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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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Chapter 2

A/N: Thanks for the reviews, I appreciate them! Here is the second installment, sit back, relax, and enjoy! Oh, there is drug use in this chapter, and some playful spanking hehe.

Oh, there is a brief “A Clockwork Orange” reference in here, let’s see who can find it! It’s rather obscure, but not impossible to pick out.

Oh, and if anyone was wondering, this will not affect the continuation of “Black Angels.” I will update that story this week. There will be a new installment by Friday at the latest.

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The festivities of last week past remained burned into my mind as I slept and assaulted my sense as I awoke. All night I suffered through tormented images of beautiful, passionate nude women screaming for release in musical voices.
In fact, all week those pictures of wanton longing invaded my restful mind. No, my mind was never restful, but it used to be solely consumed with thoughts of a most morbid and anguished nature. Now burning desire seeped in through the tiny black crevices, colouring my thoughts with lust. Yes, I was becoming lustful, but only in my taunting nightmares.

Am I arrogant enough to say that lust is an emotion, or dare I say, urge only experienced by the weak of mind and body? A few short weeks ago I would have said yes, as such primal, animalistic urges were minor inconveniences and fleeting temptations that I could dismiss and deny with naught a second thought or lingering consideration. Now the lines of mental and physical weakness and base, human need became blurred. To say this made me uncomfortable would be a vast, nearly laughable understatement.

I was aghast.

I was frightened.

I was completely, utterly, insufferably annoyed.

The hot Persian sun shone through the curtains, creating an awe-inspiring but most unwelcome brightness. A morning of picturesque illumination made for lovely paintings and sore eyes.

I threw the heavy velvet coverlet onto the floor and sat upwards, the hot beams of light warming my nude skin. I could feel a sheen of sweat moistening my lower back, why would anyone require velvet bedcovers in a climate hotter than hell? I was most likely being afforded a grand courtesy; but the thick black material encased my body like a sweltering tomb.

The blazing sunlight made the air heavy with humidity and made clear every speck of floating dust that weaved back and forth between the light and shadows before falling to rest peacefully against the oak furnishings.

Looking out of the window, I allowed the heated glass to touch my ravaged forehead. It felt comforting, even as I could hear the inanimate glass shrieking in revulsion at being forced to warm something as vile as my demonic visage.

Shrieking glass…

It almost would appear to be comical if I did not envision it with such staunch seriousness.

How could my gift horse taunt me so with flirtatious remarks and come hither looks after seeing this face? Perhaps duty spoke louder than horror, or maybe her blissful ignorance of her fate kept her indifferent and polite.

I had not seen her since the night in the harem. I had yet to be asked back by the Khanum, but that could change within a few hours.

A peaceful week had passed me by swiftly, the hours melting into days and the days darkening into restless nights. A country of oppression and swift punishment for infidels obviously did not share certain European views about the evils of sexuality. An odd conundrum indeed. It was not an unwelcome one, or a distasteful one.

Rising to greet the prying light of day, I headed to the stove to begin heating some water. I would not saunter out into the sweltering heat covered in dry perspiration from a night wrapped in mummifying bed sheets. I may be an ugly man, but I was not one who carried with him an offensive odor.

Nope, not I.

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The village was a dusty brown vessel of humanity, overflowing with voices, faces, shouts, curses, and merchandise flying this way and that. The air was dryer than stone, barely moving, which kept the sand mercifully stagnant on the ground but left heated flesh to suffer.

The skin under my mask began to moisten uncomfortably so, but not under any circumstances shorter than threat of death or possibly castration, would I ever remove it. Even if no screams met my unveiled hideousness, the shock and horror in the eyes of those around me would hurt more than any blows.

I was not one of them, I would not be so brash as to assume I was afforded their rights. Their right to walk the streets unmasked with the wind blowing softly against their naked faces. Or the naked faces of the men at least, the women remained uncomfortably covered in stifling fabrics.

It seemed a goddamn shame to cover faces so beautiful. A woman’s skin did not have the same rough and unyielding texture that a man possessed. Even when weathered by age or hardship, a softness in their features made their beauty ethereal and eternal, as unchanging as the movement of the earth upon its axis. To cover their faces was to ignore their minds as well as their bodies, such shameful treatment! Such a horrid fate it was, to be forever silenced based on a fate determined from birth. A fate beyond the control of the sufferer.

