She intertwined her arm with his and continued to eat. Her non-visual senses were bordering on overload. She could smell the deep redness of the claret as she raised her wine glass to her lips. She reveled in the glossy feel of it as she rolled it around in her mouth. She thought she could sense the individual grapes: the Cabernet, the Merlot and the hint of Grenache that composed the wine.

  He noticed a dribble of wine slip out of the corner of her mouth. He turned her head slightly toward him and licked the drop from her lips. His tongue was wet, warm and rough on her face. She opened her mouth to encircle his tongue and they kissed passionately. Dinner forgotten for the moment, they rolled onto the deck, somehow still wrapped in the blanket. As though it were the simplest thing in the world, as, indeed, it was, Claire straddled him and accepted him into her. Bending slightly forward, she precessed around him, feeling the delectable pressure of his groin as it rubbed against the hairlessness of her own. Her clit was stimulated at just the right level of contact, movement and tension. In those moments, she was reduced to a creature completely distracted by pleasure, completely absorbed in the wonderfulness of being. In her darkness, she could imagine herself as the only entity that existed and that was, somehow, receiving unbearable pleasure from an unknown, formless source upon which she was impaled. As had happened while blind two weeks before, her mind seemed to leave the space behind her eyes and migrate to the center of her delectation. There it instantly received the pleasure in profound spasms, over and over. Time no longer existed. Nothing endured but the acute sensations that poured into her mind and the demanding need for Elliot within her.

  Claire climaxed twice in quick succession. She fell against him, still moving around and gripping that part of him joining them together. She didn’t even realize her position had changed, so complete was her isolation in the passion and darkness. Her strength almost gone, she climaxed yet again as he released into her with a force beyond the energy that she thought any man possessed.

  Far past exhaustion, she felt her mind settle back into its home in the space behind her sightless eyes. She lay sweaty on top of him. His breathing was so heavy that she rose up with each breath, and then sank into him as he exhaled. He was still hard within her and she shuddered with a microclimax, as he began to relax back.

  She was so taken by the experience, the singular intensity of the sexual encounter, that she couldn’t sleep for hours. In the middle of the night, touching him between his legs, she discovered that he was ready again. She mounted him and began to satisfy herself with abandon. Elliot awoke from a Claire-centered dream to find her devouring him. They climaxed together. Moments later, their legs entwined, they fell into a deep sleep, not awakening until noon the next day.

  * * * * *

  Her first week in the chateau had passed and they’d settled into a routine - an affectionate, sexually-charged routine of mutual arousal and shared intimacy. Elliot, who loved to cook and who was a gourmet in his own right, prepared breakfast each morning. Claire would bathe afterwards, sometimes with him, in the huge whirlpool on the lower level. The mornings were consumed with each other in sensual fulfillment. In early afternoon, a cook would arrive to prepare lunch and, later, dinner. Claire had been surprised the first day Madam Marçeau had arrived. Elliot hadn’t told her about the cook before she heard the timid knock at the door. He’d introduced Claire, explaining in French to Madam Marçeau that she’d only recently lost her sight.

  Afternoon sex-play was more controlled since the cook was there, but they still spent almost every moment close to each other. She began to know all the smells of him and the feel of each inch of his body. She perceived the unseen expressions on his face by the timbre of his voice or his breathing. She came to know his body and its mannerisms almost as well as she knew herself.

  In ways both subtle and overt, Elliot encouraged her to experience life fully through her other senses. He wanted her to develop a depth of sensuous experience that he felt she couldn’t while most of her mind was occupied with visual stimulation. Thus, he’d blinded her, rather than just blindfolding her, to force her to bolster her reliance on touch and sound, smell and taste at all times. He intended to do everything he could to help her forget seeing and what sight meant to her. As much as he could, he wanted to erase the memory of sight from her mind, the better for her to nurture depth in her other senses.

  Elliot’s efforts began to bear fruit. For example, as time went on, Claire found that she could picture him in her mind but, what had been a visual image utterly evolved into an assemblage of sensory impressions which became increasingly less visual. Even her mapping of the chalet wasn’t a visualization in her mind but a basic body of knowledge about the place, associated with movement within it, but not associated with any conjured images at all. That was aided by the fact that she had actually never seen the chalet; she was already blind when they’d arrived. He actively discouraged her from creating a mental picture of the place, instead encouraging her to create a mental map which had to do with distance, touch, and her wandering around it. From the beginning, he’d put her through exercises in those ways of knowing their mountain cottage over and over again. She began to think of the place in the same way she’d consider the location of her arm, or foot, or the tilt of her head.

  The intensity of the sensory input she received from him, though sex, music, food and drink hastened her evolution away from the visual. At the end of their first month there, she found it increasingly difficult to picture anything in her mind at all. She relied more and more on the other attributes of things, the attributes that her other senses could discern. As a result, she knew the table next to the chair where she sat to listen to music by its smooth hardness, the faint but perceivable smell of its polish, and the utility of it as a surface on which to place things. She rarely formed a mental picture of a table at all. She did, in fact, try to visualize it five weeks into their stay and wasn’t able to bring up an image of what the table might look like. Tableness was no longer an instant visual concept to her, but a set of other sensory impressions. But she still knew she could sit at, or place things upon a table. She had to struggle to describe a table from some remembered, visual image, instead of by function. Such was the way Elliot was forcing her mind to evolve.

