She’s Got Me Dancing (Excerpted from my Novel, “Oh Claire!”)

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This is a chapter from my full-length erotic and fetish novel, “Oh Claire!” When the chapter begins, Claire’s naturally dark blonde hair is a pale, champagne blonde, recently colored and cut to a chin-length, A-line bob with heavy bangs. This is only one of many hair and fetish scenes in the full-length novel, which is available for purchase on Amazon globally, or can be read for free if you have Kindle Unlimited. US Amazon link: https://www.amazon.com/Oh-Claire-Be-Perfectly-Book-ebook/dp/B00AMNSIVS/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1490041982&sr=8-1&keywords=giulia+napoli

Chapter 3 – She’s Got Me Dancing

A boat from the yacht picked them up at a pier near their hotel at six o’clock that evening. They stood in the bow of the large launch, Claire’s arm in his, sipping a sparkling Mosel as they approached a huge black yacht with a white upper deck. Elliot’s friend and the yacht’s owner, René Catherinette, waved at them from far above. In a few minutes, they docked and joined René, his gorgeously Nubian, close friend Monique, and about a dozen others. The group included two young Greek couples, not long out of college Claire thought, plus an Italian fashion designer from Milan and his friend, a voluptuous brunette named Isabella. There was also Jean-Pierre, a hairdresser from Paris who instantly recognized Claire’s hair as being “Vidal Sassoon – the Knightsbridge shop I’d guess,” and who proceeded to flit around her poking and puffing at her hair to the amusement of the others. Monique’s brother Claude and his wife Helen, both fashion photographers, greeted them graciously, then immediately turned to the Milan fashion designer, obviously trying to work on a photography deal with him. Completing the retinue was a German couple, Inge and Kurt, both tall and blonde, her hair cropped in a typical bushy German style that made Claire think of a teddy bear.

They were the last to arrive. When the introductions were complete, René ordered the captain to depart the harbor and they were underway.

Claire had been concerned that her jewelry might be too much, making her feel out of place. As soon as she saw the assembled friends, she knew that wouldn’t be a problem. They were the glitziest group of people she’d ever seen in one place. Two or three of the women displayed so much jewelry that they appeared to be caricatures of the rich and famous. By contrast, Monique’s jewelry, dress, hair and makeup were understated and simple in an elegant way. Claire’s appearance was about average for the group, save for the ornament tightly fastened through her at her navel. That gem caused quite a stir.

Two of the women, Isabella and Inge, examined it closely, making Claire feel at first self-conscious, then smugly pleased as the two women expressed obvious delight at her bellybutton button. They didn’t leave her alone until most of the guests made their way inside.

A waiter had brought Claire a cocktail so she remained outside with Monique, sipping it at the railing near the bow. Elliot had gone to the bridge with René to chat with the captain. Claire’s cocktail was one of those rum-based, tropical concoctions – not her preference though she did like rum, but sweet and cold. The sun still had several hours above the horizon. They sailed towards it, to the southwest.

Monique was still commenting about Claire’s navel diamond.

“It’s really nothing,” she tried to say.

“It is a real diamond, is it not?” Monique asked in heavily French-accented English.

“Yes.”

“Then that in itself is something. Elliot gave it to you, didn’t he?”

“Yes, and he had it installed too.” Monique chuckled at her phrasing.

“About fifteen carats, I’d guess. Rather expensive too.”

“Twelve actually. I think he can afford it.” Claire thought Monique’s comment was unusually snoopy for a person she’d just met.

“Oh, he can afford it all right, most definitely. Did it hurt very much?”

“It surprised me more than anything. It burned at first. It’s still a little tender but it’s becoming a part of me now. I don’t think about it much, except to pick out clothes that show it off.” That last earned a wink from Monique.

“I have some interesting piercings too,” Monique teased. Perhaps I’ll show them to you sometime …”

Claire gulped, smiled, and found herself unable to say anything. Instead, she turned toward the door leading inside. Monique smiled, more to herself than Claire, and led her guest inside to rejoin the others.

A trio was playing light jazz in one corner of a large, open room. It was set up for dancing. Claire hoped there would be a chance later in the evening. She loved to dance, loved to lose herself to a fast, stirring beat, loved the way Elliot pulled her body tightly against his own when the tempo slowed.

