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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 4

I was still of the persuasion that this could not be real, it was all too…easy.

Yet I found myself not caring.

Duty or no duty, a naked woman was pressing herself against my back, her long, thin arms draping around my shoulders as her hands snaked their way inside of my shirt and began to forcefully pry open the fabric.

The world could have crashed down around us right now, the earth eroding beneath us and the sky falling into oblivion, but I would not have moved from this bed. Even if the devil himself stood before me in his sinful scarlet glory and threatened my eternal existence, I would have sat there like a solid, unmovable rock. Solid, hard, and stronger than any thunderous element.

Needless to say, as I’m sure you have already gathered from my reflective monologue, I was also as stiff and still as a stone. In fact, I was briefly shocked into atrophy.

All there was the sensation of her thighs closing around my hips as she reared up onto her knees to try to pull the stiff linen down my arms.

She couldn’t be real. No woman ran into the arms of a monster. No woman on earth…

Except for her, motivations notwithstanding.

“Is Erik nervous?” Her playful giggle was both titillating and annoying. I would not be laughed at for my obvious inexperience, nor would I be lead into a sexual frenzy like a small and unsure boy. Nay, I was the master and leader of each and every domain that was graced with my hideous visage and vile temper.

I had shown her yesterday my ruthless dedication to maintaining control. I could show her again.

Perhaps she would love the farce as much as I.

Swiftly and without prior indication, I turned on her swiftly, grasping her thin hips and pulling them into my own. The blue silk barrier slipped away, the strong thighs and slight hips of my gift horse revealed.

She was a small woman, but there was almost too much to see. My eyes could not see all of her, only parts of her. Her small breasts first filled my gaze, then her smooth belly. I wanted to touch every inch of her, worshipping it with my tongue and hands until it burned with the desire that threatened to consume me.

She was like a sublime sculpture, fragile and valuable, but stunning to behold. A sculpture that demanded worship and praise. It needed to be thoroughly loved by those fortunate enough to see and touch it, especially since those who were fortunate enough to look upon it knew that they might never again have the chance.

I rounded on her fiercely, drawing her body to mine. I felt nothing but an animalistic urge to throw her onto her back and devour her. A voice that I had never before heard, or perhaps just never before acknowledged, begged me in gruff, raspy tones to push her apart her pretty tanned thighs and plunge inside of her. I needed nothing more than to satiate my intense, ravening hunger by embedding myself into her hot, wet tunnel. I nearly spent at the thought of it.

It would be so good…so good.

I pulled her legs about my waist and her arms went around my neck, a sharp gasp emanating from her mouth as the sheets were nearly torn off of the bed as I threw her upon her back, her head at the foot of the bed.

She looked like a queen against a backdrop of midnight blue silk. A painting of sorts, a painting too sensual and erotic as to be seen by any human eyes other than my own. In this moment, she belonged to me. And I was hers and hers alone.

“No my Lady, I am not shy.” I roughly pressed my lips against her own, penetrating her in the suggestive, sensuous rhythm of invasion.

She returned the gesture, but with a reservation that crept upon her slowly.

“You’re beautiful…” My words were so breathy and hoarse that I hardly recognized my own voice. “ So beautiful…”

I shrugged the cumbersome garment that was my shirt off of my shoulders and down my arms.

Elizabeth let out a low moan of satisfaction. Whether it stemmed from admiration or the knowledge that she was not the only one disrobed and defenseless I did not know. Nor did I care really.

Caring was for one who had a conscious grasp on reality, as this point I had long since plummeted into a world of sensation and ethereal beauty. There was no more reality for me, not now, not during this fantasy.

I began at her neck, the smooth skin calling out to me, begging me touch it. A woman’s neck is soft whereas a man’s is rather coarse. I know this only be comparing hers to my own, I have not spent a great deal of time paying attention to, or touching other men’s necks.

I pressed my lips to the skin, suckling softly and tenderly at first. I did not wish to leave any marks, although the urge to nip at the fragile flesh was beginning to make itself more pronounced. It tasted and smelled sweet, the fine saltiness of her sweat mingling with the natural saccharine of her skin.

Her breath seemed to catch in her throat as I consumed her. The sound of her screaming out my name in unbridled ecstasy would have made me a die a happy man.

I do not say that to be dramatic or clichéd. If the powers that be, or a disgruntled Persian guard, saw fit to strike me down at this very moment, I would have died with face-cracking smile on my lips if the last words heard were something along the lines of, “Oh
my god, Erik! Erik, Erik, Erik, oh my god, please don’t stop!”

