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Black Angels	By : Provocateur Category: M through R > The Phantom of the Opera > Het Views: 12725 -:- 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.

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Black Angels

Chapter 9: The Widow’s Kind Tutelage

A/N: I’m a very, very bad person. I know I left you with a cliffy, and that you are probably hoping to see what happens, BUT I am going to delay the outcome for one chapter. Before you get mad, let me promise you that you will like this chapter. Not only will it be very naughty, it will also have a great point and purpose. Oh, and it takes place right before the last chapter (as you know, I’ve got a thing for non-chronological story telling). This scene is quite necessary, and it’s very r-rated (or “M” I guess). Enjoy it ladies (and gentlemen)! R N’R!

Rural life was not for precious skin or soft hands. Neither was living in a sewer, but after years of modifying and re-building his decrepit home, it took on the appearance of an elegant, albeit eccentric abode. It only made sense that his disposition began to mirror his surroundings and he lost touch with the torture that was physical discomfort and hardship. His backbreaking labor gave way to decorating and stylizing, and he overcompensated for his prior existence in a filthy metal cage by pilfering lush furniture and expensive linens. Materialism was not a crime of vanity; it was a necessity for relaxation of the mind. Sometimes.

After all of the pain, the anguish, and the rejection he had been through, it perturbed him to realize that he missed his possessions. In the loneliest moments in his life, he had those simple, unfeeling, yet strikingly beautiful things to look upon. Perhaps he could not share in their splendor, but they belonged to him and him alone. No one could take that away from him.

His new abode was coming along rather nicely. It would seem that he had not lost his architectural touch. He had taken up residence in a modestly sized farmhouse that was generously given to him by a kindly if not slightly skittish widow who lived in a much more impressive dwelling two miles up the road. As it turned out she owned all of the property after the passing of her husband, a Baronet more then twice her senior who enjoyed his solitude in his old age. She looked to be in her late 30’s with long black hair and deep coffee brown eyes. Kind eyes.

As much as he doubted her when he first asked to purchase property and saw her eyes glow with undisguised curiosity, he could not deny that she possessed a good heart and a sharp mind. Indeed, it would seem that the gentle widow, Mrs. Sofia Renault, was quite perceptive and not the least bit daft. She had not questioned his mask, or his preference for meeting in the late hours of the evening under the cover of the ebony sky. Did she know of the stories and reports of the murderous opera ghost? He doubted it, and even if she did, she would not say anything to the authorities. Her eyes would betray her long before her words, and he would not hesitate to choke the life from her body should she even become suspicious of him. He would hate to have to leave two young children motherless, but he cared not for the struggles of others, he saw no reason to.

Sofia had often come by his home to ask him hpw he was settling in. At first he thought it to be nothing but concern and kindness, possibly even gratitude. There was no doubt in his mind that the widow was content with the income she derived from him. Politeness and consideration were rare virtues, and ones that were seldom presented to him. Her questions were often answered briskly, however, as he was not searching for friendship or pleasantries. A man on his a mission such as his had little time to return smiles and delight in idle chitchat.

The normally brief and insubstantial visits had started to become more frequent and extensive. He had received and rejected three invitations to dinner at her home, always making sure his refusal was amiable but solid. He did not belong at a family dinner table; it would be disconcerting and uncomfortable for her as well as him. Besides, he was well aware that he made poor company.

Despite his constant attempts at eluding his landlady, she remained undeterred. She often darkened his doorway in the early evening, asking him idly what he was up to and whether or not he needed company. She seemed to have accepted the mask and chose, wisely, to ignore it. That was a good decision on her part, for both their sakes. He would have been more then mildly annoyed by her persistence had she not been so endearingly good-natured.

