Chapter 2: Baubles, Bangles and Beads

  Four restful days had passed. Claire’s soreness had peaked the second day and was diminishing rapidly. She’d become sufficiently used to the hotel room that she could now find her way around in her darkness. She was beginning to get used to the greater weight on her chest, and no longer felt that she might tumble forward as soon as she stood up. She was still wrapped tightly, although he would remove the remaining bandages in the afternoon.

  At the moment, she was reclining while Elliot did her fingernails and toenails. Although she couldn’t see his face, she sensed that he was enjoying himself. He’d trimmed them shorter than she usually wore them and spent a long time working on her cuticles. He was now polishing them, with a deep, midnight-blue polish – or so he’d told her.

  When he was done and the polish had dried, he stood her up and removed the bandages. The small incisions at her armpits had been cemented together, and were well along the way to being healed. The soreness between the incisions and her chest was mostly gone, and her breasts were only a little tender. She reached up to feel them for the first time. Without the bandages pressing against them, they seemed even larger. She gasped. She thought Elliot was to her right so she turned to face him, standing straight, arms now at her side.

  “Am I a cow?”

  “Of course not. You’re lovely.”

  “Do you like them better?”

  “I liked them equally well before. They’re not better or worse, just different – and that in itself is exciting. They’re quite striking on your small frame, but not at all out of place. Based on what you said, I think you’ll like them better.”

  “How many days until I get to see them?” She’d said nothing else about her blindness since that first day in London.

  “Oh, you’ll get to see them in about four hours. We have a few things to do first and then we have dinner on the Strand. After dinner we’re going to a show in Piccadilly.”

  “I won’t be blind anymore?”

  “No. It’ll make it easier to enjoy the show,” he stated wryly. He chuckled at his own joke. “Now lay down, I want to give you the best massage you’ve ever had.” As Claire lay down, he removed her panties.

  His hands moved all over her, rubbing fragrant, musk-scented oil into her skin, probing for tightness, stretching and smoothing. She kept perfectly still, save for an occasional “Umm …” as she felt any remnants of tension melt away. She shuddered and he thought of the words to the Starship song, Miracles:

  You ripple like a river when I touch you.

  When I pluck your body like a string.

  Elliot was determined to continue with his talented massage until Claire reached the point where he could completely play out the song:

  When I start dancing inside you …

  Unable to see, she couldn’t tell where his hands would go next. Undistracted by vision, she was able to tightly concentrate on the sensations of being oiled, rubbed, and kneaded.

  He massaged her arms, legs, feet and back. His hands traveled up her right arm to her shoulder, probing every muscle along the way. His fingers danced firmly across her upper back and continued along her left shoulder and down that arm. The staccato stimulation traveled down her back, across her butt and between her legs to her pussy. Both of his hands slid sensuously down her legs to the ends of her toes, kneading her instep and the balls of her feet. He rolled her onto her back. He cupped her pubic mound. His fingers, sensing her wetness from within her fleshy, protruding inner lips and spreading across her cunt, slipped within her as the palm of his hand pressed down upon her sex.

  Elliot had grown hard at the same pace as he’d explored her. The urge to join with Claire became irresistible and the need immediate. He slid into her hot, wet snatch, filling her with the ample volume of his erection.

  He taunted her with his slow movement in and out. He eventually withdrew and slid down her body to position his mouth between her legs. She could sense his movement, but had no idea what might happen next, or where it would be. His tongue slipped into her vaginal opening and slowly, ever so slowly, slid between her inner labia up to, but stopping just before he touched, her clit. He repeated the motion, over and over. His tongue circled her clit, licking at the sides of her inner lips and above the hood that barely masked her most-sensitive spot, continuing to taunt her as she begged him to lick her clit. He sat back and looked at her. She writhed in anticipatory pleasure, the tenderness of the breast enlargement all but forgotten. In the softest voice, she pleaded with him to do her. His mouth was against her again, his tongue surrounding but not touching the center of her pleasure. He held her in her darkness in delicious anticipation for what seemed an eternity before he let his tongue glide from her opening up between her lips and flick lightly over her clit.

