Message-ID: <26863asstr$971572204@assm.asstr-mirror.org> X-Original-Path: not-for-mail From: Tiramisu X-Original-Message-ID: <8saafl$da$1@nnrp1.deja.com> X-Article-Creation-Date: Sat Oct 14 19:00:07 2000 GMT Subject: {ASSM} NEW Tiramisu "The Music of the Night" MF Rom OG (Opera Ghost) A Halloween Story Date: Sat, 14 Oct 2000 21:10:04 -0400 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: RuiJorge, apuleius CONTENT WARNING: This story has an adult theme and may include graphic descriptions of sexual acts. If it is either illegal where you are, or you are not of legal age to view such material, please stop now. "The Music of the Night" MF Rom, OG (Opera Ghost) A Halloween story. Copyright October, 2000 by Tiramisu. All rights reserved. Please do not repost without explicit permission of the author. Permission is granted for archiving in ass and assm. Comments are welcome. Email Tiramixu@yahoo.com. "The Music of the Night" Paris. The Opera. THE Opera. Lisa Stratford was stunned by it's beauty: the statuary, the sculpture, the friezes. Inside, there was the white marble staircase, the green and red marble balustrade, and the Grand Foyer. The Auditorium itself was magnificent, too, with sculptures and the Chagall ceiling. She clutched Michael's arm. She loved him more every day, even after 20 years. But this, this was too much. Everything was perfect. A Friday night flight to Paris, first class, with lobster medallions, fine wine, and delightful pastries. Then, the wonderful little relais on the Rue de la Paix: Louis XIII furnishings, fresh flowers in the room, and a window overlooking the courtyard and garden. And now, on Saturday night, the Opera, and later, a stroll on the Champs Elysees. And later still, she would be alone with Michael in the room at the relais. But the play was the thing: a special Halloween performance of "The Phantom of the Opera," with Sarah Brightman as Christine Daiae and Andrea Bocelli as The Phantom. A special performance at THE Opera; Lisa loved Brightman and Bocelli, especially Bocelli. "Happy Anniversary, darling" he had said when he showed her the tickets. This truly was a special night, and Lisa had taken special care in getting ready. Black silk bikini panties and black silk camisole under a black satin evening gown. A touch of the perfume he loved. Actually, five touches. Behind her left ear. On her throat. Between her breasts. Her belly below the navel. Behind her right knee. The places he loved to kiss. All the places but one: only natural perfume there. At 42, she still looked good and she knew it. She knew it because he told her. Often. Even better than when they were married, he would say. Good enough to fire his desire, she knew. Michael looked wonderful, too: black hair with a touch of gray, neatly trimmed beard, deep blue eyes. And god, did he look good in a tux. She hadn't seen him in a tux since their wedding, 20 years ago to the day, and he looked even better now. They settled into their seats and the lights dimmed. She took Michael's hand, ran her fingernail across his palm and his wrist. Teasing. She loved to tease him, building his passion over a long period of time, flirting with him during the day, letting him catch a glimpse as she got dressed, holding his hand at the Opera. Building his passion and her own. Already, she was thinking about later tonight, when he would kiss those five places, and other places, and finally make love to her, softly, sweetly, teasing her with slow strokes until she was ready, and then. . . The orchestra began. The overture: first, the haunting strains of the organ, then, the softer melodies of "The Music of the Night." And then, the play began, with Christine, Sarah Brightman, singing so beautifully. Lisa held Michael's hand. She loved this play. She had seen it in London and Toronto and even Hartford, and had long wanted to see the New York production, but to see it in Paris, with Sarah Brightman and Andrea Bocelli - it was just perfect. The Phantom appeared on stage: Andrea Bocelli, in a white mask, and a black tux exactly like Michael's. Bocelli sang, and it sent shivers down Lisa's spine. Down to the dungeon, down to the subterranean lake, the Phantom took Christine. There were candles everywhere; candles even appeared to be floating on the lake. A small boat took them across the lake, where the Phantom commanded, "Sing for me, sing for me my Angel of Music," and Christine sang. "Ahhh", she cried. "Sing for ME!" the Phantom commanded, and she sang "Ahhhhh!", her voice