I saw myself behind those gauzy black veils, head hung in shame at being someone who was less worthy, less deserving of respect or even human decency. No, to equate humanity with decency was to blind myself to a truth discovered long ago. To be human was to be harmful, deceiving, and contemptuous. I was all three things, but my education came chiefly from example, with a little bit of subtle brilliance of my own thrown in for good measure.

“I trust you have recovered from your shock of last week, Erik?” Nadir walked stiffly when out in public, his occupation demanding he remain forbidding and stoic at all times. All men of his stature had to appear to be soldiers of justice and righteousness, delivering infidels to hell and keeping the Shah’s streets filled with oppression, poverty, and fear.

Ah, the sweet smell of irony was most pungent in the market!

“Which shock do you refer to? The shock of learning of my newest possession, or my shock of witnessing a most debauched orgy?” A young boy with one eye purpled and swollen looked up at me from the ground, holding out nearly rotted fruit in his pitifully dirty little hand. I handed him some coins and took the brownish-yellowish edible in my hands, examining it closely.
With a grunt of disgust I dropped it onto the ground. In time it would become food for the scorpions, it was much better suited for their consumption. At least the beaten child would have a meal tonight. Human decency on my part perhaps? A paradox indeed.

“Both.” The tables holding various goods were arranged in no particular order. Food ones stood beside clothing ones at a diagonal angle, in front stood jewelry, beside that stood shifty-eyed snake charmers whose faces were caked in dust and black kohl.

Various tables were granted the luxury of tent-like covers, most of which were threaded blankets, often faded with age and coming apart at the seams. The threads billowed in the wind, the red and yellow strings dancing in front of the cracked pottery and silver bangles.

“You’re a quiet one today.” Nadir wiped at his forehead, the heat as uncomfortable for him in his loose Persian robes as it was for I in my rebellious French fashions. I regretted wearing a dress jacket, but thanked my good judgment in choosing to forsake a cravat and waistcoat. Elegance may be important, and I often hear that vanity must suffer, but asphyxiation did not seem pleasing to me.

“There is little to say.”

“I think you are sulking still.”

I was annoyed; I was not one who sulked. Sulking was for children, or spoiled and petulant aristocrats and royals, not Gypsy attractions.

“I think you are mistaken.”

“Would it please you to know that I have spoken to the Shah on your behalf?”

Oh. Nadir was a predictable man with an unpredictably good nature.

“And what, pray tell, did the Shah have to say?” In the deepest recesses of my immoral mind, I silently dreaded being told about the loss of the promise of my lovely English gift horse. She was a pleasant woman, irritating, but pleasant. Lovely too. Sinfully so.

“He laughed at your discomfort and expressed shock at your…eccentricities.” He cleared his throat rather loudly. “He says that as a guest in his palace and a favourite of his mother, you must accept his offering, but he is willing to compromise.”

“He has told you to relate his messages to me?” The Shah was not a man to allow his decisions to be conveyed through the mouth of another. Such actions were unwise.

“No, I expect that he shall want to see you soon enough, but only after you receive his…gift. Actually, Erik, he wishes to surprise you with a slave girl. I should not be telling you what I am telling you now, but I fear your actions should your…surprise not please you as much as the Shah would like. Actually, I fear surprising you at all.”

A wise man was Nadir! I was an unpredictable man with an unpredictable nature. Yet this compromise was not a good one. Not a good one in the least.

“I do not wish for any sort of concubine, Daroga.” My resolve was cold.

“It is a custom, I have told you this before.”

“I do not care for your customs.”

“You are being very difficult.”

“You are being very dense, not to mention uncivilized.”

“Uncivilized?”

“Rape is not civil. Would you shake hands and pat your rapist on the shoulder and congratulate him for a job well done?”

“If you would stop calling it rape you would not be worrying yourself into an early grave over this simple matter.”

“You do not see it as rape because you are not the victim of the act itself, but rather the one acting in support of it.”

“The slaves are property, Erik, they will not refuse you.”

“A refusal does not require her to say ‘please stop Erik, I would rather not be taken right now, please and thank you’” My voice went high in imitation of a classic, empty-headed fairy tale heroine. My point was not nearly so light-hearted.

