The chauffeur opened the door for her and she stepped out. She was wearing a short, white, sleeveless dress with a red belt, cut low enough to show some of her cleavage. Red, high-heeled sandals and a matching red purse completed the bright, late-summer look.

  She walked up the marble steps and entered the edifice. At the desk, she asked for Michele. She only had to wait a few minutes before he came out to meet her. It was only at that point that she became nervous about what she was going to do. She hoped Elliot would like it, because it wasn’t reversible like the haircut. She thought that he would - she knew him very well by now - but there was always that small doubt. He was, after all, a man of some complexity, and she could never quite seem to know him fully. Elliot was often an enigma to her – perhaps because their backgrounds were different. In many ways that pleased her. Claire wanted to spend months, years, perhaps a lifetime to get to know him, his intricacies and nuances. There always seemed to be something more to know. But on the flip-side, she could never be sure exactly how he would feel, act, or what he would say in every situation.

  Michele led her through an inner parlor, down a long corridor decorated with eighteenth-century paintings, and into the salon where he worked. The salon was a simple white room appointed with a few Louis XVI chairs, a small antique desk, and a mostly-empty bookcase containing stacks of papers. Dominating the center of the room were two couches, one designed for partial reclining, the other flat for lying down. Next to the couches were a padded stool and a cart on rollers. Michele motioned for her to sit in one of the Louis XVI chairs. He sat facing her in the other one.

  “Welcome to the Spa, Mademoiselle.” Michele spoke in almost unaccented English. “I understand from Monique that you have a service you wish me to perform which involves an important design.”

  Claire’s heart was beating heavily already and felt as though it might come out of her chest once Michele spoke. Clearing her throat, gathering her courage, she spoke.

  “Yes, I want a tattoo which consists of two intertwined initials, my initial , ‘C,’ and the initial of my consort, ‘E.’ I want the entire tattoo to be about an inch-and-a-half … ah … about three centimeters high and about three centimeters wide. The intertwined initials should be elaborate, with fanciful curved lines, but recognizable as the two letters.”

  “And where am I to place the tattoo?”

  “I had originally thought to put it on my hip, perhaps up where it wouldn’t be seen too often, or even lower where it would be plainly visible when I was wearing shorts. Now, though, I think I want it on my right breast, up here.” She pointed to a spot on the center of her breast, midway between the areola and the very top of her breast. “That way, it’ll be visible with most of the dresses and tops I wear.”

  He was obviously pleased. “I can do that for you. It will be quite stunning, intensely erotic, very sexy. Your consort knows of your intention?”

  “No, it’s to be a surprise. That’s why I’m nervous about this.”

  “You realize it is very permanent, no?

  “Yes, I have a sea horse tattooed on my left shoulder.”

  “Oui? Where was it done?”

  “In Saint-Tropez.”

  “At the Parloir Yves?”

  “Is that on Rue de la Courchine?”

  “Yes, that is it. I know the place. They are very good. May I see it? I will, of course, want the two to coordinate. The colors should harmonize.”

  Trying hard not to be embarrassed (she wasn’t) or nervous (she was), Claire slipped her arms out of the dress and pulled it down. Michele came around to examine the charming, stylized sea horse on her shoulder.

  “Very beautiful. It is just ornate enough to blend nicely with the initials. I have a couple of fonts in mind. Let me show them to you and show you how the two letters might look interlocked with each other.”

  Claire expected Michele to pull out a stack of binders and begin thumbing through them. Instead, he removed a tablet computer from a desk drawer and powered it up. In a few moments, they were scanning through fonts. She found several that she liked and he proceeded to design example tattoos with a graphics package. Claire looked carefully at the interlocked letters on the screen. One in particular was gorgeous, with intertwined curls on the letters and a slight shadow which created the illusion of locking the two initials together in three dimensions.

  The letters themselves were thinly colored-in with golden yellow and outlined in aquamarine. They would match her sea horse, while standing out distinctly on her breast - whether or not she had a tan.

