Unmasqued

Her head was tipped back, that long dark hair cascading over her milky skin and onto the coverlet, and her lips were parted in a delicious O that made him want to jam his cock into the warmth… Then the fingers between her legs moved faster, and her hips shifted. She collapsed backward onto the bed, her hand working her sex busily, now slipping about so much that he wondered how she could control it.

Christine's hips moved; her legs jerked and shuddered as her body arched beautifully. Even one of her legs moved, straightening and trembling in the air as she came.

Philippe watched, his mouth hard, his cock harder, his determination ironclad. Neither Philippe nor Carlotta moved until Christine pulled herself from her crumpled position on the bed and slid under the coverlet. Then, when at last she was concealed from their sight, the two watchers turned away from the peephole wall.

'An enjoyable display,' Philippe commented, moving away from the vantage point with a nonchalance that he didn't feel. His cock was steel beneath his trousers.

'Indeed, although she was quiet about it all. I prefer to hear it.' She turned toward him, and Philippe was startled to see that she held a long red whip in her hand. Carlotta looked at him with an odd smile on her face.

'As do I,' he replied. 'In fact, I consider it a requirement that all new members of my household-you included, my dear-be quite voluble in their praise… or pleading.' He opened one of the cabinets in this, his largest playroom.

'Am I now a member of your household?' asked Carlotta, sliding the whip along her palm, watching him judiciously, a smirk over her plump lips.

Philippe considered his choices, then settled upon the cat-o'five-tails with pearls braided into the tails. It was white, the color of purity and innocence. Perfect for his stand-in for the touch-me-not Miss Daae.

Aside from that, white showed blood very nicely. Always an added benefit.

Turning back to face her, he replied, 'The Opera House is burned, and there will be no performances for the foreseeable future. You may feel free to extend your visit here as long as you wish.'

'It will be my pleasure, comte. I shall take a short holiday while the Opera House is rebuilt, or is moved. They will be mad for La Carlotta's return by then.' Her lips curled in a self-satisfied smile. 'Now that Miss Daae has disappeared again, right from the stage of the Opera House's last performance, the rumors have begun to fly. She is crazy, they say. She thinks the Opera Ghost is her father come to visit her.'

She stepped toward him, the cherry red whip in a generous arch from one hand to the other. 'Of course, it was I who started such rumors, even before the Opera House burned last night. I could not suffer such a rival. If anyone should ask about her disappearance, all will say the girl is crazy and that the Opera Ghost spirited her away.' With a quick snap of her wrists, she dropped the whip around his shoulders and gave a surprisingly hard yank on it.

Philippe jerked toward her, nearly stumbling in his surprise. A shocked, uncontrolled smile sprang to his face at her boldness, but then he regained control of himself and let his own whip fly. He would not allow a woman to have the upper hand.

His pearl white whip curled around Carlotta's waist, making a band over her brilliant green gown, and there they were, face-to-face, body to body, each lightly captured by the other's whip.

'I will make you scream,' he said, bending his face toward her, wanting to bite those full, glistening lips, wanting to squeeze and twist her bountiful breasts, wanting to rip into that red, hot sex that he knew burgeoned beneath her skirts.

'I think that I should prefer to hear your screams, comte.' She tightened the whip, managing in one quick motion to pass both ends into one hand, and to reach for his straining erection with the other. Her hand closed over the generous package beneath his trousers, her fingers tightening in a pleasant… painful… way.

His cock shifted under her touch, and Philippe felt his muscles tense all over. 'No, I think… not,' he managed, keeping his breath steady. No one had dared… ever… but his cock tightened, hardened, so that he imagined it was past purple and near to bursting. Pain laced with pounding lust throbbed there beneath her palm.

'Oh… yes, you would like it, I think,' she said, squeezing again, looking at him with a knowing, arrogant smile. 'I will make you beg like I did my other men.'

He reached toward her, shoving one of his hands down her low bodice, easily finding a thrusting nipple. With a nasty pinch that caused her face to blanch and her eyelids to flutter, he twisted.

She gasped and released his cock, twisting away, freeing the tail of her whip so that it slithered into place alongside of her gown, but he came after her.

He no longer had the whip in his hand; he didn't need it for now. Philippe clamped his fingers over Carlotta's upper arms, feeling the slip of her flesh as he dug in toward bone. His vision was edged with red, his breathing so hard that it gusted noisily between them. 'Oh, no, Carlotta. It is you who will scream.'

With a great shove, he sent her flying across the room. She stumbled, tripping over one of the stools, but caught herself at the edge of a sofa. She looked up at him, the crafty look gone from her eyes, shock blazoning there instead.

'Of course, if you insist, I shall scream for you.' She tipped her head, a glint of suggestion coloring her gaze. 'It is-'

But she never finished whatever it was she was about to say, for Philippe grasped the front of her bodice and jerked her toward him so hard the fabric roses on the bodice corsage separated from its short attached jacket. His hand whipped out and cut across her cheek with a satisfying slap.

Carlotta staggered back, then straightened, wiping the back of her hand over her mouth, looking at him with wide eyes. She had dropped the whip in a red snake at her feet. 'I didn't mean to offend ye, comte,' she said, her Spanish accent evaporating, and a tremulous smile on her face. She reached up and tugged away the rest of her torn bodice, exposing a low-cut corset fairly bursting with breasts. 'I was just pretending. If you've a mind to be the one in command, then I am happy to oblige.'

Philippe stepped toward her, his hand snaking out to close over her throat. 'Foolish bitch. I am always the one in command. Now take off your clothes.'

He bent to pick up the red whip at her feet and, when she didn't immediately respond to his command, flicked his wrist and snapped the leather toward her. As it cut into her arm, she cried out, whirling away toward the door that led to the hallway.

She would have opened it, but Philippe grabbed her before her fingers closed over the knob, his grip slipping a little in the blood from the whip cut. With a curt movement, he propelled her away from the door, shoving her toward a narrow bedlike structure with four tall posts.

Carlotta sprawled backward as he'd intended, her knees buckling beneath twisting, sagging skirts. Philippe moved quickly to stand between her legs, pushing her back down onto the bed with a strong hand over her windpipe. She choked and coughed under the pressure, but he held steady as he captured one of her flailing hands. The little cuffs at each bedpost were specially designed to be fastened quickly and easily with one hand… and Philippe heard the satisfying click of one restraint before Carlotta realized what had happened.

But then she began to struggle anew. She kicked and her hips bucked; her gown was full enough that she could swing her legs freely despite the fact that he stood against her skirt. Philippe had not made a sound but for the reflexive grunts and sighs of exertion as he subdued her.

He fitted her second wrist into the cuff with a bit more difficulty, and her legs were becoming bothersome, but they would soon be taken care of.

Philippe had had two beds created especially for matters such as this; one he had here, in this room he used to spy on whoever happened to be in the chamber Christine now occupied, and the other was in his private chambers, which also held many other furnishings and accoutrements for his pleasure. The bed's shape was that of an inverted Y with the juncture of the V-shaped angles perfectly positioned to accommodate spread legs. Thus, Carlotta lay on the straight part of the bed, her wrists fastened just above her head… but her legs spread, and the opening of the vee was ideal for him to stand in so that he could mount her there.

He subdued one of her kicking feet and restrained the ankle on one narrow 'leg' of the Y. That left one limb free, and she frantically fought with that one appendage as if it would help her escape.

His initial anger having subsided, Philippe stepped away to admire his handiwork.

Carlotta's walnut-colored hair, which wasn't nearly as thick and long and beautiful as Christine's-but would do for tonight-had sagged to one side during their altercation. It was plastered to the perspiration along her throat and