  Claire moaned with pleasure. His tongue gingerly, ever-so-delicately, stroked her clit again and again. Her entire body spasmed. His tongue was everywhere between her legs. The pleasure, the build-up was almost unbearable in its demanding intensity. Over and over, Elliot brought her to the edge of explosive pleasure. Finally, sensing her heights because he knew her so well, he commanded her to “do it.” She rolled over onto her stomach, his right hand resting on the curl-covered mound between her legs. She rocked rapidly side-to-side. “Do it because you have to,” he demanded of her. “Do it because you’ve come to need it since I introduced you to how it could be. Do it because your sex is now so close to the surface.”

  At his words, she became ever more aroused. The sexual tension was beyond expression. Her movements became more rapid, frenetic. “Feel the pressure of your pussy against my hand,” he said, the nails of his left hand scratching roughly along her back. “I’ve done this to you. I’ve taken you from the frustrated routine of a dying relationship, restored you, made you whole again, and forced you to become the intensely sexual creature you are now.” With those words her sexual climb reached the summit and she came with such force that she thought she might expire from the shock of the experience.

  Twice more she came with his hand on her pussy. Ultimately, she rolled aside, facing him, and collapsed with her head resting on his arm. She moaned with exhaustion, but he wasn’t ready to let her rest yet. Elliot rolled her onto her back and rolled up onto her in one motion.

  Once he was again fully in her, he began to move back and forth with greater and greater force and with more urgency. She shuddered and pushed violently against him, her hips rising against each of his strokes as they both became lost in the passion, in the union of their two bodies. Her unseeing eyes stared, unfocussed, into space but her face was alive with pure lust; her lower lip was extended in arousal; her breathing matched the rhythm of their bodies; her teeth gritted with each thrust.

  He reached behind her. His hands cupped her bottom and pulled her even more tightly against him. His fingers probed her anus and circled the puckered orifice several times as the violence of their lovemaking increased. Their minds became lost in it. Their only thoughts were to please each other and to be pleased. Claire’s arms encircled his neck. Her sightless eyes, flitting from side to side, tried hopelessly to find his face. She drew his head down to hers and kissed him so hard that their lips almost bled. Her tongue entered his mouth and probed it. Her own focus on the touches and texture and taste of him consumed her attention. She would have had no capacity left to absorb sight too, had that even been possible.

  Elliot was sweating profusely, as he was prone to do, and they were soaked in it. Their chests slid against each other, their bodies completely in motion, in spite of her tender breasts. Her arousal became complete, all-consuming, overwhelming. As she crossed over the edge into orgasm again, he climaxed within her and their bodies became wild, uncontrolled from the pleasure. For a subjective eternity they stayed at the peak, before collapsing in complete exhaustion.

  They showered together afterwards. He washed her very gently, in contrast to the vigorous massage. He toweled her dry and sat her on a padded stool in the dressing room of the suite. She could hear him working with some objects on a table behind her, but couldn’t figure out what he was doing. She didn’t ask. Whatever it was, it would happen in good time, and it would be by his hands.

  She felt a cold Q-tip against her left ear, and thought he was going to deafen her again. Instead, he swabbed both sides of her earlobe, then rapidly pushed a diamond stud earring through the resisting skin, the same distance above her second hole as the second hole was above her first. “Ouch!” was all she exclaimed. She didn’t move as he fastened the back to the post and repeated the piercing on the right side.

  He fastened another set of identical diamond studs in the second holes and dangling diamond earrings in her first holes.

  “Beautiful,” he said, breaking the silence.

  “Elliot, why did you pierce my ears again? Are you trying to keep me sore all the time?” Her voice was a little cross, although she’d tried to control it. She didn’t know if she liked the idea of more piercings or not.

