The Other Side Of The Looking Glass Ch 03

Part Three:

Christine's interpretation

It had been nigh on an hour since my Maestro had left me upon the stage, waiting for my curtain to rise, and still, his instructions bewildered me.

"When the curtain rises, you will take your bows and the performance will begin."

I had attempted to question him, saying that such was not the way Foust opened, but he would have none of it. After all, when had I become so foolish as to question the Phantom? I should have known better.

"Five minutes until curtain Mademoiselle," I heard one of the stage hands call, and I nodded my thanks. Whatever it was that Erik was planning, I had very little time to think it over now.

The curtain rose then, and I bowed just as he told me. I noticed quickly the lack of set and grew even more confused.

The music, sweet, dark, filled with an emotion I did not know. Was this the way he felt the release I needed so terribly? For it could have been none but his hands who wrote it.

The trance fell over me quickly, so quickly that I could not even feel the ropes beginning to bind themselves around me, seemingly from nowhere. I wanted to cry out, to plead with him to stop, but if I did, I risked not only exposing him, but he would never keep me if I could not finish it to completion.

Hearing the screams of the audience set me even more at edge, because I knew him. I knew that he would never allow them to leave. As discreetly as I could manage, I scanned the rafters, and not finding him, I settled back to accept whatever was to be my fate.

The ropes were not entirely displeasing, I decided. Perhaps they could even be enjoyed. Slowly, ever so slowly I began to relax into them, a low moan escaping my lips unbidden.

Cold, something cold and metal was the next sensation I became aware of. A blade, the gold ornate one he favored by its feel, and the pressure was a bit more than I was expecting. I cried out, but, there was nowhere to which I could escape, and strangely enough, I had no wish to do so.

The audience's distress became even more so; as they tried to leave, tried to brake through the house doors in whatever way they could. I watched transfixed by the fact that he had held them all captive and only for me, for my pleasure.

This spurred a new string of thoughts and desires within me, and I must confess they frightened me a bit. If they were here only for me, could I not make them squirm, make them gasp and moan, and better yet, could I not take my pleasure from their reactions? Truly, had this been his intention the entire time?

I returned from my musings just in time to feel the delicate silk of my gown slowly being cut from my skin. Again, there was the desire to growl at him for destroying such a beautiful thing, but when warm lips replaced the cold fabric, I no longer complained.

I remembered this sensation from earlier in the night, one of the ones that had driven me to madness. Feather light kisses covering each inch of skin he pain stakingly exposed, careful never to mark me even slightly.

Raoul could never kiss me like this, I thought, and my mind once again returned to my choice. Oh God, Raoul, was he in the theater? Would Erik make me an object of his revenge? Never, I soothed myself Erik would never hurt me.

As though my Ange sensed my distraction, the kisses intensified forcing me to focus only on his ministrations. I moaned low forgetting the existence of the audience for the briefest of moments, and suddenly, I heard answering moans, clearly not his floating up to me from the house.

Did they want this? Did they enjoy it? Could people really be so crude, but truly, was it crude?

Their moans and wants were driving me to madness, I wanted to touch myself, to bring my pleasure in the ways that he had taught me, but as I tried to move and writhe, only the taught and unforgiving ropes greeted me. Again, that ever fateful reminder, I had no control of the evening's performance.

A sudden shock of cool air brushed over my nipples, hardening them immediately, and as I looked down to discover its source, I realized he'd exposed them to the audience. My moans and theirs seemed to swell together in chorus as lips, tongue, and teeth teased the delicate buds to painful hardness. I hurt, I ached, and this was going to stop.

Suddenly, I was primal, growling, writhing, and I wanted him. I heard their moans grow three fold, but I didn't care. All I saw and needed was my Maestro.

The blade moved with a practiced earnestness now, and my gown was gone, hanging as a limp rag against my bound ankles. An interesting sensation, I thought, the cool silk on my feet and ankles as he worked.

Gasps filled the theater as the audience saw me fully, and again they tried to leave. There was pounding on both sides of the house doors, but it seemed that he would only make it the dark and driving beat to his music.

His tongue fell to my secret places, stroking and teasing as his teeth nipped my nub. My growls filled the house now, and the audience too could not stop their need.

