He is sitting in an armchair, sorting out something scrupulously, apparently the same breguet, which began to lag a bit the day before. You are standing and looking at him, now such a serious, courageous and...
You do not know what is happening to you; your legs themselves lead you to him. Erik looks up at you, alarmed, but then immediately looking softened.
- Do you want something?
In his gaze glides tenderness. Maestro. Without giving a report to your actions, painfully blushing, you sit down on his knees, firmly clinging to another's body. You feel how he froze, his heart beat like a bird in a cage. Putting one hand on his back, through the thin fabric of his shirt, one feels intense heat; the palm slid higher, being on the shoulder, the finger slid along the numerous folds of the fabric.
- Mademoiselle... - his voice is heard chokingly and dumbfounded. - What are you doing?
You raise head, looking straight into the melted blue of his eyes. Your hands fly up to the cheekbones and you fearfully stroke the cold of his mask. Slowly you approach his face, freezing for a moment; his hot breath sweeps your face, his lips hesitantly straightened in a desired fit. From such closeness you blush more than ever, expecting imminent action. But Erik only exhales heavily, pressing his forehead to you and gently removing your palms from his face.
- Do not...
- Maestro. - having uttered this word in your chest, it ached sweetly.
- I have to hurry, I have a lesson... with Christine.
Erik grabs a breguet and this action makes you abruptly rise from his knees. He puts his coat on his shoulders, throws a long cloak over his hand and quickly leaves the house. The front door slammed. You are left alone. Stupid... A naive ballerina from a corps de ballet who by chance met a mysterious music teacher. What are you hoping for? He loves her, Christine, a beautiful swedish nightingale, with slightly curly rye-colored hair and large blue eyes that look like northern lakes... A bitter lump rolls in your throat, dries up in mouth; you try not to cry. Somewhere there was a book, yes, this one. You sit in a chair, where he just sat a few minutes ago, and having opened it, you plunge into rescue reading. Soon the premiere of "Don Quixote", the choreographer will again demand a greater return from us, and again the legs will be broken into blood after a three-act ballet... The lines become more illegible and soon you put aside the tired book and, settling back, fall back into the long-awaited darkness.
You wake up about someone stroking your face, caressing your cheeks, forehead; but then a finger gently slid over his lips, rubbing them lightly. This action makes you open your eyes. You see his face, his eyes, in which quiet love splashes.
- Maestro? - you fearfully say, pressing in a chair.
But Erik suddenly suddenly lifts you up in his arms, hugging him. You gasped in alarm, and your hands instinctively wrapped around his neck. Frightened, shy breathing quickens, hands fall on broad shoulders. You do not have time to answer, you guess his desire; Slowly approaching you, Erik gently clings to your lips in a hot kiss. You shook in his hands, frantically running fingers into his slightly curly red hair. Oh, how beautiful it is... You enjoy each other's arms. He decides to take the initiative, his tongue begins to wander your lips, asking permission. You open them and immediately feel a foreign language in your mouth. Sweet, kiss loses bitterness. Erik is slowly going somewhere. His fingers slightly squeeze in a fit of the thigh. He gently lowers you to the floor. For a few moments, you freeze, enjoying the fleeting touches and uneven breathing that knocks the air out of you. Your lips come together again in a long sweet kiss, but there is no longer that former tenderness and caution in it, rather desire. It is irresistible. You utter a convulsive sigh, when the hands lying on your waist suddenly briskly grabbed the lacing of the dress, roughly tugging and trying to get rid of such interfering clothes now. A barely audible crackling is published; the moved fabric bares a warm shoulder. Erik freezes, looking into your eyes as if he did something impermissible. The corners of your lips jerked up. He doesn't scare you. The maestro gently drops his parted lips to your shoulder. Feeling the warmth and moisture of his lips on skin, in feelings you throw back your head, squeezing his shirt in his hands. His hot breath is felt on your neck; he pours the tender flesh with the fleeting touch of their own mouth. Though you are afraid, you are still reaching for his shirt, caressing through the fabric the body burning in agony. There was a swallowed moan in your ear that made you shudder. Having seized the strong neck of the Maestro, you get up on your socks, giving fast, loose kisses. But Erik suddenly grabs your hands and, hypnotizing with eyes, spreads them apart. You are fascinated as you watch how he turns you back to yourself. Young, this happens to you for the first time; that feeling is so new that impatience leaped upon you. But you understood that he will be your teacher, and you will be an exemplary student... His hands fall on your little shoulders, dropping the sleeves of dress. A chill that runs through the skin mixes with a shudder of excitement, when his fingers, dexterously running over hands, take hold of the laces of the monstrously tight corset. Slowly and imperiously, Erik as if strips the pretty little doll, which he liked, with which he tastefully clothes. Having not untied the ribbons to the end, the Maestro presses you to him. You feel the heat of his body even through clothes. With one hand, he continues to stroke, stretch your shoulders, while the other hand continues to methodically save you from the corset. His lips wander around your neck, he teases, barely touching sensitive skin. The first drawn-out moan breaks loose from your mouth. Without holding back your emotions, you are breathing heavily. Turning your head, you meet with a burning icy gaze. You beg and the Maestro quickly quenches your hunger, covering your lips with a kiss. From the overabundance of feelings you are sweetly moaning in his mouth. Breathing becomes easier, nothing more does not constrain your actions. Erik takes a step towards and you, suddenly feeling a barrier, fall on a soft bed. He leans over you and freezes.
