A Thrill on the Tongue

Part 1


Raoul DeChagney, a powerful Viscomte and Lord of his domain, was feeling rather pleased with himself. He lay, arms behind his neck, naked, with a pure white sheet rucked up around his hips, beside his lady love. Christine DeChagney. His full, firm lips deepened the goofy grin on his face. His Wife, Christine. He would never get over the novelty, the newness and awe-encompassing shock of that. HIS wife. He had wooed her, courted her, saved her from a deranged psycho lunatic, carried her off and married her. Raoul couldn’t help but chuckle softly. He almost forgot ‘bedded her’. And he certainly did that. His poor innocent bride, no, wife now, had fainted from the pleasure.

He remembered, earlier that night, being scared to death that he’d hurt her, only to find when she awoke she had an eager enthusiasm for the next dead-faint. Raoul shook his head. He’d never met a girl more willing to please, or, so easy to pleasure. At the slightest touch she had cried out. And her first orgasm nearly brought the guards. Now he lay, satiated and content, beside the neigh unconscious, luscious form of HIS wife, marveling at the perfection of it all.

Raoul frowned a bit, his thoughts leading him down another path.

The Phantom of the Opera.

How such a man could even exist unnerved Raoul. Less because, although he’d loathed to admit it, of the deformity and more because of the sheer presence. It still shocked him that he had even won. Christine, loved her as he did, wasn’t the hardest nut to crack. And, good heavens, that VOICE! Raoul had fallen under its spell even easier that Christine, although he was obvious more adept at hiding the near-orgasmic effects. Sinful, luscious, decadent creature that haunted his waking mind!

Agitated, Raoul stood with an abrupt movement and paced at the bottom of the bed, forgoing clothes. The black-masked figure that stood, waiting in the wings for the moment he let his guard down, to swoop in with blasphemous thoughts and wrong pleasures! His agitated motions had made Christine stir, moaning a little and to keep his sore bride from awakening, he dragged on a thigh-length robe, roughly belted it and headed toward the library.

His naked feet padded softly on the carpeted stairs, and luckily the library fire had yet to burn out. Raoul found his favorite spot, bare hardwood a few feet from the fire , and began again his pacing. After a few minutes of almost running back and forth, his mind cleared. Dragging a hand through his tousled locks, Raoul rested on a winged back chair, closing his eyes and sighing.

...and saw, in his mind’s eye, that wicked black leathered glove touch those sinful lips with a hissed ‘silent’ that still, even months afterward left him shaky, hot and aroused.

“Damnit all!” He cursed, standing and up-ending a table in the heat of his anger.

Why should such a beast haunt him so? Why, and here he was immeasurably ashamed, as he thrust into the soft depths of his virgin bride, had the thought that pushed him over the Edge have been of that one line, whispered and edgy and wild ‘Passerino’*? Why could he not rest in peace? Raoul let out a roughened cry and sunk his fingers bitingly into his scalp, tearing at those golden locks.

But the moment his eyes closed he saw that lanky body, that well-muscled frame, those beautiful hands that drew emotion out of even him, the supposed ‘Hero Prince’ of the tale. In all his years he had not one wicked thought. In all his years he had been just and pure and kind. Why was he tormented so? Had he not given all he could? Had he not tried? So, goddamn it all, why had he such lustful thoughts toward such a man? No, not a man, a beast, a devil, an incubi demon with the voice of an Angel, and eyes that burned passionate fire that scorched the flesh. Raoul whimpered. Why did he torment himself so? Why did his traitorous flesh rise for him? A Man! Not woman or fantasy but a man, flesh and blood and even horribly scarred!

Raoul rose quickly and tossed the neared object, a decanter of brandy, into the fiery pyre of his fireplace.

But, as if in answer of his minds roared question his saw his ‘Demon’s eyes. Such extraordinary eyes, funny, he couldn’t remember the color. But he did remember the fire, the passion, the soul inside that husk. The gentled tenderness, the love, the kindness and the joy inside those iridescent orbs. The mask, if anything, helped reveal the emotion of that Beast that lay at the Opera’s core, instead of shielding it. Raoul sank to the ground with a defeated sigh. He was trapped by his body’s desire, consumed with it.