Her good nature was beginning to take his thoughts down undesirable and dangerous terrain. She was an attractive woman, slender but slightly rounded and small in height. She was by no means a great beauty, but her exotic looks made her face memorable and pleasant to look upon. She had mentioned in passing that she was born in Italy, he did not bother to ask what part she hailed from. Her body was not slight or firm like Christine’s, but her round and full breasts and strong legs were appealing enough. His draw towards her was not one of affection or companionate longing. No, he envisioned an erotic tryst that would not only satiate his desires, but prepare him for the ultimate seduction. The seduction of an angel.

His longing for Christine had been physical, but it had also been deep and soulful, so much so that it frightened him. He watched her grow into a woman and as much as he wanted to touch her and claim her body, he also wanted her to feel for him that yearning for complete and utter immersion into the other person. He wanted to be one with her, to share her thoughts and her dreams, to breathe when she would breathe, to die side by side with her once their time on the earth had come to an end. Yet, he was not immune to other fleeting desires here and there.

Often he would walk through the opera house and view the shapely dancers preparing for performances, rehearsing with their colleagues or alone. They had such surreal grace to their movements. He had read about salacious encounters in shamefully mediocre romance novels. He had read of French and East Asian thoughts on sex. He had even come upon a copy of the shock inducing Kama Sutra; he kept that one around for a while. It soon began to torture him, as he could not practice what he had seen, but he still could not find it in himself to burn it, as he sometimes wished to do. He was an inexperienced man, but he was not an uninformed one. Only fools were ignorant, of which he was neither.

He remembered how he would read about the various types of coital bliss and seriously consider taking an unsuspecting chorus girl. He had a large supply of narcotics capable of rendering anyone unconscious for a few hours, if he drugged one of the girls and had her body she would never know. When he was at his angriest and most desperate he had even once considered just taking any girl and having his way with her. No one would believe anyone if they said that they had been forced to lay with the opera ghost, too many believed him to be naught but a myth. Yet others did know of his existence, and he had not the heart to hurt a woman who had done nothing to him. He knew his thoughts were wrong and perverse, but still they would plague him. He was not one to be controlled by his body though, and he found ways to rid himself of his desire by means of his own hands. Yet he could not help but feel like a boy rather than a man. A man loved and pleasured women, and they in return loved to be pleasured by him. His raging thoughts of taking young women abated as he got older, but still he felt denied that one pinnacle of manhood that the world claimed all men deserved.

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Sofia came up the hardened dirt walkway to the stranger’s home. He had worked to make the house presentable and livable, but still it seemed dark, forbidding. If houses had traits, this one would be melancholy and bereft of any warmth or welcome. The light brown dirt flew about her skirts in the wind, leaving tiny marks that could easily be brushed away. The uneven walkway was abrasive and rough beneath the fine soles of her shoes.

The blowing wind worried her, she had carefully washed and styled her hair and knew that once it became tangled and messy it would look awful. She doubted that this man cared much about a lady’s hair, but one could never be too sure of the thoughts and preferences of someone so quiet and broody.

She knocked on his wooden door, once, twice. It had been polished so that it looked almost new, the man did have a taste for luxury. She heard footsteps inside the home and quickly her heart began to race. It always did right before she saw him, so much so that sometimes she felt nervous enough to want to turn and run right before he presented himself to her. She did not have any type of love or affection for the dark stranger, but it had been so long since she had been able to enjoy the company of a man. Everyone needed company and compassion once in a while, especially when they spent so much time alone.

He opened the door and saw the smiling widow standing before him with a breadbasket and a bottle of wine in her hand. She grinned coyly and said that since he always refused invitations to join them for dinner, she thought she would take it upon herself to join him. She doubted he would have the gall to turn her away, that would imply that he had poor manners, which would be displeasing to say the least. Perhaps he would turn her away out of propriety, but men seldom did such a thing when they knew that their indiscretion would remain secret. Actually, men did not ever seem to care about whether or not gossips caught wind of their affairs, it was never their reputations that were at stake. A rogue could bed every woman in France and still mothers would pray that their daughters married him should he possess a great fortune. A woman who even kissed a gentleman unchaperoned would be shunned like the plague.

