Unmasqued

He could tell just when the man's cock slipped inside her from behind. She lifted, rose, and her eyes fluttered. Her chin lifted even more, and the delicate bones at her throat became shadowed as the man's head bent to her shoulder, covering her neck with his mouth as her head dipped to one side. Her long black hair fell like a curtain behind her outstretched arm, swaying as she undulated with pleasure.

The tendons in her arms tightened as she fought with her restraints, fought to gain the movement she desperately needed, the freedom to pump her hips, to push herself closer into his fingers. Her mouth opened into a dark, silent oval, her lips red and wet from biting them. Christine's hips moved faster, Erik's cock surged harder, he pulled futilely at the bonds holding him, and he watched those dark hands… those rough hands, holding her hips, pulling and pushing them until she screamed her orgasm, shaking and shuddering from her spread-eagled position.

And then suddenly, she was falling… falling from her mount. Her soft, wet body landed on him, her face just off his chest. Her hips at his knees. Her torso next to his needy cock.

He saw the man behind her.

Philippe de Chagny, Not Raoul. Philippe.

He advanced, his face a mask filled with mockery and pleasure. Christine's arms lay limply across the bed, across Erik's helpless body.

And then she was on her hands and knees, over him, just over Erik… but not… not where he wanted her.

One leg between his, her knees straddling his thigh. Her breasts hung in front of him… moved closer as she shifted forward, over him, still over him, now her belly high above his chest. Her nipples teased, her breasts bumping against each other, just over his face. He could see them, could almost reach up to taste those jutting, red nipples.

Her face rose behind him, above his head, so he could not see her expression… but when he looked down along the line between her breasts, to her curving belly and the black nest of hair at the end, he saw another set of thighs behind her. Thick, hairy thighs, and then the edges of thick, dark fingertips, grasping her waist. Just above him, just above Erik's own belly.

Christine's cry of pleasure pierced his ears as Chagny's cock slid inside her. Erik could see his ballocks dangling behind her spread thighs. They moved above him, Chagny swift and sure, in and out, jostling Christine so that her hands, placed on the mattress above Erik's head, brushed against his hair as she shifted to keep her balance.

He watched in horror and fury as that thick dark cock worked inside her, teasing him with what he could not have, and what Chagny took, and took… A long, turgid column sliding into dark, wet lips… faint suction sounds, slipping, slick noises… in and out, long and short, her lower lips moving together, then apart, as he moved in and out. Those heavy hands moved, covering her ivory breasts, dark and rough, squeezing them, just above Erik's face. He struggled, kicking at his tight ankles, pulling at his wrists, his hips jostling the bed… but nothing put Chagny off his stride.

Christine's body shone above him, moist with sweat, and with her own juices, sliding down her thighs to pool onto Erik's own belly. He was wild, pulling, thrashing, fighting… and still, Chagny pumped away, moving those hips teasingly above him, those breasts nearly close enough to touch… and then the end, the shuddering, quaking, heaving… and the last, worst ignominy… when Christine's knees collapsed and she and her lover fell atop him.

Trapping him.

His aching cock dripping and surging, his face wet.

His heart pounding.

Erik dragged his eyes open at last. Perhaps he could have crawled out of the dream earlier… but instead he had forced himself to endure. To feel the pain.

Christine had meant pain to him. Only pain.

He'd given her everything, and she had killed him.

His eyes, adjusting to the dim candlelight, saw the parchment curling next to him on the bed.

Maude had written, and he had yet to decide whether to respond.

The Vicomte de Chagny has moved Christine to a new dressing room… one where you cannot visit through the mirror. She is never alone, for the vicomte fears that you will visit her again. She is to move with him to Chagny House tomorrow, Erik. The count has insisted upon it, for he says she is not safe from the Opera Ghost.