While I certainly intersperse sensuality and the like into my writing, I've never really taken it so far as this. This is probably a one-shot, unless you insist on another installment. Let me know what you think.

-M

The air was chilled, biting. It caused her to shiver, and gooseflesh to raise upon her skin. Undeterred, however, Christine continued focusing intently upon the book that now lay open in her lap. She squinted, as though the gesture would simplify the complicated words before her.

"Christine," came the voice. Her heart fluttered and her breath lodged in her throat. The familiar thrill, the familiar fear.

Little chin lifted, sweet lips part to issue a reply.

"Christine," the voice demanded again, immediately quieting her voice. "You're not focusing," it chided. The source of the voice was not yet visible, and yet she quaked.

"I.." she began, the lyrical voice that he could command to perfection faltering.

He tsked, and suddenly manifest himself across from her. He reclined gracefully upon the chaise, a bemused expression within his gaze. A single hand lifted, and the enthralled girl opposite him could not help but stare at the gesture. So much power within those hands. The power to give, and to take away. The power of pain and pleasure. The hands of a genius.

He motioned toward the book.

"You do not seem interested in your lessons.." he observed, the comment laced with mockery.

His charge did not miss the tone, the warning. The silent command in his voice. Her eyes widened a bit, in alarm. A smirk lilted upon his lips, smugness captured in a single expression.

She closed the book. No interest at all drove her to focus upon the tome of scientific knowledge. She only read it for his pleasure. Christine shifted to sit up straighter, her gaze imploring as it steadied upon his face. So hidden, so difficult to read.

Little fingers tugged at the sleeve of her dressing gown. It was insufficient against the cold permeating his home. She longed to rush to her room and don as many layers as her frame would permit, but she did not. It pleased him to see her in this.

"Of course, Erik.." she replied, a reverent tone in her voice. A jumble of nerves, she intended to explain her lack of focus.

Those amber orbs that frightened and delighted her were alive tonight, sparkling with his amusement and anticipation. He stared openly at her, his gaze caressing the curve of her cheek, the bow of her lips, and lower still. He watched the rise and fall of her breasts, and the way she shifted – slender thighs rubbing together in her nervousness. Without another word he stood, and walked away.

Christine was left to stare after him. His cloak billowed about his legs, the heels of his shoes resounding upon the stone beneath. He hesitated near the mantle, dropped the cloak from his shoulders, and continued onwards. He disappeared from her gaze, and was gone less than a moment before she came alive once more. The spell broken, the blissful reverie ended. She must act.

Christine arranged the books carefully upon a side table, slipped her tiny feet into her slippers and stood. Her entire body trembled as she followed after him, approaching his door. She could hear him moving about within, and could feel his silent beckon. Little fingers lifted to caress the wood of his door.

"Erik?" She queried, a sensuous tremble.

"Yes," he replied, the meaning within his words two-fold. Her worst fears and secret delights were confirmed with his acceptance of her presence. A deep, shuddering breath gave her courage, and she stepped within. He was busily tugging at his cravat, and then his waistcoat. Shedding the layers that separated them.

Christine nudged her feet out of the recently donned slippers, plush carpet squishing between her toes as she walked deeper into this dungeon. This endless night, with no escape.

Once hers had been a world of light, of promise. She had found love, and been loved. Raoul, her precious. She had given her life for him, a simple kiss sealing her fate. Now darkness permeated every moment, the hidden threat of his displeasure creating in every moment a tension that threatened to break her.

It had been many, many months since her dreams were shattered. Perhaps it had been years. Christine could not tell, nor could she remember the exact moment when she had completely surrendered to his whim. None of this was of consequence, however. Right now she was treading across the opulent carpet, and falling to her knees at his feet.

The days had not been spent in vain, and Christine had been trained quite well. She could sense his every desire, anticipate his whim, and understand his hidden commands with as little as a glance.

Slender fingers curled about his calves. Thin, sinewy, but strong. If he found pleasure at her touch, he did not indicate it. He simply lifted his foot, allowing her to remove his shoes – one, and then the other.

Dread and revolt curled within her stomach, her grasp trembling as a plan of escape attempted to formulate within her mind. Not his realm, of course. After half a dozen attempts at that, and the punishment that inevitably followed, she had long since given up. Instead she tried to think of a way to divert his attentions, to..

His long fingers lowered, tangling within her unruly curls. A simple gesture of possessiveness.

Immediately the revolt within her mind halted. The raging within her spirit was subdued. In it's place was a familiar warmth. A heat that started low in her stomach and radiated outwards. It cased a flush to creep up along her breasts, kiss her cheeks, and left her breathless.

