Dark Enchantment Read Online Free PDF Page A

was too cruel to be ignored.
    With a quick glance out through the curtain I ascertained that there was nobody else in the changing room. Well, I told myself wryly, this wouldn’t take long. I stood with one hand on the glass of the mirror, hitched my skirt with the other hand, and delved into my panties. If I need to come quickly, that’s the way to do it: on tiptoes, my legs straining, my thighs braced. A peek of white cotton and a flash of mouse-brown hair under the folds of my skirt were the only visible naughtiness, but my fingers confirmed that I was slippery, that my clit was engorged and stiff. I fingered myself with quick vibrating movements. In the mirror I could see the tension in my jaw, the deep hunger in my eyes, the strain of my breasts against my tight blouse.
    What if he comes back? I asked myself, strumming hard. What if he comes back through that curtain to ask me again? Would I be able to stop in time or would he catch me working off my frantic desire for him? Would he stand and watch, delighted, or would he pull up the back of my skirt and wrench down my knickers and stuff me hard from behind with his eager cock, just as I deserved?
    Reflected behind me, in the shadow behind the costume rack, two eyes glinted. A dark figure stirred.
    I froze, more confused than shocked. Movement behind me ceased. When I looked over my shoulder I was as sure as I could be: there was no one else in this cubbyhole of a room. The shadows were simply not deep enough to conceal a human being. It had been a trick of the light.
    Nonetheless, there was a strong feeling of eyes upon me.
    My heart racing, I turned back to the mirror. ‘Watch if you want,’ I whispered, thrusting out my lower lip. This time I fingered myself all the way to orgasm, my legs trembling with the strain, my boobs out-thrust and shaking, a blush storming my cheeks. And in the reflected room a shadow watched with avid eyes.
    Pique Dame
ran for a week, every night. It was hard work – physically, vocally and emotionally. I’d taken leave from my day job, but even so this pushed me to my limits. Elliot was as polite as ever and didn’t try his luck on any following evening, but it wouldn’t be entirely accurate to say that he backed off; on stage every night he seduced and ravished me with predatory zeal, ripping the seams of my costume on one occasion. His body imprinted itself on mine as if he were branding my flesh. Lisa’s virginal reluctance became flimsier and more transparent. Our singing reached new heights of emotion; we seemed ready to tear each other apart in our passion, and my character’s anguish as I discovered him false became raw with pain.
    For a short time that opera consumed my life. I have never been happier.
    At home I tried to rest my voice as much as possible, not daring to chatter but miming to Tim when I needed to communicate. I also ambushed him daily in his home office, dragging him from the computer to fuck me on the bed, the sofa, the living-room carpet and – memorably – over the lip of the bath. I was high with tension. I was on heat. Tim was bemused but willing enough to indulge me, and did not question my horniness. I could hardly tell him it was because I was gasping for the show’s star performer.
    Back at the theatre, our mutual desire was articulated in silence as much as in song. The ravenous look in his eyes as he stalked me across the stage during the ballroom scene made me quake. The private and knowing smiles we exchanged when I watched over his shoulder in the mirror while he had his make-up dusted on made my heart leap painfully. It was as if we shared a secret language.
    It didn’t go entirely unnoticed, the tension between Elliot and I. The producer was heard to mutter darkly that if that seduction scene got any steamier the paint on the flats would start to run. But this was theatre, and opera at that; nobody disapproved. Emotion was what it was all about. Everyone capable of fancying men had a crush