He looked at her and sighed inwardly, she obviously was choosing to ignore his standoffishness. No matter, he would oblige her this once. He was not angered by her persistence, but it was unsettling. No one had ever sought out his company with the exception of Madame Giry, and even then, they usually had something of a purposeful nature to discuss, especially after she became the ballet mistress. He was not sure what to say, what could they possibly talk about over a meal? He had nothing to say really, he had been so starved of human interaction all of his life that he had become a poor conversationalist to say the least. He stood back from the doorway to let her enter and shut the door behind her.

“Oh my! You’ve done such wonderful things with this house! I’m sorry to say that it was quite neglected for many years.”

“That’s fine.” He had taken weeks trying to turn it into something livable, and he had succeeded, moderately. He could not help but smile with masculine pride at the fact that the woman found his home so lovely to behold. He was still human, and any man found joy in impressing a woman.

“I just think that we should talk a little more,it feelsas thoughyou’re always by yourself.”

“I am, but that seldom bothers me Madame.” He looked at his interlaced fingers, unsure of what to say.

“Oh, call me Sofia, there is no need to be formal.” They continued to make small talk as they drank the wine and ate the modest meal before them. She spoke of her late husband, their home, and her years in Italy then in France. She was married when she was 18 years old to a 42 year-old man, something which horrified her to no end prior to her nuptials. She claimed that he was an attractive man, but an eccentric one. She feared he would make her become the silent hermit that he was known for being, but was pleasantly surprised when he turned out to be a kind and good-hearted man who loved to read, attend opera, and spend time outdoors. She found the lifestyle a pleasant relief from her years as a debutante; there was no pressure to be proper or complacent with him.

He listened to her with mild interest. She was so very honest with him, who was almost a complete stranger. Perhaps she just needed to talk, or perhaps she was looking for something more. He had hoped not. Yet something in her eyes excited him, they would often gleam with rebellious glee when he would stand up or shift his body. She seemed to ignore his mask and focused on his mouth and chest when she spoke to him. Then it dawned on him, Sofia was indeed in need of male company, and she did not simply want to share meals with him and reminisce about her past. He was excited, and frightened. Oh, so very frightened. She was a woman of experience, he had none. What lay beneath his mask had denied him such things. He knew she had not said what her intentions were, but he knew. He had seen far too many lusty women wandering the halls of the opera house waiting for their lovers, he knew the look, the posture, the seductive narrowing of the eyes.

She had been licking her lips, running her hand across her collarbones, stroking the smooth column of her throat. Oh, he wanted this, yet he was unsure. He thought of politely informing her that he was about to retire. He could not lay with this woman. His heart was racing now, his entire body felt engulfed in uncomfortable heat, he could feel the sweat breaking out and moistening the skin on his back and chest. Perhaps he should have dressed more formally; as it were he was just in his shirtsleeves and a pair of form fitting trousers which he wore without anything underneath. My god, he sounded like a prudish spinster!

“I have done nothing but talk this evening, you must be so tired of me by now.” She gently exclaimed, hoping that he would inform her that he was not tiring of her company at all. She had hoped that he wished to stop speaking though; she would rather do other things.Her thoughts were sinful, she knew, especially when she was still very much in love with her late husband, but she needed to feel the comforting and intimate touch of another. She had been feeling so…old.

“No, I’m not tired.” He should have said that he was, he had planned to, but the words just did not come out. Perhaps he should allow her to stay, if he were to woe Christine he would need to be a good lover. The Don Juan whom he wished he were. Now that she had a taste of the marriage bed her innocent desires would be darker, more passionate, much like his own.

