My irritation did not survive my first glimpse of Christine at our wedding. I confess I was a blubbering mess for much of the day. Madame Giry and Daroga did not remain dry-eyed either. I drank their health and told them in all sincerity that I could never repay all their kindnesses to me. It was a fine wedding. I felt surrounded by warmth and love. I felt nearly normal, and blessed more than I had any right to be.
When Christine and I returned to our home—our home!—I played and we sang. Our voices danced, swirled in the air like plumes of smoke; our voices merged, entwining like lovers. Could there be any equal to the intimacy between Christine and me when we sing?
When we finished our song, she was breathless and her eyes were blazing as I'd never seen them. I pulled her into my arms and kissed her for the first time without restraint. Overwhelmed, she placed her hand against my chest.
"I'm going to have a bath,' she whispered, blushing.
While Christine soaked, I drank and paced and blasphemed under my breath. How dare she put me off after all this time? Scenes of incredible marital violence exploded behind my eyes; all red and black, and I was confronted with the bitter truth: I am no normal man and never can be. I may dress up as one and pretend, but Christine had wed a monster.
I pleaded with my tortured mind to leave me in peace for just one day until Christine padded silently up to me, tiny and barefoot in a diaphanous gown frothy with lace. I kissed her hand and touched my forehead to hers. She turned and drew me wordlessly to the bedroom. She averted her eyes in modesty as I undressed and came into my arms hesitantly when I reached for her. The fire in her eyes had banked, replaced again with uncertainty. She reached for my mask, the silent question on her face. I drew a breath for courage, nodded acceptance of the inevitable and closed my eyes. The air was cool on my malformed cheek and I turned away from Christine instinctively. She reached for the ruined flesh, stroked it lovingly. She kissed me and let my silent tears fall until I was empty.
I began to kiss her where I found myself, against her neck, and she responded with shivers. My hands swam over breasts, ribs, hips, thighs—gently, gently, Erik, slowly.
My unslaked need threatened to overtake me. My body throbbed and ached all over, as if my entire body had metamorphosed into a giant phallus. Gently, my hand sought Christine's center. Her thighs clamped shut reflexively. Her eyes sought mine uncertainly in the candle light. My eyes assured her, yes, Christine, absolutely, now. Her legs relaxed slowly, reluctantly, until eventually I was free to move my hand again. Slowly I stroked, barely touching her. She was infinitely soft, warm and moist. I shuddered, nearly overcome. My fingertip parted those lips and glided toward her sacred bud. Christine gasped in surprise and rocked her hips slightly. Encouraged, I continued my explorations.
Christine responded violently to my ministrations. She clawed at my shoulders to pull me into a kiss. Her little tongue plunged into my mouth, darting forward to find my tongue before retreating, only to attack again. She raised her hips to meet my fingers, whimpering insistently. I was awed; I was nonplussed; I was detumescent. To say my ardor cooled is to grossly understate. My ardor evaporated, instantly. I continued my fiddling, confident that this unpleasant development would be a fleeting one. Christine's purrs urged me to action, but the warmer she became, the colder I turned. It was only a matter of minutes before my panic outstripped my confusion.
I pushed her away, groping for my mask on the bed beside her. Christine stared at me in utter disbelief. I pleaded the considerate husband. It had been a long, tiring, emotional day, I allowed, and I did not wish to overtax her delicate sensibilities any further tonight. After all, we had a lifetime now, did we not? I left my dumbstuck bride with a parting kiss on the forehead to slink back to my coffin, where I wept in shame, frustration and abject despair.
I cannot say which of us looked more dreadful in the morning. Breakfast conversation was surreal. I maintained the fiction that all was perfectly as it should be; taking her cue from me, Christine tried not to let me catch her gazing at me in confusion. I was absolutely convinced that last night's performance—or rather, lack thereof—had been an aberration and that tonight would see Christine well and truly bedded. I had no reason not to be so convinced; all was well in working order again, I noted happily when she kissed me good morning. As the day wore on, I spent more of it aroused than not; my darling bride's mere presence saw to that.
Sometime after supper my manhood abandoned me again. I scrabbled to the rooftops of panic. Ugly voices and mocking laughter echoed through my mind's dark caverns. Failed her already. What were you thinking? The pretty fop would have had the job done by now.
When Christine disappeared into the bath, I raced to my Persian friend for morphine. He greeted me with a smile: "Ah, Benedick, the married man!"