  Michele asked her to remove her bra and motioned for her to sit in the semi-reclining chair. He immediately saw the nipple rings and exclaimed with delight that they were among the most attractive he’d ever seen.

  “They are locked into place, no?”

  “Yes, they cannot be removed. They were only done a little over a month ago, so they’re still just slightly sore.”

  “I will be most careful around them.” He hadn’t asked if he should begin; he’d just assumed it. Claire’s hands began to sweat. She hoped she was making the right decision. She was, after all, about to disrupt the symmetry and natural beauty of her lovely, enlarged breasts, and expose her tattoo and her devotion to Elliot for everyone to see.

  “It is a good thing we do this on the right side,” Michele joked with a smile. “The heart on the left side is bumping that breast up and down.”

  “I’m nervous.”

  “This will be magnificent. He will love it, and love you for doing it for him.”

  He carefully sketched the design on her breast. She closed her eyes and heard the high-pitched buzz of the electric needle. It touched her breast, sharply stinging her as the ink was driven deeply into her flesh. She gripped the arms of the chair in an attempt to remain still. It hurt more than the tattoo on her shoulder because of the sensitivity of her breast. Tears welled up in her eyes from the stinging.

  Fortunately, Michele was quick. He finished the tattoo in less than an hour. It was as lovely as she’d hoped it would be, lying radiantly upon the smooth skin of her tanned breast. It looked particularly attractive in relation to the ring through her nipple. She was sure Elliot would like it.

  Michele placed a protective pad over the new tattoo and Claire put on her bra and slipped her arms back into the dress. She started to pay Michele - Elliot had given her a credit card - but Michele told her that Monique had already taken care of it. As Claire was getting ready to leave, a thought occurred to her.

  “Michele, you do piercings as well, don’t you?” She was going to ask him about total healing times for her most recent piercings, and ask him to recommend an ointment to heal them faster.

  “Oui. Would you like a ring like Monique’s for your lovely nose? I did hers, of course.”

  “Her nose ring is beautiful, but that looks far too female-submissive to me. So that one’s out. No I …”

  “Ah, she has told you of her most exotic ornament? Perhaps you would like that other special ring like hers?”

  Claire gulped. Just what she needed, more metal in her snatch. Hmm … she was intrigued. Her brief experience with it that crazy night had been exquisite, but she could never do that … right?

  She noticed he was staring at her. Oh, yes, he’d asked her a question. Now what was it?

  “Did Monique tell you …” He started to ask again.

  She snapped out of her reverie. “Oh … yes Michele, she showed me her clitoris piercing. It’s very lovely.”

  “Oui, it is. It is also very stimulating for her, as I knew it would be. I am, after all, the best there is at piercing that part of the body. Unfortunately, it is unlikely that you would be able to wear one. Only about one in one hundred women have the right anatomical configuration for it. But you could likely wear a clitoral hood piercing. They are beautiful and also enhance the sensations, just not as profoundly.”

  Claire was sure she wasn’t interested. Was she? Would it hurt to at least find out?

  “How would I know what would work?”

  “I would have to examine you. Would you be willing to remove your dress, completely this time … and your panties?””

  “Oh … yes.” Claire was amazed at how easy it was for her to strip in front of this stranger, and reveal her most private places to him. Surprisingly, she wasn’t embarrassed at all. True, the setting was somewhat clinical, but he certainly wasn’t an OB-GYN. And he was a man, after all.

  Nope, it just didn’t faze her.

  She pulled off her dress and removed her panties. She lay on the flat couch with her legs apart as Michele checked her. He expressed lavish praise and genuine delight when he saw her labia rings. He checked and measured her for several minutes. She became wet in spite of the no-nonsense examination. That embarrassed her, but not very.

  “Can I be pierced there?” She asked as he sat back and removed his gloves.

  “Yes you can. You are very lucky to be able to accommodate either a clitoral hood piercing or the very rare clitoral piercing itself. To get the maximum pleasurable effect, and to compliment your labia piercings, I would suggest a vertical piercing of the clitoris itself.”