“You’ve lost me, Erik.”

“Daroga! If a woman is sent to me, she will be terrified! Even if she agrees, even if she stands in front of me and strips naked and parts her pretty brown thighs as wide as they allow, she will still be doing it out of obligation and fear, not want! It is not a difficult concept to grasp. My logic is quite admirable, if I do say so myself.” If people were turning to stare it mattered not, they could gawk and gasp all they wanted.

“I think you are being noble, but at the same time, profoundly stupid.”

“I think you simply lack understanding.” The streets were alive with destitution, each and every face complimented by eyes filled with longing and sadness. A country of my own heart, but not mind. “Also, do you think by giving me a harem girl as opposed to Elizabeth that my crime shall be any less severe? Why is white flesh worth more than brown?”

“The Shah thought that your refusal might have stemmed from your unwillingness to lie with a European woman. He thought that perhaps you thought her superior to the others.”

“So he thought that I felt I was inadequate?”

“No…Erik…”

“Yes, Daroga! No one in this godforsaken country can grasp the concepts of decency or respect. It is beyond all of you. How pitiful!” I almost thought I saw shame creep into Nadir’s tired eyes. A minor victory on the part of your humble narrator.

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The rest of the afternoon passed slowly, I blamed the heat. The sun’s abusive rays slowed not only the passage of time, but the movements of those forced to work to earn their keep swathed in restrictive clothing.

Letting out a sigh of comfortable relief, I reclined on the large velvet cushion beneath me. It was rather similar to the one I sat upon as I watched the sensual spectacle unfold before me but a week ago. Of course, as my eyes were assaulted, or shall I say gifted, with the erotic display, I spent very little time contemplating the furniture. Rightfully so.

The Khanum’s chamber was lovely, easily the most architecturally pleasing room in the entire palace. I had stared in appalled shock at the tragically poor look of the Persian cities when I first entered the sweltering desert jungle of depravity. Everything was crumbling down like a war-ravaged fortress, the stone eroded and discoloured, the artistry of design sadly overlooked in favor of primitive buildings. Nearly medieval buildings!

The gauzy red curtains hung to the sides of the rectangular but rounded windows, held in place by golden ropes. The walls were bronze, which under most circumstances would seem quite offensively garish, but here gave an impression of elegance. Elegance and self-importance, but who was I to criticize selfishness? Selfishness is really more of a virtue than a vice I believe. Who have we to look out for but our own miserable souls? Call it cynicism if you must, but know that all it is logic, nothing more!

“I have something you may enjoy.” The Khanum had a harsh voice that often lowered to a threatening purr.

“Oh?” I felt dread well up inside of my chest; surprises in his country were almost never pleasant.

“Elizabeth? Bring the pipe!” My gift horse walked in then, her dark green muslin shift covered in a sheer dressing gown. Well, I’m sure that here it was called something other than a dressing gown, but I had not the time or patience to learn the name of each and every article of superfluous clothing.

“I have it right here.” She then brought forth a gold-plated pipe with a long, thin stem and circular ceramic bowl at the bottom.

“Would you like to try it first, Erik?” My lovely gift horse surprised me by sitting on my same cushion, her delicate hipbone brushing against my thigh as I made an obligatory move to the far left side. I allotted her more room that was necessary, which in turn made my position rather uncomfortable.

“If you wish, Mademoiselle.”

I could feel the Khanum’s Cheshire cat grin before I looked up and drank in the unsettling sight myself.

Elizabeth reached for a spoon-like object and dipped it into a gooey black substance. Ah, crushed poppy seeds! I had never before had a taste of opium, smoking was detrimental to the lungs and throat and I had no desire to damage my voice, but for this occasion, I would make an exception. Nadir would become even more of an insufferable old fart if he caught wind of my second rebuke of Persian custom.

The black substance was then poured into the small bowl at the end of the pipe and held over a candle flame before being handed over to me briskly.

“For you, Erik.” I had to admit, the pipe was lovely.

The substance was even lovelier.

Oh, to say lovely is to refrain from doing justice to the glorious brewing black goop. It was…glorious!