He would not lay with his new wife tonight, not when he would certainly be tempted to bury himself inside her purity. He could not wash his sins inside her, it would be wrong and even unfaithful. Worse than taking a common whore on their wedding bed. Raoul readied himself and laid back onto the lushly carpet floor, ignoring the hardness of his member. He could work through the pain, if only to save Christine from his traitorous flesh.


Raoul awakened to the feeling of... water? The air smelled dank and moldy, the earth beneath him moist. Try as he might, he could not see and it took a moment to realize he was blindfolded. His legs and arms were tied spread eagle, and if he was not mistaken, he was...nude? Tied, blindfolded and nude? He began to struggle, to test the strength of the cords that bound him.

“They won’t break.”

Raoul froze.


His breathing sped, his mouth opened, eyes moving wildly behind the fabric, and sweat broke across his body.

Because of THAT voice.

Sweet, and sinister, there was no mistaking the timbre and tone and even if he were to deny the click of boot heels at his side he could not ignore that voice.

“You.” He choked out, from around the lump in his throat. A deep, velvety chuckle filled his senses, sending a tremor down his spine.

“Indeed. Me. “ The voice mocked. Raoul started his struggling again. He could not be here. This could NOT be happening. He couldn’t be at the mercy of this.. this ... this psychopath! Especially because of, even to his growing horror, how arousing the thought of bondage at the hands of this mad genius had become. He didn’t allow himself to think on it. Banishing all of THOSE thoughts, he concentrated. He had to control himself... think Raoul, think...

Madam Giry, prune faced ballet instructor popped into the viscomte’s thoughts and with her banished anything sexual. It would have been laughable if not for his dire straits. Now, think of Madam Giry...

“Its strange, my dear Viscomte, that you should be so GOOD at taking my property. My Opera house, my bride, my wedding bed... One would think you were made specifically designed to be a thorn in my side.” The phantom went on, casually strolling around his blinded captive. He paused at the bare feet and ridiculously perfect toe-nails. “...which would mean, you were made for... me, now wouldn’t it?”

“No.” Raoul denied huskily. The Phantom chuckled.

“Yes, yes it would. Made for me, designed to be mine.”

Raoul turned his head as the Phantom walked around him, keeping an ear for the decisive click of expensive boots. A cool, hard, small triangular piece of leather stroked his straining biceps, making the muscular lord jump.

“You wouldn’t...” Raoul gasped out. again, that sinfully decadent chuckle.

“I am a monster my dear Viscomte. Monster do whatever they wish. I happen to know that one such as yourself would be a... virgin” This word was hissed near his ear “-in matters of male flesh. Its convenient, as it so happens I have just been cheated out a wedding night. Virginity for virginity. One in place of another. I find it has a satisfying... irony to it. Don’t you, Raoul?”

Raoul let out a choked cry. Madam Giry vanished from his minds eye as those lips drew out his name into a sensual foreign exotic word. He blushed in shame as he hear the Phantoms full laughter, even as part of him strained toward the evil Maestro.

“Well, well, well. Not as innocent as we all think. What would Christine say?” The Phantom chuckled at the shamed stiffness of the REST of Raoul’s body at the mention of her name. “Poor, poor boy.”

“Shut up.” Raoul hissed through his teeth, hating being in such a vulnerable position. He had neither sword, nor pistol, and he could not actually ACT upon his ferocious desires, and was therefore bound in place more securely than by any rope.

“Watch your tongue...Raoul.” The Phantom watched the poor Viscomte tense as he whispered his name. He then smiled superiorly. “I’ll make it easy for you... perhaps even more enjoyable... Because you Will enjoy it.”

Raoul arched up as the piece of leather traced around his inner thigh. It seemed to be a...riding crop? Oh good sweet merciful Lord, Raoul hissed in his mind, the mental picture almost too much for him.

“I garentee it.” The Phantom chuckled. “To make it easier for you... I’ll take Christine if you don’t give in to my wicked, evil, incorrigible naughtiness. There, better? Now you have too or risk your precious bride. Soothe your conscience.”