The sound of a satisfied woman’s moans is sweeter than the greatest aria to the ears so long deprived of the intimate music.
Her hands fisted into my hair as her eyes closed.

I reached for her wrists and grasped them in my hands. They were unbelievably slight, shockingly so. In fact, they fit easily between my thumb and forefinger when I touched the tips together.

At the risk of sounding like a brute, I felt like a true warrior, overpowering the fair lady with my strength and leaving her completely, hopelessly passive beneath me. Anything I wished to do to her I could.

Anything at all.

The conduct of a gentleman, well sufficient public, is overrated and superfluous in the bedroom, wouldn’t you agree?

I sounded like a savage even to myself, but the thrill of dominance is very much like a potent aphrodisiac, one that exists outside of the boudoir as well.

Still, I had no desire to frighten the woman, nor did I have any desire to harm her. But I wanted to possess her with every fiber of my being. For that moment when she would lie beneath me, I wanted her to believe that her body belonged to me, and only I could make it sing with the sweet sensation of release.

It is no secret that I am an unhappy man. Darkness has long been a part of me, deeply embedded in my soul. I was born into anger. Fear was the first emotion that I was exposed to when I was spat out of the womb. You may say that I am simply being dramatic, but I am not one to embellish!

Imagine for one moment that you are the one who possesses the face of the devil himself. Does a sickening fear and anger not overwhelm you? Knowing that you have a visage that frightens even the strongest and mightiest of aloof men does not make you as powerful as you might think.

I have always known that once my entire face is exposed, I become a creature, an insect or a monster only worthy of shrill screams and averted eyes. It is not abnormal to see people rapidly clasp their hands to their mouths, their perfect eyes bulging out of their perfect sockets. I can read terror in their eyes; I can see it as clear as day, but do I linger and stare back? Never.

You must understand how odd it is to have a seemingly normal woman in possession of her sanity holding you tightly while you cover her slim body with your own. For a man of power, prestige, or good looks, an occurrence such as the one that I am describing is quite common.

I am sure that each and every night a fine young gentleman who is the son of a Duke takes a fine young lady home to his brilliantly impeccable townhouse and fucks her fast, hard, and thoughtlessly. Fuck her pleasure! A woman on the end of his rich, pampered, lily-white cock is proof enough of your masculinity and prowess!

Call me bitter all you like, but know that I am right. An ugly man does not a stupid man make, nay; I’ve been gifted with perspective. I need my troubled thoughts to keep me company and validate my resentment in those lonely hours of tortured solitude, trapped in the mind of a man who is slowly becoming mad with undiscovered grief as the days creep by.

Still, there were moments when I was mighty and strong, moments where powerful men and taunting women were brought to their knees before me. Whether they fell to the ground after struggling at the end of my noose or enduring my gaze after feasting their eyes upon the corpse that masqueraded as the right side of my face, they were robbed of their senses. Once a thief, always a thief.

And I would never, ever get caught.

But where was I now? Elizabeth was beneath me, I knew that much. She was as naked as the day she born. That I knew as well.
She was going to let me take her, of that I was almost certain. If she was not going to allow me to take such liberties, she was showing no sign of an imminent refusal. I would think that lying beneath a man nude and gasping with wanton glee was a fairly direct invitation.

I am, however, shamefully inexperienced in the art of amorous passion, and I am quite a skeptic to boot, so I make myself no guarantees. An old adage exists that warns against having high expectations lest you be disappointed. Most of the time, this frivolous bit of wisdom is passed from parent to child, but not for your humble narrator. I learned the truth behind this inoffensive and good-natured warning through years of disappointment. In fact, I have grown so numb to it that I can dismiss it with a wistful sigh.

My gift horse was breathing hoarsely, her breaths escaping her mouth in harsh sighs as I moved my body on hers. My lower back was absolutely drenched with sweat, partially from a heat that radiated from the burning skies of this godforsaken country, and partially from the fear that was spreading through my veins. The sweat that was a result of the vein-fire that was as icy as a glacier. I was in the throes of a deep, suffocating, dreadful sense of fear.

Elizabeth’s skin was as dry as the desert itself, smooth and soft to the touch, but free from the nervous perspiration that was seeping out of my skin. I could feel the cool droplets forming in my hair, the slick moisture making its slow descent down my neck.

I, the cold and heartless gold-armored warrior, was about to start shaking like a leaf.

I was going to disappoint her. It was not a question of possibility; it was a matter of truth. I was going to fail in this endeavor. I would crumble and fold like a fallen soldier, my pride run through with a 10-inch blade, as cruel forces outside of my control guffawed with mirth.

