Thank you again to all those who are continuing to read this. M rating ahead... although so was the last chapter.

It's extremely common in POTO fanfiction to have Erik, with his Oriental travels, making use of books like the Kama Sutra. I decided to explore what Christine's feelings might be about that.

Chapter 13. April, 1887. First weeks of marriage.

That night, there had been no further encounters, as he had assured her that a gentleman knew how to let his wife rest – much to the wife's disappointment, though she did not have the courage to tell him so. But the very next morning she'd seen the desire flickering silently in his eyes as she got out of bed in the morning…and she'd gotten back in. They'd embarked on another attempt, this one shy and fumbling, with both of them afraid of what the other might think. But his obvious ecstasy when touching her had made her feel like the most beautiful woman in the world, and she had found herself enjoying the sensation of his hands sliding over her, awkward and inexperienced though his caresses were. And it had, indeed, been better that time, and had continued to improve thereafter. Not immediately, and certainly not easily, but little by little they'd each learned the way of each other's bodies. Erik had now been able to control his own desires enough to attempt, tentatively and fearfully, to please her. His timid efforts had touched her heart, and she'd opened gladly to him. He'd seemed shocked, and she certainly had been, by the depth of her response to his hands, and, eventually, to his mouth; before that last had happened, however, she'd risen early from a late afternoon nap and caught him studiously looking through a book the like of which she'd had no idea existed.

"Erik, what is that?"

He clapped the book shut and whirled around. "What do you think you are about, Christine, sneaking up on me like that?"

"If I am getting better at sneaking, who do you think I would have learned that from?" she rejoined. "But it's not like you at all to be so engrossed in something that you don't hear me coming. What was it that held your attention that much?"

"Nothing," he said, looking as forbidding as possible as he kept his arm carefully over the book. "Leave me alone, please."

"But I want to see."

"No."

"Please?"

"No. This is not an appropriate book for ladies to read."

"I'm not a lady, I'm an actress. Why don't you want me to see?"

"Because."

All this was only having the effect of making her even more curious. She advanced on him, and he backed up and straight into a corner. Erik being Erik, he could certainly have escaped past her if he'd tried, but instead he seemed strangely frozen in place as she came closer and closer. Taking advantage, she stretched her arms up around his neck and kissed him, and he responded eagerly – till she snatched the book out of his relaxing fingers.

"Christine!" Erik made a grab for her and got his hand on her arm. This had the unfortunate effect of making her drop the book, which helpfully fell open to a particularly…interesting illustration.

Christine made a strangled sound, staring. Erik cleared his throat. His hand loosened on her arm. Neither said anything for a moment. Then Christine pulled away from her husband's slack grasp, and bent to pick up the book; its title read, "The Book of Oriental Love, translated by Isidore Lisieux." As she rose back up, she gazed at it in stupefaction.

"Erik…"

She chanced a glance at him, and saw that his distorted face was crimson with mortification. Christine thought briefly of saying something, but her attention was drawn irresistibly back to this astonishing book. She paged slowly through it, gasping a little from time to time.

"Erik…I didn't know that there were books like this! Wh – why?"

"It…it is a translation of an Oriental work," he said, his voice sounding more constrained than she'd ever heard it.

"But…what is it for?"

"It is for…a man with a…lover to…learn more of the…possibilities."

Christine had never seen her erudite Erik so tongue-tied. It would have been amusing, had he not looked so honestly distressed. He rubbed the side of one shoe along the carpet, and muttered, "I…hope you do not think badly of me for…reading such a book. Many women would be…repulsed. It is hardly a gentlemanly thing to do, but I wanted…I wanted to…" He trailed off, and she waited for a minute and then prompted, "Wanted to what?"

"Wanted to learn how to…please you."

"Oh. But…you do please me."

"I meant…better," he mumbled, staring down and not meeting her eyes.

She was touched, and put a hand on his arm. He covered it with his own, and said quietly, "I know that I am not anything that…I am no prize for a woman. Especially one as young and beautiful as you. I thought that perhaps…if I could please you, really please you in ways that other men would not…it might be some compensation for you."

"Oh, Erik." She pressed herself against him, wrapping her arms around his thin back – but not letting go of the book. "You can be so sweet at times."