I felt the cackle, felt his pleasure long before I heard it, but what I did not expect were the words that followed.

"Release for me!" He cried fiercely, and the sound of that command may very well have filled the house for the rest of eternity.

My body obeyed before I knew what was happening, and with a sound that seemed to my ears like the keen of some strange and exotic creature, I fell weak with my release, and the curtain dropped.

When the curtain rose again, the ropes still held me, but their grip seemed to have loosened ever so slightly, and the remains of my gown had long since disappeared.

A piece of silk ran gently over my skin, and I sighed with the gentle pleasure it gave me. It reminded me of so many things, the sheets of my bed down below, the inner layers of Erik's cloak, and even so many of my own favored gowns, but even with all it's nostalgia, it somehow managed to still arouse me. He added a piece of fur then, and I arched happily into the duel sensations.

Purring, was I truly purring? What sort of spell had he put me under? I remembered though, even as a child having a tendency toward the feline which was all too evident when father combed out my golden tresses with his fingers.

Erik was amused. I could feel the smile in his work as he dangled a piece of one of his ropes over my skin, inviting me to play with it.

'I am not your spoiled Siamese, Maestro, and I will not play with string like some simple house cat,' I growled mentally, 'besides, the ropes are still holding me.'

As though in answer, my wrists were released, and I could no longer stop myself from batting at the rope. I mewed and laughed happily as I did, suddenly released from whatever pressures the world had given me. My only requirement at this moment in time was to be this simple feline, to mew, to play, to obey, and I loved nothing more.

He released my ankles then as well, and collared me with a kitten's collar bearing a small silver bell. I was free, and I could play as I would. I continued with the rope for some time, the concept of time being completely foreign to me in that world of simplicity, until I spotted a most substantial ball of red yarn rolling directly toward me. The rope was no longer important.

I pounced, attempting to catch and conquer it, but it appeared to have very different ideas. Every time I would get near enough, the angle changed by the slightest degree keeping me from ever catching the foul thing.

I hissed and growled. I wanted it terribly; it was mine. When I was near to the point of defeat, beginning to curl up and mew in frustration, it came to me nearly unraveled, and I began to play.

I needed in to it and deciding this wasn't enough, I pounced, pinning and batting at it with a renewed vigor. My mews echoing through the house, I wondered how the audience might react to this drastic change, decided I simply had no care, and moved on.

Quite contented with my task of showing this ball of yarn that it was no longer capable of defeating me, I yowled and hissed with displeasure as it slowly began to become my cage. The netlike structure held me suspended in the air, and I continued to yowl now furious that he had disrupted my bliss.

Soon enough though, the silk moved over me again, and I was docile, contented in my simple acceptance of whatever he wished to do to me. Ah, that the world could have remained as simple as those brief few moments I was feline.

Settled though I was, I was acutely aware when my skin became his organ, and the strings of my net became the strings of his harp. I could live this way forever, just laying, giving myself to be composed upon and played at his whims.

The ice was unexpected when it came, but immediately I loved it. It reminded me of him, cold, distant, unyielding, but capable of bringing a great and unexpected pleasure when it was surrendered to, and surrender I did.

Blissful was I, so blissful that I hardly noticed when the ice turned to drops of hot wax, and I suddenly became his willing canvas.

How badly I wanted to touch him as he worked, to stroke that beautiful face and tell him how much bliss I felt as my body became only what he wished it to be, but I still feared his exposure. Thus, there I lay, sighing and moaning in my contented bliss as the master's hands molded both the wax and myself. Soon, he finished, and the curtain dropped for the second time.

As soon as it was down, he was at my side, and I smiled up at him, tears of bliss shining it my eyes.

"I trust you are enjoying yourself la Daae," he purred, and his voice clearly said that he already knew the answer.

"Oui Maestro," I mewed, nuzzling his hands as he caressed me.

"Bon, trés bon."

He took a sharper blade from beneath his cloak, carefully pealing the wax away. When he finished, he passed his work to me, and I looked down upon a perfect likeness of the crest I knew so well.

"Maestro, will you destroy it now?" I asked, inwardly hoping that he would choose to allow me to keep it as a reminder instead.

"Non, it is yours, to forever remind you of this night."