rising higher and higher as The Phantom commanded her again and again. Lisa felt goosebumps. The song climaxed and Christine hit and held the piercing high note, "AHHHHH!!" To Lisa it was erotic, almost orgasmic, and she felt her body respond. She wondered if anyone else saw eroticism in Christine's cries, her submission to the Phantom. Sing for me. Come for me. Lisa was wet. It wasn't Bocelli. Well, it wasn't just Bocelli; it was the Phantom. Lisa squeezed Michael's hand. He squeezed back. Before Lisa could regain her composure, Bocelli launched into an incredibly beautiful rendition of "The Music of the Night." When Bocelli sang, "Silently the senses abandon their defenses" she was entranced. The rest of the first act was a blur, until the Phantom cried "GO!!!!", and the chandelier flew across the theatre and crashed to the stage, shaking Lisa from her trance. The lights came up. Intermission. Lisa was breathless. "I need some air," she said and rose from the seat. Michael nodded. Lisa went out the side exit, "The Music of the Night" running through her head. She looked left and right to find the way to the street. The street should be to the left, but the crowds blocked the way. There was a door to the right, and she was drawn to it. She opened the door and saw a dimly lit stairway, spiraling down. This couldn't be right. Her heart was beating faster, the Music filling her brain. No this couldn't be right, she thought, but she couldn't help herself: she went down the spiral staircase. Down. And down. And down. Footsteps? Did she hear footsteps behind her? She stopped, listened. Silence. She continued down the steps, and heard it again. Was she imagining things? She shouldn't be here, she knew, and now she was frightened. Faster, and faster she descended, not stopping to listen again, wondering if the footsteps were behind her, following her. A door! She opened it, and raced through and came upon an eerie sight. An underground lake. Music overwhelmed her senses: The Angel of Music, The Music of the Night. There were candles everywhere; candles even appeared to be floating on the lake. It was all vaguely familiar. Where had she seen this before? Panting, she stopped, and heard the footsteps behind her again. Closer, and coming closer. She saw a small boat, and jumped in, paddling across the lake. More candles. A chair. She got out of the boat and looked back, hoping to see who was following her, hoping not to. Would he be able to get across the lake without the boat? How would she get out of here? She turned to look for another way out and felt a hand on her shoulder. Lisa screamed. She turned and faced a man in a black tux and white mask. Wordlessly, he placed a finger to her lips and her scream was silenced. He slipped the gown from her shoulders, letting it slide to her hips. She was mesmerized, unable to resist, the Music playing in her head. Silently the senses abandon their defenses. Lisa was very excited. Fleeting thoughts fought the Music in her brain, but she couldn't focus. Was there really a Phantom? As he pushed the gown down past her hips, she became even more aroused. And she felt guilty. Because she had long harbored secret fantasies about Bocelli? She had to resist. He kissed her behind her left ear and she felt weak. He kissed her throat and she felt her juices flow. He pushed her down onto the chair. Resist, she thought, but she was defenseless, overwhelmed by the Music in her head, overcome by passion and guilt. He pushed the camisole up, kissed between her breasts, then kissed the left nipple and she moaned. He held the nipple between his teeth, flicking it gently with his tongue, and she was lost. He kissed lower, down over her belly, kissed between her navel and the top of her panties, kissed and nibbled the inside of her thighs and she knew that she was his. She needed him. Now. "Sing for me, my angel!" he cried as he ran his hand down her right leg, and lifted it, kissing behind her right knee, running his tongue up the inside of her right thigh. "Sing for ME!" he commanded, and ran his tongue between her legs, tonguing her through her panties. "AHHH!" she cried, and came instantly, moaning, screaming, grinding against his face. He slipped the panties down and she did not resist. And then he was inside her, teasing with long, slow strokes, build her passion to a second crescendo. "Sing for ME!" Was it the Phantom or the Music in her head? When she was ready, he knew, and drove hard and deep, grinding against her, producing