"That word has never been applied to Erik before," he said. His cheek had been against the top of her head, but now he turned his head and pressed a kiss to her temple, then her hair. "I love you, my Christine."

"And I love you," she replied, squinting over his shoulder as she tried to catch another glimpse of the open pages, "You are a prize, to me. Why don't you go and play something on the piano? You know I love your music."

"At least I have that to give you," he answered. He watched her walk over and place the book on a side table, and then did as she had asked and went to the piano. Once he was seated on its bench with his back safely to her, she sat down on the couch, leaned over and snatched the book, and rapidly paged through it under cover of the music, trying to keep one eye on Erik in case he turned around. But soon she was absorbed enough to turn her full attention to the fascinating…artwork, and explanations, so that she nearly jumped out of her skin when Erik barked, "Christine!"

Now it was her turn to clap the book shut. She hadn't even noticed that the music had stopped.

"If you are all that interested, there is another book of the same type over there on the bookshelf." He indicated with a sternly pointed finger. "But it is one of Monsieur Richard Burton's, so it is in English, which you can not read. Would you like me to translate for you? I warn you the illustrations are not as good."

Blushing furiously, Christine pressed herself back into the couch, wishing to disappear into it.

He stayed on the piano bench for a minute in silence, and then gave a resigned sigh and got up. "All right. Enough of this nonsense, from both of us. If you want to read that so badly, we shall sit down and do so, and then we can at least be mortified together." He took the other book, which she had not noticed, off the shelf. "We may as well do the job completely. But I am getting some wine to help us through this process."

The wine did help, especially once they were each on their second glass, and Christine began to ask questions more easily. Erik could not enlighten her about all of them, having no more experience in this particular field than her, but he could and did expound upon the origins of the books.

"These are compilations of writings by various Indian authors from around 800 B.C. They were collected and edited by a Hindu philosopher – that means he was Indian, Christine – named Vatsyayana sometime in the centuries immediately after the birth of Christ. Without him, they would likely have faded into obscurity. Very little is known about him, but he is believed to have lived between the sixth and first centuries before Christ – "

Erik went into a long monologue about the history of the text, and Christine quickly stopped listening. When she failed to answer a question, he stopped himself and said ruefully, "My apologies. I am boring you. Suffice it to say that this text has only become available in Europe in recent years."

Christine turned the English work over, wishing she could read it. There were still the illustrations, though; even if Erik didn't like them as much as the ones in the other book, they were adequately informative…

"That was translated and published by an Englishman named Richard Burton. He is an intrepid explorer, and has travelled extensively; when you are paying attention to your husband again I shall tell you about him. I think you would like the tales of his adventures."

She dragged her eyes away from the page. "I am sure I would."

"He is thought to be the first European to have made the hajj; that is the sacred pilgrimage to the city of Mecca which all devout Muslims must take."

"Did you ever do it?"

He chuckled. "No. I had other things to do. Shahs and sultans required my presence at their courts, my skills in creating amusements for them, and I could not have been gone long enough to make that trek. And I was not much interested in it, in any case. I felt no impulse toward taking up that religion."

She was grateful that he had not become a heathen during his long years in the East, but did not say so. He went on, "I enjoyed the sound of the calls to prayer, some of the artwork. Things like that. But that was as far as it went."

"Calls to prayer?" she said, puzzled.

"Yes. A Muslim must pray five times a day, and in the cities a man is appointed to call loudly from each mosque to get everyone's attention and bring them in to perform their religious duty. It is a remarkable sound."

"Like…church bells?"

"Yes, somewhat like that."

"But…" She glanced back at the book, forgetting completely what she had been going to say. Oriental history was not nearly as interesting as Oriental literature…could this book be called 'literature'?

"It is all so…strange," she murmured.

"The Orient is a very different place from Europe, Christine."

"So I see," she murmured. She turned a page, and stared. There were a number of small drawings on it, all illustrating possible variations on the same theme.

"Erik…" He said nothing, and when Christine glanced up at him, he was taking a large gulp of wine and studiedly not looking at her. That looked like a fine idea, and she imitated him. The wine warmed her, and made everything seem comfortingly far away. Surely it could not be real, could it, that she could be sitting in an underground house with this strange man who was her husband, and reading a book like…this? Her eyes went back to the page, and she tilted her head, trying to make sense of what exactly the woman in the drawings was doing with her mouth. She'd heard of this particular act, when the other chorus girls whispered darkly in corridors about how far they were willing to 'go,' and had thought it revolting, then. And so it would have been, for her, with a man to whom she was not married.