I kissed him softly, the gratitude written all over my face.

"Come now ma voix," he coaxed, "The performance is not yet over, and the last act, it is by far the best."

"Oui Maestro," I answered quietly, prepared for whatever he wished to give me, and before I could finish my answer, he was gone once again.

The curtain rose for the final time, and unbound, unblemished, I waited though I knew not for what. Set pieces had been added, I noticed. A platform now stood in the center of the stage with a staircase on either side, and in the center of this a bed lavishly upholstered in silks, furs, and velvets.

The audience gasped suddenly, and I turned to see what it was that had caught their attention. When I saw him walk out through the flames, it was all I could do not to cry out his name or to faint for that matter. He was stunning, clothed fully in leather save for his velvet cloak, and I knew then just what act three of his opera would be.

'Don Juan Triumphant indeed.' I laughed inwardly.

We each moved gracefully up our staircase, he stalking me like his prey, and I fully prepared to be hunted and captured. I fell to my knees at the top of mine, waiting for him to approach me.

He approached slowly, circling and purring with approval, and I blushed at the intensity of his gaze.

"Brava, ma voix, Brava," he purred as he petted me with a level of possessiveness I had never felt from him previously.

"Merci Maestro," I answered demurely.

"Come now ma voix, if you will unclothe me leaving only my mask and cloak."

I stood removing his cloak only long enough to remove the rest of his clothing. My hands roved over his body and with every stroke I attempted to show him just how much I wanted him.

Transfixed, the audience watched, they wanted so badly to know what it was they were seeing and if this creature before them was the "Phantom" they had all been taught to fear, but not a soul in the house dared move. Even if they had wished to, I truly doubted they could have done so.

Having finished undressing him and replacing his cloak, I kissed him hard begging him to do what he would with me with my eyes.

"Show me your pleasure," he commanded softly as he let two of his fingers slip into my mouth.

I moaned low, knowing exactly what was expected of me and began to suck his fingers in earnest. As he moaned, feeling them as he seemed to feel his very member. My tongue found its way to the tips of each finger, teasing them as I would his shaft.

"Divan," he commanded in that same sort of soft tone as he removed his fingers from my mouth.

I lay gracefully down upon the bed, my legs crossed at the ankles awaiting his instructions. When he handed me the rod of glass he'd made for me, I let a slight cackle of my own brake from my lips. If that was the way it was to be, I would be sure he could not resist me for long.

I took the rod from his hands with one of my own, teasing my nub with one finger as I did so. Slowly inserting it into my entrance, I cried out at the contact.

"Slowly now," he commanded, and I obeyed without question, pulling the rod nearly out of me, and then thrusting it back in.

The truth was, I hated this, and I'd not yet found anything that made me quite so miserable. It was the way he preferred his music however, slow and pain steaking until he decided it would reach it's peak.

He was growling low in his throat, touching himself and giving his own pleasures as he watched me. He loved to watch and this prompted me to give him the best performance I could give.

"Faster now," he urged as his pleasure began to peak, and faster I moved.

I could tell my pleasure would not be in my own hands for much longer. My moans and growls accented by those of the audience were driving him to true ecstasy.

He took my wrist firmly in one hand, clearly telling me that he had no further use for the rod and thrust his erect and swollen member into me. The audience screamed as did I, having no better way to express my pleasure, and the symphony of passions began.

There was nothing slow, nothing gentle about this symphony. The storm raged within us both as hips ground together and the moans and growls of two blended into those of one. One, yes, the very thing we were becoming. The flames from which he had appeared still burned upon the stage, but I did not see them, all I saw were the flames we had created within us.

I felt the stirring within my center just as I heard the growls that showed me his nearness to the edge. Nipping his neck lightly, I encouraged him to allow me atop him, and he obliged.

Positioning myself over him at a perfect angle for his watching, I moved on his shaft with all the strength and speed I possessed. The release came over us both hard then, nector mingling with seed and growl with scream of pleasure. Such music as the world had never known and will never be known again.

The curtain fell, the house went black, and the audience was mysteriously now able to exit the theater. I did not know if they would remember the beauty and fear of that night, but if I truly knew my Erik, that performance would forever remain our secret memory.

End of part three