delicious friction against her clit, and she came again, harder this time, spasming around him, singing, screaming as she came. Her orgasm subsided, but the Music remained in her head. Where was she? God, what had she done? The Phantom was gone. Had she passed out? How long had she been down here? She needed to get back; the play would be starting again, and Michael would be worried. Briefly, she wondered if the Phantom had really been there at all, and then she saw a white mask lying on the chair next to her. Music was playing far above her; the second act was about to begin. Somehow, she found her way back to her seat. Michael smiled at her. Was it her imagination or was his face flushed? It was odd how he acted as if there was nothing strange about her going off alone during the intermission, and odd that he hadn't gone with her. Her thoughts were interrupted by the swirling music of the "Masquerade." Swirling music, swirling dancers, bright, colorful swirling costumes. For Lisa, this was usually the highlight of the play, but her mind was filled with other thoughts. Lisa struggled to focus on the play, but her mind kept going back to the Intermission. What had really happened? The Intermission has lasted, what, twenty minutes? She had been away that long. And she had orgasmed, twice. She was sure of that. Beyond that. . . A scream on stage. Lisa knew the story, knew what the scream meant: Meg has found a body; The Phantom has killed Piangi. Bocelli began to sing "The Point of No Return" and Lisa returned to her thoughts. . . Bocelli. . . the lake, the candles, the boat. . . The Phantom. . . Michael. . . Her thoughts were interrupted for the last time when Bocelli sang, "It's over, now, the Music of the Night" and as the orchestra let the final note die, the audience erupted into thunderous applause. People began to stand, cheering shouting: "More!" "Bravo!!" "Encore!!!" The cast took their bows, the Music of the Night truly over. Raoul, Christine, and the Phantom took their final bows. Lisa squeezed Michael's hand, hoping it was all okay, and he took her hand and kissed it. Then Christine and the Phantom, Brightman and Bocelli, took their bows, and finally, just Andrea Bocelli. The crowd again cheered and cried "Encore!!", and Bocelli extended a hand toward the wings, and Sarah Brightman skipped back onto the stage, bowing to the audience and smiling at Bocelli. Then the strings produced the beautiful sounds of another song so familiar to Lisa and the audience hushed. Sarah stepped forward and sang in soft, rising tones: "Quando sono sola sogno all'orrizonte e mancan le parole. . ." And, when she sang, "It's time to say goodbye," Bocelli stepped forward to join her, and he sang: "Quando sei lontana sogno all'orrizonte e mancan le parole. . ." Brightman took Bocelli's hand as he sang "It's time to say goodbye," and sang of sailing together on ships across the seas, to places they'd never experienced together. "Navi per mare," he sang. Lisa looked at Michael and smiled, and he smiled back as Bocelli and Brightman sang their duet, driving the song to it's powerful climax. Con te partiro Io con te! "I will go with you," Michael whispered, and kissed her cheek. * * * It's over now, this story of the Music of the Night. END Author's notes: Yes, The Phantom is clean shaven (whenever I've seen him) and Bocelli is bearded (at least whenever I've seen him). I thought about using Antonio Banderas as The Phantom - I understand there was a production with Banderas and Brightman, but I wanted Bocelli - Lisa would have wanted Bocelli. I also thought about having a bearded Phantom, or having Bocelli shave. I decided to do neither. Literary license. Use your imagination! And then, too, as you may have noticed, Michael is bearded. The song "Time to Say Goodbye" featuring Andrea Bocelli and Sarah Brightman is one of my favorites. The beautiful Italian words come from the booklet in the CD which also has a translation: Sarah sings: When I'm alone I dream of the horizon and words fail me. Andrea sings: When you're far away I dream of the horizon and words fail me. Together they sing: I will go with you, I'll go with you (But it's so much better in Italiano) Ciao. - Tiramisu -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: | | FAQ: Moderator: | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Archive: Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository | |, an entity supported entirely by donations. | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+