Three months of the most satisfying sex, eating, and drinking she had ever known had passed. So profound had been her experiences with her other senses, which he had purposely and relentlessly encouraged, that she could no longer remember what it was like to see, without consciously working at trying to conjure an image. She didn’t even remember her own face, other than by the shape it revealed to her fingertips.

  She could feel that her eyebrows were still gone; Elliot had used Jean-Pierre’s depilatory cream on them several times. He’d touched up her roots every two weeks to keep her hair black, but she couldn’t quite picture the difference between black and blonde, even though she still knew the words and knew blonde was lighter than black. Lighter had only superficial meaning to her, though.

  Finally, fifteen weeks following their arrival in the chalet, Elliot announced that he would restore her sight the next morning. They would be staying only another three weeks and he’d finally decided that she’d progressed so much in her expanded grasp of her other senses that he wanted her to visually enjoy the mountains before they left. Her reaction surprised them both.

  “Ah…er … you know … I’m kinda shocked, but the thought of seeing again actually scares me. In fact, I don’t think I want to. These three and a half months in the chalet have been so pleasurable, that I don’t want them to end and seeing again will end it. Or, at least, change it completely. I don’t want that to happen. Besides, I don’t want the responsibility, and that’s all I’d seem to be getting.”

  She chuckled nervously. ”I don’t want the work that comes with being able to see. I can’t remember much at all of what it was like to, but I know that I had to do more things for myself. Now those things don’t seem like more freedom, they seem like a bother.”

  “Why are you afraid? You were a sighted person for almost your entire life.”

  “I don’t know. Probably because I really struggle to remember what it was like. You did that to me with the entire sensory overload over the past fifteen weeks. You took away my understanding of - no, my ability to – visually picture things. I became comfortable as I am now. Yes, that’s it; I’m comfortable and I like that. My world has become this chalet, which I know very well, and I like the soothing intimacy of that. So now, thinking about your offer, my emotions are telling me that being able to see would be like skiing for the first time, or jumping off a cliff into the ocean. It's frightening. I can’t explain it any better.

  “Besides, you told me weeks ago to assume I would never see again and that’s what I did.”

  “I always intended to restore your sight.”

  “I may have thought that deep down, but you managed to suppress that belief in me. At least enough that I stopped thinking about it entirely after that day when we talked about it.

  “You really want to be blind for the rest of your life?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe ... oh … probably not. I’m totally messed up on this because I stopped thinking about seeing again. But if I were to remain blind, I wouldn’t mind – really I wouldn’t – at least not as long as you were there to feed my other senses. I don’t know what will happen to them if I can see again. Things won’t feel the same or taste or smell the same. I remember enough about not being blind to know that.”

  “I thought you would want to see the mountains, the sunset before we left here.”

  “I know them by the freshness of the air, by the coolness of the evening. I’ve internalized them.”

  “Claire, that is quite profound.”

  “You’ve helped me grow beyond anything I thought possible.”

  They silently held each other for a long while. He finally spoke again.

  “We need to do this.”

  She sighed. “I know. But at least promise me – please promise me - that I can return to the darkness sometime in the months and years to come. Then that hope can support me through the changes that you’re going to make to me tomorrow.”

  Elliot was surprised to realize that, in a number of ways, he preferred her as she was now. That made it easy for him to reply, “I promise.”

  * * * * *

  Claire had been able to see again for a week. At first she found herself hating the light. It kept her from focusing on what was important. She anxiously awaited the night so the pseudo-darkness could envelop her.

  With a large part of her consciousness diverted to processing images, she had to push experiences more aggressively to satisfy the other senses. Sex became more physical, rougher. At mealtimes - Madam Marçeau was now gone and both Elliot and Claire were cooking – she would find herself holding the plate or wine glass to her nose, eyes tightly closed, to pick up the aromas at a level approaching what she had known when she was happily sightless.

  Elliot could sense her frustration. She made it clear that she wanted more sensation, more erotic play. She wanted to continue to evolve. Although she didn’t realize it consciously, he knew that she was continuing to expand her self, her outlook, her needs. As he had all along, he would help her continue that growth.

  * * * * *

  Something was going to happen tonight, Claire thought. There was nothing that Elliot had done or said that she could identify to validate that thought, but she knew him very well by now and could somehow sense it. Perhaps she’d be blind again, a state that she was beginning to long for, just nine days following her return to sight. Or maybe he had something new in mind. Whatever it was, she knew it would excite her, and she knew that after he did it, she’d never understand how she’d allowed herself to live so long without the experience.

  He didn’t disappoint her. The sun had slipped behind the mountain and the night had almost hurtled towards them. He led her by the hand into the dressing room and slowly, carefully, methodically removed her clothes. She stood naked before him. The dim light above cast a blue-violet glow off her wispy, black hair and forced a twinkle from the diamond in her belly.

  He carried Claire to the bed and placed her in the middle of it. She let her body go limp so he could do with it as he pleased. Using sturdy, blood-red cloths of the finest Chinese silk, Elliot snugly tied each wrist to a corner bedpost. He spread her legs, meeting with no resistance from her, and secured each ankle to a post at the foot of the bed.