Of its own accord, my hand flew around his throat; everything before my eyes was red as my rage hemorrhaged. I apologized profusely and pleaded a bridegroom's modesty; I am certain he saw through that when I pressed him for morphine on my first full day of married life. He gave me what I demanded with a slight nod, asked me to remember him to Christine. My dear friend…
I pretended to be composing feverishly when Christine rejoined me. I smiled through my lying teeth and promised her I'd be in directly, "You go on ahead, my love, I just need to finish one thing." Once she'd disappeared into the bedroom, I took still more opium and slunk off to my hole like the vermin-infested dog I was. In the morning, I apologized and told Christine I'd worked so late that I felt guilty about waking her.
I managed to hold her off in this fashion for some time, but with each passing day, my guts churned with guilt whenever she looked at me, her eyes pleading with me to help her understand. When I lay in my coward's coffin at night, before the morphine overtook me, my guilt turned to anger that my precious Christine had become a nagging, insatiable succubus. Yes, I blamed her; what other explanation could there be but that Christine had cursed me, somehow stolen my virility? Even with themorphine to numb me, I careened through nightmare scenes where I screamed my outrage at her, forcing her to her knees to plead for forgiveness. Often the dreams would end as I forced myself on her in some unspeakable way. The final dream, more vivid than life, was one in which Christine was naked and bound as I took her. It was thrilling…I awoke with a start and realized I'd polluted myself. I also realized what I had to do.
I was a new man the next day; rather, the old, suave Erik that had swept Christine off her virginal feet. I'd gotten up after my…accident…and created two new lassos. I had a bath and fixed her a lovely breakfast. I even went 'upstairs' for strawberries. Christine positively glowed to see that my jaw was unclenched.
"I'm glad you're not angry with me anymore," she confessed.
"But I was never angry with you, darling, how could I be? I've been solitary for a long time; you will become used to your husband's black moods in time." She perched happily on my lap and snuggled. My demon stirred in my trousers, suggesting that perhaps there was no need to wait til evening for our little party. It wasn't as if daylight made a difference where we were.
"Christine, come to bed?"
"Now? Erik, it's morning!" she whispered, scandalized.
"So?" I nuzzled her neck, teased her flawless breasts awake. I noted her frisson with satisfaction.
"Alright," she smiled.
"You go warm the sheets, I'll be along directly," I smiled. I collected my lassos and dropped them beside the bed. Christine was fussing with pillows and did not notice. I lit an additional candelabrum, undressed and slid in beside her.
"It's so bright," Christine worried as I pressed her down.
"You're so exquisite," I replied. The compliment pleased her, but I believe she would have preferred the darkness and gone without the compliment. Good. The more uncomfortable she was, the more rigid I grew.
Christine responded warmly, candles or not. She was soon juicy and insistent once more.
"Christine, let us remove this," I drew her gown up and off as her eyelids flickered rapidly.
"Must we?" she worried.
"Absolutely," I whispered, pulling her close. She started at the first meeting of skin to skin, but my renewed attentions put her at her heated ease soon enough.
I slipped away, drawing the sheets with me. She clutched at them anxiously.
"You won't need them, my love, they'll be in the way," I assured her. Once this registered, she reached for a pillow.
"No, Christine, let me look at you." She glowed scarlet, even in the candlelight. She arranged her hair and legs artfully enough to give herself some modicum of coverage. Just wait, I thought.
"Just a few minor adjustments," I promised her. She turned away as I slithered off the bed, in anticipation of my inevitable return.
I took Christine's near hand, kissed it and had her wrist secured before she turned to see what I was doing. I crawled across her torso in pursuit of her other wrist, which prevented her demanding an explanation immediately. She was too preoccupied with clamping her eyes shut tight in case she saw more of me than she was prepared for. I found myself chuckling as I secured her other wrist.
"Really, my love, you've seen my face. Surely nothing is as bad as all that." I crawled back across her after the other lasso.
"What are you doing?" she whined.
"I'm going to make love to you, Christine," I caught her little foot, kissed and sucked her toes. She began to kick and twist, fighting me.
"Christine, don't be naughty. Let Erik have your foot," I said evenly.
"Why?" she demanded hotly. She actually seemed angry; it had a delightful effect on me.
"Because I'm the husband, dear, and I say so." I stopped playing and wrenched her leg out straight. "If you cooperate, there is no reason for this to be unpleasant, Christine. I'm merely trying to insure that we both enjoy ourselves," I explained, securing the final limb.
"I'm not enjoying myself already!" Christine insisted.
"Now, now, give it a fair trial. You've nothing to compare it to, Darling."
I stepped back to admire my handiwork and found myself deeply moved and incredibly aroused. I climbed between those inviting thighs and whispered love into her ear. I kissed her tenderly and she might have responded, but I rubbed the straining demon against her treasure and she shrieked and tried to writhe. I had to sit back for a moment to appreciate that.
"Please don't shriek like that again, Christine, you nearly deafened me. What did you imagine this was all leading up to?" That shriek had mildly irritated me.