The beast towering over her finally glanced down, even as she arched up on her knees to tug at the waist of his pants. This afforded him more access, and his fingers drifted lower. They stroked the slender length of her neck, and brushed the fabric of her gown aside as they drifted the length of her shoulder.

Her eyes fluttered, and then closed. Her breathing quickened and the fearful tremble that had made her movements fumbling and clumsy only moments before dissipated. It had taken months before a simple touch was enough to induce such a state within her, but it had been well worth the effort.

"Good girl," he murmured, little more than a whisper. A smile tugged at her lips, eyes still closed.

Within moments she had effectively and obediently disrobed him. Her lips were at his thighs, the inside of his knees, the curve of his pelvis. He permitted it for several moments, and then lowered himself to the carpeting with her. His lips sought hers. Ravaging, raping, painful. He took what he desired, leaving her lips swollen – bleeding.

Christine only moaned, whimpered. Gasped. Gripped tightly at his shoulders, nails biting into the already scarred flesh. The onslaught continued, as it always did until he consumed her. His teeth tore at the flesh of her throat, alternating between gentle nips and harsh suckles. Her flesh purpled beneath his affections.

Erik leaned away, tipping her chin upward that the light from the fire may illuminate her features. She was breathing heavily, trembling. Those deep brown eyes were closed to him.

"Look at me," he commanded, his voice husky with desire. The girl obeyed him.

"Such a wanton little thing, aren't you..." he muttered as his thumb traced the length of her bottom lip. She should have been embarrassed. Humiliated by the fickleness of her disposition, by the ease with which he could ignite her. Instead she only lowered her gaze, pink tongue darting out to tease at his thumb.

"Christine," he growled, pulling his thumb away.

"W-what.." she panted, thoughts fuzzy.

Erik simply chuckled, a dark sound that caused his pet to shiver. He continued his exploration of her body, fingers stroking the moist length of her inner-thighs while his lips traced the length of her clavicle. He nuzzled the valley between her breasts, and captured a dusty nipple within his mouth. His girl cried out, fingers curling desperately within his hairpiece. In way of warning, he bit at the bud between his teeth and she gasped. Those sweet little hands instantly diverted, clutching at his shoulders again.

She was his to possess, to taste, to own. He relished each sigh, each moan, every little whimper of pleasure he wrenched from her exquisite body. He tasted of her, touching her, pinching and tugging. He played her body like a fine instrument, and she writhed beneath him.

His lips sought her core, tongue taunting and tasting her salty nectar. Christine cried out, pleading with him. Begging for release, for his favor. Only when her voice was hoarse with her cries, and she nearly wept, did he plunge his length deep within her. Again and again she was impaled, his forceful claiming causing her to cry out in pain and pleasure. The exquisite havoc he wreaked upon her body seemed never-ending, a tight coil that wound itself within her.

Difficult to breathe, nearly impossible to speak, she tried to beg of him.

"Please...please..."

"What?" He all but barked, his voice harsh with the brusque of his own pleasures. His hair had fallen into his face, the mask was slightly askance. His fingers gripped roughly at her hips, bruising the supple flesh.

"I need... "

"Tell me," he demanded.

"Release, please... Erik.. oh, Erik!"

"Who do you belong to?" He demanded, intentionally slowing his hips as they rocked against her.

The beautiful features upon her face contorted, the cumulation of pleasure within her reach yet denied.

"Oh, Erik.." she moaned nearly incoherently.

"Say it!" he demanded, bringing his hand against her thigh in a stinging blow. A hiss was released between her teeth.

"You, Erik. I belong to you. I am yours. Yours! Yours!"

Erik grunted in reply, and began again with his furious pace.

"Oh, oh, oh..." his sweet little Christine whimpered beneath him, delirious in her pleasure. He could feel her release approaching.

"You belong to me," he hissed into her ear.

"I belong to you," she replied naturally, this lover's dance rehearsed. Trained.

Climax finally released Christine, and she arched against him, slender legs wrapped tightly about his waist. Her head tossed back, and she gasped as the waves of pleasure washed over her.

The sweet milking of her muscles brought Erik to his end as well, and he exploded within her, bathing her womb in his hot seed.

For several moments they lay in that very position, panting, clinging.

Finally he rolled away from her to lay on his back as well. In an hour the haze would be gone. His sensual little kitten would revert to the shy, reserved, and trembling waif that haunted his home each day. For now though, he lifted his arm and she curled into him without hesitation. Her flesh was bruised, blood trickled in places, and she could still scarcely breathe. For all of that, though, she all but purred as she nuzzled against his throat and peppered him with little kisses.

Perhaps it would take more time, but eventually Erik would possess this affections all of the time.