“Oh good. I must admit that it has been so long since I’ve been able to speak to someone and enjoy fine wine. Ever since my husband passed I have had such little time to socialize, there are so many things that I have missed dreadfully as of late.” She hoped her hint would not go unheeded, but also hoped that it sounded innocent enough not to be misconstrued should the dark stranger become disgusted with her. How he could refuse her was beyond her though, he wore a mask that had to have been hiding something unsightly, no doubt it had denied him physical affection. She knew of the shallowness of people.

“What is that you have missed most?” No, he could not possibly have just said such a thing.

“I don’t feel right saying it aloud Monsieur.” She smiled at him shyly.

“You may call me Erik, and tell me, why is it that you have come here tonight?” He knew his voice was becoming husky, but the thought of all of that he had read about over the years, and of this willing woman, had his pants tightening uncomfortably and his mind racing with possibilities.

“Do you really need me to answer a question to which you undoubtedly know the answer?”

“Yes.” He saw her golden skin turn a bright shade of pink at his request.

“I wish for…physical companionship. Tonight.”

“Thank you for your honesty, and your boldness. Do you not know the risks of asking complete strangers to take you to bed?”

“I don’t see you as dangerous.” She lied, she did see him as dangerous, but she did not feel as though he would harm her. He stood up then and walked towards her. She looked at him with confidence, she knew what she was doing, and she had no shame or regrets. He admired that.

His hand grasped her shoulder firmly and he moved it upwards to caress her neck, letting his thumb tenderly stroke the soft skin of cheek. “I must warn you, I have not had many lovers.” He had none, but she did not need to know that.

“Yes, I know.” She boldly flicked her tongue against his thumb, sending a jolt of arousal down his spine.

“You do?” His voice remained a gruff whisper as he kneaded the flesh of her neck. Women had such beautiful necks.

“Your mask…”

“I ask that you not speak of it, and do not try to remove it.” She had no intention of doing so, she had no desire to make him uncomfortable, nor had she any wish to see what was beneath it. It gave him an air of mystery anyways, she found it enticing.

“I will do no such thing.” He believed her. No tiny female hands would pry the porcelain off of his face this night, and thank god for that. It would cut the promising evening woefully short.

She stood up and touched his unmasked cheek carefully, delighting in the rough masculine skin beneath her fingertips. He had full lips; his bottom one was ripe and sensual. She pressed her lips to his, gently at first, not willing to attack him like a wanton despite the fire burning in her lower belly. He parted his lips and began to kiss her; softly at first, unsure of whether or not she was enjoying herself. She pulled back and looked up at him, he was shaking; she could feel him shivering beneath her hands.

“Is something wrong Erik?” He was not taking the wild initiative expected of a man, especially a man as large and strong as he was.

“No. Yes. No. I am out of practice, that is all. I also know a woman whom I may lay with soon, one who I must satisfy. If I cannot satisfy you, I can do nothing for her either.” His confession came as a shock to them both, he was sure that she would storm out of the house now, brutally rebuffed and angry that he would speak of another woman while kissing her. Yet she seemed to smile up at him, her mouth opening in a wide “O” of understanding. This mysterious stranger had a paramour who he longed for, and oddly enough, her heart burst with affection when she heard him say that he wanted to satisfy her. So few men cared for the satisfaction of the women that they bedded. Despite the salacious nature of their interaction, his beautiful statement touched her. Her husband was an attentive lover, but she knew that most of his friends and acquaintances were not. He had confided in her the discussions men had behind closed doors in smoky game rooms.

Oh, Erik, that’s beautiful! I will help to…refresh your memory as to what satisfies a woman.” He could not have been more shocked by her words, this woman was a saint. He did not believe in God, but if there was one, he had sent this woman to him.

She roughly grabbed his face, careful not to upset the mask, and pressed a hot, wet kiss to his mouth, prying his lips apart to let her tongue tangle with his. He responded with voraciousness. Frantically removing the pins from her ebony hair he ran his hands through it, letting it wrap itself around his fingers. Women needed to wear their hair down all of the time, it was so silky and smooth and sensuous spread wildly about their shoulders.