  “Because your ears are beautiful and deserve to be ornamented. You can’t yet see them, but they’re sporting about ten-thousand-dollars’ worth of diamonds.”

  “You’re trying to change me.”

  “I’m not doing anything to the real you inside, except enabling you to discover your true potential. I’m helping you perfect what’s already there, mostly based on things you’ve said in the past. You’re gorgeous and you should be prepared to flaunt it. I’m the instrument for your shortage of self-confidence. I’m your guide along this erotic path.”

  He kissed her passionately.

  “And how far are you going to guide me?” She asked, breathless from the kiss.

  “As far as you will take yourself.”

  “How will I know when I’m there?”

  “My lovely Claire, you won’t know at all, but I will.”

  * * * * *

  Elliot had done her hair in the simple, straight, almost-to-the-shoulder bob, dressed her in a long evening gown and carefully applied her makeup. The dress was cut to take advantage of her new bosom. He fastened a four-carat diamond pendant around her neck and admired her as she stood there. She carried herself very well, especially considering that she was still getting used to her altered figure. He pulled a dropper from a small vial and then gently tipped her head back. Drops went into each eye quickly. He dabbed them to prevent the mascara from smudging.

  Ten seconds passed, then half a minute. Suddenly, she could see again, out of both eyes at almost the same time. As the light burst in she could see the elegance of the room, the full-length, apricot-colored drapes, the highly-polished, antique-cherry furniture, the muted green walls with white trim. Elliot was standing there before her in a white dinner jacket, black trousers, a burgundy bow tie and matching pocket square, with a big smile on his face.

  No mirror was evident from where she stood. Instead, she looked down at herself, to see her dress. Her eyes met with more cleavage than she’d once thought she could ever support. She looked up at him, her eyes wide. He led her to a mirror in the dressing room, where she saw herself for the first time.

  The dress was off-white with pearlescent sequins. It was slit at the right side to almost her waist. It clung to her alluringly. Her breasts were impressively large, but suited her. The dress cupped them from below and exposed them from above with a heart-shaped line that dipped between them.

  Her hair was the same but she could immediately notice the thicker, dark, permanent liner around her eyes. It deepened their blue and drew much attention to them. The eye shadow was subtle at first, but caused her eyes to pick up even more focus. The earrings and necklace were gorgeous.

  Claire tried to take in all of herself at once. She had to admit that it was the best she had ever looked. She glowed from somewhere within and it surrounded her like a halo.

  He was standing behind her, hands resting on her shoulders. “You are stunningly beautiful,” he whispered. Let’s go and begin this magical night.”

  They ate in an exquisite private club on The Strand, in the heart of London’s theater district restaurants. Most of the staff seemed to know Elliot well. They were gracious and solicitous when he introduced Claire. The chef had prepared a special dinner and brought it to their table in a small, intimate room which they had all to themselves. They had her favorite aperitif: whiskey, straight-up, which further served to free her mood. The dinner claret was full-bodied, French and heady. The amoretto cappuccino was sweet and creamy. By the time they left, she was joyously high.

  “You are a smooth operator, that’s for sure.” She meant it as a compliment.

  “As I recall, that’s Sadé’s song about a gigolo. I am not a gigolo.”

  “I’m sorry,” he hadn’t liked the remark and it caught her off-guard. “I meant that you seem so at home with all of this, so self-assured.”

  “I’m experienced. Some things come with time.”

  “Not to all men.”

  “Nor to all women. We will need to be beyond all men and women, don’t you think?”

  The play was a romantic comedy. They sat alone in a balcony box to the right, looking down on the stage. Elliot had bought all of the seats in the box so they wouldn’t be bothered by others around them. After the play, the leading actor and actress came to the box and introduced themselves to Claire. Elliot knew them personally, of course.

  They finished the evening with a glass of port at a café near Green Park. By the time they returned to the hotel, she was once again consumed by a warm, pliant glow. The evening slid softly into morning.