Elizabeth made no sounds, and her hands had seemingly locked in place against my upper back, her fingers clenched tightly and her arms embracing me stiffly. She was not moving about languidly beneath me. In fact, her skin never touched mine, save for the unintentional rise and fall of her chest as she inhaled and exhaled audibly.

Where was my strong-willed, bratty, acid-tongued lady of the nighttime? The dark velvety paradise that was her boudoir no longer seemed darkly elegant and refined, but rather heated and oppressive. It was a sweltering, royal blue jungle. I could almost hear the sounds of mist rising from the ground as small creatures scuttled and slunk through the underbrush.

Man is most out of his element in a nature to which he has never been exposed. I was lost in a jungle of sorts, a large, forbidding world that I had heard described in glorious terms far more often than I would have liked to admit. Yet it was not a world I had ever expected to enter, and dare I say it was not one that I felt worthy of.

I hate to bore you with metaphors, but please, envision trees that are too tall, heat that is too stifling, ground that is too uneven, and fierce, unpredictable dangers lurking in the seemingly serene landscape.

I, the man who is also a ghost and a monster, had fallen into surreal territory. I was afraid.

I was terrified.

But I wanted this.

Oh, how I needed this like a man trapped in a desert needs water! I needed her flesh to survive. I needed it to bring me peace, to allow me the comfort of knowing that each and every day there were simple, sensual pleasures to live for.

It was no longer about the act of fucking, or dare I say lovemaking, it was about the press of flesh against flesh. Her flesh against my flesh. Her acceptance of my face and my body.

I needed to know that I was a man, not an ominous presence frightening people and bringing them to heel with my grotesque countenance. Do not allow me to bore you with my sentimentality, but try to understand the celibate life of an untouched human, a child longing for the soft hand of their mother or father to chase away the demons that invaded the withered soul when one is far too young.

I was still very much that child, even as I fought away those memories of a past best forgotten. The mind is cruel; it never lets us forget, no matter how much we plead for release from the chains that bind us to our dark thoughts.

In time, it is our dangerous minds, not our weak bodies, that kill us. When I die, it will be because I no longer have true reason to live. Fuck my heart and lungs, they will beat and breathe as long as I want them to; it shall be my decision and mine alone when the time has come for me to leave this pitiful world behind!

“Are you being shy now, my dear?” I looked down at my gift horse; she seemed frozen, a stone statue lying passively beneath my awakening body. A coldness coursed through her veins and chilled her skin; I could feel the supple flesh gradually becoming firmer, cooler.

Fright always stiffens the body, tightening the muscles until they are propelled into anxious movement should an ominous threat materialize.

I was that threat.

I was her fear.

I did not know whether to laugh maniacally at my power over her, or slink away like a wounded, kicked puppy over her silent rejection. Nay, it was not a rejection of a silent nature; it was rather loud, like a booming steel drum echoing off of the cavernous walls of this elegant cave.

Her silent rejection that spoke in obscene volumes. An oxymoron indeed!

I suddenly felt as old as the grains of sand carried away by the dry Persian winds, traveling on the cruel, harsh breeze with no home in sight.

Ancient, unimportant, inconsequential, and easily forgotten; not to mention best ignored and stomped underfoot. A great nuisance am I! I can be rather morose when my heart is sinking, and as much as I deny it, a heart I do have.

“No, Erik,” her voice caught in her throat as she swallowed, her throat bobbing with the effort. Her words were clipped and forced, pushed from her mouth like stones, choking her mercilessly, “No, please continue.”

She released my shoulders, her mouth contorting into what she probably hoped was a coy smile, but it looked as though it were plastered to her face with garish paint. A mask of her own, one created with flesh and blood.

A moral dilemma ensues.

Am I to take rightfully, as is written in the laws of this land, what has been promised to me? Or am I to walk away from her, pulling the silk covers over her subtly shivering body before exiting her chambers, the heavy wooden door clicking shut softly as I am forever eradicated from her life?

Or, perhaps I shall travel the beaten path that has been trodden by the leather boots of so many men before me who call upon their innate charm and flatter their lady friends onto their backs. Or possibly hands and knees, if their lady is feeling naughty enough…

Alas, I am getting ahead of myself. I should best wait to cross that bridge when I come to it. Which, quite conceivably, might never happen.

I am quite averse to manipulating a woman, as they are not as daft as some ignorant men would have you believe. In fact, a woman is the eyes and ears of the world. They see and they know the trickery that men utilize at desperate times. Dare I say that they have a great deal of trickery of their own! Such is the nature of the beast.

