Unmasqued

It branded her back, and he sent it cracking through the air and smacking against her skin, more and more, until she was thrashing on the pole. Her hips rose and fell with each blow; her arms jerked and shook, trembling and stretched above her head. Her face, turned toward him, was tear-streaked and wide-eyed. Blond hair fell in one long swath over her neck and one shoulder, shimmering like a curtain with her every movement.

He dropped the whip and seized her hips, straddling the pole behind her, and slammed his engorged cock into her juicy, swollen sex. Delia gasped and shuddered, her flesh trembling beneath his hands.

Bending forward, he reached down around and covered her two dangling breasts, one with each hand, lifting, lowering, squeezing and pinching. Her hips began to move under him, and the pleasure built painfully in his cock. Twisting her hard nipples, he plucked at them as he rammed her full, in and out, thrust after thrust.

She groaned and cried and twitched in agitation beneath him; he could feel her rising to the peak and just before she tipped over, he pulled out, jerking his hot come all over her ass, and the gentle curves above it. He spewed and shuddered, his eyes rolling back in his head for a moment as he savored the release.

Delia whimpered, continuing to move in a vain attempt to bring herself to orgasm, and Philippe climbed off her rocking body.

He picked up the whip and brought it down over her left buttock, the puddle of come splattering under its force and flying through the air. She shrieked and bucked harder.

"You… did… not… please… me." He marked each syllable with the flay of the whip, and Delia struggled under the slicing leather. And when he saw that she was trying to grind her throbbing nubbin onto the pole in search of some relief, he laughed and changed the angle of the whip.

One smack across her labia and she was lifting those juicy hips again, and left off trying to cheat herself into orgasm.

Three more thwacks and he let the whip fall to his side so he could observe. And enjoy the moment.

Delia lay panting on the pole, her bum pink and red with welts, juice from her pussy smeared all over her swollen lips, and his spew shining over her skin.

"See?" he said, turning away from his wife and toward the peephole in the wall. He opened the hidden latch and drew the door open. "I have often spoken of the pleasures of marriage… and now you have seen for yourself what mastery you might obtain."

Raoul stepped into the room, his attention focused quite appropriately on the sweating, straining, submissive Delia. "Yes, I see."

"Do not be so hesitant, brother," Philippe snapped. "She is eager for you. Help yourself."

Raoul walked toward his brother's wife, unfastening the buttons of his trousers as he went. Philippe watched as the healthy young cock, thicker and longer than his own, was released.

It was not the size but how it was wielded, Philippe knew. Thus, he did not feel the slightest bit of envy when Raoul slipped it slowly inside that lovely sex. He watched his brother's buttocks tighten and flex as he stroked and thrust, slick with the sounds of her juices, as his rhythm became faster and more urgent.

At last, when he gave a harsh, guttural sigh with one last thrust, Raoul slumped forward over Delia's beautiful hips as she shuddered and came beneath him, crying out in relief.

Philippe, his own cock throbbing again, yanked his brother away and took his place, filling his wife with his member and reminding her who was master. He pinched her nipples, reached around, and tweaked her pip, and rammed into her a mere three times before ejaculating.

When he pulled away, breathing calmly and rebuttoning his trousers, he turned to look at Raoul. "When you have the Daae wench, she will make a nice addition to our escapades, will she not?"

Raoul was fastidiously wiping the wetness from his still-hard cock. He looked up at Philippe, shock blossoming over his face. "I–I do not want Christine to be like this."

Philippe laughed in delight at his brother's ingenuousness. "Of course you do. Your cock was hard as a pike when you saw the way Delia was whipped. Can you not imagine the two of them together: one dark, one light? It would be most enjoyable-for all of us."

Most enjoyable indeed.

Months ago, when Erik had first called to her, Christine thought that the disembodied voice was her father's, for whose else would it be? He'd promised to send her the Angel of Music, and since he was in heaven, it had to be him.

When she heard her name that first day, kneeling in the small chapel tucked in the corner of the Opera House, at first she didn't know how to respond.

"Christine…"

At last she answered. "Who is it?" Her voice quavered, but she wasn't frightened, not really. It was just… strange.

"It is your angel…"

"My angel? Papa?"

"Your Angel of Music… did your papa not promise he would send him?"