  By ten o’clock the next morning, they were sitting in the waiting room of Vidal Sassoon’s very high-end, fashionable, trendy hair salon in Knightsbridge. Vidal had passed away some years before, but the salon was, if anything, more popular than ever with London’s most exclusive clientele. The young woman who was to be her hairdresser, Kenda, led them both to her station.

  “What are they going to do to me here?” Claire asked, more to make conversation than because she was intending to protest. Whatever it was, it must have been prearranged, because Kenda seated her, covered her with a cape, and began to color her hair without any instructions from him. The result was a somewhat light, yellowish-champagne blonde, several shades lighter than her natural color. Although it was still wet, Claire was happy to see that it was going to compliment her complexion.

  She liked the contrast between her straight, light hair and creamy complexion and his dark brown, wavy hair, and the olive skin he’d inherited from his Italian mother.

  Kenda began to cut her hair into a shorter, geometric bob, with full, heavy bangs cut to about half an inch above her eyebrows. Her hair was long enough to only just touch her jaw in the front and angled up to several inches above her hairline in the back. Since the bob was cut above the hair on her nape, the nape hairs were buzzed short with clippers, below the smoothly under-curving bob. Kenda shaved the lowest hairs in the back and at the sides of the nape.

  Claire’s hair was blown dry until it gently curved under all around with the bristly nape hairs lying smooth. The feel of the air blowing against the very short hairs beneath the bob, along her neck in the back, was a new experience and felt peculiar, sensuous, and stimulating to Claire.

  As she’d expected, it was a great cut - just what the salon was famous for.

  Back at the hotel, Claire admired the look. As she turned from the mirror, Elliot stood there with portable electrolysis tweezers and a big grin. This had always been their game – he would suggest permanently thinning her brows; she would nervously do it; he would suggest perhaps a little more; she would sometimes go further.

  “I was wondering when you’d pull that out,” she said with an I know you too well look on her face.

  “I was thinking,” he admitted, “that I might have an eyebrow fetish. What do you think?”

  “Actually, I think you have a reverse eyebrow fetish. You seem to want me to have fewer and fewer of them.”

  “And so it will be.”

  In an hour, all that remained of each brow was a single row of hairs, slightly curved, with just the barest hint of an arch near the center. He was delighted and complimented himself on how well they looked with her new hair and perpetually lined eyes.

  She’d let him do it, of course. Now they were essentially gone, and there was nothing she could do about it. At least there wouldn’t be any more discussion on this point in the future. Looking in the mirror, Claire had to admit that they looked chic and sophisticated. They also went well with her funky shorter hair.

  They had dinner at a small, quiet, Italian restaurant near the Holland Park tube stop, in Kensington. The wine, a rich Chianti Classico, was especially heady and they both sported a warm glow as they left the restaurant to go dancing. He had gotten them into an exclusive disco at the edge of Soho. They danced for hours, fast to the driving rhythm of a wide range of groups and then to slow, romantic music as the DJ shifted over to a different tempo when he sensed the crowd’s mood change.

  Elliot pressed her slender body and ample bosom tightly against him as they danced in complex steps to the slow, swaying music. With her now shorter hair, Claire could feel his warm breath on her neck. Her head rested gently against his shoulder. She closed her eyes, the better to focus on their togetherness, as he guided them around the floor.

  Much later, after all of the evening’s activities, she lay in his arms, running her fingers lightly over his chest as he slept. Eventually, satisfied and still glowing from inner warmth, she joined him in sleep.

  * * * * *

  The view of the Cote d’Azur had been stunning as they swept down over the water and flew into Nice. The blue-green water, the light tan beaches, and the deep green mountains rising beyond the coastal cities beckoned her. Elliot had rented a dark-metallic-blue Mercedes convertible and they’d driven to their new hotel, right at the beach in Saint-Tropez. By noon, they were sipping wine at a colorfully-decorated, outdoor café a few blocks inland from the hotel.