Once the burning in my throat subsided, a most wondrous scent overwhelmed me. I could have sunk into the floor, happily resting in the soft velvet cushion while making love to the entire world with my newfound goodwill and visions of splendor.
In fact, I had a most horrible urge to jump upwards with a mighty roar and plant a large, wet, shockingly invasive kiss on the lips of the acid-tongued lioness staring at me intently under heavy-lidded eyes.

I would then make for the sunset with my gift horse. I would sling her over one shoulder like a Viking, taking her far away from the palace to mate like animals in every position known to man and beast!

I would spend hours wasting precious time, never caring about building the Shah’s new palace or carrying out the Khanum’s perversely violent wishes. Never again would I feel compelled to subject myself to grueling hours of physical and mental labor for something as simple as peace. Why, the affected mind was the most peaceful mind of all!

“Would you like to go out to the garden, Erik?” Elizabeth’s voice lacked the sinister purr of the Khanum’s, but it was lovely nonetheless. Low, seductive, and ever so charming with the faded English accent.

“The garden you say?” Why anyone would want to sit in the unbearable heat when they could wallow in peaceful oblivion in this golden paradise was beyond my comprehension.

“Yes.” She grasped the golden pipe and inhaled deeply, the fine white smoke gracefully exiting her open lips. “I much prefer outside to this cold, stuffy room.”

Cold?

Stuffy?

Insanity?

I choose the latter.

“But my dear, outside it is bright and stifling!”

“I promise I shall make your suffering worth your while.” Her hand rested gently upon my knee as her breath tickled the shell of my ear. The feel of the hot air against my skin awakened another dormant body part.

“Shall you?”

“You think me a liar?” Her playful tone held a dangerous accusation. No, dangerous was not the right word. Petulant was far more fitting

“My dear,” I reclined so that my elbows supported my upper body as I stretched out my feet and placed on ankle on top of the other, “all of us lie.”

“You are evading me, Erik.”

“Yes I am.”

The lioness stood up and cleared her throat.

“You should accompany Elizabeth, Erik.” Her purr was gone now.

“Should I?”

“My Chinese eunuch offer still stands…”

She was bluffing, and I found it rather irritating, not to mention laughable. Yet I was not in the mood for confrontation, so I grudgingly sat up and silently conceded defeat. Aloofly, of course. I am not a creature to hang my head after a loss.
My gift horse held my hand in her own and lead me out of the splendid chamber. I held onto the gold walls with my longing gaze until they disappeared from view, much to my anguish and regret.

Now it was back to the beige plaster walls. Primitive, medieval walls screaming with ugliness. I no longer care how arrogant I sound, how is it possible for an entire country to suffer from the malady that is known as poor taste?

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The garden was, for a lack of a better adjective, decent. The rows upon rows of greenery were well-maintained, which was quite a feat considering the harsh weather. I often worked to keep the plants and flowers alive when I lived with Giovanni. I had time to care about such things, and care about them I did.

I even tried to look after Luciana’s flowers, as she sorely neglected them and then threw appalling tantrums when they died. Did she expect them to thrive on their own? Ah, even as I criticized her, my heart broken when I remembered her. It was not wise to speak ill of the dead, especially not when yours truly was the cause of her untimely demise. She was so very young, and so beautiful. A misguided and spoiled child really, but so full of life, so carefree. Not anymore, never would she swoon with her first taste of true love, never would she enliven a room with her extroverted personality and loose tongue.

“See how much nicer it is out here, Erik?”

“Indeed.”

“A man of few words.” Her teasing manner was unexpected. She was not the wilting violet that I had expected. She seemed made in the image of her protective lioness rather than the submissive and silent cubs of the harem.

Refreshing? Perhaps.

“I suppose I am.”

“Were you burned?” Her brows knitted together in innocent curiosity rather than disgust.

“What?” My face was never mentioned with such distant curiosity.

“Were you burned? Injured as a child?”

My face most certainly did not look like a burn! It looked like death. It felt of it as well.

“No, it was a curse from birth.”

“Oh.” She looked as though she wanted to offer a consolatory apology but thought better of it.

“Have I satiated your curiosity, Mademoiselle?”