"Please, I'm frightened, Erik," her lip quivered as I moved over her again. She was deliciously slippery, and it was delightful torture to sport about in the general vicinity, knowing I could take what I wanted at any time.
"There's no need, my love. Have I ever hurt you?"
"No," she admitted.
"No, and neither will I hurt you now. I love you, Christine, you know that." She nodded in agreement. "Nothing will happen here other than what's expected of any married couple. It's time."
"But…must it be like this?"
"I am afraid so, darling." I slid half off her and resumed my caresses. "But, to assure you of my good faith, I'll take pains to insure that I cause you as little discomfort as possible." So saying, I slipped a finger ever so gently just inside the gates of the temple. Christine gave a squeal and her eyes flew open wide.
"You said you wouldn't hurt me," she accused.
"Oh, well, it always hurts a girl the first time, but that's not my fault, that's nature," I excused. "Anyway, I don't think I hurt you nearly as much as you're letting on. It's a bit snug, that's all. Don't worry, we'll see to it."
"I am sure this must be a sin," she mumbled, squinting at me in a fit of Catholic pique.
"If anyone is sinful here, it's surely you, Christine. What did the priest tell you, hm? What did you promise?" I asked.
"To love you in sickness and health."
"Right, and what else?"
"Til death do us part."
"And?"
"To honor you."
"Mm…"
"To keep myself…um…"
"Yes, yes, keep yourself only unto me, and what else?"
"Obey you, "she grumbled.
"Ah, you see? I knew you remembered. There, that's beginning to feel nice, isn't it?"
"Yes," she admitted grudgingly.
I kissed her until she responded, then turned my attention to her intoxicating breasts. Soon she was purring and straining against her restraints in a different way.
"Erik," she twisted her wrists and wriggled her fingers, reaching for me futilely. I claimed her mouth with my own, in defense of my ears, and slipped inside her as deeply as I could. Rather than screaming, Christine welcomed me with something like a stunned hiccough. Paralyzed, I was struggling for control of myself. Hot, snug; exquisite pleasure or pain? I couldn't be certain. My body knew what to do; primal, it began to move inexorably as my consciousness, hopelessly lost, sought anything familiar. It found Christine's breath in my ear; my lighthouse, my way back to shore. I whispered her name in gratitude; my own voice sounded miles away. I began driving into her with more abandon; she cried out wordlessly. I was drenched in sweat and I felt something gathering inside me. My body surged toward release. I heard a voice: "Not yet," and realized it was my own. I withdrew and rained kisses over Christine's neck and breasts. She wriggled as much as the lassos would allow. I moved lower still, tracing her ribs with my tongue, nibbling at her hipbones. I teased her, trailed kisses across her belly, lower…she caught her breath, held it…and I moved my lips to her inner thigh. A shuddering moan escaped her lips.
"What is it, Christine?" I murmured. "What do you want?"
"You know," she whimpered, trying to raise her hips to reach me.
"I don't know, you must tell me," I crooned. "Tell me, Darling, what shall Erik do?"
Christine continued to whimper, tossing her head side to side. She fought against speaking it.
"You must ask for it, Christine. Ask for it…" My fingers traveled spider-like up and down her thighs, brushing ever so faintly against her downy muff. God, what a fragrance her arousal emitted. How long could I resist burying my face in her, drinking deep? How I'd dreamt of devouring her…my wife. My wife!
"Erik…" Christine breathed faintly, "don't make me say."
"Say, Christine. What shall Erik do? Shall he kiss it? Shall he lick it?"
"Mm, yesss."
"Tell me, tell Erik."
"Kiss it," she whispered harshly. "Lick it!"
When my lips met her sweet treasure, Christine sobbed gratefully. She quickly fell silent as my tongue began to stroke and savor her. Her fragrance enveloped me; her taste was indescribable. I slipped a finger inside her gently as I commenced to flick my tongue over her eager bud. Her hips dictated a rhythm for my digits to follow. My efforts were rewarded when her legs began to tremble and she keened a tuneless note. Her shudders came more violently, overtaking her entire body as she cried, "I'm dying!" She clenched and released my finger in culmination; her hips bucked uncontrollably. I felt a knifelike pain on my lip and tasted blood in my mouth. I was grateful she was tied down.
I sucked on my lip and resheathed myself inside my still-trembling beloved.
Christine whispered my name and captured my eyes with hers. I rocked slowly, tenderly with her until once again my body overtook my mind and I plumbed her feverishly. Again the storm gathered, not to be denied this time. The trembling began at the base of my spine, at my core. I threw back my head and roared my victory as my entire being flowed molten into Christine. I released the lassos quickly and gathered Christine into my arms.
"Christine, I love you, I love you, I love you," I wept.