Laughing, joking, and small talk filled the next few hours. They all returned to the deck to see the sunset – a solid orange ball of sun on a cloudless horizon dropping below the waves. As the night closed about them, René led them below to a large dining hall. A beautiful table was set with fine china, silver, a huge floral centerpiece, and individual flowers at each seat. Claire was disappointed and somewhat miffed when Elliot was seated next to Monique at the opposite end of the table. She sat between René and one of the young Greek boys.

The dinner was outstanding: a golden seafood bisque served with an exceptional American Clos du Val Chardonnay, lobster accompanied by tiny red potatoes and julienne zucchini, filet mignon with béarnaise sauce and truffles along with a 1966 Chateau Lafite Rothschild, a salad with heart of palm and sea polyps, and a Grand Marnier soufflé with a sweet, aromatic Chateau d’Yquem. Claire quickly forgot her aggravation; René was a charming, interesting host and the young Greek, Aristides, was very funny as he struggled with Claire’s English idioms. He had her blushing once or twice when he totally misunderstood her.

Dinner ended at about eleven. The entourage returned to the salon above where a band was now playing. Claire danced with Elliot for more than an hour, until René and others insisted that he share Claire with them.

She’d been dancing continuously for well over two hours and decided to take a break. She was sampling a cappuccino, deliciously flavored with Frangelico and Galliano, when she heard the unmistakable beat of a tango. Elliot turned to her, asking her to dance.

“I don’t tango,” Claire replied.

“Really? I’m sorry, I didn’t know. Well, it’s time to learn.” He started pulling her toward the center of the floor.

“No,” she pleaded, “not in front of all these people.”

“Oh you can do it. Have a little self-confidence.”

“I don’t particularly like it when you say that.”

Elliot shrugged and seemed about to apologize as Monique walked up, interrupting them. Monique looked at Elliot with an expression that Claire didn’t like and asked him to dance with her.

“Mon amí, let us tango again, like we did in Buenos Aires all those years ago. S’il vous plait?”

He looked at Claire, discomfort on his face, an expression Claire had rarely seen. “Go ahead,” she replied. Her tone begrudged the moment and she tried to recover with an upbeat, “Let me see if you’re good enough to be my instructor.”

He was. Holding Monique in the formal, tango posture, he led her across the floor in intense strolls, twists and turns, dips and break-aways. To Claire, they seemed to dance for hours, though it was less than ten minutes. They were incredibly good. The dance was powerful, sensuous, hot. Monique was blatantly enjoying herself too much. Everyone else had abandoned the floor so all eyes in the room were on them. The music ended and their dance stopped with Elliot holding Monique’s arm high, twisted to the left, her left leg wrapped around his right. In that instant, Monique, breathless, kissed him. The group broke into applause. Claire clapped politely, but was upset when he returned to her. She didn’t want him to know.

“You dance the tango very well. I guess you can be my dance teacher.”

He saw through her instantly. “Don’t be upset; Monique is a bit of a flirt, but harmless. We knew each other years ago, in another lifetime.”

“You must have tangoed a lot.” That was said tersely.

“We were in Argentina. That’s what you do there. And that’s all that needs to be said about it.”

A beautiful, slow song was playing and he led Claire to the floor. She resisted half-heartedly, a futile effort for her, as she wanted nothing so much as to be held in his arms. They danced around the floor, with Claire pressed so tightly against him that they could have been one person. As the music wound down, he tipped her back and kissed her passionately. All seemed right with the world.

The evening was winding down. Before the guests began to disperse, Monique called for their attention.

“As those of you who have cruised with us before know, it’s a tradition on these little jaunts to play a short game of forfeit in the morning. We’re going to do that again tomorrow, and will choose two participants in a few minutes. Only the ladies will be eligible this time; René lost twice during the last trip and it cost us a fortune.” Everyone laughed at that.

“Let me go over the rules. You pick a category, anything at all that you think you know a lot about. The group decides if it’s a fair category, so you can’t pick something like tenth century Transylvanian herbs because there’s no way I could know anything about that. If your category isn’t deemed fair, I get to pick so do not go too overboard on your choice. It is never good to go overboard on a yacht anyway.” Everyone chuckled at the obvious pun.