I do know, however, that some gentle persuasion might relax my frisky gift horse and restore her former wanton abandon. I am, I think, a decent man; but I am, I know, a desperate one. Chances for affection seldom grace my path; I would be a fool to turn away the few that present themselves to me in any fashion.

Fuck her dutiful passivity! By the end of the day, I would learn this woman’s body like I learned the texture of fine stone and the keys of each piano, and I would make her sing!

Or I would fail miserably and slink away in shame. It is best to entertain both notions; one must always be prepared for any event, pleasant or otherwise.

I ran my finger through her fine, silky tresses, the fine hairs wrapping about my fingers tantalizingly. She simply sighed, her eyes closing tightly as her body stiffened, preparing for an assault that she was powerless to prevent, or even fully understand.

My fingers drifted lower, my hands shaking as my heart thundered in my chest, watching the whistling of the desert air beating against the window and the ancient stone walls. The ancient, ugly, stonewalls.

I touched her cheeks and traced the shadows of her lashes, the velvety skin smooth against my callused fingertips. My hands were rough and tanned, the lines deep and uneven. It was such a contrast to the smooth, porcelain flawlessness of her skin. My fingers were marred by the passage of time; her face was basking in the glow of youth. I felt unworthy of such a soft, tender thing as a woman’s fine skin.

It felt just as I had dreamed it would on those fitful nights of torturous fantasies and daunting dreams.

I touched her smooth and finely arched brows, the taut length of her jaw, and the full pout of her lips. She simply let herself breathe, her chest rising and falling as she trembled.

I covered her body entirely, my belly pressed against hers and my thigh planted firmly between her legs. She was beautiful in her helplessness. Knowing that she was as defenseless and frightened as I was a comfort of sorts, a gentle reminder that I was not entirely alone in my unwanted innocence.

My hand drifted to her throat, my fingers running along the length of her neck. She shuddered, her head instinctively turning away as I applied the slightest pressure to her windpipe. Something about her fear excited me. She knew that should I wish it, I could crush her and rip the life from her body with barely a droplet of sweat for my efforts.

Yet I did not wish that. But her uncertainty made me smugly gleeful. She was under my power, and when I was in control, I was not so afraid.

I reached up and pulled off the thick, black wig of ebony hair that I wore to cover the right side of my skull. I would leave the mask in place, but I was becoming far too hot and the thick, false hair was now unbearable.

I placed it on her rich mahogany nightstand, watching carefully for signs of shock or disgust. A widening of her eyes or gasp would alert me to her discomfort, but unfortunately I was chiefly concerned with my own at this point.

She made no such disgruntled gestures, but rather reached upwards to touch the ash-brown hair that hung limply about my face and trailed down my neck. She gingerly pushed back a loose strand and tucked it behind my right ear, her lips parting as she leveled her eyes with my own, pleading with me silently to be merciful.

I had never intended to be ruthless.

Her show of valiant bravery was rather superfluous, but our differing wavelengths were not my concern. I would allow her the fears that assailed her. I would have this morning be filled with pleasant surprises for her.

Or not so pleasant surprises, should my body humiliate me.

It was entirely possible.

She did not know the power she had over me, but she knew of the power I had over her. It was, after all, I who had her pinned beneath me.

I continued on my exploration of her body. Her trembling grew stronger as I ran a finger along her collarbone.

“Do you want me to stop?” I smirked at her as I pressed what I feared was a sloppy, clumsy kiss to her shoulder.

“No Erik, you may continue.” The voice that spoke did not sound like her own. In fact, it was so tightly coiled that it sounded almost mechanical. I nearly shuddered, as I had no wish to make love to a woman who faded from a full-bodied woman to a stiff, poorly engineered machine. I was much too demanding, and far too discerning, for that.

My finger drifted lower, grazing over the hollow at the base of her throat and stopping on the first rise of her chest bones. The hard, smooth bone was coated in her silky soft skin. It was lovely to touch.

She was one who could definitely stand to put on weight; her body was rather bony and angular in places where it should have been thicker and fuller. I chose to pay no heed to minor annoyances. I was still stunned into silence by the fact that she was with me, nude and beautiful.

I recalled another old adage that said, “beggars can’t be choosers.” I felt gloriously blessed at this moment to have a beautiful woman beneath me; it was more than I could ever hope for. I was a beggar, and for some reason unbeknownst to me, fate had seen fit to throw gold in my lap. I had absolutely no right to complain!

My finger continued its delicious descent down her body and stroked the skin between her breasts. Her heart was beating wildly, the even throb steady against my finger.

