Christine got into her new robe. She loved this. It was comfortable and fleecy. Just right for the sometimes searing air of Bournemouth.
She walked quickly to the window. Gracious. Had they not shut it last night?
She gently pulled the casement to. She had no idea of the fracas that had occurred.
She gazed at her husband. He was sleeping very peacefully.
Christine smiled to herself.
His usually strident snore sounded relaxed. Just a snuffle. Christine went over, and stroked his head.
She pulled the bedclothes, very quietly, off him. He laid on his tummy. Christine smoothed her hands down his back.
He acknowledged her. He sighed. She got to his arse. She squeezed it. He twitched a bit.
She then got to the tops of his thighs. Erik loved this. He loved it when she stroked those spots, just where his arse ended and his thighs began.
She had the satisfaction of hearing him sigh. Christine poked her finger through his legs, so he opened them. She could see his pink, rosy sack.
She pushed her finger up his arse. He groaned, and opened everything up. His cheeks and his thighs. He pushed into her.
"You're awake, I see."
"Oh God, Christine…"
She smiled indulgently. She leaned down and placed her tongue on his privates. She slid it over his soft skin.
She smiled to herself as she heard his moans and cries. She stimulated him like that for a while. Then she stroked her hand from his arse cleft right up to the base of his cock, and just tickled him there.
"Mercy!" he groaned.
Then all of a sudden he was alive, grabbing her. She felt him go into her.
She began to giggle, but then she yelped with glee. He was very vivacious. She closed her eyes as the feeling overtook her.
He was so deep inside her. It felt like he was possessing her whole being. Christine madly gushed as she surged against him, arching desperately.
He pounded. She felt the beautiful energy opening up inside her. She climaxed, again then again. Eventually she fell back, exhausted.
"That's the last time you'll rape me on a Monday morning," he said teasingly. Christine smiled quietly.
Erik got up, and stretched. He flexed his muscles. She was pleased to see him walking without much stiffness. He smoothed back his hair.
"We have to do this morning tea thing today, don't we?" he said. "Be so prim and well-mannered. I'll try to be English. But I'm not sure if I can."
Christine sat softly in Erik's lap. He was smiling. He was jiggling, pushing his penis further into her. She just relaxed.
They had wasted too much time. But Nettie, one of the lovely ladies they had met last night, had invited them round. Erik knew it was uncourteous to refuse. And they had to increase their friendships. They were conveniently putting it off till the very last minute.
"Time to get up," she said. "We can't sit here forever."
Wearily, he began to rise. "Oh… shit!" he said eventually.
Christine smiled blissfully as he put his hands over her breasts. She loved his touch. She would not like going, either.
She heaved a huge sigh.
"I suppose we have to," he groaned.
They began to dress. Erik, as usual, laced up her corset. He buttoned her dress. He styled her hair, doing a better job than she could have done. Then she helped him with his tie.
"Terrifying," he said. "We have to go to this woman's house for… jam and cream buns, is it? I would rather vomit."
She smiled, and patted his bottom. "You'll be fine."
They went out the door. Christine had to forget about how he looked as they moved down the stairs. However, some people did recognize them.
They were still receiving compliments for their performance the other night. People would greet them while roaming curious gazes over Erik. Or they would keep their heads down, and refuse to look at all.
But all the same, any compliments were welcome. Christine had to be glad.
They arrived at a quiet part of Bournemouth. It all seemed very harmonious. Pleasant gardens, and the sea nearby.
However, their eventual destination was not so tranquil. It was a rough-looking boarding house. Cobwebs and rather unlovely architecture. They climbed the stairs, Christine's sense of adventure increasing.
Nettie lived at the top. She lived with her eleven-year-old daughter, Patricia, who had been born out of wedlock. They had not met Patricia yet. Would the girl be prepared for Erik's appearance, or not?
Christine just had to trust.
Nettie greeted them avidly. Her whole apartment was done up in the Japanese style. Woodblock prints, picturesque shoji screens and dainty paper fans. She had made a rather grim place very cheerful.
"Did you two stay up late last night?" asked Nettie, with a cheeky grin.
"Yes," said Erik. "We did."
Nettie was quietly lovely. Long wavy hair, which escaped from her bonnet, and wide, inquisitive, greeny-brown eyes. Behind her elbow was her eleven-year-old daughter, Patricia.