“Once your category is approved, you get to ask the first question. It has to be simple enough to be answered with a single word, phrase, or name. If I miss, you win. If I get it right, I get to ask you a question in the same category. We continue until one person misses. That person is the loser and must pay the forfeit.

“Here is what I am offering. This mink ensemble,” At that point, three crew emerged with the most beautiful full-length mink coat Claire had ever seen, a mink jacket, and a set of mink underwear! “And this diamond tiara. For those of you who are value-conscious, this collection set me back about two-hundred thousand euros.

“Okay. I am wagering this against your forfeit. Your forfeit, should you lose, is to let me instruct Jean-Pierre in how to do a complete hair and makeup makeover for you. In that, I would have complete control.” There was a rumbling in the crowd at that remark, and some teasing and nervous laughter.

“All right, it is late and we need to get on with this. I have the names of all the ladies on these little squares. Anyone who does not want to participate can say so now and I will take your chip out of the mix.”

One of the Greek girls, with long, thick, dark-brown hair to the middle of her back raised her hand. “I’m not going to do it, this time,” she said, gingerly.

“Oui, mon cher. That is alright. Are the rest of you in?”

Elliot turned to Claire. “You should drop out too,” he whispered.

“Are you crazy? I want that mink coat! And I’d like the pleasure of beating her too.”

“I’ll buy you ten mink coats any time you want. Or you can easily afford to buy them for yourself. Monique, for all her quirks, has a photographic memory. She stands a good chance of beating you.”

“Not with the category I’m going to choose. I’m in!” Claire shouted.

“Everyone else is in, I see.” Monique noted, putting the squares in a white bowl. “I am going to draw two names, and those two will be the players tomorrow morning.”

The captain held the bowl above her head and Monique reached up to grab two squares. She held the first one up to show the group, at the same time announcing, “Inge!” There was scattered applause and a big grin from short-haired Inge.

Monique held the other up for all to see. “Claire!” Claire’s heart skipped a beat at that point, she smiled nervously, but inside was thinking of the satisfaction she would get from beating Monique at her own game in the morning.

* * * * *

Inge had just beaten Monique in her chosen category, European castles. Monique hadn’t known who built the Vaux-le-Vicomte chateau outside Paris. The answer had been Nicholas Foquet. Now it was Claire’s turn. She had waited patiently but nervously and was ready to collect her minks and tiara but, most of all, she wanted the satisfaction of beating Monique.

“Claire, mon cher, what is your category?” Monique asked.

“Nineteen-eighties and nineties rock music, if everyone agrees that’s fair.” She looked around. Everyone seemed to be nodding their approval.

“It looks like your category is approved. I am ready for the first question.”

Claire had written the answer on a piece of paper which she now handed to Jean-Pierre, who was not only to be the executioner if she lost, but was serving as referee. “Okay. Name the rock group whose album title is the first place for babies to live.”

Monique looked startled at first, then thoughtful. A full minute passed before she said, “I believe the group was Nirvana. The album you’re referring to, by the way, is In Utero. Is that right?”

Claire’s heart sank as Jean-Pierre announced, “Correct,” to the audience. She had thought the question was both a fair one and one that would surely stump Monique. She now waited nervously for Monique to formulate her question, on the spot, and write the answer.

“Claire, what animal appears on Alice in Chains’ first album?”

Claire couldn’t believe the woman could actually pull a question like that out of the air with no preparation. Heart pounding, she tried to visualize the cover. Then it came to her.

“A dog!” She shouted.

“Très bien! Correct!” Jean-Pierre called out.

Now it was time for Claire’s second question. She handed the answer to Jean-Pierre.

“Monique, the title of the first song on this Gun’s N’ Roses album is a parody of an old Neil Sedaka title. What is it?”

There was at least one groan from the crowd, but Monique silenced them as she thought. Several minutes went by and Claire saw that she was about to give up. Suddenly, a big smile crossed her face.

“Very clever, Claire, but I think I have it. The song is Right Next Door to Hell, a parody of the title, Right Next Door to an Angel. The album was Use Your Illusion.”

The woman has got to be an alien, Claire was thinking as Jean-Pierre declared the answer “correct” again.

Monique wrote another answer and handed it to Jean-Pierre.

“Claire, in a phrase, describe the hairstyle worn by both Madonna in her Open Your Heart video, and by the modern dancer sprawled on the floor in Robert Palmer’s Discipline of Love video.