But…she was married now…and it was the wife's duty to fulfil her husband's desires…and she had always been curious to a fault.

"Erik…did you…would you…I mean…"

He chanced a cautious glance at what she was looking at, and immediately poured himself more wine. She held her own glass out, not looking at him and blushing hotly. He refilled hers too, and she took a deep, sustaining swallow.

Erik took one too, and then grimaced and complained, "This is a dreadful way to treat a good wine."

"Then you should have brought out a second-rate one," she said hoarsely, coughing.

"Erik does not have second-rate wines, Christine."

She giggled unsteadily. That was such an Erik thing to say. Her head was fogged by the wine, and that made it easier to peer at the book again while he was watching her. She raised her eyes to his questioningly, and he made an attempt at an answer.

"Christine, Erik would never demand that you…He would never insist that you do anything which you do not want to. You have already given him far more than he deserves."

"Well, I – I don't know whether I'd want to," she said clumsily. Her mouth didn't seem to be working terribly well, which might make matters a bit difficult, should they actually try this. "We're…married, but…I've never – "

"Of course you haven't. I did not doubt you." He had been very careful, after that first hellish argument, not to appear to think she possessed more knowledge than she did.

"Have you?" The words slipped out before she could stop them, and she clapped a hand over her mouth. She heard him chuckle low in his throat, and the sound made her body feel very warm. She found she greatly disliked the idea of any other woman having performed such an act on him.

"Of course not. Your Erik was as virginal as you were, Christine, remember? Injurious to his pride though it is to admit it." Then his voice changed from amused, to cynical, as he added, "No woman would have allowed Erik's hideous mouth anywhere near her, either in that fashion or any other."

"Wait, this can be – for women too?" This section didn't show that. She turned a few pages, and sure enough, there was an illustration with the man and woman's positions reversed.

"Is that not what you were asking?" said Erik, sounding alarmed.

"No, I wasn't!" Her embarrassment had made her words more vehement than her feelings would have required. He tensed beside her, and drained his wine glass.

"Of course you were not," he said acidly. "As I said, Erik's mouth is far too repulsive for such an act."

His tone frightened her a little, and she gathered her wine-addled wits and said, "Erik, your mouth doesn't disgust me."

"I find that hard to believe."

"Don't be ridiculous," she said sharply, irritated. She was sick of this particular topic of conversation already, and they'd only been married for a few weeks. "Don't I like it when you kiss me, now?" Their eyes locked, and she wondered if he were thinking of the same thing she were; the deep drugging kisses they had exchanged when locked in that most intimate of embraces, of the adoring kisses he'd lavished on her breasts and her throat and her hands…and of the few, hasty kisses he'd pressed to that part of her body, before shying away and moving up over her to take her. She hadn't thought anything of it, at the time, but, perhaps…had he been afraid she would not like it if he tried anything further?

The part of her in question was beginning to take an interest in the discussion, and her nipples were prickling. The wine had made her mouth dry, and she licked her lips. When she saw the expression in Erik's eyes at that, she swallowed hard, and said hoarsely, "Kiss me."

There was a quick flash of even stronger passion in the yellow eyes, and then he leaned forward to her, and she clutched at his coat lapel with her free hand. She was significantly more aroused than she had been thus far, and all she could think about was the merging of their bodies, and the freedom she had now to enjoy it. Their teeth scraped together, his tongue was moving hesitantly against hers…and her fingers loosened and let the wine glass fall.

They jerked apart with a mutual exclamation as the red liquid spilled onto her skirt, and the glass hit the carpet and rolled away, fortunately not breaking. Christine held out her dress in dismay.

"This will probably not come out. It's a good thing it is just a house dress. Oh, and it's soaking into my petticoats and everything!"

"Then perhaps you had better…take them off," said Erik. There was a throbbing, sultry note in his voice that made her raise her head with a jerk and make eye contact with him. And then she could not look away.

