by Bebe Balocca
“I feel like such an idiot for putting up with him for so long. I guess I was star-struck by his money and his good looks. I thought his family would eventually see past my bus driver father and my housewife mother and my boring suburban childhood. I thought Mark and I would end up married and have beautiful children together.” She shifted uncomfortably in her seat and tugged at her skirt.
“The end was sort of anti-climactic, I guess. There wasn’t a big blow-up fight or anything. We were having sex, and he was on top, as usual. I was really close to orgasm, and I’m sure my face looked really stupid. He always told me I looked like a troll doll when I came.” She tried to laugh but ended in a choking sound.
“He stopped all of a sudden and said, ‘You know, I can’t do this anymore.’ He climbed off me and started getting dressed. I’m laying there, my pulse still racing with the build-up of an orgasm, and I can’t think of anything to say. He wasn’t done, either. ‘I’m sick and tired of fucking a troll doll,’ he laughed, ‘although right now you look more like a dying fish.’ And then he left.” She bit her lip and stared at her wine glass. “That’s it.”
“What an asshole,” Damien muttered
“Huh?” Chloe looked up. “I didn’t catch that.”
“I’m sorry, please go on,” he said smoothly.
“Well, there’s not much left to tell. Thank goodness I had just earned my master’s degree, because I was so crushed that I couldn’t think straight for weeks and weeks. Monica had been my room-mate at Salem State. She had moved to Atlanta after we graduated and we had stayed in close touch. She begged me to move down to Atlanta and live with her and forget all about Mark. Monica’s been great.”
“So that was three years ago, right? Have you been on dates since then?” Damien asked.
Chloe shrugged. “Yeah, there have been a few guys. After four months or so, Monica got tired of me flopping around the apartment in pyjamas and moaning about Mark. She set me up on dates with some of her friends, but nothing much came of it.” Chloe glanced around the room.
“That’s a really cool clock, by the way,” she noted, pointing out a dramatic black starburst on the wall. “Where do you find all this vintage stuff? Your office is amazing. I love that coat rack, too. It’s like a piece of art.”
Damien smiled. “Thank you. The clock is by Howard Miller, and the coat rack is from the early seventies. I find things I like on eBay, mostly, but I like to check out antique stores, too.” He took a sip of wine and raised his eyebrows at her over the top of the glass. “But let’s get back to you, Chloe. Why didn’t the dates work out?”
“You can probably guess,” she answered with a bitter expression. “I’d go out on a few dates with a guy, and he’d be this really great, good-looking guy with a cool job who was actually nice to me. We’d go back to his apartment, and everything would be moving along.”
“By that you mean,” Damien interrupted, “you were starting to have sex?”
Chloe blushed and nodded. “Exactly. So, we’d undress and start, you know.”
“Kissing, touching, fondling each other?” supplied Damien.
“Uh-huh. And I’d feel a little nervous, but each time I’d think, ‘This time it will be different. I won’t think about Mark.’ But when it came to it, when he entered me and things started to get hot, I’d do it.”
“You’d think of Mark.”
She nodded. “Yeah. I’d think about how he used to say I looked like a troll doll when I came. And how he said he just couldn’t do it anymore. And how I wasn’t good enough and never would be. I’d shut down and go cold and make the guy stop. He’d never understand why, but I couldn’t exactly explain, you know?”
“Why couldn’t you explain?” Damien prodded. “You said they were great guys. Wasn’t salvaging those relationships worth trying to work through it?”
“I know.” She shook her head. “I’m so mad that Mark has done this to me. I’m afraid, I guess.” She wiped her eyes and continued in a quiet voice. “I’m afraid that they’ll all agree with him. That I look ugly when I’m having sex, and that I’m”—she exhaled—“not good enough.”
“What about when you’re by yourself? Can you reach orgasm using your hands? Do you try sex toys?”
Chloe looked away, embarrassed. “I’ve tried it a few times. Monica bought me a vibrator. The same thing happens, though. I get, you know, excited, and think that this time I’ll finally be able to come, and then Mark’s voice breaks in right before I climax. ‘You look ugly. You’re just not good enough.’ Each and every time.”