The answer was too easy. Claire didn’t know that Palmer video, but in her mind she could clearly see Madonna dancing in the peep-show of her video. She answered quickly, “short, blonde, and swept-back!”

“Oh,” Jean-Pierre actually seemed disappointed, “that is not correct.”

“Sure it is,” Claire thought at first that he was joking.

“No, mon cher, remember right at the beginning of the video, Madonna has a short, black wig which she pulls off as her dance starts. That is the same style as the dancer in Discipline of Love.

Claire’s grip on his hand tightened as she remembered immediately. “You’re right,” she said, disappointed. “I guess you win. I’m impressed, Monique,” she added honestly. Everyone applauded both of them.

Claire turned to Elliot and said, sotto voce, “What is she going to do to me?”

“Whatever she wants, I presume.” His voice only bordered on I-told-you-so. “You actually did very well.” He was trying to raise her spirits.

Her light thoughts of revenge gone, Claire awaited her fate. Since it was her first competition and she had done well with questions and answers, Monique offered to let her off.

“No,” Claire replied, more bravely than she felt. “I made the bet and now it’s time to pay up. Let’s do it.”

“Mais oui. Very noble, mon cher. You have earned your place with us.” She whispered instructions to Jean-Pierre. As Jean-Pierre led her off to his salon on the yacht, Monique said, “I think you’ll find this fun, and an interesting turn-about on the last question.”

Jean-Pierre had shampooed her hair and was busily cutting it into short, two-inch layers, with the side layers lying jaggedly above her ears. Claire cringed as the scissors made its way around her head. She hoped Elliot would like it when it was done, and not be too angry with her. The cutting seemed to go on for a long time. Finally, she felt the hairdresser taper the upper back into her already-short, high nape. He shaved her neck and then began to apply a pungent cream all over her hair. Claire recognized the unmistakable odor of hair coloring.

“What color are you making it,” she asked. There was no mirror in the small room.

“It is to be a surprise, although Monique gave you a clue. You will see it when I’m finished. Not to worry, dear Claire, you have a beautifully-shaped head which will look great with this style and color. I am, after all, the finest in all of Paris. I would never do anything that was not beautiful, even if Monique asked.”

The dye had set for about half an hour when Jean-Pierre rinsed it out and blew her hair dry. Then he started on her makeup. He was applying a warm wax to her eyebrow area when he noted, “I love your thin brows. They are intensely sexy and very chic. However, with this new hair, I think it best to change them.” With that, he quickly pulled the wax off her right brow, then off her left.

“How could you change them? I would have thought that they were too thin to change.”

“I changed them by making them gone!” If it wasn’t for his French accent making the statement sound so funny, she would have cried.

“You took them off completely?” Her voice had reached the high pitch of panic. He was applying a thick, oily cream to the place where her thin brows had been and rubbing it in. “How am I going to deal with that?”

He responded, misinterpreting her question, all the while continuing to rub the cream into her now-hairless brow. “Not to worry, this cream will keep them from growing for a few months. So you will not have to deal with them at all. I will show you how to pencil the new ones on.”

“What?!”

“I will show you how to hold your hand steady to place the new ones.”

“No, I mean what’s this about not growing back for a few months?!”

“This cream is newly invented in France and very effective at stopping hair growth. So you don’t need to fuss. I will give you some to take along. If you use it just once every two or three months, you will never have to worry about unwanted hair again.”

Claire sank, dejected, into the chair. Elliot is going to kill me, she thought. Or maybe I’ll kill myself. I should never have taken Monique on.

Jean-Pierre had given her a facial, applied foundation, powder and blush and was working fervently on her eye makeup. He finally declared her “Magnifique!” He removed a mirror from a cabinet, set it on a shelf, and spun her around to see herself for the first time. She loudly gasped, “Oh!” at the face, her face, which looked back at her with wide eyes.

Her hair was as black as midnight, almost exactly the same as Madonna’s in the video. That was the turn-about Monique had hinted at. Wisps of it barely framed her forehead and tickled the tops of her ears. Behind her ears, the sides became shorter and shorter as they merged into the already-buzzed lower back. The makeup gave her skin a tawnier complexion. Her eyes were heavily made-up, including the addition of long, thick false-eyelashes. Her brows were a smoothly-rounded curve drawn noticeably above her natural brow line. The effect gave her a look of girlish astonishment, more carefree and somehow less sophisticated than the slim brows had been.

