Free Unmasqued: An Erotic Novel of The Phantom of The Opera by Colette Gale

slipped him inside her like a pickpocket’s hand into a purse. It felt as though she could not open her legs wide enough. The sweet, familiar feeling of a hard cock, moving inside, slipping and sliding against her, sent another shudder through her, and Maude snatched in her breath in surprise. How lovely that it had happened again so quickly!
    She would have to keep her little teddy bear.
    His little moist mouth was a round O and she leaned forward to kiss it in thanks as much as for him. Maude thrust her tongue into his mouth just as she had thrust him inside of her, and she rocked on his hips, felt his hands come up and grab at her ass, and felt the constant pleasure of her raw nipples scraping against his coat. A silver button was in the perfect position to snag it with every rhythm, and she leaned closer, wanting more of the pleasure-pain there.
    She throbbed and slipped and slid, and he rocked frantically beneath her, his eyes as circular and wide as his mouth. It built and built, and she felt his erection change, shift under her, knew he was close, and just as he burst inside her, someone screamed.
    It came from the stage.

F OUR
    J oseph Buquet’s body had been found, tangled and gently swaying, in the stage lines that he had manipulated for nearly twenty years.
    If anyone noticed that Monsieur Moncharmin’s trousers were buttoned up improperly, it was not deemed important enough to mention. There was too much commotion and apprehension permeating the Opera House for anyone to worry about anything but the Opera Ghost.
    For, as Erik and Maude had expected, the blame was immediately attached to him.
    “But look at how the cords are wrapped around his neck,” protested Madame Giry. “What an imprecise way it would have been to try to strangle someone. Surely it was an accident.”
    “The ghost frightened him and made him fall to his death,”shrieked one of the girls. Madame whirled upon her with frightfully sharp black eyes.
    No one, not even Monsieur Moncharmin, would have recognized her as the wanton with the spilling breasts and groaning, openmouthed exertions from only moments before.
    “You do not know of what you speak,” Madame told the girl sternly. “You had best learn to hold your tongue; else you might find
yourself
a victim of the Opera Ghost.”
    After the police had been called and the stage was cleared, the managers stood off to the side. Monsieur Firmin Richard turned to Monsieur Moncharmin and showed him a thick parchment note with his name written on it. “I have received this letter,” he told him.
    “And I have received one too! This Opera Ghost requires that we pay him twenty-four thousand francs per month or he will not allow us a peaceful existence.”
    “And my letter states that we must allow Christine Daaé to perform Marguerite in
Faust
tonight.”
    “But that is Carlotta’s role! She did not sing last night, because she was angry about the backdrop falling…but certainly she has heard of Miss Daaé’s success and will return tonight to retake the stage.” Armand sounded ill. “What shall we tell her?”
    “Of course Carlotta will sing tonight,” Firmin replied, tearing the parchment into two long strips. “Madame Giry is right; Buquet likely had too much to drink and fell off the catwalk. Do you not remember Poligny warning us about him? The Opera Ghost is nothing but a foolish person trying to scare us into paying him blackmail. Well, it will not work in my Opera House!” He dropped the parchment and watched it flutter to the floor.
    “And what of Box Five? The Phantom has insisted we leave it empty for his use. Madame Giry has explained it all to me.”
    “The ghost, specter that he is, does not
need
a box to sit in,”Firmin replied with disdain. “He is a phantom, and he can fly about the stage if he wishes to watch the performance. We shall let the box for this evening’s performance.”
    Late in the morning after her grand performance, Christine was in her