  On a more practical note, her greatest aggravation was the need to wear shoes all the time, to keep from banging her feet on things. Thus, in the evenings, she’d be sitting naked in his arms, wearing shoes or slippers. At one point, they both had broken out in hysterical laughter at the thought of it.

  Late in the afternoon one quiet Tuesday, a delivery arrived. Elliot asked Claire to stay out on the lower balcony while he attended to the driver. An hour passed before he returned to get her. By then Madam Marçeau had finished preparing dinner and had left early at his request.

  He carried Claire from the balcony to the bedroom. "What's going on?" She asked in anticipation. She could tell there was a surprise in store for her.

  "Something that I’d planned since before we ever got here to the chalet, but had to wait for until they could be custom-made. You'll see in a moment."

  "Nonsense," she chided, "I can't see anything."

  “You know, sometimes I get the feeling that you like not being able to see anything.”

  “That’s ridiculous. Given a choice, who would ever want to be sightless?”

  “You for one.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Really? You sure seem to be enraptured by your sightlessness.”

  “I’ve adjusted.”

  “Yes you have; but that’s not what I was saying. I think you actually prefer being this way.”

  He’d noticed. He’d seen through her. He knew about her desire to totally depend on him. She couldn’t let him know for sure. She just couldn’t. It would be too embarrassing.

  She tried to deflect what was becoming obvious to Elliot. “I’m trying to be a part of your games. I do want to be with you. I’m obsessed with being with you.”

  “But I’ve come to realize that you want so much more.”

  “What more is there?”

  “You want to submit to me, Claire. You want me to dominate you, You want to become the woman that I would force you to become. The blindness takes you in that direction, so you’re helpless to not like being unable to see; you have to embrace it. You’re compelled to welcome it.”

  “Nonsense.” How could he know her deepest thoughts?

  “Admit it. It’ll be worth it to you in the long term.”

  “There’s nothing to admit.”

  “You want me to take you and control you. You want to – no, you need to – bend to my will.”

  “What? No! … No!” She could sense his skepticism, even though she couldn’t see his eyebrows rise. “No! Why would anyone chose to be blind?”

  His hand slid down her lower abdomen and cupped her dripping mound.

  “Because you need to be mine in all things.”

  “Of course I want you.”

  “You need me”

  “Okay, I need you”

  “It consumes you and forces you to bend to my will – no, more than that – to want to bend to my will. To be dependent on me in all things.”

  “I want to please you.”

  “You need to please me. Your will gives you no choice.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “It is.”

  “No.”

  His arms wrapped around her as her tears began to flow uncontrollably.

  “No. It can’t be like that. I’m stronger than that!”

  “It’s your strength that’s propelling you toward me.”

  “I CAN’T HELP IT!!!”

  “Of course you can’t!”

  “Oh God! What will happen to me?!”

  His voice lowered to a whisper. “Whatever I want. And that’s what you must have; am I right?”

  “Oh God, yes! That’s what I want! I want to surrender to you! I want you to take control of me! I want to be the woman you always desire! That’s all I want! That’s all I’ve ever wanted!”

  “Then,” he stated, levelly, “That’s what you shall have.”

  She started to sob in her darkness. He clutched her to him. “Now, now. No need to be sad. I promise that you’ll have everything you want from me.”

  “Everything? Anything?”

  “Of course, Claire. I care for you deeply too.”

  “I don’t think I can exist without you.”

  “Certainly, as long as that’s true, you’ll never have to.”

  “I can’t see your face to read your eyes and be assured that’s true.”

  “No, you cannot. And you won’t - maybe for a very long time … or maybe not. But I’m telling you the truth about my commitment to you. I know you can sense it. You don’t need to see it. Stop considering seeing as part of the assurance you need about anything. You’re blind, Claire. Period. As far as you’re concerned right this minute, end-of-story. Deal with life without sight. You don’t have a choice. Trust me and your other senses. Right now that’s all you have.”

  “On the fringes of my consciousness, I still miss sight.”

  “Your sight is in the past and is of no consequence to you now. You can’t see anything at all, Claire. You could be blind forevermore unless I decide to restore you. At this point, assume that I will never do that. Assume that you’ll never see again and go from there.”

  “You might keep me blind?”

  True or not, he was sure she needed to hear it in order to move on. “Indeed, I might. I do find you exciting, erotic, attractive and desirable like this.”

  “Please tell me what you’re going to do. Not knowing is eating me alive.”

  “Forget sight until your situation changes.”

  “I cannot. Please, just tell me. I’ve been sightless for 40 days now. Just tell me when it will end.”

  He stepped back to watch her expression. “Describe me.”