She numbly listened to Jean-Pierre as he instructed her on the makeup. He assembled all of it into a small bag for her and led her back to the salon, where the others had, by now, gathered for lunch.

They entered the room to the amused gasps of the crowd. Claire’s eyes quickly searched the three tables for Elliot. He turned to look just as she found him. His face was actually quizzical for the briefest moment, before he broke into a big grin. He stood up quickly and began to applaud. The rest of the group joined in almost immediately. Claire walked toward him shyly. When she finally determined that his smile was sincere, she rushed the final few feet and leaped into him, her arms encircling his neck.

“Do I look awful?” She pouted, pulling his head down to speak into his ear.

“Of course not. How could you ever believe I would think you anything but stunning? You certainly look different – really different – but frankly, I’m finding myself getting rather turned on by this. In a way, I wish I’d thought of it.”

“I don’t have any eyebrows anymore,” she whispered as they took their seats. “These are just drawn on.”

“It doesn’t matter. I think you look great.”

“They aren’t going to grow back for several months. Jean-Pierre treated them with some new French cream.”

“Oh? Well then I guess we’ll just have to get used to living without them.”

He had gotten her to smile and she poked him in the ribs. René and Monique had come to the table to see her more closely. Monique seemed pleased both because she’d had her way with Claire and because she thought Claire looked good – now far more European and less American clean-cut, which was what she’d set out to do once she’d won the forfeit. René, on the other hand, was obviously quite taken by her new appearance. He remarked over and over again on how marvelous Claire looked, finally giving her a fervent, passionate kiss in front of everyone. Not a bad kisser, Claire thought as she sat back down. She was now satisfied that, although she looked very different, she was still attractive. She tried out a thought on herself: maybe I’m more attractive in some ways. Hmm … we’ll see tonight.

During the early afternoon, the fashion photographers, Claude and Helen, insisted on a photography shoot with Claire as the only subject. They photographed her in every imaginable pose, with and without clothes, dry and wet, sultry and sexy, childish and innocent. For once, Claire loved having her picture taken, and the attention was helping her recover from the shock of her make-over.

They spent the rest of the afternoon sunbathing and swimming in the yacht’s pool and then danced on the deck of the yacht all night. Elliot taught Claire to tango. As it turned out, she was a fast learner.

She had just enough energy left to manage to strip naked and fall into bed, exhausted, about three in the morning. Elliot was also tired but before he’d let her sleep, he proved that her thought about that night had been on-target.

Lying facing her, he grabbed the short hair on top of her head in a firm but painless grip and pulled her head back gently. He began to kiss her down her neck and onto her lovely, enlarged breasts. He toyed with her nipples, which quickly became hard nubs. The feeling was sensational and Claire moaned with drowsy contentment. His other hand slid down to just below her pierced navel and flicked at the top of her pussy, just above her clit hood.

His fingers slid between her inner and outer lips and circled her pleasure center, pressing firmly as they moved around her. He knew she preferred the lightest of touches on her clit, so, when her moans became more urgent and he was ready to move on to her awaiting, impatient clitoris, his fingers, wet with her juices, floated repeatedly over it, barely touching her.

Finally, when he knew she was very close, Elliot rolled her onto her back, his fingers never stopping their action. Then he shifted and his mouth covered her clit such that his teeth were able to carefully put pressure on the lips enfolding it, pushing with just the right force against the sensitive nerves emanating from the little, engorged nub and plunging into her body to find their way to her mind’s pleasure center. At the same time, the tip of his tongue continued the attention to her stiffly-erect clit, which his fingers had begun.

His tongue brought her ever closer to the top. The pressure of his teeth allowed him to hold her there, slowing or stopping the climb, which his tongue would then cause to resume. Claire felt she would soon burst from the sexual tension expanding within her. Her entire being was focused on his servicing her.

Finally, when he realized that the tension in her muscles could last no longer, he took her over the top in a blazing orgasm that drained all of her depleted energy reserve, as waves of pulsing pleasure rolled over her for several minutes. When it ended, she fell immediately to sleep.

Overnight, the yacht completed its circle and returned to Saint-Tropez.

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