Raoul froze at the mention of his wife, then went lax. Unbelievably, he was soothed. Just the excuse had opened a gate way. Could he...? Well, if he didn’t, the Phantom would hurt Christine, take her away, so he must. Raoul closed his eyes behind the mask, shamed at his mind’s eagerness to accept the offer.

“What... what do you want me to do?” He whispered finally. Above him the Phantom let his eyes shutter closed as a feeling of all encompassing triumph filled him. Best not frighten the fish away... He thought, and controlled his victorious laughter. He’d get his virgin, his revenge and his pleasure all in one blow! He licked his lip lasciviously.

“Just... lay there for a moment.” Phantom said, then walked, no, sauntered over to the crank. With a flip of a switch, the ropes were loosened.

Raoul slowly sat up, rubbing the slightly raw wrists, before lifting a hand and dragging the blindfold away from his eyes. He was in a circular room, stone walls hidden behind thick red curtains draped beautifully. There were pillows and rugs thrown haphazardly about, and an iron door a little ways away and several sloping side of the floor revealed iron bars that the bottom and the lake slowly drifting in and out. Directly across from him, as he dared to lift his eyes, was a throne like chair and draped casually across it, the object of his wildest fantasy.

Black-masked, smirking sensually dressed in form fitting layers of expensive black he dominated the room, and almost like a spiral drew the eye to him. To the center.

This is not me. Raoul thought. Not me...so its okay. Its not me standing, gloriously nude and unashamed. Not me obeying that sexy beckoning finger. Not me walking toward him. I am someone else. Like Christine in Don Juan. I am playing a part. Acting to fit the character. Just a small part, just one scene.

... I hate this play.

Raoul with an odd sort of knowledge, kneeled in front of the paragon of sex and closed his beautiful blue eyes.

“Do you know anything about...fellatio?” The phantom asked wickedly. Raoul reared back, surprised eyes meeting his. “Oh dear. I was hoping to explain that charming little word to you. No matter, I believe I will need be detailing it anyway. In any case, that is your first priority my little Viscomte. Appeasing my pleasure. Don’t forget,” He added cruelly “-this is for the safety of your wife.”

Raoul glared hatefully at him, hoping to disguise the glint of eagerness he knew shone in his eye. Damn his traitorous flesh! He straightened and readied himself. Your an actor. Play the part well and the reward is your wife’s safety. The Phantom watched, reading his thoughts on his face easily. He almost giggled with joy. The little sparrow was too much. But, Phantoms don’t giggle, Erik thought with a widening grin. It lessons the fear.

“Well?” He asked softly, watching from that unreadable mask. Raoul, with trembling fingers, lifted a hand to the top of the Phantom’s breeches. With careful ease, trying not to touch flesh, he unbuttoned them.





Little black buttons shining dully in the candle’s light, popping softly out of their holes. It was over all too soon and, hating himself for his curiosity, Raoul gently set free the Phantom’s swollen organ.

It seemed only one half of the Phantom’s face was scarred...and that was it. The flesh that Raoul revealed was white, with light red and blue veins delicately tracing up the smooth column. The tip was redder, the slightly bulbous head lightly weeping a clear, shiny substance. It was barely longer than a Hand-span, and Raoul knew with a certainty that overwhelmed him that he reach his fingers flawlessly around its width. It was perfectly smooth, and to his surprise, the flesh around the base was all but free of hair. There were no signs of shaving, so it was entirely natural. This astounded Raoul. He was no ‘hairy beast’ himself, but her did have a decent bit of curls modestly covering him. The nakedness of the Phantom’s sex was inconceivably... naughty. Immoral in the finest sense of the word and unbelievably sexy.

“In the east, around India, it is believed that hair on one’s sex is... improper. Dirty, actually. Even the lowliest slave is given a... you could call it... potion, for there is no word in English, to remove the hair. I find it amusing that so civilized a place as France is they have not yet found the cleanliness of the action.” The Phantom added indifferently, shifting a little for prime comfort. He grinned erotically as Raoul looked up. “I’ll let you begin, most get the... hang of it easily and only stop you if you do something wrong, all right?”