A wave of pleasant heat began to stroke my spine, warming my muscles and surging through me with abandon. The blood pounding in my veins was bringing my body to life. I had to inhale deeply and close my eyes to stop the torturous onslaught that begged me to enter her as soon as was humanly possible.

I stroked down her stomach, my finger coming to rest against the soft swell of her belly. I let my hand rest against the skin. It seemed to grow warm and taut, probably from her nervousness.

I shushed her silently, absently. Her mouth opened, but I placed my finger against her lips, longing to learn her body in silence. Her voice would take me away from the serene sensation of simply watching and touching.

“Erik…”

“Shh…”

“Erik…”

“Shh…”

“Erik, you should take off your trousers!” I lifted my hand from her belly and sat up, my head coming to rest in my hands. I had wanted nothing more than to explore her in silence, no noises but the soft rush of the breeze outside the palace. I wanted to delve deep into a world of fantasy as I took my, excuse the cliché, maiden voyage to lands unknown. My gift horse preferred to speak, though, interrupting my reverie and bringing back that heinous feeling of nervousness that swept through my stomach.

“I will. Soon.” I cleared my throat and moved to cover her body again, my hand drifting lower to touch the top of her feminine mound.

“No, do it now.” She sat up and pushed herself backwards, pulling the silk sheet over her body and tucking it under her arms.

I sighed dejectedly.

“Have you no appreciation for patience?”

“Have you no concept of fairness?” She crossed her arms over her chest and swept her hair back absently.

“Fairness?” I questioned.

“Yes, you cannot wear clothes if I am not wearing any!”

I suppose her reasoning was logical. Perhaps my trousers offered me protection that she was not allowed to have. Perhaps that contributed to her nervousness, as one who is clothed is always mightier than one who is not. I did not feel guilty, however, as she was nude when I first arrived, and she made no attempt to cover herself when she saw me looking upon her in awe!

I was pleased that her coldness seemingly disappeared.

“Then I shall be fair. But then we will resume our former positions in silence. Does that sound fair to you?” I began to roughly pry open the fastenings of my trousers. I thought that removing them swiftly would be my best course of action, as I felt that familiar rush of uncertainty creep upon me. I had never before been exposed to any human being.

It was an odd feeling, disrobing before wide, curious eyes.

I sat on the bed and kicked the black fabric away. I was immediately aware of my straining cock, however, and this unsettled me. A wash of shame overcame me, but I dismissed it ruthlessly. She was going to see it sooner or later!

I was entitled to this, this natural occurrence between a man and a woman. I did not have the time, or the right, to contemplate my own modesty or fears. When one seized upon an opportunity as rare and promising as this one, they did not allow their own reservations to make them shudder with terror. They marched into the imminent battle with confidence and ardor, preparing to suffer wounds on their way towards victory.

I would do the same. I have mastered every art there is to master within minutes. I can build you a palace, write you an opera, and invent machines that would awe you with their splendor. I can mend the shattered wing of a sparrow and create remedies to cure the most horrid of diseases. I can tell you the inner-workings of the mysterious human body whilst reciting facts from thousands of books. I can astound you with my brilliance.

Surely I could make love to a willing woman! Surely I could make her forget her duty to the rules of her backward country and see and feel the pleasures to be found in taking me, a poor, pitiful monster, as her lover. There was nothing and no one which I could not master.

Why was I so uncertain now? Now, when all I had to do was lay her down and spread her trim little thighs?

If there was one thing I could not do, it was touch another human being, whether it be as a lover or a friend. I was too cold, too detached from the painful world of the living. Humanity had excommunicated me, and I had accepted my isolation and persecution all too willingly. Now the simple thought of reaching out and touching someone intimately made me tremble and shake like a fearful, lost child.

I was lost. So very, very lost.

“Come here, Elizabeth.” I turned to her, my body twisting and arms reaching out to call her forward as softly as one would a timid kitten.

She wrapped the blue silk around her shoulders and moved forwards, crawling slowly, fearful that I would lash out and take her like a beast.

I must confess, I felt a great need to do just that.

But I wouldn’t.

I am indeed the master of every domain; it is absolutely imperative that I be so. I made myself a promise that nothing would ever be beyond my expertise. That promise included sex, even if I did not realize it at the time I made that smug, internal oath.

I felt her hand upon my shoulder and turned to see her staring at me questioningly. There was no coy flirtation in her eyes as she gazed at me dumbly.

“Are you afraid of me?” I turned to face her fully, trying not to notice the quick aversion of her eyes as I reached out to stroke her cheek.