  Her heartbeat accelerated rapidly. He had never bound her before. In fact, he had once told her that bondage play wasn’t particularly interesting to him. In a whisper, she remarked on that.

  “This is not play,” he responded. That caused her heart to beat even faster.

  He removed his clothes. She heard him open the drawer of the night stand and heard the sounds of his preparations. His back blocked her view of what he was doing. She expected to see him turn, eyedropper in hand, expected to soon visit her familiar companion, the darkness. Instead, he climbed onto the bed and straddled her, sitting back easily on her upper thighs. She could feel his warm, hard buttocks pressing her legs into the mink-covered mattress, and his balls lying gently on her hairless pubic mound.

  He’d removed the drawer and set it next to him. With her arms tied up above her, she couldn’t lift her head enough to see what it contained. Her heart beat still faster, her breathing came in rapid, shallow gasps. She spoke in short, tight phrases, punctuated by more gasps, her voice weak.

  “What … are you … going to do to me?”

  “What you asked.”

  “I don’t remember … what I asked for.” She didn’t think she’d asked for this at all.

  “Claire, I know what’s in your innermost thoughts. Before your thoughts came to be, I knew them.”

  “How can you know me that way?”

  “Because you’ve allowed me into your mind, helped me assimilate it by what you've told me about yourself. Even more, you've taught me about you by the way you've told me. And through the times we've shared, you’ve taken my mind into yours and melded it with yours. Your mind is not exclusively yours but partly ours, thinking as one.”

  She knew that it was true. It was not Elliot who straddled her, but both of them united in the same desires.

  He’d donned a pair of latex gloves. He massaged the right nipple of her enlarged breast, forcing it to become hard and erect. Eyes now closed, she cooed with pleasure. As he bent forward, she felt his hardness against her lower abdomen. She lifted herself to him but he didn’t enter her. As her eyes opened she saw that he was moistening a cotton ball with fluid from a bottle. Her nose picked up the vaporous scent of alcohol. He briskly rubbed her nipple with the cold, wet cotton. The nub stiffened even more.

  She was afraid to say anything. She felt a rising apprehension. Her mouth opened to try to speak but he put a finger to her lips, shushing her. The next moment, he was holding a metal implement in one hand and a flat, rubber disk in the other.

  “This is a dermal punch,” he announced in a steady, even voice. The light glinted off of it. “It creates an opening for somewhat larger ornaments.”

  As her mouth opened to respond, he slipped the rubber disk between her teeth, commanding her to “Bite down hard and steadily.” She did. She closed her eyes as he bent towards her. Her breathing was rapid. Her heart pounded furiously. She felt the pinch of cold steel as he clamped angled Pennington forceps to her nipple, and then rested the cold handle on her upper breast.

  “Take a deep breath, hold it, and bite down,” he said evenly.

  Halfway through the breath Claire felt a stabbing, searing pain at the very base of her nipple. The tool had punched a ten-gauge hole straight through it. Her teeth clenched against the rubber as she screamed through her nose and bared teeth. She spit out the rubber.

  “You bastard!” She screamed. She was about to continue a stream of epithets when she felt her own wetness against his hardness.

  Elliot only smiled calmly at her wild eyes. He’s infuriatingly cool, she thought at that moment.

  She struggled helplessly against her bonds and then relaxed back.

  He’s pierced my nipple! She exclaimed to herself. The pain was now more burning than stabbing. She felt tugging around her nipple as he slipped a three-quarter-inch, ten-gauge ring through the brutal hole and snapped it shut. There was some blood and he cleaned it with an alcohol-soaked cloth. It stung fiercely. He placed a gauze pad over the wounded nipple.

  He could feel her wetness on his scrotum. Without saying another word, he swabbed her left nipple with alcohol, making it hard and erect at the same time. He clipped the forceps in place.

  “No,” she said painfully.

  “No?” He replied, wrinkling his forehead. He waited half a minute as Claire’s eyes searched his face. Suddenly, there was a determined, almost defiant sparkle in those eyes.

  “Yes,” she said, taking a deep breath and holding it.

  The tool punched through her delicate flesh.

  “Yes! Oh … oh fuck!” She screamed as it was done.

  He fastened an identical ring through the base of her left nipple.

  “Once closed, these rings lock shut and can’t be opened. They could probably be cut off but that would require a jeweler’s saw. A bolt cutter would crush them and then they wouldn’t fit through the hole. For all practical purposes, the rings are now as much a part of you as your own flesh. You’ll never be without them."

  Elliot slipped back off of her and examined the private area between her legs. Half-jokingly, he said, "You know, Claire, your inner lips would provide a nice site for some future piercings. If we could find an expert, perhaps a ring could even go through the base of your clit. Once healed, that might provide for some interesting foreplay."

  She was very turned on. "Do it, do it!" She shouted, her voice a loud, rough, breathless whisper. At that moment, she wanted nothing more than to be fully in his control. She wanted to be his slave, although she was afraid to voice it – he’d made it clear many times that he wanted her as an equal, and only as an equal. But he would have his way with her, and she’d encourage him to.

