AN: This is where the Mature Content comes in. If you are not interested in this section, once the mushy stuff starts, you can skip to the next chapter.
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Love is a gypsy's child, it has never, ever, known a law; love me not, then I love you; if I love you, you'd best beware! - Habenera, Bizet
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Chapter 9
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The day passed quickly and Christine soon found herself in front of a dressing room mirror, applying pancake makeup to her face. The room around her was loud and bustling, full of men and women rushing for last minute changes.
The backstage was full of fire and chaos. It was a sold out show and every seat was packed to standing room only; save, of course, for box five, which remained empty.
Christine was going to throw up. Right on stage. In front of everyone.
"Meg! I can't do this!"
"Oh, yes you can, Christine." Meg pulled the girl back out of the wings. Meg was in a classical white ballet costume with bare shoulders and a tutu that stopped right below the knee. Dainty linen flowers were placed here and there, making the young woman look like an ethereal sprite. Christine was snug in her layered costume as a random traveling lady.
Meg gave Christine one more reassuring smile then ran off to the Foyer to warm up. Christine heard the strings tune, followed by the other instruments. It was time! Christine looked for a trash bin, just in case.
Erik watched from box five, hidden in shadows. To any onlooker, the box would look completely unused. Act one had concluded with Faust making a deal with the devil and they were moving into the second act, where Christine would make her debut. His stomach was tied in knots. He had never been so excited for a premier- or so nervous for someone else's performance. As the curtain rose, he watched with rapt attention.
Christine herself watched the stage fill in from the wings, waiting for her entrance. She was visibly shaking, though from fear or excitement, she did not know.
The music modulated and she stepped into the blinding electric stage lights. She blinked a few times to adjust her eyes, then threw herself into the moment, becoming alive on stage, shining even while remaining silent and in the background.
The production was going smoothly; the audience was engaged and there were few errors big enough to notice. After the second act, she ran off the stage, face flushed. "Oh, that was so fun!" She squealed to no one in particular.
Erik applauded as the second intermission began. He slipped out of the box and made his way backstage through hidden passageways. He found himself lingering outside of her shared dressing room, waiting for her to be alone.
"You are doing wonderfully, my child," her teacher's voice echoed through the room.
She jumped at the familiar voice and immediately smiled warmly. Eyes lifted, gaze near the ceiling, she answered, "I am simply walking around the stage, teacher!"
"Yet you are walking with grace and purpose. This is your first time on that grand stage. How does it feel?" he asked, his voice brimming with excitement for her.
"It is magical, teacher! Like nothing I've ever felt before! I could die happy right now!"
"Good, cherish that feeling. It is only upwards from here." He lingered for a moment before fading away.
The rest of the production kept a good pace. The finale was soon upon her and she lamented having to leave the stage for the last time until tomorrow.
Entering the dressing room after the finale, Christine found a small tied box waiting for her.
When she opened it, she found an elegant bracelet of silver and red jewels. Garnets and diamonds, Christine suspected.
"To celebrate a successful opening. How I would love to be there celebrating with you now."
Meg gasped behind her. Squealing, she pulled on Christine's arms until she was facing the other women in the room. "WHO gave you that! That secret admirer?! It is too much! He must be so rich!"
Christine tried to calm her friend down, but it was a fruitless task. She continued gushing about this new Baron.
In truth, Christine was speechless. She had never held something so priceless! How could she accept something like this? It would be ruder to not accept, but Christine felt overwhelmed just holding it.
Meg helped her put it on and gave her a sweet kiss on the cheek. The dancers left for the foyer to flirt with noblemen and Christine was once again left alone in the room. She smiled dreamily as she untied and pulled off the heavy angel robe she wore. Underneath was a tattered corset and pantaloons. she bent over at the waist, reaching to untie her shoes. The mirror in front of her reflected her supple cleavage and creamy white shoulders.