Damien leant forward abruptly and reached for Chloe’s twisting hands, then recoiled with a nervous chuckle. “Sorry, I make a point to keep my hands off clients after our initial handshake. My bad. But, Chloe, trust me when I say that you’re stunning. There is no way in hell that you could ever look ugly. Not now, not ten years from now, not fifty years from now. You have made a success of yourself, by yourself. You should be much prouder of that than of your beauty, and that’s saying a lot. I know for a fact you will find a job soon. In this economy, layoffs are common, but talented and driven workers like you rise to the top like cream.”
Chloe managed a watery smile. “Well, thanks for the pep talk. But I’ve tried to give myself pep talks, too, and nothing seems to bleach the nasty stain that Mark left behind.”
Damien went on. “I have a plan, Chloe, that I think will solve your sexual problem. I have every confidence that you can become orgasmic again and that this sexual problem you have will be a thing of the past.”
His eyes narrowed. “I’m going to be frank. This guy, this Mark, is a classic low self-image creep. He tried to make himself feel better by putting you down. He was a loser and a disappointment to his family. Nobody screwed Mark over, not in high school or any other time. He was responsible for his own failure. It seems clear that he couldn’t come to grips with your success when he couldn’t even manage to graduate from college. I’m sure that’s why he ended the relationship right after you earned your master’s degree. He was a transparent, jealous asshole. Mark was never, ever good enough for you, and we’re never going to say his name again. He’s forgotten, like the greasy limp-dick weasel that he is. He doesn’t deserve a space in your memory.”
Chloe giggled and nodded. “If you say so.”
“You do have a scar, though, and we’re going to heal it. We’re going to make sex better for you than it ever was before. Are you ready?”
“All right,” Chloe agreed, holding his gaze. “I’m game. Work your magic.”
“Step one,” Damien said. “Take off your blouse, please.”
“Huh?” Chloe gulped. “I thought you said you weren’t going to touch me.”
“Oh, I’m not. But chop, chop! Shirt off.” He stood and locked the office door, then dimmed the lights. “Nobody here but you and me, and no cameras, I promise. Think of me as your doctor. Believe me, I’ve seen it all before.”
Chloe stood and tossed her hair over her shoulders. Fine, then, she thought. Let’s do this. She slipped the shimmering champagne halter-top over her head, folded it neatly, and placed it on the sofa. Her small, firm breasts puckered in the air, pink peaks pointing up to Damien’s dandelion puff Sputnik chandelier overhead.
She glanced shyly at Damien. He yawned and looked at his watch. “Panties, too, please”—he indicated with an impatient wave of his hand. “You can leave your skirt and shoes on, if you like.”
“Thanks so much,” Chloe said with a trace of sarcasm. “Wouldn’t want to feel all exposed or anything.” She reached beneath the hem of her skirt, hooked her fingers under the waistband of her pink lace thong, and tugged it down to her feet. Lifting a foot to step out of them, she snagged the lace with a sharp stiletto heel and fell forward towards the table with a yelp.
Damien jumped up to catch her before she face-planted on the surface of the wooden boomerang table. “Damn!” she muttered as he helped her back to her feet. “That was close. Thanks.”
> Damien released his grip on her elbows when she was stable, but then he appeared unsteady on his feet. He sat down and blushed as Chloe finished removing her panties. She placed them on top of her blouse and studied Damien with amusement. “What’s wrong, Damien?” she teased. “Thought you said you’d seen it all before.” Chloe put her hands on her hips and waited for his answer, her bare breasts rising with each breath she took.
He wiped a hand over his brow, glistening with sweat, then took a deep gulp of wine. “It’s just,” he began hoarsely, “that I never touch clients during a session. Especially clients like, uh, you. I apologise.”
Chloe laughed. “You saved me from a fall, and you saved your way cool table from being crushed by a clumsy topless woman. It’s no biggie. I’ll recover!”
Damien grimaced. “Yeah, but I’m not sure I will.”
“Huh?” Chloe asked. “Didn’t catch that.”
