"Miss Daaé, his protege?" Armand repeated as Maude steered him down the wide sweep of marble steps that led to the main salon of the Opera House.
"Of course. The ghost is quite a musical genius, and he has been tutoring her for the last several months."
"Tutoring her?"
Maude resisted a sigh. His continued repetition of every phrase she uttered was becoming tiresome. Best to fill that mouth with something other than confused words, and the sooner the better.
"Now, Monsieur Armand," she said patiently. "Let me explain to you, as I am certain that you are wondering even though you have not asked… how I come to know so much about the Opera Ghost."
He looked at her in surprise; apparently, he had not thought to wonder any such thing. Maude sighed. Apparently, the man's head was filled with numbers and nothing else. Well, she would quickly change that.
"Out, madame, I should like to know."
"I have been given the responsibility by the Opera Ghost to steward his box—Five, of course—and to make certain it is always ready for him. He prefers me and no one else to enter the box. Ah. And here we are, Monsieur Armand."
She opened the door to Box Five with a flourish.
Armand stepped in hesitantly, and Maude followed him. The box was more of a circle than a square, for the balcony edge was round, and it curved around into a small room. The only wall of the little chamber that was straight was the one from which they'd entered.
There were six seats in the box, the last row set back in the shadows to provide privacy for the occupants. Behind the last row, between it and the door, was a narrow strip of floor, just wide enough to accommodate a person who might wish for a horizontal surface, as Maude had occasion to know.
The box was dark except for the faint glow of light that eked into the theater from the narrow stained-glass windows, one on each wall of the building. The filtered light showed only the suggestion of rows of humped seats and the bare curve of the other eleven private boxes. The stage was dark as a tomb; it was too early for any of the rehearsals or stagehands to be moving about.
Theater was a night business.
She and Armand were perfectly alone.
"Now, Monsieur Armand," said Maude, taking matters into her own hands without hesitation, "let us dispense with that letter and discuss what is really important." She plucked the parchment from his fingers and let it flutter to the floor.
"What… what is it that you mean…" Armand should have ended the statement with a question mark, but instead, his voice trailed off into nothing as Maude closed her hand around the front of his trousers.
"Why, this, Monsieur Armand." Ahh, yes. His little John was quite interested in becoming the really important topic of conversation.
"But… Madame Giry!" Armand's voice cracked like that of a boy turning to man… but he did not move from her proximity. No… he did not move away, but he did not move closer. His breathing sharpened, however, and Maude recognized this as progress for her shy teddy bear.
"Now, monsieur… do not think I have not noticed how you have admired me," she murmured, her hands quite busy with the buttons of his trousers. She stood much closer to him now, close enough that her breasts touched his collarbones.
He had grown full and hard in her hand. What his cock did not have in length, it made up for in girth… and then some. Both sets of Maude's lips grew wet at the thought of him filling her to stretching.
And it was all in the name of duty. Duty to Erik, duty to her little rats… a duty meant to keep everything moving smoothly at the theater. She smiled. She loved her job.
Armand's trousers slipped to his ankles, and she knelt before him, wanting to spice things up a bit, get him comfortable before she let him play with her. She had to stretch the sides of her lips wide to fit him in, and it was a pleasure to suck a cock that did not gag her with its length, but that filled her from cheek to cheek with hot, pulsing flesh.
Her underdrawers were soaking now, and her nipples hard and pointed like little cannon. If he would just move a little, she could rub them against his knees…
Losing patience, she reached up and grabbed his hands—which had been fluttering aimlessly at his waist as she worked his cock—and planted them firmly over the front of her breasts. The mere contact sent her aching nipples tightening further, and as she pulled away from him, stopping just at the head, she sucked harder as she massaged his hands over her breasts.
She couldn't hold back a groan as she felt the tension building; Armand seemed to catch on, for he began to move his hands of his own accord. Maude slicked her tongue over the underside of his cock, and felt him shudder and shiver in surprise. Mon Dieu, had the man never been pleasured thus? What would happen if she stuck her thumb up his ass?
But she could save that little experiment for later.
The buttons that confined her melon-sized breasts came undone easily, and when her bodice opened and they spilled from their restraint, the release was almost orgasmic. But she needed more. Maude reached behind her and found one of the seats. She let Armand's erection slip out of her mouth as she pulled herself into one of the chairs.
"Come here," she said, but he was already scrambling after her. She urged him into place, straddling her, his thick cock pushing into her stomach.
And she rested her head back, exposing white shoulders and two huge white breasts, tipped with rosy nipples that were so hard they hurt. She slid her hands under them and jostled their beautiful weight, offering them to him.
Armand appeared to have lost any remaining shyness; he surged forward and grasped and grappled with them. Pinching the left nipple, he hefted and jiggled her other breast and then leaned forward to take it into his mouth.
When his moist, hot mouth closed around her entire areola and sucked, hard, Maude jerked and groaned as pleasure speared down past her belly. She nearly came right then, but pulled herself back from the edge.
His thumb teased her other nipple; his full, soft lips pulled on the right in a rhythm that matched the way she was running her hand up and down his cock. Faster, tighter, he sucked and she stroked, and the pool of wet between her legs grew larger and hotter, her sex growing and throbbing painfully. She moved her hips beneath him as he switched breasts, sucking on the left one, tweaking and thumbing the right. Pleasure built and grew, and still he sucked, and still she stroked, and held back.
And when she felt his cock moving, the surge of liquid racing along toward the end, she loosened her grip, stopped the rhythm… Not yet, she thought. Not… yet…
Armand groaned against her nipple, and if possible, it felt as though his erection grew larger; but then Maude wasn't thinking about anything but the tugging at her breasts. He was moving back and forth between the two of them, sucking and flicking with his fingers. Her hips moved; her breasts were so tight a coin would bounce off them… She grasped his head and held it at her left nipple, and he sucked, and it got tighter, and her pip pounded and swam, and suddenly she exploded, shuddering beneath him.
"Mon Dieu… mon Dieu…" he groaned, the words forming around her areola as he jutted his cock insistently into her stomach.
"Oui, out, mon petit ours, my little bear," she breathed, rolling him off of her lap, over the arm of the chair, and onto the seat next to her.
Just as she began to hitch up her skirts, and find the sopping hole in her drawers, illumination burst from the stage below.
"Mon Dieu!" Armand started, jerking beneath her as she straddled him. He struggled to sit up from the slouched position that left his cock standing straight up like a lovely, hard column, but Maude pushed him back.