'Very good,' she told him, and reached for the column of his cock. It was purple and thick and the vein that ran down it looked as though it were ready to burst. When she closed her fingers around it, Guy jerked, his eyes fastening on her hand as though he could will her to move it. Up and down, up and down…
She did not, of course. She held it, purposely still, barely touching it, not nearly as tightly as he wanted her to.
'Is there something you wish to say?' she asked.
'Please… may I come?'
She did not answer; she gave him a delicate stroke that sent tremors rippling over his stomach. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back onto the bed.
'Please…'
She tightened her fingers around his cock. Warm velvet it was, and she wanted to feel it inside her. Her sex was awakening again, even after the intense orgasm. Her breasts tightened. Saliva pooled in her mouth.
She stroked him, twice, hard and fast, and then released him when she felt him get ready to let go.
'No, you may not.'
Carlotta straddled him and slipped his cock up inside her slick inner lips, her mouth opening in a silent moan of pleasure. She moved, rocked, once, to settle his length, then looked down at him.
He stared up at the ceiling, eyes focused on it as though it held some great secret of immortality. His handsome face was set, unmoving, his nostrils flared as though to draw in greater amounts of air. The vein in his neck contracted madly and she saw that…
'I did not give you permission to move your hand.'
Guy drew in a harsh breath and closed his eyes. He replaced the hand that had moved from behind his head back where it belonged. His lips moved; Carlotta thought perhaps that they moved to form the word 'please.'
'Open your eyes,' she ordered. 'Watch me. If you take your eyes off me, your punishment will be boundless.'
He obediently opened his eyes and she shifted her hips deliberately. She saw the way his lids flickered and twitched and his breath hitched… but he did not look away. His eyes did not roll back into his head as she was certain they wanted to.
'Very good,' she purred. And twitched her hips again, harder, and tightened her inner lips around him. This time his lips moved involuntarily and his breath stopped, his chest full… then, after a moment, started again.
She gathered her breasts in her hands and began to pluck at her hard nipples, sending those delicious sensations down to her sex. She licked her lips, watching in delight as Guy mirrored her by licking his own lips.
She rose up on his cock, and back down, and up again, and watched him struggle to maintain his composure… and congratulated herself, not for the first time, on her student. This find of hers… this lustful man who was little more than a boy willing to be molded and taught… and tortured. Would the Comte de Chagny be so pliable?
Somehow, she thought not.
She rocked on his cock, not up and down, but back and forth, making certain the head of his cock stroked the special spot inside her vagina, and pressed against her nib. Her own breath was coming faster, and she heard his even when her eyes were closed.
She opened them, and saw to her delight that he was still watching her, a desperate expression blazing in his eyes. His mouth gapped; his arms strained behind his head, muscles bulging.
Carlotta lifted herself up and began to work up and down on his cock. He gasped, and shuddered, and begged, 'Please, please, let me fuck you… Let me… fuck… you…'
'No,' she told him, 'No!'
She worked harder, watching his face, judging when he was coming close, and stopped in time, settled on him. Felt the huge cock inside her and the beautiful throb of her pip pushed against it.
She smiled. He groaned. She pinched her nipple. He watched.
She leaned forward and offered one to him, and he sucked on it like he was starving. It hurt and it sent a ripple of need down to her sex and she pulled away, causing a loud smacking sound from his lips.
'Guy.' She said his name gently, and it took a moment for him to focus on her eyes instead of her breasts. He did not appear to have the energy to speak. 'What do you want?'
He stared at her… dragged in his breath, exhaled the words, 'Fuck… you…'
'Say it, say it louder,' she coaxed, arching backward to place her hands on his thighs. Her breasts jutted out in front of her and he focused avidly on them.
'I want… to fuck… you…'
'Fuck me, then.
And then suddenly, she was on her back, and Guy was rearing over her, using his knee to keep her legs apart as he gripped her shoulders. He slammed inside of her, slammed into her quim, into the top of her vagina, harder and harder, faster and faster. Carlotta moaned as he hit that inner spot, ramming against it, until she quaked with an orgasm from the inside out.
She reached up behind and grabbed the iron scrollwork, felt her breasts jouncing and bouncing with his desperate rhythm. Her orgasm went on and on; she lifted her hips, met his, violently, with every thrust. It was hot and wet and they slid together, in and out, in and out… He groaned, cried out, jammed himself inside her one final time, and she felt him coursing inside the long hot tunnel of her, and she shuddered too.
He collapsed on her, his heavy, sweaty body deliciously hot, his chest ramming against her breasts.
Carlotta slapped him on the bare ass. 'We will discuss your punishment tomorrow.'
And, knees trembling, she rolled from the bed, grinning, determined to sing tonight… and to snare herself a
Raoul crossed the stage rapidly, resisting the desire to duck when he heard a particularly loud crash behind him. Only hours before the evening's performance, it was a madhouse in here! However could they be ready in time?
The chaos was deafening. He tightened his fingers around the huge bunch of stems he carried. This was even worse than being on a ship's deck during a violent storm, trying to secure the lines and keep oneself from being washed overboard.
Someone was hammering nails onto a piece of scenery with great vigor; a backdrop was being lowered from its high rigging and had been caught on something, so it was now being shaken with a violence that caused Raoul no little concern. A piece of glass was being fitted into the hole in a wall of scenery; someone shouted to 'Watch out!' and another person yelled, 'Behind you!'
All in all, he wished he'd chosen a less direct route to the backstage dressing rooms than through the front doors of the Opera House, down among the stalls, up onto the stage, and behind it. Particularly during the day, when there were no performances, but instead this cacophony of preparation for the performance of
He stepped around a flat being carried from the seemingly depthless wings, and, adjusting his hat so that it sat straight on his crown, he hurried along between more flats, tables, costumiers, carpenters, wigmakers, and scenery docks, finding his way only by chance because, of course, he'd been to Christine's dressing room only one time.
But as it turned out, Raoul did not need to find his way to her private room, for as he passed along the hall, one of the dancers, whose name he had no reason to recall, attracted his attention. 'Are you looking for Miss Daae?' she asked. But she gave him a look from under her lashes, complete with dimple and tucked chin, that suggested she would prefer he was not.
'I am indeed. Do you know where she is?'
'She is in
Raoul picked up his pace. The dancers' lounge was the place where the performers met their admirers after performances, and at other convenient times. He did not wish to imagine Christine-for he could not think of her as Miss Daae, having known her as a young girl-meeting any other admirers but himself.
By the time he found his way to the lounge, after making two misturns, he had worked himself into a bit of a state. Why did his pulse race so when he thought of her? Why did the thought of another man even looking at her make his fingers tighten?