“Nothing. Let’s continue.” He stood and walked over to a glossy, tiger maple console. He slid open a drawer and he withdrew a black velvet box.
“Jewellery? For me?” Chloe drew her hands to her chest in delight and bounced on her heels. The muscles of Damien’s jaw clenched again. “You shouldn’t have!”
“You’re making this harder than it has to be.” Damien glared.
“Huh? What’d you say?” Chloe suppressed a giggle.
Damien motioned for her to sit back down and turned his face to the wall as she crossed her legs. He took a seat and placed the box on his knees. “It is jewellery,” he agreed, his composure returning. “Quite useful jewellery.” He opened the box and showed its contents to Chloe.
She saw what appeared to be a long silver chain puddled around two crystal and black plastic pendants. “Hmm, a new necklace? Is it a sexual good-luck charm?” Chloe teased. “Some witch doctor magic mojo necklace to help me get off?”
“Go ahead and pick it up by the black loops,” Damien said. “Those are nipple rings. For unpierced nipples, of course.”
Chloe squinted at the rings in the box. They looked like little black plastic nooses with crystals dangling beneath them. A heavy chain, embellished with tiny silver jingle bells, connected them. Chloe lifted one ring in each hand and shook the chain. The bells tinkled merrily.
Chapter Four
Damien cleared his throat and plucked the crotch of his trousers away from his lap. It was incredibly hard to focus with her sleek, exposed body in front of him, waiting so earnestly for the next step, and it certainly hadn’t helped matters when he’d caught her elbows and had felt her soft, warm skin in his hands. Why was this time so different? he wondered. It had never been difficult to maintain control and professionalism during his therapy sessions. Chloe had sparked something long buried in him, and, sitting there with that downy blonde hair and those lithe curves, she was rapidly fanning that spark into a blazing fire. The heat was fucking uncomfortable. He pulled a small, blue glass jar from his pocket and presented it to Chloe.
“Let me guess,” she asked wryly. “That’s not lip balm, is it?”
Damien shook his head. “Just a little salve to help those rings slide on and to increase your sensitivity. All organic and allergen-free. And you’ll, uh, be using it somewhere else, too.”
Chloe took the jar from him and opened it. “Mmmm, smells nice. What is that, cinnamon? Cloves? Honey?”
“Erm, yes, along with quite a few other ingredients.” Damien nodded, attempting to tear his eyes away from her sweetly puckered nipples. He licked his lips, imagining what one of those rosy nipples would feel like in his mouth, sliding over the tip of his tongue and between his teeth. “It’s a concoction I found online and have had great success with. It contains proteins that increase blood flow to certain sensitive areas.”
He watched Chloe dip a finger into the jar and extract a bit of the clear amber salve. “Like this?” she asked, rubbing the stuff on one of her nipples. “Ooooh, that’s nice. Tingly and hot.” She applied a generous amount to her other nipple as well. Damien salivated and his stomach rumbled with a loud, questioning quorrrrkk? He rubbed it self-consciously.
“Sorry, I skipped dinner,” he explained, blushing.
“So it’s time for these little gems, right?” Chloe went on, ignoring the protests of Damien’s stomach.
“Just about. You’ll slide them on and tighten them. You’ll need to do that on your own, of course.”
“Right, right.” Chloe nodded knowingly. “No touching the clients, right?”
“Exactly. You’re catching on fast. ” Chloe listened to Damien with a faint smile on her face. “Your nipples are already pretty erect, but you’re going to need to make them a little harder if you can.”
Chloe looked down at her dusky, shining nipples.
“So, why don’t you try tugging on them a bit? Give them a little twist. Roll them between your fingers. Just play with them a little bit.”
“No cameras, for real? I’m not going to see a video of this offered up on cable the next time I’m in a hotel room, am I?”
“No cameras, I promise.” Damien drew an X over his heart with his finger. “Although footage of this would be a cash cow on Pay Per View,” he mumbled.
“Sorry, what was that?” Chloe raised her eyebrows. Damien shook his head and gestured to Chloe’s exposed bosom. The corners of her mouth curled with amusement as she bent to her task.