“I did not mean to pry, but I do not see why I should ignore it.” She had formerly been standing beside the bench where I sat, idly picking at leafs. The haze of opium-induced bliss made the colours of nature all the more vivid and striking. I often felt a jarring temptation to pluck a soft pink petal from one of the flowerbeds and inhale the rich, sweet scent of beauty. I had been craving the touch and smell of a variety of soft pink petals as of late. Forgive the euphemism.

“Were you not taught to remain silent unless spoken to?” I let the bitter and sarcastic retort invade my mellow reverie.

“I thought Frenchmen were different form Persian men.” She looked...pouty, if not deeply disappointed.

“I was not insulting you, simply asking a question.”

“Your question was cruel.” She stood once more, her slim back to me.

“This land is far crueler than I.”

“I have been fortunate.”

“Yes, you have.” She escaped the fate of many of her countrywomen. The colour of her skin and connection to the Khanum afforded her immunity of sorts, for now. Little did know that she was formerly intended to be wrapped up nicely and thrown at my feet like a slender, pale-skinned, English-born plaything. An object to be used at my whim and fancy.

“Tell me about Europe.” Her foul mood seemed to float away on the breeze as she turned and cast a dazzling smile in my direction. Such lovely teeth she had, so even and white.

“There is not much to tell.”

“Erik?”

“Yes?”

“You’re very boring.”

Boring? No. Grumpy? Yes. Bitter? Of course.

“Am I here to amuse you, Mademoiselle?”

“Would you be willing if I asked you to?”

“I make no guarantees.” I wanted to shrug off of my dress jacket, but thought better of it.

“That is most unfortunate.”

With a grace of movement that reminded me of an elegant feline, she placed one delicate, long-fingered hand on my shoulder before sliding easily into my lap, her trim thighs draping across my own like warm silk. I shifted slightly, feeling a burning sensation cascading down my spine even as other parts rejoiced in the unexpected contact.

Perhaps she would not need to be hurled at my feet in order to concede to lying with me. Although, that might be a fun game to play should the occasion arise...

How I hated falling victim to the fantasies of over-sexed men.

“Mademoiselle, what would the palace guards say if they saw his display?” My confidence faltered as her soft brown eyes met my own, the depths dark and mischievous.

“They would be most pleased.”

Oh. This was an act of duty after all. Disappointment and dare I say hurt welled up inside my chest. No one cuddled up intimately to a monster without obligation, especially not pampered young English roses incarcerated in opulent golden prisons.
With a detached sigh I firmly grasped her bony little hips and lifted her up and off of me even as my hungry cock reprimanded me viciously. She let out something between a shriek and a gasp as I sat her down hard upon her lily-white backside on the concrete bench.

“You think I’m ugly!” Her eyes burned with a fiery rage. She was more offended than hurt. She frantically brushed at her lap, trying to busy her hands. Most likely she was concerned she would strike me for my insult. She would not be the first to do such a thing, and undoubtedly would not be the last.

“I think you are putting on a rather pathetic show, is what I think.”

“Care to explain, Monsieur?”

She had some knowledge of the French language, it would seem. A clever girl, an oddity in this land that surely denied women education.

“I do not want you, is that so hard to believe?” Yes, it probably was. I did not believe it myself.

“Yes you do!” She folded her arms across her chest in silent protest.

“You are a spoiled, glorified honorary Persian Princess, not a mind reader.”

“The part of you below your waist contradicts your mouth.”

A feisty, raunchy little thing she was!

“You are too observant for your own good, and you are beginning to annoy me.” Were all women so demanding of praise?
“Well, I know what I felt, and as impressive as it was, your foul disposition ruins everything!”

My foul disposition? Who was the lecherous, conniving liar among the two of us? It ‘twas not I!

“I think your choreographed seduction is what ruined this lovely afternoon.” It felt good to be honest.

“Do you fancy boys?”

I nearly choked on air.

“Spare yourself the abject humiliation of being thrown out of this garden and kindly leave me in peace.” If she were a man I would have strangled her without a moments hesitation. I would have reveled in her terrified chokes and sobs as she had her life ripped from her body on the end of my Punjab lasso.

“Apologize and I will go away.”

“You are not the one in need of an apology. And as far as apologies go, they are useless, meaningless endearments that I
have no time or patience for.”