  Now what? Would Elliot want her to have it? Would she want a sore pussy for another six weeks? Just how dangerous was this?

  “I don’t think … ah …” She was really having trouble putting complete sentences together. She couldn’t do this. She just had to find an excuse. “Is this risky, Michele?”

  “Not when I do it, Mademoiselle.” He could see indecision on her face. “As you Americans say, nothing ventured, nothing gained.”

  Men. They were so full of themselves. On the other hand, the tattoo he’d given her was gorgeous, and Monique’s clit ring was awesome to look at and off-the-charts arousing.

  Frankly, she knew in her heart that she wanted this. She wanted it for herself and she wanted it for Elliot. She was pretty sure she’d finally gone round the bend. So what? If Elliot had shown her anything over the past five and a half months, it was that life was to be lived to its fullest. No pain, no gain, as we Americans say, she thought to herself, suppressing a giggle.

  “I’m sure I’ve gone completely crazy, but if you’re convinced that I’m built okay for this, go ahead and show me some jewelry. How bad would it hurt?”

  “It will hurt, but less than the tattoo.”

  “And I wouldn’t be ruined down there?”

  He chuckled. “No Mademoiselle.”

  “Would I be able to walk out of here?”

  “Ha, ha. Yes, I will numb it as much as possible, both before I do it and before you leave. You will need to take especially good care of it for four-to-six weeks or more, but it will inhibit your activities much less than your many labia piercings have. Let me show you some jewelry.”

  He left the room and returned with a small, velvet pillow, on which were a number of pieces of jewelry for her clit. Michele recommended a 14-gauge, 1.3 centimeter, yellow gold, captive ball ring for the piercing, to coordinate with her other rings, and a curved gold barbell to try when the piercing healed. She liked them both, if she decided to actually go ahead with this.

  Claire realized she’d been lying there with her legs held tightly together, unconsciously protecting her threatened pleasure center. It was now or never; she had to decide. Could she let someone do this to her? Was this going too far in the name of erotica and arousal? Would she regret it later?

  She closed her eyes, gritted her teeth, spread her legs and announced to Michele, “Pierce it – quickly, before I chicken out.”

  Michele efficiently prepared his implements and positioned Claire. He swabbed her with betadine. A few moments later, she felt a cold spray and then, unannounced, an incredibly sharp stabbing pain as the curved needle penetrated her from above her clit to below it, passing deeply through the base of the bud. She screamed a very loud, “FUUUUUUCK!”

  It stung! God how it stung! She could feel every microscopic movement of the needle in her as Michele inserted the ring into its hollow back and pushed it into and through her. He snapped the ball in place. Claire felt a cold spray again and, amazingly, most of the stinging stopped.

  Following a gracious farewell from Michele to Claire, and a physically uncomfortable one from her to him, she gingerly sat in the limo for the drive back to the docks.

  * * * * *

  Monique wanted to see the tattoo as soon as Claire returned. Claire stripped down on the deck, nonchalantly tossing her dress and bra onto a chair. She stood there, tender between her legs, in thong panties and sandals. She removed the pad covering the tattoo. I guess I’ve gotten over any nudity hang-ups I might have had, she mused to herself - at least with people I know or sort-of know. She turned to Monique who, once again, almost squealed with excitement.

  “That is exquisite! The lines are elegant and it shows your love locked together. It almost seems to rise up from your breast. Elliot will adore it immediately!”

  René and Jean-Pierre, hearing Monique’s commotion, came up to the almost naked and now slightly embarrassed Claire. She didn’t like being the center of attention like this, and had the uncomfortable feeling that she was being examined under a microscope. Jean-Pierre, ever the stereotypical homosexual, was so taken by the tattoo that one hand jumped to his heart, the other to his forehead, and he had to sit down for fear of swooning.

  “There’s more; I suppose you’ll want to see it,” Claire offered.

  “Mais oui?” Monique looked into Claire’s eyes, then knowingly down to her crotch.