  “I have trouble picturing you in my mind … ah, er … your skin is firm and smooth - buttery. Your nose extends from its slight indentation below your forehead, straight until it flares to your nostrils. Your chin feels square when it rests in my palm. Your cheeks are usually warmer than your forehead. Your face is smooth after you shave in the morning and rough by six o’clock in the evening. Your muscles are rock-hard against me. Especially your thighs. They’re like steel rods compared to mine, even though I’m well-toned for a woman. Your …”

  “Stop. You’ve proven that you don’t need to see me. You really can’t picture me, can you?”

  “You’re incredibly handsome.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I remember thinking that you were when I could see you!”

  “But you can’t describe how I look?”

  “Yes … no! I don’t remember what you look like, damn it! And I want to remember! I can hardly recall what anything looks like and it scares the shit out of me!”

  Elliot spoke softly again. “Don’t let it. You don’t need to know. You are what you are. It’s time to accept that.”

  “I want to see again!”

  “No you don’t. Not really. And, I’ll bet, not if I don’t want you to.” He paused to let his words sink in. “Am I right?”

  “Oh! God help me! You’re right! Do what you want with me! I’m yours to master! I’m yours to have as you want! Oh God, I’m so bound to you!”

  “I promise to help you achieve everything needed to fulfill you.”

  “And my sight?”

  “You don’t need it now. You’re blind, and blind you will stay.”

  “For how long? Please! For how long?!”

  “Dearest Claire, I think it best that you assume it’s forever.”

  Incredibly, at that point, a wave of relief swept over her and her angst washed away. After all, if it was forever, it was no longer worth her concern. She could do nothing about it. His will would decide, and all her pleading wouldn’t sway him. Elliot wasn’t cruel; he simply knew what he wanted, what he was doing, and that she would accept his decisions. She would go forward sightless, if that’s the way he wanted her to be. There wasn’t a reason to anguish over it or, really, to give it any more thought.

  Seeing had been nice. But that wasn’t possible for her anymore.

  Just be who you are, Claire, she told herself. Then she smiled and reached out her arms for him. He embraced her and everything was suddenly better.

  He lifted up her chin to look into her sightless eyes. They quivered side-to-side for a moment seeming to search for him, unsure exactly how far away he was. Her mouth curved up in a self-conscious smile. Her unfocussed eyes smiled too.

  “Are you okay now?” He whispered.

  “You like me like this?” She replied as quietly.

  “I adore everything about you – what’s new and what’s been there all along.”

  “Then I’m very okay.”

  “I’m glad, and I believe you. So now, I want to show – no, no, I mean give – you that surprise.”

  With that, he lifted her naked-save-for-shoes body high in the air as she yelped, and tossed her onto the bed on her back. She started to yell at him for being careless with her when she felt the delightfully warm, thick, soft fur under her.

  "What is this?" She asked. She rolled onto her side and felt the deliciously dense pelt. Her unseeing eyes stared into space, but her face was alight with pleasure as her hands probed the entire surface of the bed. It was completely covered in the fur.

  "It's a mink comforter, of course. In fact, it's fur outside and another layer of fur inside so you can always have the feel of mink against your skin, whether you're in it or on it."

  "I didn't know anybody made mink bedspreads!"

  "Nobody did, as far as I know. I had it specially done in Russia. That's why it took several weeks. Those damn, former Bolsheviks still can't get anything done in a hurry. Their workmanship is excellent, though."

  "This is sooo wonderful," she cooed. I think we should christen it."

  "Now there's a good idea." An hour later, they found that mink did get wet when two bodies perspired on it - it got crushed too - but bounced right back when dried and brushed lightly.

  Taking her hand, he helped her exhausted body from the bed. She certainly puts her whole self into that, he thought. He was delighted with her on many levels. He deeply enjoyed her company.

  "Stand still," Elliot requested.

  "I can hardly move anyway." She was partially leaning against the bed, the back of her legs pressed against the mink cover.

  "Step over here." She followed his voice and suddenly felt her body surrounded by fur again, this time, from neck to toe.

  "A mink coat!" She exclaimed. As she was rubbing her hands over it, he handed her a jacket. "And a mink jacket!"

  "Since you didn’t win them from Monique, I thought I should reward you with them for being such a great sport. And, of course, I have the mandatory mink undies, along with mink slippers with hardened toes. Here, open the coat long enough to slip them on." He helped her into the thong-like panties, the bra and the slippers. All were fur inside and out. Claire laughed for ten minutes, happy and satisfied.

  "I don't want you tearing these off of me," she teased.

  "I'll try to restrain myself. Now let's see what Madam Marçeau has cooked up for dinner."

  He led her into the kitchen. She kept the underwear and coat on. The fur inside the panties felt wonderful against the sensitive, hairless smoothness of her pussy. From the outside, it felt a little like having her pubes back.

  "Oh my God!" Elliot faked surprise, taking the lid off of a pot so that she could smell the delicious aroma. "It appears that we're having some small rodent. Must be mink!"

  "You shit," she said good-naturedly. "I know rabbit when I smell it." She paused for several long moments before adding, "It is rabbit, isn't it?'

  And they laughed so hard that it was a while before they could eat at all.

  * * * * *