Patricia seemed like a mini copy of Nettie. Christine could tell she was being brought up well. She was exceptionally polite. Delicately concealing her horror.
They had to go through the motions. Facing Patricia's unease. The girl began to warm up, though, when Erik spoke to her.
Erik was good with children, Christine noticed. He had the compassion to listen to them. Why had nobody realized that for so many years, other than her?
She smiled to herself. She remembered how kind Erik had been to her when she was a child. It had melted her heart. Erik could charm anyone.
Nettie did everything with style. She served them tea in exquisite patterned porcelain. The cakes, and cucumber sandwiches, were divine.
Patricia zeroed in on Erik. Her mother had said he was a magician, so the child was very keen to learn about his tricks. That left Christine free to have a women's chat with Nettie.
At first they talked idly about men. And the very different dancing careers they had pursued. Nettie had been a performer too.
But as the morning wore on, Nettie began to talk about the dark and murky recesses of her life. She had been a chorus girl. But then she had fallen in love, gotten pregnant, and been abandoned. And ever since then she had done the best she could.
It was a tale Christine had heard all too often. So many of her friends had fallen to this fate. She was quietly sympathetic.
"It's not any different, wherever you go," she sighed. "It's very brutal in Paris too. Quite a few of the girls in my dormitory ended up on the streets. But I'm so glad Patricia turned out well. And you've got this cosy roof over your head."
Nettie nodded quietly, and sighed. "Sometimes though, the ways I have to make dough are not very pleasant."
Erik was doing his bit as a mimic. He was impersonating some of the people he had met last night. Since they were her mother's friends, Patricia was laughing hysterically.
"Oh dear, that's rather cruel!" said Nettie, trying not to giggle herself.
Erik was doing a very good impersonation of Hortense. She was a florid lady who had chatted incessantly, and shown healthy self-importance.
"That'll do!" said Christine, her hand to her mouth.
"I did like Hortense, I promise you," grinned Erik. "It's just that she was a bit… well…"
Nettie was trying very hard to stop giggling. Patricia looked delighted.
"Yes, mum," she said. "That's exactly what she sounds like."
"All right, we'll stop," sighed Erik. "Maybe we've picked on her a little bit too much."
"Are you going to make my mother's compact vanish into thin air?" asked Patricia. "You said you could do that."
"Oh, he won't make it vanish into thin air," said Christine wryly. "He will just put it down his trousers."
Erik laughed. "Don't you dare say that!"
He entertained them for a while. Christine was glad to see Patricia getting on with him.
But then, she was not surprised.
Rémy had warmed to him. Like Patricia, poor Rémy had been an outcast. In his case, because he was simple. Patricia was the child of an unwed mother.
It was these young outcasts Erik seemed to bond with. Those who needed friends.
Christine sighed. It reminded her that when he was that age, nobody had cared for him. Nobody had tended him.
It just made her love him all the more.
Eventually they left. Christine walked down the stairs in silent contemplation.
Nettie had invited them to dinner within the week. She had seemed very glad to make new friends.
Maybe they were not the only ones who had felt out of things.
As they reached the bottom, there was a loud noise.
"Gracious," said Erik. "The Cockrofts do have noisy neighbours."
Christine did not think much of it. They walked through the front door. Then they were out, and wandering along in the sea air.
Raoul and Sacha were under the stairwell. Sacha was the most annoying of the hitmen.
"Comte, I want to get back to my wife and children. I'm tired of this endeavour. You're an absolute laughing stock."
Raoul's eyes widened in horror. He went to hit Sacha. The man ducked. Then, Raoul noticed some gentlefolk standing outside.
Raoul knew he was acting like a bickering serf. He was not exactly upholding the dignity of the de Chagny family. He tossed his head, unclenched his fists, and tried to look noble.
Sacha sighed.
"You'll never get anywhere. I don't mean to be rude. But you're not particularly good at this vendetta thing."
Raoul spluttered. Sacha leaned close, and whispered.
"I know you want to chase the evil villain. I know you want to emerge as the shining hero. But you're only making a fool of yourself."
Sacha tossed his head. Then he was out. No doubt, never to return again.