"It's – " She faltered, and then tried again. "It's…gone through most of the layers. Should I…take everything off?" How was it possible that she was being so wanton? Neither of them was really concerned in the slightest about her dress.

"If you like." His tone was carefully nonchalant, but he could not control his eyes nearly so well, and Christine had no trouble discerning what he wanted. And seeing how much he desired her made her own desire grow. Body tingling pleasantly, she began to undo the buttons of her bodice.

Erik's eyes went wide with surprise, and she realised he hadn't expected her to begin disrobing right in front of him. Her hands grew clumsy with embarrassment. But…he'd stripped her clothes off her himself several times by now, and he'd certainly liked that. She supposed it was a bit…forward to be doing this in the parlour, but then it wasn't as if there were anyone else here, and he was her husband after all… Her head was spinning from all the wine, her body felt heated and achy, and she wanted her clothes off. Shy though she still was at this point, by now she also knew the pleasure that intimacy could bring, and her eyes fell on Erik's hands.

His hands were those of a magician. Thin, skeletal, and with those abnormally long fingers, they could perform the most amazing of tricks, build the greatest of inventions, draw music from instruments far beyond what any other musician could do. They had lacked but one skill, and now he had begun to learn it as well. He had managed, the fifth time they engaged in marital relations, three days after the violent episode in the parlour – oh, God, that was the last time they'd done it in here, wasn't it? Christine did not want to think about that right now – to bring her crisis about. She had not quite been expecting it, and the spasms of unforeseen pleasure that suddenly overwhelmed her had made her cry out in surprise and passion, clutching desperately at his arm. When she had finally been able to open her eyes, she had been amazed at how thrilled he was at his success – and he had insisted on practising again and again since then. He was an astoundingly swift learner, and his skill had grown in leaps and bounds. Thinking of this, she ran her gaze eagerly up and down his hands, the tendons standing out on the backs of them as he gripped handfuls of the upholstery, his gaze fastened hungrily on her. He had been sitting in the corner of the couch, and now he was pressed back against it as though he needed the support, staring silently at her as though his world had narrowed to her alone.

It was a heady thing, this power she had over him. Emboldened, she closed her eyes and found the courage to arch her back and let her head fall to the side as she took her bodice off, so that her breasts swelled up above her corset. Her chemise came up only an inch or so above its upper edge, and nearly the whole of her ample cleavage was thus exposed. Up until her marriage, her figure had been merely something to enjoy, in the way that it showed off a smart gown to best advantage; she had not grasped just how it would make her feel to know that a man, and a man whom she…desired…desired her as well.

She heard him inhale sharply, and opened her eyes. Yes, he desired her all right. That was plain to be seen, with her newly acquired knowledge of this business. She quailed a little, and looked away and down, unhooking her skirt and petticoat waistbands. She was not wearing a bustle, and it was easiest to simply shove the whole lot off all at once. Erik began to twist his handfuls of cushion back and forth, his fingers clenching and unclenching. Still he said nothing.

Christine wondered just how far she could push him, and raised her arms over her head to pull the pins out of her hair. It fell down her back all at once, a glorious thick mane of golden curls that she took great pride in. She shook it out, rolling her head from side to side with her mouth slightly open, and heard Erik mutter something hoarsely in some foreign language. He sounded as though he were thoroughly out of breath, which almost never happened.

She looked at him again, seeing the tension obvious in every line of his body, and finally went to him. As she bent over him, intending to kiss him, his control seemed to suddenly snap, and he seized her. He kissed her hard, his mouth fervent and demanding, and she fell halfway into his lap. She was in an awkward position, her legs bent uncomfortably, but he didn't seem to care as he reached for her breasts.

"Ohhhh," she groaned as she felt his cold hands on her, sliding inside her corset and gathering the soft flesh up in his fingers.

"Oh, Christine," he whispered back, and the passion in his timbre vanquished a good deal of what was left of her timidity. She reached out with her own hand, and hot flashes of desire went through her when she felt the evidence of what she had done to him. Now it was his turn to groan, as she undid his trouser buttons and slid her fingers inside, pushing the long tail of his shirt out of her way. He pressed his forehead hard against her shoulder, and she heard him grind his teeth as she squeezed experimentally, trying to remember the images in the book. Her other hand went to his throat, and began undoing his tie and collar.

