Unmasqued

Bien. This would make her task much easier. She gave a large, shuddering breath, sending her breasts jiggling mightily.

'Yes, Madame Giry?' he asked in a choked voice.

'I have something for you, monsieur. It is a letter.' She handed him the stiff parchment, folded over and closed with a bloodred seal. Armand Moncharmin's name was written on it in sharp, bold black ink.

'What is this?' Armand was peering at the seal, no doubt trying to discern the intertwining initials on it. 'O.Q.?'

'It says O.G. For 'Opera Ghost.' '

This statement garnered her the first full-faced look from the portly man. 'Opera Ghost? Mon Dieu, what lunacy are you speaking of? That imbecilic rumor that caused Carlotta to run out on us last evening?'

'The Opera Ghost. Surely Messieurs Debienne and Poligny told you about their contract with him when they turned the house over to you?'

'Contract?' Armand had broken the seal and was scanning the letter. As Madame Giry was well aware of its contents, she refrained from speaking. 'Salary? Box Five? What is this?' He appeared to have no problems looking her in the eye now that the subject of finances had been broached.

'It is very simple. The Opera Ghost wishes to have his monthly salary paid, which, for this month, you owe him approximately twenty-three thousand francs. Debienne and Poligny did pay him for the first ten days, as I believe he noted.

'The Opera Ghost also insists that you continue to keep Box Five-you know it, the one just next to the stage-available for him at all times. He was quite annoyed last evening when he attempted to enter the box and learned that you had let it out. In turn, he will keep his end of the bargain by keeping out of your way. In other words, you will need to continue the contract he had with the previous managers in order to be left in peace, which, I must say, he sorely wishes to do.'

'We cannot-twenty-four thousand francs? Box Five? We cannot afford to do that!' Armand sputtered.

'But I do not see how you cannot,' Madame Giry told him gently. She really was looking forward to getting him out of those trousers. He was no more substantial than a plump teddy bear-even with all of his bluff and bluster. She could not hold back a smile at the thought. Perhaps…

'Shall I take you to see Box Five?' she asked. Erik would not mind; he normally did not come up from his underground lair during the morning hours. Madame Giry slipped her arm under Armand's and gently but firmly turned him in the proper direction. She was taller than he was, helped by the heels of her shoes and also genetics, and the top of his head came just to her chin. That would be a lovely change, to have a man with such easy access to her very sensitive breasts. Perhaps, in order to give the poor man some warning of the delights to come, she would endeavor to trip and stumble against him when they walked down the steps from the managers' offices, where they were now, to the foyer of the Opera House.

After all, she had not obtained the coveted position of the Opera House's ballet mistress by being shy and retiring. Indeed, she had been a magnificent dancer in her day and perhaps could have gone on to be as renowned as La Sorelli if not for the unfortunate injury to her left ankle fifteen years ago.

She could still dance, of course, but her ankle could not hold her weight as well, and Maude would do nothing if she could not do it perfectly Thus, partly because of her talent and her reputation for hard work and perfection, and partly because she had grown up helping her mother at the ballet school, she was able to attain the position as the ballet mistress at the conservatoire. And when the Opera House was inaugurated a decade ago, Maude brought some of her rats with her to the new theater. Of course, it had not hurt that she had demonstrated her other… skills to the messieurs Debienne and Poligny for years. They had had quite a comfortable arrangement.

'I am quite certain I know which one is Box Five. It is the one that has always been reserved by Debienne and Poligny,' Armand replied, but he did not sound convinced. Perhaps it was the massive shelf of her jutting breasts that had distracted him. But, no, to Maude's annoyance, he was back on another topic almost immediately. 'And what is this about Christine Daae? I can barely read the creature's writing.'

'Miss Daae is the Opera Ghost's protege, and he merely suggests'-she put gentle emphasis on that word-'that she be afforded the same types of roles and attention as La Carlotta has had. In fact, that was why he was particularly annoyed that his box was occupied last night. He wished to see her debut performance.'

'Miss Daae, his protege?' Armand repeated as Maude steered him down the wide sweep of marble steps that led to the main salon of the Opera House.

'Of course. The ghost is quite a musical genius, and he has been tutoring her for the last several months.'

'Tutoring her?'

Maude resisted a sigh. His continued repetition of every phrase she uttered was becoming tiresome. Best to fill that mouth with something other than confused words, and the sooner the better.

'Now, Monsieur Armand,' she said patiently. 'Let me explain to you, as I am certain that you are wondering even though you have not asked… how I come to know so much about the Opera Ghost.'

He looked at her in surprise; apparently, he had not thought to wonder any such thing. Maude sighed. Apparently, the man's head was filled with numbers and nothing else. Well, she would quickly change that.

'Out, madame, I should like to know.'

'I have been given the responsibility by the Opera Ghost to steward his box-Five, of course-and to make certain it is always ready for him. He prefers me and no one else to enter the box. Ah. And here we are, Monsieur Armand.'

She opened the door to Box Five with a flourish.

Armand stepped in hesitantly, and Maude followed him. The box was more of a circle than a square, for the balcony edge was round, and it curved around into a small room. The only wall of the little chamber that was straight was the one from which they'd entered.

There were six seats in the box, the last row set back in the shadows to provide privacy for the occupants. Behind the last row, between it and the door, was a narrow strip of floor, just wide enough to accommodate a person who might wish for a horizontal surface, as Maude had occasion to know.

The box was dark except for the faint glow of light that eked into the theater from the narrow stained-glass windows, one on each wall of the building. The filtered light showed only the suggestion of rows of humped seats and the bare curve of the other eleven private boxes. The stage was dark as a tomb; it was too early for any of the rehearsals or stagehands to be moving about.

Theater was a night business.

She and Armand were perfectly alone.

'Now, Monsieur Armand,' said Maude, taking matters into her own hands without hesitation, 'let us dispense with that letter and discuss what is really important.' She plucked the parchment from his fingers and let it flutter to the floor.

'What… what is it that you mean…' Armand should have ended the statement with a question mark, but instead, his voice trailed off into nothing as Maude closed her hand around the front of his trousers.

'Why, this, Monsieur Armand.' Ahh, yes. His little John was quite interested in becoming the really important topic of conversation.

'But… Madame Giry!' Armand's voice cracked like that of a boy turning to man… but he did not move from her proximity. No… he did not move away, but he did not move closer. His breathing sharpened, however, and Maude recognized this as progress for her shy teddy bear.

'Now, monsieur… do not think I have not noticed how you have admired me,' she murmured, her hands quite busy with the buttons of his trousers. She stood much closer to him now, close enough that her breasts touched his collarbones.

He had grown full and hard in her hand. What his cock did not have in length, it made up for in girth… and then some. Both sets of Maude's lips grew wet at the thought of him filling her to stretching.

And it was all in the name of duty. Duty to Erik, duty to her little rats… a duty meant to keep everything moving smoothly at the theater. She smiled. She loved her job.

Armand's trousers slipped to his ankles, and she knelt before him, wanting to spice things up a bit, get him comfortable before she let him play with her. She had to stretch the sides of her lips wide to fit him in, and it was a