Another one, huzzah! I hope you guys like it.
Erik longed for human contact. He needed someone, something, even if it was few and far between, and his lack of human contact burned him to his core. After months of stalking around the Opera House, impatient and slowly getting worse, he resigned himself to a simple solution. He hadn't wanted to act on it, but his need outweighed the small part of his brain which clung to a very loose set of morals.
It didn't help that after Persia he had known intimacy. As the senior architect, feared and respected by everyone including the Shah, he had known limited access to the royal harem. Even with his face in the state it was he could pick out a girl and she would come with him, never touching his mask, and his desires could be quenched.
He'd been out of Persia for months now and ached for intimate contact with a woman. That primal human desire sent him above stairs that evening after dusk to waltz through the streets of Paris in the vicinity of the Opera House. He knew what he was looking for and what he would find, and was not disappointed.
Women of the night emerged as the sun set, low cut dresses and poorly applied makeup making them stand out from the other women who passed through the alleyways. He strolled, looking for the perfect one, the one with which he could make the perfect agreement for both of them. He walked for an hour before he decided.
She was young, probably too young to be working the streets, but that youth would help her. She was richly dressed but not tacky, a satin dress that fit in with the high class ladies that smiled at her, suspecting nothing. She smiled back, all lace gloves and polished boots, playing cat and mouse silently with the single men also walking the streets. Erik approached her side of the lane casually.
He bent over to hide his face from the street, although she could plainly see the mask. She tilted her head and made it look as if they were having a perfectly respectful conversation on a calm spring evening in Paris. There was a reason she could afford the fine things and didn't look like a prostitute, but Erik had a high level of income and quickly agreed to her sum.
They strolled arm in arm, looking like a couple out for an evening, and he escorted her down into his lair. Although she did not hesitate or ask to turn back, he saw small flashes of fear in her eyes. Really he couldn't blame her, but he handled her like a porcelain doll and used reassuring words. He'd gotten her this far and couldn't bear losing her.
The bedroom was just across the large main room and she crossed it systematically. He closed the door behind them and she started taking off the gloves, one finger at a time, and smiled. He took his own shoes off and questioned her briefly.
"What's your name my dear?" She paused in unlacing her boots.
"Why do you need to know?"
"Well what shall I call you then? And how old are you?" She frowned at his second question and pulled her boots and stockings off. He came forward and let his fingertips run down her arms. She opened her mouth and answered.
"You may call me Charisse, and I think I'm sixteen years old." Her age made him pause for only a moment longer, and although part of his brain burned with questions, other parts of his anatomy desperately needed attention. He took her by the hips and spun her around quickly and forcefully, beginning to pull efficiently at the ties on her dress. She stepped out of it and tried to turn but he pulled on her hip bones to keep her in place, undoing her corset as well.
Again she tried to move and he wrapped an arm around her waist to keep her pinned to him. She let him do as he liked, which included push her on the bed as he stripped his own clothing off. She lay with her hair spread out, an angel crowned with a halo of red waves. At least until he was undressed and he flipped her over in a single move, a small cry coming from her lips. He pulled the rest of her clothing off and barely heard her ask:
"And what may I call you monsieur?" He crawled on top of her and whispered,
"You may address me as Erik." He continued his ministrations, pulling and pushing on her body, eliciting noises from her that made him grin.
Only when he was about to ravish and ruin her did she whimper and try to turn over, but he shoved her face back into the pillows. She cried out softly.
"Please, can't I at least see your face?" He growled at her and kept a forearm pushed down so she had limited use of her motor skills.
"No."
Once they were spent he lay there, a relaxed smile etched on his face. She moved gingerly to begin retrieving her clothes and leave. No doubt she had more money to make. He grabbed her arm where it stuck out from the satin sheet.
"How much for you to stay the whole night?" She smiled and named a reasonable enough price. He reached into a side drawer and gave her a thick wad of francs. She tucked it into her boot next to the bed and settled back in next to him. He got his money's worth well into the early hours of the morning.
She was exiting the next morning, an arrangement hammered out: she would make weekly visits to him and he would pay little over her rate for staying the whole night. To his ultimate horror Madame Giry was coming down the steps as the girl was leaving. Charisse smiled polity and increased her pace enough to be out when Madame Giry reached Erik.
"Who was that?" She questioned, setting a basket of laundered items on the table with hands on her hips. He raised his exposed eyebrow.
"Who Madame?" She narrowed her eyes.
"The pretty girl Erik, you know who I'm talking about. Tell me, was she a creature of the night?" He chuckled and took the basket into his ruined bedroom.
"I wouldn't define her as a 'creature', and what she does is her own business Madame. Besides, a man must find relief somewhere. Good day."
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