Raoul was furious. He went into his apartment. He combed his hair and his moustache, and straightened his collar.
He knew what might cheer him up. A very attractive woman lived upstairs. With her illegitimate daughter.
She pretended she was a widow. But Raoul had seen the signs.
He knew what Nettie was.
That was what his Christine would have been, he thought furiously. And then he had come to rescue her. And she thought the old and ugly Erik was better than him.
Raoul tossed his head. He turned on his heel. He began the walk up to Nettie's apartment.
He arrived at the door. He stuck out his chest, and knocked.
Nettie timorously answered. When she saw what he was, she invited him in. Raoul was an aristocrat. He had money. She sighed sadly to herself.
Not somebody who she could say no to.
Patricia, however, was suspicious. That made Nettie feel jumpy. Patricia's intuition was usually correct.
But Nettie could not say no to a few extra pounds. If it turned out he was a bad egg, she would have to protect herself and her daughter somehow. She always did.
So she sat there and lit Raoul's cigar. She made him comfortable. She listened to his complaints.
Raoul said he was in this country on business. He was not quite precise, though, about what that business was.
"Over here in England people give me no respect."
"I'm sorry to hear it, Comte. They really should have regard for the French aristocracy."
"Last night, in a club- two men grabbed my arms and shoved me out! Did they not realize who I was?"
"Oh, no. That's terrible."
"And then they left me, face-down, on the street." He was furious. "I am a member of the de Chagny family. People here have no class. No taste."
Raoul sipped his wine. He rocked back in her well-stuffed armchair. One thing Nettie simply could not have done, despite her Japanasia frenzy, was replace her chairs with tatami mats. She was not that daring.
"I am on the lookout for a certain attractive woman."
"Are you?"
"A petite Swedish blonde. She has recently become Mrs Duvarre. Originally Miss Christine Daaé."
Nettie looked away.
"Have you met any such woman roundabout?"
"No."
"And she is on the arm of a horrible, bony, ugly man."
Nettie thought it was wrong to judge someone on their appearance.
"This man has a horrible hole in his face."
Nettie drew breath.
"His eyes are the strangest colour. They are yellow. And they are hideous. They are set so far back in his face."
Nettie swallowed.
"So if you ever see a hideous wretch like that, tell me. Believe me, he deserves murder. I've got hitmen. I'll string him up by his balls, and whack him with a bat, until he's crying and puling like the filthy baby he is."
"I will, Comte," she said. As if she would!
She did not let anything show on her face.
She very much doubted Erik had done anything to deserve this. Erik had been so nice and courteous to her. And so, so kind to her daughter.
While Raoul was an entitled, whining aristocrat. She got the measure of him. Back home, he had probably had the power to enact all sorts of punishments.
What on earth had Erik done to offend him? Been too ugly, perhaps? Nettie sighed.
Less than an hour later, Raoul swept down the stairs. Nettie set the apartment back to rights. Raoul had given her such a paltry amount of money.
Patricia crawled out of hiding.
"We get very different visitors, don't we," said Patricia. "We might have some very nice grown-ups. And then, someone who thinks they are wonderful… and important."
Nettie smiled resignedly.
Patricia's face looked wickedly gleeful. "But is a stinking blue-blooded rat!"
Nettie laughed. "Yes, Patricia. I know."
Erik and Christine hurried along in the gathering wind. Erik's mood was turning. Christine was used to that.
He had had a lovely time out. In a moment he would start blaming and punishing himself. He was unused to this. He still thought he didn't deserve it.
To make matters worse, he was complaining of tummy pain.
Christine was priming herself to look after him. She would place a warm brick against his back. She would sit by him, stroke his head, and talk him through his torpor.
Christine was numbering, in her mind, the things she had to do. She clattered up the steps of the hotel after him.
"That woman, downstairs just now, stared at me!"
"My poor, poor husband."
Christine hurried after him, into their room. She shut the door quietly.
She heard him grumbling as he raced into the bathroom. She rang for some good, strong coffee, and peppermint liquor. Then, sighing with resignation, she walked over to the fire.
She was glad there was a brick by the coal scuttle. That was always the best remedy. For cold English nights, yes, and for upset tummy too.
Christine slid the brick into the fire, with the poker. It wouldn't take long to warm up.