Was she afraid of the act of sex itself despite her coy teasing? Or was she coming to regret inviting a monster such as myself to her bed? The truth of the matter was that underneath the white porcelain, I was ugly. Nay, hideous! If you were to look for children’s stories warning young boys and girls about the consequences of disobedience, the villain who worked to fill their fragile minds with dread would look somewhat similar to myself. I was born to frighten people; such is the natural response to something different. Fear.

“No.” She paused and sat back on her haunches, her hands fiddling with the blue silk, twisting and creasing the impeccably smooth fabric.

“Is it this,” I pointed to the mask, “that bothers you?”

“I am not bothered.” Her voice was lacking that familiar petulant fire that I had grown so accustomed to.

She was lying, I could see the blatant fear pooling in her eyes. She was now that innocent child being punished for a crime that she never meant to commit. I was the monster at the end of her dark fable.

In this dark tale for adults, I would be doing far more than simply leering at her hauntingly while forcing her to stare at my grotesque features. I would be taking her. It was a fate which would make most proper maidens faint dead away.

I must confess, if I were a young and beautiful woman, I would not want to fuck me either.

You see, I am not entirely apathetic.

“You are bothered! Look at you, cowering inside the covers!” My impatience and deeply embedded bitterness had begun to erode my good will.

“I do not cower!”

“You are cowering right now.” I made a rather half-hearted gesture of attempting to pull her sheet away, and I was awarded with proof of my initial hypothesis when she greeted my hand with a squeal.

She immediately looked embarrassed, as well she should have been, she looked and sounded ridiculous.

“My lady, how your tune has changed!” I sat up and began to reach for my discarded trousers. I had not the heart or the patience to see this farce through to a most dissatisfying culmination.

I was stilled by her hand against my shoulder, her nails pressing into my skin with the urgency of her grasp.

“I ask you to excuse my stupidity,” she began slowly, “I am frightened, is all, I do not wish you to leave.”

She was lying again. She wanted no more than for me to leave her in peace, her chastity and fantasies safely intact. It’s best to keep reality naught but a pretty, syrup coated fantasy!

However, she approved of my remaining in her bed. Naked. I was not going to protest now.

“Drop the sheets then, love.” I felt diabolically bold now; I would relax her in time, but for now the thrill of the challenge was consuming me.

“As you wish.” Her voice was cool as the silk swooshed to the bed, falling in slow, languorous ripples.

I came towards her slowly, noting how she crossed her arms over her breasts and held her thighs tightly together, her knees raised and ankles crossed.

If I were a truly arrogant man, I would have coyly informed her that crossing her ankles would lead to numbness, or that dreaded ‘pins and needles’ sensation in her feet before prying apart her thighs.

I, however, was in territory of a most unfamiliar nature, so my salacious attempts at sarcasm were best left untouched. For now.

I lowered myself to sit behind her, my hands resting against her upper arms and squeezing gently. I wanted her body to release that horrid stiffness that made her feel more like a statue than a living, breathing woman.

I parted my thighs so she could more easily settle between them as I gently explored her body, but she was rather reluctant to sit back and fall into my chest as I hoped. There is something wonderfully empowering and comforting about enveloping a woman in your embrace, shielding her from all the ills of the world.

I pulled her backwards as firmly as was possible without being too rough; if I were rough, I would frighten her. My body was begging me to be swift and hard with her, but my mind warned me of horrid consequences should I relent.

She fell against me, the smooth skin of her back pressing into my chest as I smoothed her hair off of her shoulders. I rubbed them gently, kneading the muscles expertly. I was a connoisseur of the needs of the body, and no touch was as relaxing as a firm rub of the shoulders. I knew this, but had never before been able to put the theory into practice, nor had I ever had my own shoulders rubbed.

She seemed to enjoy it enough. Her head fell back, her eyes closing and lips parting slightly as I worked the flesh between my fingers, avoiding putting too much pressure on her fragile collarbones.

“That’s right…” I whispered softy, “that’s right…”

She sighed contentedly in approval.

I was most pleased with myself.

I let my hands drift lower on her back, moving across her shoulder blades and coming to rest underneath her arms. Nervousness shot through me again. What I was about to do would either earn me a delighted gasp of pleasure or a swift slap across my good cheek.

It was a risk I was willing to take. It is a risk hundreds of thousands of overzealous, sexually titillated men and boys take each and every day. I was a man in body, was I not?

Reaching forward slowly, I moved beneath her arms with the swift sneakiness of a snake and cupped her breasts rather harshly, the breath whooshing out of my lungs as I felt the soft, round flesh under my palms.