Erik narrowed his gaze as he watched her from his vantage point. He should go. It was not right for him to watch her like this. Though she was quite clothed, this was scandalous, not that he had ever bothered with social propriety before. But at heart, he thought himself a gentleman. The seeds of self hatred began to grow as he stood there, unable to pull himself away.
Christine stood and flashed her bracelet in the mirror, watching as the light hit it and danced around the room. She stood up straighter, bending her arms into right angles and crossing her hands in front of her. The pose of a well-bred Frenchwoman. She looked at her body. She did not look like a noblewoman and she was having difficulty seeing herself as one. She was too short. She was too curvy. She was too...poor. She imagined herself in endless ball gowns and turned to the side to watch her silhouette. She pinched in her waist with her hands and puffed out her chest . She sighed and shook her head. Reaching behind her, she slowly untied her corset and let it drop to the ground. She was not wearing a shift underneath. (As was common for actors in the day. The heat of the stage made it nearly unbearable.) She was nude from the waist up. The hand wearing the glittering bracelet reached up to her neck and slowly slid down her shoulders to the crest of her breasts, watching the jewels contrast against her porcelain skin.
How could they have known how similar their thoughts ran. She thought of the Baron and she thought of her teacher- both completely out of her reach in very different ways.
Christine liked the way the bracelet hit the swell of her breast and she held it there for a minute, watching the jewels hit her pink nipple which contracted and puckered with the stimulus of the cool stones and the heat of her thoughts.
Erik leaned against the wall, staring at her. He felt himself grow hard in his pants, his desire penetrating his deepest thoughts and utmost desires; all for her. How he longed to trace his hands over those breasts, down her abdomen, to her hips.
As if on command, Christine's hand followed his desired path down the front of her body. She experimentally grabbed the flesh of her hips, covered by her pantaloons. One hand travelled lower, hesitantly like she was unused to such actions. Her fingers brushed the heat between her thighs over the fabric. She cupped her womanhood and her knees nearly buckled. Flinging her head back, she trembled at the sensation. One breath. Two. She reluctantly released herself and exhaled deeply, turning away to dress in her shabby brown skirts.
He let a hand dip down, outlining the hard length in his pants as he watched her. When she released herself, he would drop his gaze to the floor. Looking up once more, he slid away into the darkness, retreating to his lair. He was pent up with desire, with an ever growing obsession for her. Right along with his loathing. His hatred for himself burned like fiery coals searing through, immolating his spirit.
On the other side of the mirror stood another figure, tormented. Eric's desire was swiftly consuming him. Could he not see her tonight, call on her again? No, it would be too risky, too dangerous. Yet, he needed her, desired her; wanted her for himself. For his music. For his bed. With a soft whine, he turned from the mirror and left the scene.
Erik could not return to the lair, could not sleep; and so he went to Chabanais street; seeking the satisfaction that only she could give him. Money changed hands; a handsome sum that would ensure absolute discretion.
The bright street of Chabanais seemed to only exist after the sun had gone down. But once night fell, no one could argue the power of the location. Royalty were drawn to their knees, overruled by the beauty of bare skin and cunning women. The Belle Epoche ran on prostitution. It was hardwired into the culture and into the very streets themselves. Every street corner of the Chabanais, men could choose from a line of women, or enter a brothel to more discretely be served.
When he entered his assigned room, his gaze lingered on Colette, devouring her. Yet it was not the fetching whore whom he saw before him, but his muse. Slow steps were made, approaching the woman. He wore his opera finery, his mask fixed firmly on him.
Colette knew to keep quiet. The first time this strange man visited her, she was nearly cuffed for opening her mouth.
She wore nothing under the gaudy dress. Easier to peel out of. She turned around without being commanded and placed her hands against the wall, waiting.
He eyed her over,hands slipping over her sides, up, through her hair. Hands then would slip under that dress; hiking it up; hands running and gripping commandingly at her hips, groaning as he felt the bare skin of her rear. A sharp sting would ring through her as he spanked her once, that hand swiftly dipping between her legs, rubbing over her womanhood in a skilled manner.