  He found himself surprisingly turned-on by the whole experience. Seeing her lying there helpless, the golden rings forced through her beautiful nipples by his hands, Elliot was almost shaking with arousal. He breathed deeply to regain self-control, buying time by massaging her clit to further her excitement.

  "If I put rings into you there, you'll be sore for weeks. We wouldn't be able to do it for a long time."

  "I don't care, I want it. We have a lifetime to make love. I want to do it with the feeling of gold through my flesh that you put there."

  He pushed forward and entered her. He knew her nipples would be sore, so he avoided lying on top of her. Instead, he did it with his legs straddling hers and locked under them. She lifted herself to him over and over. She came twice, with him exploding into her near the peak of the second climax.

  She was ready to go again, to go higher. "Do it to me now!" She was almost breathless as she tried to raise her voice to urge him.

  "I can't possibly, I'm spent." He didn't misinterpret her; he was still buying time to think. He was wishing he'd not teased about piercing her labia minora.

  "No, no. I want you to pierce me down there!"

  "We can do that later."

  "God damn it! I want it now. If you don't do it, I'll do it myself, and I'll probably make a mess of it." He was genuinely making her angry.

  "All right, I'll put one in."

  "No, I want more than one."

  "How many?"

  "How many will fit?" She wasn't losing her intense high at all. In fact, the back-and-forth banter was turning her on more.

  Elliot was examining her carefully. His hands were shaking and he was trying to control them. He actually had some rings to go through with it. He’d bought a whole collection of them, not knowing which he would choose for her nipples. There didn't seem to be any way to change her mind. He found himself getting aroused at the thought of piercing her again.

  "You could probably wear four to six on each side."

  He was going to do it; she knew it at that moment. A strange calm came over her even though she was very mentally stimulated. "Then, please, put them in. I want you to. I want to feel them and always know that you did it to me."

  He fumbled through the drawer's contents to find the rings. He found three pairs of twelve-gauge, one-half inch rings that were identical in size and shape, although they were three different colors of gold - yellow, white and copper.

  “I have enough for three on each side.”

  “I want them now. If there’s still room after they’re in, we can get more later.”

  He soaked the rings in alcohol and removed a needle designed for piercing from its sterilized wrapper. He massaged her private area for several minutes, bringing her near to, but not quite at another climax. She moaned with pleasure. He placed two towels under her and swabbed her carefully, this time with betadine.

  Without saying a word, Elliot held her right, inner-labia lip with straight Pennington forceps, near the end closest to her clit. He carefully but firmly pushed the needle through just a little more than one-half inch from the edge of her lip. That was just far enough in so that the inside of the ring would be filled with labia tissue, and the lower part of the ring would be against the edge of her labia. He did the piercing so that the ring would angle slightly, with the inside toward her clit and the outside angled slightly back from that, thus making it fit better between her legs. Claire barely felt the needle go through, so powerfully was she turned on. He inserted one end of the ring into the hollow end of the needle and pushed the needle through the rest of the way, threading the ring into the hole. He snapped it shut, permanently locking it into place.

  Claire reached down to feel it. As her fingers tugged on it and she felt it as a part of her, she came so hard she thought she might lose consciousness. "Do the others," was all she could manage to say.

  He did two more on the same side in the color order of yellow-white-copper. They were spaced about half-an-inch apart along her labia. He paused to gently massage her clit before doing the left side. He could feel the spasms of pleasure rippling through her. When the final three were done and Claire sported six lovely rings through her tender flesh, Elliot was overcome with arousal and entered her once more. He felt the rings slide against him as he thrust into her.

  He’d untied her once he’d cum again. He cleaned her with antiseptic and placed a tucks medicated pad into panties which he slipped onto her.

  They had slept through the night and now it was early morning. She lay on her side, her head resting on his chest. Somehow sensing in her sleep that he was looking at her, she awoke and turned her face up towards his. She felt the stinging in her groin and the soreness in her chest and rearranged herself to take pressure off of those tender areas.

  "Are you hurting?" He asked.

  "I'm sore but very, very contented. For someone who doesn't get much into bondage, you do a hell of a good job at it." She reached down to carefully flick the rings in her nipples and couldn't suppress a grimace from the tenderness. She probed her groin, feeling each of the six rings there. They weren't as sore as her nipples, but tended to sting when she touched them. She knew it would be days before she could walk properly, weeks before her chest healed enough to feel better. And she was more than willing to pay with the discomfort of that time for the satisfaction of having her body mold itself to the jewelry he’d placed into it.

  Chapter 5: Out My Back Door

  For most of the next two days, Claire sat around naked, semi-reclining on her back with her legs spread apart. Elliot carefully treated the new piercings several times each day. He didn’t allow her to do anything that might irritate them further. They couldn’t engage in sex, but they substituted with long, passionate kisses and constantly touching each other. He did, in fact, insist that whenever he was close enough to her, that she must be touching her skin to his somewhere, so that they would both come to depend on the security of the contact between their bodies, and yearn for each other’s touch whenever it was absent. Over the days to follow, Claire became increasingly dependent on that touching, to the point where it became almost a necessity to her, whenever Elliot was within sight. Likewise, he came to need the contact with her.