- You are scared? - heard his soft voice, which has now become somewhat deep and hoarse.
You do not answer, and why? Instead, you reach for the buttons on his shirt. The Phantom of the Opera is not at all skinny, as other ballet girls have described it. Having penetrated a hand under a thin fabric, you feel a strong breast under your fingers, which slowly rises and falls. Erik closes his eyes when he timidly pulls his shirt off his broad shoulders. The Maestro appeared naked before you to the waist. This is the first time you see such a spectacle, so the desire that has long flashed in your chest slowly rolled down into the stomach.
- Maestro... I... - you pronounce it with difficulty. Your cheeks burn poppy color.
Erik understands everything without words. His palms lay on your knees and crawled up, slowly lifting up the hem of his shirt. Sensitive contact between wet skin and unexpectedly cool fingers makes your body tremble under a man.
His hands lay on the waist, and he himself exhaled heavily.
- You... Listen, I... - he starts confused. - You may be unpleasant.
- No! - you interrupt him. - I haven't been able to say this for a long time. Although we know you not so long ago, but I... want to say that... I love you... What do you want?
- See you, feel you, listen to you... he pauses. - My tender lovely Terpsichore, I will love you forever...
You bit from delight and sweet pain that echoed in your stomach, lip, when Maestro with reverent trembling bent over your bare breasts. Feeling wet kisses on small knolls, you gasped, groaning already in a voice, not at all embarrassed by those sounds that flew out of your throat. Without noticing it at all, occupied with your experiences, you turned out to be completely nude. Blushing under this gaze, you try to hide behind, but suddenly you feel how the Maestro touched the base of your heat. Heaving heavily in the air, you grab his hand, staring fearfully at Erik.
- Do not be afraid. I will be extremely careful with you.
Having convinced, he gives a light kiss on the cheek and again you feel his fingers there. He stroked, studied, caress and finally slowly penetrate the wet bosom. You open your eyes, pain, sweet shiver covers you with your head.
- Ah,.. Erik! - in you everything is trembling, you move towards the able fingers of the Maestro.
Not having the strength to wait any longer, you are looking for a belt of his trousers. But Erik suddenly looks up at you.
- Do not hurry...
The Maestro takes you with kisses while your hands wander over the heated bodies. You feel something hot and throbbing against your thigh; a sticky fear of something unknown crept into the soul. Eric pulls you to her, sitting on his knees.
- Maestro... I. - this word never breaks out from you, instead you hold your forehead against it.
-Trust me, don't be afraid.
His eyes, blue burn with tenderness. And you yourself pull over for a kiss when you feel pressure, and then pain, piercing your body, like a thousand needles. Squeezing your eyes tight, you struggle not to scream, just breathing hard, holding your breath from the pain. Erik strokes your face, brushing tears from cheeks.
- My poor girl... - he says, regretfully, regretfully. - Forgive me...
A man gently puts you on a fluffy feather bed. An unstable moan breaks from his lips and he begins to move slowly, without haste. Clutching the strong shoulders, you groan Erik into the collarbone. He whispers something bright and soothing near your ear. After a while, you feel the heat flare inside again, but already a hundred times stronger. In the stomach, it is sweetly ached and you, still embarrassed and looking into his eyes, begin to groan from new, incomprehensible and such pleasant sensations.
- Ahhh, Erik... - breaks out of you when a man moves a little faster. - I feel, I feel you...
The Maestro makes an indefinable sound, like a roar, and freezes in you. He continues to move in sharp jolts, closing his eyes. It's so nice. Your body burns at his touch. He whispers your name, breathing noisily in the air above your ear, hugging, faster and stronger.
- Erik! Ah! - you scream; inside you, a bright firework of bluish dancing stars lights up. Your body is light as a feather, you fall into a feather bed.
The Maestro makes a strangled scream of triumph and sweet flour; his hands break off and he falls next, pulling you to yourself and whispering at the top of your head:
- You are beautiful, my Terpsichore...
You do not answer, and why? Only hard you breathe, slowly falling down into a long-awaited easy sleep...