The Other Side of the Looing Glass

Disclaimer:

Phantom characters are not mine.

Part two:

Erik's Opera

I watched from the rafters as the curtain rose and you took your bow, pleased with the poise that you presented to your audience, neither knowing that the repertoire outlined in the program was about to be changed for this evening's performance. There would be no other actors, save you and myself, though I would not be seen until the third act of your gala...of a very different sort than that which was taught à la Conservatoire.

You stood there, waiting patiently for your cue to begin from the Maestro when the music began...a score not previously ever heard. I watched, as you subtly scanned the rafters for me—you knew I would be the only person who could possibly change the performance so suddenly—yet I was not to be seen. Instead, rope descended from the heights and, as though I were directly behind you—perhaps I was, perhaps it was by some unknown skill—and wrapped around your wrists and ankles, and stretched so that your wrists were held above your head and your legs spread.

I let you hang there, almost suspended from the rafters, moaning softly from the feel of the ropes. I watched, with the same intensity to memorize the picture as I remembered how I led you to this point: slowly bathing you with the sensual eroticism to bring you into the space for a performance, then denying you while I dressed you in the gown that I carefully picked out for you with the matching jewels and combed out your golden hair. I settled you on the stage to await your curtain before vanishing in the rafters.

I watched and listened, pleased, as you remained poised and elegant despite the whispers of the full house. I even laughed slightly as some began to leave, to question the program as they found they could not; none would leave, before my opera was completed. You moaned again, slightly louder and I turned my attentions back to you.

You gave a soft cry as one of my blades lightly pressed into your back and I ever so slowly began to release you from the gown you had only worn for scarcely an hour. With each inch of skin revealed, a gentle kiss was pressed to your soft, warm skin. The audience shifted uncomfortably and the whispers became louder as slowly, your bare flesh became exposed to them. A cackle broke from between my lips—echoing through the house and you moaned, hearing the amplified audience's reactions—as you tried to touch yourself, to soothe the growing need, but found only the unforgiving tautness of the ropes.

Eventually, the gown was removed enough to expose your breasts. I heard your moans and gasps as my lips, teeth, and tongue descended upon them, nipples erect from the sudden exposure to the cool theatre air. A few moans from amongst the audience were amplified to be heard by all, especially you, suspended on stage; your moans turning to growls of need. I lightly played against your breasts with one hand while the other slowly lowered your gown to settle around your hips, lips greeting each inch of skin with a gentle kiss.

In time, the gown was removed suddenly to your bound ankles and several members of the audience screamed in surprise and shock. There was pounding on both sides of the house doors, yet no entrance was gained. The pounding only served to act as a percussive accompaniment to my music as my lips and teeth and tongue fell upon your most secret lips. Your eyes begged to me as you keened. "Release for me!" I suddenly cried, my voice echoed through the house and you released your sweet nectar in a scream. The curtain dropped.

When the curtain rose next, you were still bound, though your gown completely removed and off the stage. A piece of silk lightly floated over your skin. I watched as you arched into the touch of the silk, lightly rubbing against it; more so when a piece of fur joined the silk. I chuckled to myself as you arched and purred like a cat and dangled a lock of unraveled rope over your skin. When you hissed in frustration of not being able to play with it, I released your arms. The audience was confused. It amused me. I then attached a small kitten's collar with a silver bell around your neck as I let your ankles be released also and watched you play with the rope.

From one of the wings of the stage rolled a large ball of red yarn. I watched you chase after it, back and forth across the stage as the audience watched, confused. Ever so slightly, I adjusted the angle of the ball's movement, never quite letting you catch it until it was mostly unraveled. When I did let you catch it, I used the distraction of your playing to raise the suspension I created out of the unraveling yarn. At first, you protested my trickery with yowls of displeasure, until I resumed my caresses against your skin with silk and fur. When I had you slightly more relaxed, I began to play on your skin, my fingers dancing across your flesh like the keys of an organ, but also the strings of the suspension like the strings of a harp.

Slowly, I intensified the playing of my instruments before suddenly stopping, running ice across the now warm flesh. Just when the ice became too much, drops of wax splashed upon your delicate skin as you cried out from the new sensations. With the same care as any artist would a magnificent painting, I layered the wax, creating a painting of my own with your torso as my willing canvas. When I was finished, I stepped back to admire my work. The curtain dropped.

The curtain rose for the last time. You were unbound and free of the wax. While the curtain was down, I slowly took a heated blade and peeled the wax from your skin, keeping it intact—a memory and a symbol of my crest to give to you. I stepped out from flames that formed off to the side, in black leather and velvet. The surprised reactions of the audience amused me—one would think they had never seen anyone walk through fire before; then again...they probably had not.

As soon as you saw the mere hint of my entrance, you ran to me. I ran my fingers through your hair as I praised you—allowing the audience to hear—for your performance and told you that you would be rewarded. A bed had been placed in the middle of the stage. I picked you up and carried you to it, gently sitting you on the end of the bed. I asked you to remove my clothing, leaving all but the cloak that I wore. I knew it would be something to heighten your pleasure, but also to soothe you.

When you finished, I commanded you to lie back, allowing me to inspect and appreciate your beauty with my hands, as well as my eyes. The wax had softened your delicate skin even more than it already was. At my command to show me your pleasure, you complied by teasing me on my hand. Licking, sucking, and caressing my hand...it was enough to nearly madden me.

I needed a small respite, though the next command would drive us both to madness...to pleasure yourself while I watched. I granted you permission to use your glass rod. Seeing you...taking yourself...writhing against the bed-sheets...hearing the reactions of the audience...watching your very body beg and plead for more, for release...

I could no longer restrain myself and you had earned the reward in its fullest. In one smooth motion, I replaced the rod with my own swollen member, watching your pleasure increase as you realized the change, seeing your need grow as you took yourself on me. Then suddenly, I seized the appearance of control from you and began taking you—deep, intense, almost as in a claiming. Simultaneously, we peaked the climax of pleasure and released; as your sweet nectar spilled over me, I filled your gentle flower with my seed.

I vanished us away to our space, tucking you into the safety under my cloak and your covers. The curtain dropped for the final time and I released the audience. They would never know the full truth of that performance.