“Ohh…”

One of us made that gasping, exasperated noise. I was not quite sure which. It might have been I, your humble narrator, but let us pretend that it was not.

I squeezed harder, her tiny pink, pebbled nipples grazing my hand. It was the greatest moment of my life up until that point. I always have known that I will build palaces and compose symphonies of legend. I have always known that no matter of words or numbers is beyond my comprehension and mastery. I have always thought, however, that I would never, ever be afforded the grand privilege of touching a woman’s breasts.

Believe me, most young boys fantasize about doing what I am doing now far more than they do about making great discoveries or penning literary or musical masterpieces.

That is, of course, unless they are as sexually bland as plants or fanciers of their own gender.
I was neither.

I pulled her tighter into my chest, my breath coming out of my body harshly as I simply kept on squeezing, barely believing the great treasure that I was holding in my hands.

“Erik…” She gasped out.

“Yes?” I cleared my throat once. Twice. My voice was so hoarse I barely recognized it. It reminded me of two rocks grating against one another, or porcelain plates sliding against each other.

“They are attached, I promise you.” She giggled then, a girlish, carefree sound.

“What?” I raised my right eyebrow, which she could not see.

“You do not need to squeeze and pull so much.”

I pulled away from her like a wounded puppy, my hands throbbing as though they had been laid upon a hot stove and charred beyond recognition.

The ghostly magician had just been humiliated.

She would pay for that…

I pulled her body back into me, lifting her under the arms and laying her across my lap.

“Let us play a game, shall we?” I ran my hand down her spine and watched as her thighs clenched together tightly.

“Game?” She was worried. As I have said before, power is a most potent aphrodisiac!

“Yes,” said I. “In this game of sorts, I will be an all powerful magician who has been promised a lovely young English rose, raised in a country that longs to debase her mercilessly.”

“This game sounds…awful.” She giggled again, but her trembling voice betrayed her.

“Oh, it gets much, much better, my dear!” I let my hand rest heavily against her back. I was fearful no longer, my need to prove my power and virility to this woman turning my boyish hesitation into animalistic voraciousness. No one challenges me. Ever. “I do not long to see you used and debased, but I do have full and complete ownership of your body. Each and every part of it belongs to me.”

I felt myself grow ridiculously hard as I continued my debauched speech. Sometimes the animal inside can surprise us greatly.

“Oh?” She laughed, but a shiver ran down her spine.

“Hmm. Yes.” I stuck a clumsy hand between her thighs and urged her to part them, which she did, slightly.

If I did not know any better, I would say that my little voracious kitten was becoming excited. I could feel her body tensing and shifting, pressing harder into me. I could almost hear her lilting, faded accent urging me to tell her more.

I would have to comply with my lady’s wishes! After all, I was a French gentleman.

“You see, when we are together like this, you must know that every inch of your skin is a possession of mine, and I can treat it any way I wish. So it has been written, so shall it be done! Now, my lady, I feel I must re-assert my ownership, as you spoke out of turn.”

I felt like a heinous pervert, the words escaping my lips barely recognizable to my puzzled mind.

“Spoke out of turn?” I silenced her question with a light slap against her bottom. It made the most delicious sound! Her squeal was even more musical.

“Yes.” Slap. “You.” Slap. “Did.” Slap.

“I’m…I’m…sorry?” She gasped loudly, trying valiantly to turn in my lap and push me away, but to no avail.

I gave her one last intoxicatingly arousing smack before releasing her. I had been quite gentle, certainly not hitting hard enough to leave any bruises. She did not seem pleased, though. In fact, she looked downright terrified.

“Elizabeth?” I ran one hand down her back and was most horrified to feel it tremble violently, as though she were struggling to suppress a sob.

“Elizabeth?” I echoed, far more alarmed than before.

“Please just take me now and have it over with. Please.” She rolled onto her back and covered her face with one outstretched arm bent at the elbow.

I felt like a wretched, heinous, hideous monster.

But I knew I hadn’t hurt her…I had only repeated what we had done before. Last time she had kissed me! Now she looked like she was seconds away from breaking down into uncontrollable sobs.

And I was responsible.

“Have I hurt you?” I was afraid to touch her lest she recoil from me in terror, but I could not stop my fingers from reaching out to touch her cheek and gently pry her arm away from her face.

“I don’t understand what is happening.” She rolled away from me, resting on her stomach and burying her face in the sheets.
“What is to understand?”

She did not answer.

A time such as this is a horrid one indeed. I had not hurt her, but perhaps I had shamed and humiliated her beyond all reason.

“Elizabeth?”