“Yes.” Raoul said, looking back uneasily at the erect flesh in front of him. He was suddenly at a loss. Where DID one start when practicing fellatio? Especially on the same sex. After a moment Raoul decided to think on it as he would himself liked to be touched. Softly at first, he imagined. Too rough a touch could hurt.

Raoul licked his dry lips and leaned forward. Erik shut his eyes. The fastest way to end what was crudely known as a ‘blow-job’ was to watch. And he wanted to enjoy every minute of this.

Raoul’s smooth firm lips lightly touched the weeping tip and with a quick flash of the tongue removed the pearl of moisture. Erik jerked, surprised as white-hot pleasure zipped through him. He held lightly onto the arms of the chair. Tilting his head to the side, Raoul lightly kissed his way down the large vein on the underside, closed mouth and with a butterfly’s weightless touch. The skin was velvety to the touch, but very firm. Erik held in the rumble of pleasure as the gentle kissing sent an easy soft wave of warmth through him. At the base he placed a larger kiss, right above the naked flesh of His sack. Erik’s breathing sped, up. This boy was better than he’d thought he’d be... A little uncertain, but willing, Raoul lifted a larger hand and gently cupped them, moving his fingers in slow caressing circles. As his eyes were open he watched the Phantom’s head tilt back and got an electric response.

Pleasuring this sexual beast was returning the favor to himself, Raoul marveled. He found he actually liked to see the ecstasy on the Phantom’s face, those parted lips, the gasping breath. More than that, he found it sexually exciting!

More eager, Raoul used his other hand to wrap around the base, holding the organ still as he pressed quicker, damp kisses back up, to the tip. Erik held still, anticipatingly. Again at his starting place, one hand gently caressing the soft pouch, the other holding the staff firmly, Raoul closed his lips around the wide cap. The Phantom gasped loudly arching his hips slightly to that glorious feeling. He held his lips tightly together, to enhance the feeling and was very careful of his teeth. Slowly, excruciatingly slowly, he pressed further, trying to copy the feeling of slipping into a woman. From the gaspy moans and groans above him he was doing very well. After putting the whole cap inside of his wet mouth, Raoul stroked the foreign object with his velvety tongue, circling it with a pointy tip, then a softer, rounder touch. The Phantom above him let out a stream of soft curses in what sounded like several languages.

“You’re...” He panted finally “Very good for a beginner.”

Raoul smiled around the organ in his mouth and pushed in further, treating each and every inch of flesh with the same decadent touch of his surprisingly talented tongue. Finally he found himself with a problem. He could go no further, but there was still more.

“Relax your throat” Came the phantom’s deliciously husky voice. “Take it slowly.”

Raoul did so, and after a few minutes of bobbing his head, to the phantom’s pleasure, he was able to take almost all of the swollen organ in his mouth. Erik, in heaven, lifted one hand to drag through the golden locks of Raoul’s head and secured a hold. The boy had natural talent, but needed a little guidance. With a few tugging pulls he taught the Viscomte on his knees the proper rhythm and within a minute or so Raoul had taken over. The gloved hand in Roaul’s hair tightened spiritually, as the lord sped up at a slow pace.

The most mind-blowing orgasm Erik had ever experienced from fellatio happened quite by accident. On the verge of pulling back at a higher speed, Raoul’s even teeth lightly graze the bottom of Erik’s cock. With a loud stream of curses far more creative than the first, Erik arched his hips and held fiercely onto Raoul’s hair. Raoul stuck with the phantom deep in his throat, had no choice but to swallow, Adam’s apple bobbing. Finally, the clenched hand released the now tousled curls and petted them gently, almost absent-mindedly. Head still tilted back, Erik actually FLOATED down, little after shocks sweeping through him.

Finally his breathing calmed, and Erik pulled Raoul up. The boy was dazed looking, absently licking his lips and swallowing rhythmically. Erik let out a loud laugh, that fell to a sensual chuckle as he traced his fingers down Raoul’s chest to his own stiffened organ. The blank eyes of his prey focused immediately and met his golden ones.

“How about we try something a little...new?” The Phantom smirked evilly.  


          ~~~~~~~~ Back to Phantom of the Opera ~~~~~~~~ Part 2


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