Sacrificial Angel

She was alone in the chapel when he found her. Her long curls shone in the flickering glow as she lit a candle for her late father and her gauzy white skirt swirled out around her kneeling figure like the petals of an innocent flower.

She seemed startled by his sudden appearance beside her. Startled, but not afraid.

He looked down at her, a tiny and graceful girl with full, soft breasts that seemed to strain against the tight bodice. She seemed so sweet, so submissive on her knees before him.

He found the sight very intoxicating, very stimulating.

He laid a gloved hand on her shoulder, sensing the cool smoothness of it through the black leather.

“Tell me, ma petite, he said in a low voice that sent a little tremor through her, “are you a virgin?”

“I am,” she whispered, moistening her lips with the tip of her tongue, “but, monsieur, I…I know how to…pleasure a man…with my mouth. Monsieur Lefevre taught me. ”

Her blushing confession was a surprise. He would have expected it from the other chorus girls. But not this one. Surely Madame Giry would’ve kept closer watch on her.

“Shall I show you? Monsieur Lefevre said I was very good.”

He brushed his fingers along the delicate curve of her jaw, tipped her face up towards him.

What large, bright eyes the girl had!

“Yes, ma petite cherie. Show me.”

She did not hesitate, but rose up on her knees facing him. She tugged open his belt; his manhood was already half-aroused as she deftly freed it from the confinement of his trousers.

“Oh,” she gasped her eyes growing even wider, “yours is ever so much larger than his!”

Her breathless admission was so charming and without guile that he could not repress a little smile beneath his mask.

His smile quickly turned to a gasp as he felt her small lips on him. He was aware that women sometimes did these things, but he had never really expected to experience such a thing himself.

She’d braced her hands against his thighs as she took him into her mouth, her tongue teasing him so gently that it was pure torture.

She drew back for a second and looked up at him again.

“Do you like it, monsieur?”

“Very much, ma petite,” he said through clenched teeth, his long fingers tangling themselves in her hair as she began to suck at him so eagerly, her own teeth grazing against the burning length of him.

It was too much…too much to bear.

“Enough,” he snarled, pushing her away from him.

“But, monsieur, I thought you…”
“How would you like me to return the favor,” he said, struggled to catch his breath.

A second later, he had yanked the girl to her feet and backed her against the cold wall with its painted angels.

Instinctively, she spread her legs as her skirts were dragged up around her waist. As he dropped to his knees before her, she felt his gloved hands move between her thighs, gently parting the soft folds of her sex.

“What are you going to do to me, monsieur?”

He did not answer her. Instead, he tasted her, exploring her most intimately as he grasped her pale thighs.

When she felt the tip of his tongue rasp against her damp passage, her body jerked against the wall and she cried out.

“It doesn’t matter if you scream, cherie,” he whispered, his breath burning against her, “this part of theatre is deserted now. I have made certain of that.”

He felt the relentless throbbing of his own arousal. He needed to bury himself in her sweetness. He could not wait any longer..

He rose and pulled her to the broad window seat, drawing her onto his lap.

As he hurriedly bundled her troublesome skirts out of the way and tore away her pantalets, he felt a second of feat and guilt.

She was such a tiny thing, so fine-boned and graceful. He didn’t want to hurt her.

But he knew he could not be slow or tender with the girl now.

His hands circled her waist, sliding lower to grasp her hips as the tip of his member pressed into her hot, wet depths.

Her fingers grasped franticly at the black wool of his coat as he pressed her down, entering her with one swift, ruthless push.

She was so tight, so very tight and he heard her whimper as her body slowly accommodated the length and thickness of him.

He remained still for a moment, savoring the feel of her. Then, he tugged open the white bodice of her dress.

Keeping one arm secure around her middle, he reached up to cup one full breast with his hand.

No, that would never do! He swiftly tugged off his glove with his teeth and let it fall to the floor. He needed to savor the smoothness of her skin against his own.

And he did, his fingers caressing her hungrily, followed by his lips. From time to time, the edge of his mask scuffed against her and her heard her moan.

It was too much. He had to have her completely, body and soul.

She’d relaxed against him, getting used to the feel of him inside her. But now, he thrust into her without mercy or restraint.

And she responded in kind, rocking her hips fiercely against him as she wound her arms around his neck and cried out in a strained, delirious voice.

His entire body seemed to throb with his release as she collapsed against his chest, her eyes never leaving his.

He leaned back on the scrolled cast-iron grate, cradling the girl with one arm as he reached up with a trembling hand to make certain his mask and wig had not been disturbed.

“Thank you, Meg,” he whispered against her forehead.