No answer.

“Elizabeth, who are you upset with?” I knew then that something had broken inside of her. She had enjoyed being manhandled, this I perceived clearly. She had enjoyed our depraved chat beforehand. Now she felt as though she had given too much and accepted my perverse treatment too readily. Perhaps she too had fears of being too wanton. Or perhaps she felt exposed and used, and knew that she had submitted willingly.

I have been blessed, or shall I say cursed, with powers of perception.

“My lady, there is no one here but you and I.” I moved towards her slowly, crawling at a turtle’s pace until I could rest gently upon her back. I could only hope that my still rock-hard cock would not startle her when it rested against her newly pinkened rear-end.

“I think that we are disgusting.” She whispered brokenly.

“I might be, but not one as beautiful as you.” I kissed her cheek softly.

I can be quite sympathetic when a lovely lady who does not shudder at my face needs my reassurance. I also am a man with everything to lose, and I was not about to let my one chance at taking a woman float away so easily.

“I really think,” she began, “that you should be repulsed. I know that you when you leave you shall laugh and tell the Daroga about the whore who becomes wet between her thighs after being beaten.”

She was wet between her thighs?

“My dear, do not call yourself names. And you were not beaten, we engaged in a game of sorts, we are adults and are entitled to do so.”

“I’m humiliated.” Her voice was cold and dead.

I felt bold once more and reached between her thighs to gently, hesitantly caress her freshly shaven, soft pink folds. There was most certainly moisture there; it was positively dripping out of her!

I nearly leapt with joy.

“Oh!” She gasped, pulling away quickly.

“Now,” I continued, “before we were rudely interrupted, I was telling you that your body belongs to me. Right now, I long to touch
it.” I grinned wickedly.

She grunted, but I would break down her various barriers in time. I say that both literally and figuratively.

“Come and lie against my chest and open those legs now.” She leaned against me and did just that, her body quick to respond to my demands even as her mind seemed to fight against her.

I was ravenous, my power over her arousing me in unimaginable ways!

She leaned against me and parted her thighs, her breath coming out in harsh gasps.

I was frightened, but as long as I was not performer per se, I could make the best of this fine, salacious situation. When it came time to take her, I knew I would be an absolute wretch, nervous beyond all reason.

I was sitting up, my back propped against her menagerie of silk pillows. My raging manhood had seemingly calmed itself and was now resting quite pitifully against my thigh. I did not wish for her to see it in such a state, it looked far better when firm.

She parted her thighs a little further.

“That’s a good girl.” I muttered softly.

I reached down slowly, scared once more. I simply wanted, nay, needed to touch her. I would certainly have a difficult time navigating her womanhood, but I had all the time in the world to map my voyage. Please pardon that horrid metaphor.

Her skin was remarkably smooth and completely devoid of any hair. I imagined pressing my face into her and deeply inhaling the scent of the very part of her that made her a woman. Someday I would.

I touched it lightly at first, feeling her moist opening before grazing upwards. The outer lips were soft and full, but not plump. I ran two fingers down the length of each, parting them and delving in between.

“Wider, love.”

She obeyed.

I continued to stroke, the slick skin smooth and moist. I finally placed my entire palm against her and pushed, pulling her closer to my body.

“Ohh…” She moaned out, her pelvis thrusting back against my hand as I pressed against her harder.

I pushed again, my fingers making contact with a hardened nub that was closer to the front of her pelvis. I pushed harder against that area with three fingers, eliciting a small moan from her lips.

“Erik…Erik…I feel odd.” She gasped out, her body arching back into my chest.

I made no response, but rather moved my fingers in a circular rhythm, never relinquishing my firm press against her flesh.
Her lower body began to grind wildly against my hand, her breathing harsh and fast.

I kept on playing with her. I was not sure what was giving her so much pleasure, but every time my movements stilled for even a moment, she would move against me, bucking in frustration.

“Erik, please don’t stop!” She ground into me harder as I pressed on, my hand never leaving her cunt, which had begun to throb and pulse.

I was growing harder by the second.

She finally let out a wild moan before collapsing against me, her hips slowly gyrating.

She gasped for air as though she had just surfaced from beneath the sea.

“Are you all right, my lady?” I took my hand away from her and held it against her belly, feeling the rapid rise and fall beneath my fingers.

She did not respond, but rather turned onto her stomach, her breasts grazing my lower belly.

“Should I return that glorious favor, Erik?” Her fingers traced along my ribs slowly.

“If you wish.”

A fantasy was quickly becoming a rather pleasant reality for your humble narrator.
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The Dance of Broken Souls