they nearly grazed the slick tile below. Her lips were swollen and thick, the freshly shaved pubis glistening with either sweat or arousal, it was difficult to tell. The eunuch ran one finger through her folds, separating her thick outer lips with the tip of his index finger.

“Perhaps someday I shall see it.” A talkative one my gift horse was. I was a poor conversationalist on principle, as I had little to say to those who mocked and stared at my visage. Now, as I sat in the throes of a pulsating sexual frustration of near painful quality, it almost hurt to force words from my mouth.

“Perhaps.” The chocolate lips parted to reveal a dark, glistening bud, formerly hidden. Protected it was, covered by a thick tissue that now retracted, revealing the notorious but surprisingly nearly unknown nub of intense pleasure.

“Am I annoying you, Erik?” Yes.

“No.”

The tiny bud began to swell and engorge as the eunuch moistened his fingers in the milky fluids seeping out of her entrance and pressed the nub gently, his stroking light but insistent.

An earth-shattering moan escaped her lips, her back arched off of the tiles and her hand clutched her full, heavy breast. The beads of sweat began to fall gracefully down her forehead as her eyes closed in passionate abandon. She focused on nothing but the sensation of being brought to orgasm by talented hands.

My erection was painful now as a drop of white fluid began to form. Breathing harshly and suppressing my raging, ravening desire, I bowed my head slowly. Focusing on the intricate pattern below gave me but a moments relief from the sensation assaulting my body with ever spasmodic jerk of the naked maiden’s body.

“Are you all right, Monsieur?”

“Yes.” No.

“You seem troubled.” Her whisper lowered to a raspy, seductive taunt. She had been well trained indeed.

“I assure you, I am not.”

“Why do you grimace so?”

Did this chatty Lolita at my side also shave her womanhood? How would it feel to touch the slick, bare skin and watch it open and bloom like a flower before assaulting it with every part of me?

“I am not grimacing.” I was nearly gasping for breath as my useless erection rubbed against the rough fabric of my trousers.

The eunuch dipped his between the woman’s parted thighs and began to circle the pulsating bud with his tongue. His ministrations moved from the bud to long strokes of his tongue from her entrance to her mons as she struggled, her breath ragged and raspy.

“We have a wonderful view, do we not?”

“Absolutely fabulous.”

“Have you ever loved a woman with your mouth?”

“Let us save this conversation for another time.” I felt confiding my inexperience to this feisty siren would dampen my enjoyment. In fact, I knew that it would.

The eunuch began to tease the throbbing nub once more as he plunged a stubby finger into her passage, moving it back and forth like one would his male member. The suggestive rhythm nearly brought me to ecstasy.

“Are you shocked, Erik?”

“Not at all.” Yes, beyond all reason. My senses were almost knocked into a dead faint.

The woman’s cries were a musical crescendo, starting low and spreading to a breath-taking, passionate moan that bordered on a scream. Her body trembled and shook as the sensations ravaged it, her lilting cries echoing in the chamber.

My companion was silent now, her face a rosy pink and her lips moist. Perhaps she responded to the display as did I, with insatiable arousal.

If she offered herself to me right at this moment, I would not have refused her. In fact, I would have hauled her over my shoulder like a Neanderthal caveman and carried her swiftly to my apartment, grabbing tantalizing handfuls of her smooth backside as we ascended the stairs.

Once inside, I would heedlessly tear her clothing from her body, watching the moonlight play across her pale skin as she begged and pleaded for me to enter her and satiate her hunger…

“I shall see you again tomorrow.” She stood and walked away, her steps light and graceful.

It would seem that there would be no swift ravishing tonight. Or ever.

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I returned home, burning with unrelieved lust. My door nearly broke from its hinges as I forced it open and slammed it shut, my heart mirroring the thunderous pulse in my veins.

The ache in my pelvis was almost unbearable. Without even needing to look downwards, I was sure that my testicles were as blue as the night sky.

Forgetting my resolve to suppress my lust, I ripped open my trousers and unleashed my hard, frustrated cock. He was in too much need right now, to deny him would be a vicious folly.

I envisioned her then, lying on soft silk sheets, her hair spread about wildly, her body completely bare. I grasped my cock, applying pressure at the base and dragging my tightened fist upwards until I reached the head.

Her honey-brown hair twisted around my fingertips as I pulled her head back and suckled greedily on the soft skin of her neck, grazing my teeth along her flesh.

The head of my cock began to glisten with moisture as I let my fingers circle it roughly, drawing it out as much as possible.

Her raspy moans of pleasure were a delicious sound indeed. Her pleas for me were even more musical. Her back arched as her nails clawed at my back and shoulders, her body begged me to satisfy it.

A guttural groan escaped me as I began to pump my closed fist frantically, so close to release. So close…

Every inch of her was open to me, exposed to my gaze and responsive to my heated touch. Her legs wrapped tightly about my waist, her feet resting against my backside as I plunged into her over and over again…

A hot spurt of warmth shook me in thunderous release as I grunted loudly enough that those lurking in the streets below would have heard.

Without bothering to return myself to my trousers, I collapsed onto the mattress, breathing heavily as the images of my European lover faded into the night, intangible and fleeting.
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The Dance of Broken Souls