  The woman has got to be clairvoyant, Claire thought. She carefully slipped out of her thong. Now she was becoming embarrassed. But for some reason, she needed the approval of this group.

  She leaned back against a table with her legs spread. The new ring was clearly visible in the front. It felt good to not have the thong pressing against it.

  René was profoundly turned on by her tattoo and ring, and by the sight of Claire standing naked again in high-heeled sandals on the deck of his yacht. His mouth dropped open. Monique looked at him in laughing exasperation. Claire noticed a rapidly-growing bulge in his Speedo swimsuit.

  “Why René,” Claire teased, “You seem to be sprouting some wood.”

  “Wood?” The confused Frenchman asked of his other companions? Monique just rolled her eyes and Jean-Pierre looked as confused as René.

  Chapter 7: Up, Up and Away

  Claire had spent four days cruising, swimming, sunbathing and gingerly ministering to her poor, inflamed, perpetually-erect, neatly-pierced clit. She’d returned to her cabin after a swim and showered off. The cool water had actually felt good on her wound. She dried herself applied an antiseptic gel, and turned to the closet to find something to wear. Most of the time neither she nor Monique wore anything. As a result, she was well into her best tan ever, thanks to the Mediterranean sun which was more forgiving than the hot, bright sun of the southeastern United States, where she usually vacationed. Even her naked scalp had tanned a golden brown and now matched the rest of her fully-exposed skin.

  As she had a number of times since her trip began, she studied herself in the mirror. Her nipple rings, supported on her generous breasts, now competed for attention with the huge diamond in her navel. But she realized that her most striking feature was her bald head. It changed her looks completely. She didn’t think she was as pretty without hair, but she thought she was exotic and alluring in a different way. She ran her hand over the completely depilated scalp. It still felt very strange to her; she missed her hair. A tear formed in her eye as the fear that Elliot would be upset with her or, worse yet, that he would no longer think her attractive, became impossible to hold back. Her hand moved from her head to the tattoo on her breast. Her fingers lightly glided over it. It was no longer sore at all and looked as beautiful as she thought it would. She hoped with all her heart that Elliot would like it - no, that he would love it. In another day she would know.

  So here I am, she thought, hairless except for my eyelashes. Gold rings in places I’d never thought of, including in my pleasure center! Bigger boobs than I ever conceived of too. She studied the reflection. But my eyes are shiny and bright, my body is in great shape, there is a glow there that even I can see, and I’m really in love with a man more wonderful than I imagined could exist, whose initial will make love to mine upon my own skin, as long as I live.

  And with that observation, with all she’d experienced since knowing Elliot finally coalescing within her, the former, sometimes troubled, overly-diffident Claire melted away into the new Claire, who had come to realize how beautiful life could be, and that the beauty of her true self, now more evident than ever for everyone to see, brought happiness where she touched the world and to the people around her. That realization was quite a boost to her self-confidence.

  * * * * *

  Claire waited on deck for Elliot to return. It would be sometime today; she didn’t know when. She was determined to see him the instant his boat approached the yacht which was moored in Monte Carlo bay once again.

  She wore a thong swimsuit bottom and a crew-necked, cropped top to cover the tattoo. She wanted to surprise him with it when they were alone. She wore the long-layered, curly wig to conceal her baldness. She would figure out some way to tell him once she held him in her arms. Her bags were packed and waiting in the lounge. The others knew she was impatient, that her thoughts were focused only on seeing Elliot again, so they’d left her by herself.

  She was using binoculars to scan the harbor for launches which might be setting out in her direction. Nothing was happening yet. The sky was streaked with light clouds. A jet passed overhead on its way into the Cote d’Azur airport in Nice. She followed it with her binoculars, hoping that it wasn’t carrying Elliot, that he was already closer on his way back to her. Three brightly-colored, hot-air balloons were floating in her direction from the west. She heard the hum of an engine on a boat nearby, jumped up because she thought it might be Elliot, then realized that it was the engine starting on another, smaller yacht that had dropped anchor about fifty yards away.