He wrapped his arms about her waist, pulling her into his body and pressing himself against her frame. She was soft and rounded, but still slight. He tried to remember everything that he read about, but his mind was a blur of sensation and disbelief.

She stepped back from him and grabbed his hand, pulling him towards the bedroom. He followed, feeling nervousness wash over him once more. He felt like refusing, but knew that this was his one chance to attempt to practice his skills of seduction on a real woman; it would be imbecilic to turn her away now. She wanted him without him having to sing to her or play music, she wanted him because he was a man and for no other reason then that.

She sat upon his bed and motioned her him to join her. He sat down beside her and began kissing her once more. She pulled her lips away from his and tilted her head, exposing her neck to his mouth. He knew immediately what she was requesting and began to hungrily devour the smooth flesh of her throat. The feel of her pulse pounding beneath his lips had him burning with need. He needed more flesh to feast on, and letting pure animal need overwhelm him, he began to roughly pry the fabric of her dress apart. The buttons at the front were small, it would have been too tedious to begin undoing them one by one, and he found that one forceful tear separated the material quite efficiently. She gasped in shock and fisted a hand in his hair; the throbbing between her thighs began to escalate.

“Touch me.” She groaned against him while letting her lips wander down his neck, suckling furiously at his skin. She helped him work the dress down her arms and off of her while she separated the front of his shirt and dragged if off of his body.

Sofia climbed into his lap and began to move against him while kissing him fiercely. The wet sounds of their lips and tongues colliding caressed his ears. It was a sound that was intoxicatingly sexual, a sound that only lovers could hear and not grimace at inwardly. That soft, wet sucking sound. She stood and sat down upon him once more, her back to him this time, and began grinding into him and pressing into his chest.

The laces at the back of corset called to his hands, and he began to unlace them, slowly and clumsily at first. He had always wanted to tear open a lady’s corset, that forbidden undergarment that caged their soft and curvaceous bodies. Once that hateful garment was discarded she turned to face him once more and pressed her chemise-covered breast to his face. The scent was gorgeous, it was so distinctly feminine.

Courageously, he lifted one hand to caress the soft mound through the fabric. It felt wonderful, so heavy and full. He did not wish to squeeze it, but rather just held it, running his thumbs gently over the hardened nipple. When he touched Christine he was rough, it was though the hands touching her were not his. He had been so angered and distraught after seeing her that he had tried to take her like a wild beast. His clumsy hands had pulled up her clothing, and he just thrusted against her, trying to frighten her with his vicious ardor. He had not taken the time to explore her body; he had not the patience nor the restraint. His wild and inexperienced hands must have disgusted her.

“Yes.” Sofia moaned out as he touched her, she reared up onto her knees to give him better access to her body. He took one hardened nipple into his mouth and sucked it gently through the fabric of her chemise. Her breasts were not as small and firm as Christine’s, which he attributed to her having twice nursed babes. She moved away for but a moment to lift the chemise over her head and let it fall to the floor behind her. Her body was now only adorned with her drawers, garters, and stockings.

Her nipples were a dusky purple and much larger then Christine’s; at least he was fairly sure they were. Christine’s looked to be a light pink and rather small through the fabric of her nightgown. Sofia’s body was soft and her hips and buttocks were full. Her body was not lithe like a dancer’s, but it was still beautiful, and so very womanly.

She stood up and removed the remaining items until she stood completely bare before him. She did not care if he noticed her desire seeping out of her, she had wanted this, needed this for so long now. His eyes did not disappoint her, they were filled with longing. The tenting of his trousers also betrayed his lust, and the bulge she witnessed was certainly promising.

Sofia knelt between his spread thighs and undid the clasp on his trousers, exposing his erect manhood to her gaze. He lifted himself up off of the mattress to allow her to slide the trousers down his legs and pulled her into his lap once more, suckling her bare breasts and kneading the tight flesh of her shoulder blades. She arched her back and moaned out, letting her eyes drift closed as the waves of pleasure radiated throughout her body.