It was endearing how this woman who had been hurt so cruelly could find humour in this awkward situation. Others might be self-conscious or defensive, but now that Chloe had decided to push through with her exercise, she was fully committed to it, and fully committed to enjoying it, as well. Her spirit, Damien determined, bubbled with optimism and resilience, despite her idiotic and blind ex-boyfriend. She was nothing short of magical.
Chloe gamely rolled her stiffened nipples between her fingers. Damien watched, rapt, as her breasts seemed to swell and her peaks grew even darker and harder. He began to feel his own body respond and glanced away in alarm. Totally inappropriate, he admonished himself. He tried to act bored.
“That’s fine,” Damien said while displaying great interest in a button on his cuff. “You’re making some good progress.” He tilted the horn button back and forth, pointedly ignoring the woman who was stimulating her tits right in front of him. Buttons were fascinating, he told himself. Much more so than Chloe’s fingers, or her tits, or…
“Okie-dokie,” Chloe announced. “These nips can’t get much harder. They feel like little peanuts.” She picked up one ring and held it open so that the black plastic noose encircled her nipple and the crystal hung down. “Like so?”
Damien nodded, his mouth set in a firm, professional line.
Chloe slid the ring into place and tightened the noose with the sliding crystal-adorned clamp. “Mmmm,” she hummed. “That feels kinda good, to tell you the truth.”
Damien bit the inside of his cheek and tried to think about his grandmother. And itchy wool socks. And geometry. He glanced up to see Chloe pick up the other ring and raise it to her chest.
My grandmother in itchy socks doing geometry, he thought in desperation.
Chloe slid the other clip into place then touched each captive nipple with a fingertip. “Did I do it right?” she asked. “It sure feels right, anyway.” Damien kept his face impassive as he looked at her embellished breasts. The crystal ornaments dangled down the curve of each tit, and her tender pink nipples peeked through the black plastic rings. The sparkling silver chain with tiny bells hung between the rings and danced in the hollow of her cleavage.
“Check it out.” Chloe giggled. “I can make them ring!” She leant back on the couch and shook her shoulders from side to side. The dangling chain rolled across her tanned skin and jangled joyfully.
Damien was in utter torment. He clasped his hands together in his lap to hide his growing erection. “Nice,” he managed to choke out. He tried to think about his poor Grandma in itchy wool socks puzzling over the Pythagorean theorem, but it was
awfully hard to focus when Chloe rang her bells like that.
“Go ahead and get dressed, please, but, uh, leave off your panties if you don’t mind,” Damien instructed. “In fact, I’ll just take care of them for you until you rejoin me. Why don’t you put them in your purse and I’ll hold on to it until your exercise is over?”
Chloe complied, slipping the folded thong into her black leather clutch and handing it over to Damien.
“So you want me to cover up my booby bells?” Chloe protested. “Don’t you like them?” She shook again and the tiny bells jingled in response. Damien gritted his teeth in frustration and scowled.
“All right, all right, no need to get testy,” Chloe acquiesced. “You’re the professional. You’re in charge.”
She pulled her top over her head. “Better?”
Damien nodded, feeling some relief that her body was at least partially covered.
He cleared his throat. “Here is your exercise,” he began. “I want you to walk out of my office and out onto the dance floor. You don’t have to dance if you don’t want to, but move from one end of the dance floor to the other. Then walk upstairs and find me in the lounge area.”
Chloe gawked. “That’s it? That’s my two hundred dollar therapy session that’s going to magically unblock my orgasms? The bells are nice, and that boob cream totally rocks, and you’ve got a pretty cool dance floor, but…”
“Wait,” he interrupted with a smile. “I want you to do it without dropping this.” He held an egg-shaped chrome ball in his hand with a short beaded chain dangling from the wide end.
Chloe took it from him, mystified. “I think I can manage.”
She studied the chrome egg and found a tiny red blinking light. She lifted her eyes to Damien in curiosity but got only an enigmatic shrug in response.
Damien stood and walked towards the office door. “Okay, then, I’ll see you on the second floor. I’ll be watching from above. Just be sure to not drop it, okay? That’s the key in your exercise. You might have to squeeze it pretty tightly.”
