Unmasqued

He could do nothing but breathe and tremble as Christine pulled away the edges of his shirt, scratched her nails gently down along his chest and down to the sagging waist of his trousers.. She kissed him on one tiny, hard nipple, bit at the edge of his pectoral, and then sank to her knees on the floor in front of him.

"Christine," he said in a tortured breath when she pulled at the fastenings of his trousers. "Nnn…"

She felt his powerful thighs trembling next to her, warm and solid against her arms as she pulled apart the sagging breeches to free his erection. Taking him in both hands, she kissed the soft head, licked around it, and slid him deeply into her mouth, once, twice, then back away to love the tip again.

Erik was breathing as though he'd run for miles, his muscles tense and shaking from effort, from being slung up by them for hours. Christine stroked her hands along his massive legs, around to the back, and up to his buttocks, fitting her fingers between muscle and rough, damp wall. She couldn't get enough of touching him, of the solidness of him, of the smell and the taste.

Despite the always-present danger, she took her time; she feasted, licked, stroked, scratched, sucked, beneath torn shirt, ragged trousers, around manacled legs and wrists. Her breathing matched his; they both sounded, there in the cavernous stone room, as though every last bit of air was being taken from them.

"Christine, please," Erik murmured in the voice of a man dying and out of time.

She slid up his body, pressing flush against him, still completely clothed. She smiled, kissed his neck, sucked for a moment as she flipped up her skirts, and, opening her legs, straddled one of his thighs. The pressure of his leg eased the throbbing of her pip for a moment; she was dripping and she eased her way up and then down, holding on to his wide, square shoulders for support and leverage as her pleasure built.

Then the roar in her ears, the heat between her legs, became too much. "Erik… help me," she said, her own voice thin and needy. "I want you inside me."

"Hold on to me," he managed. His eyes were dark, black; his face was twisted on both sides-one by nature, one with desire. "Hold… on."

Christine used his shoulders to lift herself so she could straddle his waist. "My love," she gasped as his dripping cock brushed wetly against the inside of her thigh, beneath the mass of skirts and crinolines. He could do nothing to hold her, nothing to help as she looped an arm around his neck, levered her feet against the wall behind his hips, and scooped her skirts away.

The desperate grunts and sighs, the moisture of slick skin, the driving need, kept her frantically moving and shifting until at last… they found the place and she slid forward, filled.

A sigh that was half-sob, half-moan came from the back of her throat. Tears stung her eyes. Erik's deep, rasping breaths huffed against her neck.

Carefully, she positioned her feet flat against the wall, fingers clamped on his shoulders, and she moved, flexing her knees, feeling the long slide in and out, up and down… as the beauty built, there in that dark, angry dungeon. Her pip swelled, her stark, hard nipples jounced gently against her chemise, while the telltale tingle in her belly built, ready to shoot through her body.

She worked, her muscles trembling; he moved as much as he could to meet her, the slick suck of moisture between them the only sound beyond their channeled breathing. Faster she moved; more urgently he tilted back and forth, back and forth. Her fingers slipped and she almost lost her grip, but she held on as the desperate rhythm built unbearably, then, finally, blossomed into uncontrollable shudders throughout her limbs.

He surged against her then too… metal clanking, shoulders bulging with effort, and a long, husky breath ending in a moan.

"Dieu, Dieu" she breathed after a moment of stillness, of satiation. She slipped away, allowing her legs to fall, her fingers still gripping his sweaty shoulders.

"Christine…" he whispered, trembling against her, trying again to bury his face against her. "Ah, Christine."

She kissed him again, a slumberous moment of lips and tongue, heat and tenderness. "I must go," she said, smoothing her hands over his chest again. She would never tire of feeling that sleek plane, the power and heat of it. She kissed him beneath the hollow of his throat, bumping her nose into its little curve.

"I love you Christine," he said, the glazed look of lust, the dullness of pain, gone from his eyes, replaced by clarity. "Do not endanger yourself to save me. Promise me. Allow me at least that comfort."

She looked at him, purposely chose to stroke the gnarled side of his face. "I promise to take care. I love you."

And she slipped away before love won out and drew her back to his side.

Still breathing heavily, still tingling, Christine came around the corner where she'd left Madame.