He stood up, her legs still about his waist, and laid her back fully on the bed and covered her body with his own. It felt so good to lie against a naked woman; this is what he wanted with Christine. He did not want to force himself upon her, fully clothed, on the moist, cold grass; he wanted to hold her against him with nothing between them. There was no feeling more exquisite then the feeling of nude skin upon nude skin. Nakedness was no longer about inferiority and vulnerability; it was about trust and intimacy. It was beautiful.

Erik kissed down her body, inhaling the sweet scent of perspiration as his tongue laved the tender skin between her breasts down towards her naval. She parted her legs invitingly, begging him silently to touch her with his mouth. Her request shocked him, but he had read of such things and knew it gave women immense pleasure. He looked at the dark triangle of hair and down to what lay between her thighs. It was slick from her juices.

He bent his head towards her core and began to lick around her entrance. She did not seem to be letting out the earth shattering moans that he anticipated. He felt her hand grasp his hair lightly and pull his head upwards. Raising his eyes, he noticed that her finger was touching a small pink nub that he had failed to notice earlier. Ah, he immediately knew what it was she wanted.

He let his tongue dart out and began to lap at the bud; he could feel it throbbing against his lips. He let his tongue roam around it, then sucked it gently between his lips. Her entire body began to tremble violently and her moans increased in intensity. Her back arched and her moans turned to soft, subtle screams. She yelled out to god, begging him to continue his delicious assault. He had to grip her hips to keep her from bucking upwards, but her voraciousness only excited him more.

Sofia finally had to beg him to stop, she felt her body convulsing and contracting as she released three years worth of celibacy in one soul searing, thunderous orgasm. She pulled him upwards and looked into the stormy depths of his green-blue eyes and pressed kisses all over his face, thanking him profusely as she did so. She wanted him to make love to her now, to release all of his tension and energy into her, to receive his final lesson in pleasing a woman in the most difficult way.

Erik waited for her to ask for him to enter her, he did not wish to take her while she shook so violently, but his entire body ached with insatiable need. Sofia reached down and grasped his manhood, her fingers skilled and pleasing. The size of it daunted her, it was larger then her husband’s. She had birthed two six-pound babes though, even after three years of remaining untouched, she was sure she could accommodate him.

“Please go slowly.” She whispered huskily in his ear as she guided him to her entrance. She did not fear conception; she had failed to conceive for the last eight years of her marriage. That did not surprise her, as her two pregnancies had both been rather difficult and perilous at times; the last one nearly claimed her life.

He moved within her, the slick lubrication making his passage easy and smooth. He never thought anything could feel so wonderful. He moved back and fourth over top of her, but noticed that she was not moaning out or screaming as she did when he loved her with his mouth.

“Stop thrusting, and rock against me.” She spoke with encouragement and longing. He did as she asked, even though the pleasure was beginning to become too rapturous for him to contain himself. He rocked gently against her pelvis, making heated contact with her swollen bud, his member buried almost to the hilt inside of her warmth.

“Yes, yes, just like that.” She rocked her hips against his and began that glorious moan that bordered on screaming. Could he make Christine scream for him like this? Once he felt her body begin to tremble as it had before, he picked up speed and thrust into her while she gripped his lower back and sucked his earlobe into her mouth. Within moments he had released, the sensation shaking his body to the very core.

They laid together, silently, each listening to the sound of the other’s breathing.

“Your paramour is a fortunate woman.” Sofia began to put on her discarded clothing, she felt completely and utterly satisfied.

“She may not think so.” The thought of Christine both angered and excited him. He had something for her now; something the Vicomte could never give her.

His statement was filled with such deep sadness that Sofia could not help but reach out and stroke his cheek tenderly.

“Any woman would be lucky to have you in her bed.” It was too bad that he not only wanted to warm her bed, but her heart and soul as well.
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Black Angels