A while later he came out. He slid softly across the floor, his pants around his ankles. He was looking very woebegone.
"Those cakes are doing dreadful things to my insides." He huddled down on the bed.
"Well, it's inevitable. Now you're eating more, your tummy's not going to like it. It'll take a while to get accustomed to it."
Christine undressed him. He laid naked, still grumbling. She drew the bedcurtains as the maid arrived with coffee and some choice crème de menthe.
Then she got rid of her own clothes. She sat down, comfortably naked herself. There was something delicious about being in a warm room like this. With screaming wind, rain and hail outside, and nobody but her sweetheart inside.
"Now." Tentatively, she nudged the brick out with a poker. She carefully wrapped it in a towel. Then she put it in place, against Erik's lower back. "I'm sorry you're feeling bad, sweetheart," she said gently.
Erik descended into miserable moans. He laid next to her in a fetal position, his knees pulled up, arms crossed.
Christine rubbed his back. She breathed in the scent of crème de menthe and coffee.
Both had been eagerly drunk by Erik. At least he had done that. They would make him feel better.
After a while, he began to sigh with contentment.
"There's nothing sweeter than lying here."
Christine felt joyful.
"How is your tummy? Better?"
"Feeling a bit happier, after all that came out of me."
Christine giggled. She patted him sympathetically.
"I'm so glad to be here. With such a good mamma. I mean, such a good wife."
Christine smiled benignly. She was pleased to hear that.
"I be your mamma, since you haven't got any other. Yes?"
"As I be your papa. I've always tried to be." He put his arms around her. "Since I first saw you as a child… so forlorn, and lonely."
"Ah, Erik."
"And you reminded me so much of me. And I didn't want you to feel abandoned, like I did."
"Over the years, you've been a very good papa."
"Have I?"
"You've prodded me. Encouraged me. Given me little spankings, when I haven't done the right thing."
They both laughed.
"Ah, Christine. I'm glad you appreciate that. Yes, I know, I have been severe with you sometimes."
"But I merited it. I was a naughty girl," she admitted.
"Just as well I found you again, wasn't it?"
"Oh, Erik." She kissed and held him. "It was a while before I realized you needed a mamma, just like I need a papa."
He sighed, and turned into her.
"And when I did, I left you. My poor, darling angel." She still felt very sad about that.
The fire popped and spluttered. It lit his face gently.
"Christine?"
"Yes?"
"When Gulzar sends all my things, your old wedding dress is going to be there." He sighed sadly. "Will you wear it, for me?"
Christine shimmied downwards. She brought her face level with his cock. "Yes, I shall."
As Christine tongued his genitals, the wind howled dramatically outside. Erik groaned as she finally took him into her mouth.
Her tongue could excite him like nothing else could. Why was it she found the sensitive spots so easily? He groaned as the energy of bliss started to build.
As she made love to him, he visualized Christine when she had been younger. In her little white innocent dress. So sweet and obedient.
He remembered it. Sometimes she had needed a chastisement. But most of the time she had been good.
Her mouth was becoming too powerful. He groaned with pleasant helplessness. Any discomfort in his body was gone as he reached his climax.
His body felt so divine. He sighed out any remaining tension. As she withdrew his cock from her mouth, she lapped up any seed she hadn't swallowed.
"Good girl." He smiled lazily.
"Feeling better now?" She snuggled down next to him.
"I can't not be happy with that." They giggled, and nestled down to sleep.
Raoul totalled his losses.
Henri, who had been one of his house servants, had decided to go with Sacha.
The two men had gone on the ferry. It had taken off now across the roiling ocean.
Raoul hoped, spitefully, that it sank.
He still had six hitmen. Maybe he could employ someone to marshal them? To inspire respect like he couldn't.
'I'm too soft,' Raoul thought. 'I'm kind and gentle.' He grinned to himself. 'I haven't been good at this game because I'm far too nice.'
Well, he would hire someone who was not. Raoul was looking forward to getting someone to do his dirty work for him.
He still had a lot of money.
He would get this person to come up with inventive ideas, too. Delicious ways to trap and torture Erik. And the ideal way to discipline Christine too. And show her what a bad girl she had been.
And show her how she should have found Raoul attractive. And not the ugly, inhumane monster.
He knew things weren't over yet.