It was not the first time she had touched him in such a fashion; in fact she had on several occasions before, fascinated by this most alien and changeable part of him, which had, by her own permission, pierced her to the core and stripped away her virginity, hurt her badly but then, incredibly, begun to bring her pleasure. The sheer contradiction of it was remarkable. She had never quite believed what she had heard of the vaunted joys of the marriage bed; but then, this was a thing which, it seemed, really had to be experienced to be believed. It had taken some time, but she understood now, and it seemed there were far more ways to bring one's partner pleasure than she'd thought. And if he could do so to her with his hands, so could she, to him.

Erik, however, had other ideas, and abruptly pulled her hand away. She made a disappointed sound, and he groaned, "If you do not stop while you are ahead, Christine, this will be over very quickly."

"Oh."

"Yes, 'oh,' " he answered, pulling at her corset laces, "Far too quickly for your pleasure, my love. Let me try to…" He undid the heavy metal clasps down the front of her corset; the middle one, the one which was always the most difficult, stuck, and he swore fiercely, loosened her laces a little more, and finally succeeded in getting it open. Her breasts bobbed free under her chemise. He hurled her corset violently away, moved her aside and stood up, and began taking off his own clothing, as fast as possible. She bit her lower lip anxiously. The situation had gotten rather out of hand…but Erik looked particularly single-minded, and she didn't want to question her husband.

It was evening now, and there was a fire snapping and crackling in the hearth. Christine went and turned the lights down, so it would be as dim in the underground house as it presumably was outside. Doing this in bright light seemed a bit…well, unromantic. She was also somewhat nervous at the wanton idea of being in the parlour to do it, and dimmer light was less intimidating.

He pulled her hard against his bare chest, and kissed her till she was dizzy, and her chemise and drawers were gone before she knew what was happening. His skin warmed against hers; his arms were tight and possessive around her. She felt out of breath, as events rushed ahead. Erik kneeled before her and took off her slippers, and then drew her down beside him. As they lay down on the hearth rug, he ran his hands up and down her stocking-clad calves, and then removed the stockings, the last things that were keeping him from her skin. He caressed her reverently, murmuring words of love and desire, and as the bliss of his touch and the beauty of his voice took hold of her, she stopped quivering with embarrassment, and began to shudder with desire instead. Silken, beguiling, his smooth timbre made every inch of her body tingle, and her fears seem very far away.

"Christine, Christine, my beautiful Christine…I love you…" Without warning his hand slid between her legs and stroked her in just the right way. He was kissing her breasts, and his divine voice was still winding about her captivatingly. He could do both at the same time, because he was the greatest ventriloquist in the world, and, misshapen or not, his mouth was magical…his mouth…

"Oh…" A moan escaped her own lips as she recalled the last section of the book they had been looking at. A strong surge of desire swept over her, washing away her few remaining inhibitions. Head spinning with wine and enchantment, body burning with need, she put her hands on his shoulders and shoved.

"Christine…is that what you want?" His voice sounded overjoyed and overwhelmed all at once.

"I said I don't find your mouth disgusting," she mumbled, with a vague muddled thought that this request from her might heal his self-loathing. "In fact…when we read your book…" He made an astonished, exultant sound in his throat, and pressed kisses all over her thighs, worshipful and frantic and oh, so thrilling. She let them fall open.

A mutual madness seized them both then, and made the awkwardness of that first time bearable. Neither had any experience whatever with this particular act. Erik had gained the knowledge by now of what pleased Christine when he touched her with his hands, and initially he tried to perform similar movements. But this was not really the same, and he made many wrong moves. Small fragments of unease floated through Christine's mind intermittently and made her ardour momentarily cool. There were several stops and starts, apologies and reassurances, but finally he discovered a method and a rhythm that made her gasp with delight, her legs trembling and her hands clutching at the Oriental rug underneath them, as the heated tension spiralled inward.

Christine was overcome with a gathering voluptuousness, her muscles tightening further and further, till she cried out as a swell of pure physical joy burst over her, spreading out in a wave from her core and through her whole body, so that even her fingers and toes tingled deliciously as it gradually, pleasurably receded and left her sprawled on the floor, unable to move in the slightest.

O-O-O O-O-O