She threw her head back and groaned. Colette was secretly head over heels in love with this familiar customer and looked forward to his visits with a giddiness that would embarrass her if any of her sisters knew. This man played a woman's body like a musician played an instrument. Never had she experience such seduction and pleasure than at the hands of this masked was breathtakingly pale, her breasts fuller than he would have imagined them to be. He couldn't let her leave here without him...
The night was cold, but Colette had long learned to tolerate it. Her thick, curly brown hair hung down to her elbows and her pleasantly plump body presented nicely in her colorful gown.
This one always indulged him. Her name, he never used it; but called her always the object of his obsession. As a result, he saw that she was compensated accordingly, generously. A hand grabbed a fistful of curled hair; pulling her head back as he spanked her once more, before plunging two fingers inside of her. "You know how much I've wanted you...Christine.." He gasped, his voice ragged with lust, desire.
She swallowed an impassioned scream and nodded silently, bucking against his hand.
He kissed her hard on the lips as his hand on her hair pulled her more upright. He peeled that dress down, over her shoulder,; both hands working now on stripping her. There was an intensity with which he did it, needing her nude, exposed, bare for him and only him.
She was not used to his insistence and wondered what got him in such a state. She remained passive, reacting eagerly but never dominantly. She thrust her naked chest toward him, needing his touch.
He kissed her one more time before turning her back to how she was when they started, bending over against the wall; her ass presented to him. He was dressed, and he remained dressed as he dropped his pants, freeing himself. A few gliding motions and he would plunge himself, deep within her; moaning as his thick length filled her; fucking her with wild abandon, savagery, even; so great was his desperation.
The force of his movements caused her body to slam against the wall, but he did not even seem to notice in his frantic actions. She let her body thump against the wall with each thrust and bit her lip to keep from crying out in pain - or ecstasy.
He took her hard against that wall, grunting and moaning as he thrust; both hands on her ass for leverage. Finally, he would pull back, gripping her by the hair as he pulled her back for a searing kiss before flinging her to the bed.
Colette let her body fall into a heap on the mattress, enjoying his rough nature. She languidly rolled onto her back and lewdly bent her knees and spread her legs open,
giving him a fine view of her femininity.
He moved over her, removing only his jacket now. Lips found hers as he would thrust, pounding into her. His hands gripped hers, pinning them above her head as he took her. "Yes...you are exquisite..." He grunted, lost in his fantasy with his obsession.
Colette was so fulfilled with him in her arms. She was in heaven as he touched and controlled her body. His extra passionate mood tonight drove her over the edge and words came tumbling out before she could stop them.
"I love you!"
He didn't respond, not with words, as her tumbling over the edge caused him to nearly lose control. "Yes...you are so perfect..." He groaned loudly. He would pull out of her, just to turn her onto her stomach, pushing her down as he drove into her; gripping her ass with such possessiveness, revelling in the pink hue of her normally pale flesh.
"Ahh Monsieur!" She yelled in a hoarse alto timber.
He threw his head back as he muttered her name.. "Yes..Christine.." He murmured, her name on his lips as he thrust more raggedly, his pleasure obviously coming very soon.
"Call me Colette! Please, Monsieur! Call me by my name!" She was nearing her own edge.
He seemed unable to do that, or at least unwilling. "Give..yourself..to me!" He growled as sweat formed over him, the edges of his shirt soaked with sweat and her fluids; a hand moving to grip her hair, grinding her against him as he began to lose control.
She felt him shake and spasm as he found his orgasm. She pretended to reach hers as well, all the while trying not to cry over his silent refusal.
When he came down, Erik nearly collapsed on her. He was breathing hard, lingering in those moments with her, pinning her beneath him as he recovered. Lips would find the back of her neck, kissing; all the while unable to say her name.
He would not turn her. He never did. He never wished to look upon her face before leaving with an impressive tip on the counter. Her heart felt heavy as he moved away.
He left her there, as he always did.
Colette's tears remained unobserved as she stayed huddled on the bed, allowing just this moment to let into her grief.