“Apologize or remove me yourself!” To illustrate her point she dug her heels into the grass and stood like a stone angel. A stone angel in a foul mood.

“You leave me little choice, Mademoiselle.”

With a swiftness that caught her off-guard I lifted her with ease and hauled her over my shoulder. I am not a good-looking man, but I am a strong one with broad shoulders and a rather muscular chest. Her light body gave me no trouble even as her hands clawed at my jacket in a futile fight that she knew she would lose. I suppose I admired her pitiful show of protest.

“Now, now,” I addressed her softly, “cease your struggling or I shall be forced to restrain you otherwise.”

“By what means?”

Little did she know that even I did not know what means I would use. Fortunately, the threat was enough to sedate her.

Temporarily.

“Horrid means beyond your wildest imaginings.”

She beat a closed fist against my back in a futile attempt to challenge me. I responded with a swift but light slap on her lovely rear-end. She let out the most amusing squeal. In fact, it was rather cute. And it earned me another pitiful punch, one that kind of stung.

I returned the favor with a harder slap which made a rather loud noise and was followed by another enraged squeal.

Her tiny fist left another stinging souvenir against my spine. I rewarded her with what would surely create a pink hue on what was definitely a pale ass.

“Stop it, Erik!”

I answered back with another slap, this one gentler than the last, but still a little noisier than what was necessary.

“Put me down!”

“Thou doth protest too much, my lady!” Another slap. Another shriek. I found myself growing unbelievably hard at the feel of her firm bottom and the unintentional movements of her lithe body against my own.

We reached the wall of the palace finally, her struggling growing weaker and weaker even as she raged at me. I was sure her stinging backside made her less than willing to speak. I was briefly concerned that I had hurt her, but I knew that I had been careful to keep from becoming too rough; I did not wish to harm or truly frighten the girl. Besides, a little good-natured paddling on the rear-end never hurt anyone, especially not fiery young maidens.

Being careful to grasp her wrists tightly as I lowered her to her feet, I pressed her body against the ugly beige plaster. She looked like a diamond against a background of austere homeliness.

Holding her fragile wrists and pinning her arms above her head, I lowered my head to her own, breathing in her rosy scent as I kept my lips mere inches from her own.

“Have we calmed down, my Lady?” Years ago I would have fled from her in the garden at the commencement of her exasperated outburst, but I was a grown man now, and her childish temper would be met with my own.

“You’re a vicious, vile brute!” She nearly spat at me as she strained against my hold on her. Her breasts pressed against the thin muslin, her chest heaving in exhaustion and indignation as her eyes burned with anger. She looked…ravishing. A fine young woman ripe for the taking.

I dismissed my wayward thoughts swiftly.

“You are not so deserving of praise yourself, young maiden.” I inched closer to her until my pelvis was pressed against her taut belly.

“Let me go.” Her breathy request seemed far away as my heart began to hammer wildly in my chest, mimicking the sound of a steel drum. I hated steel drums.

“Will you behave yourself?” Our argument was turning into something fetishistic, perverse even.

“I never behave, Monsieur.”

“No?”

Sometimes desire overwhelmed conscience, if there was such a thing as a conscience at all.

“No.” Her answer was coy even as her body remained stiff and unyielding.

“And why is that, my lady?” I pressed deeper into her belly, a small groan nearly escaping my lips.

“If I behaved well, I would be almost as boring as you.”

Before I came to understand the sensation consuming my mind and body, her lips were on my own, drawing me further and further into her. She was a child, an annoying, impudent child. And a wanton goddess of lust.

She played with the seam of my shocked lips with her tongue, gently probing and moistening my mouth. It was surreal, as though it were naught but a dream. A wonderful, awe-inspiring dream.

I let my mouth open to accept her naughty little tongue as I tightened my grip on her slim wrists. Her moan was nearly my undoing. Never in my life had desire struck me so ruthlessly.

Our tongues tangled in a passionate dance as I brought my hands down to her hips and tentatively gripped them.

And in that moment, she let out a tortured moan followed by an even naughtier giggle, and with no consideration for my first real sexual awakening or throbbing cock, that teasing little cunt pushed away from me and fled in a flurry of forest green muslin.

Oh, she would pay…
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The Dance of Broken Souls