She needs to be touched. That is why she went to him.
He needs to touch. That is why he is there. That is why he has chosen this work.
It is her turn. He comes to fetch her. She inhales. She exhales.
He introduces her to the room. He leaves, allowing her to prepare.
She inhales. She exhales.
He returns. He touches her.
He touches her like beauty does not exist. Perhaps it is more accurate to say that he touches her like beauty is irrelevant. Perhaps the truth is that his touch uncovers something in her that is deeper and more vital than beauty. Perhaps that thing is directly tied to her beauty. And perhaps, she has never understood that before. This transforms her.
It is an intimate act. To touch another person.
It is a freeing act. To be willingly touched by a stranger.
They are strangers. She has asked for a service. He has agreed. But that is all they know of one another.
There are rules. They both know the rules. But that is all they know of one another.
He is hands. Hands and soft whispers.
She is flesh. Flesh that becomes sensation beneath his hands.
All she is now, is sensation.
Beneath his hands, sensation exists to become pleasure.
And she transforms beneath his hands.
And what of his pleasure? It also comes through his hands. He needs to touch.
He hands are the conduit, and in this room, his hands create pleasure for them both. It flows from his hands into her flesh and back into him.
There are no words. Excepting what is absolutely necessary. A gentle instruction. A simple response. Each word existing to enhance the work of his hands.
Her eyes are closed. She does not see, so that she can fall more completely into his touch.
His eyes are open. He sees, so that he can make the most of his touches. He looks. He sees.
He adjusts his touch as his experience and her body show him the way.
She is naked. Save for a cool, smooth sheet. Her body is laid out for his hands. It is understood that her body is his to touch.
There are rules. They know the rules. But these rules. They have been established by others. As she lies there, falling deeper and deeper into his touch, as his hands explore her body, she wonders if he will be bound by these rules. And as that thought occurs to her. She wonders if she will. Can these rules stand in this room of skin and hands and touch? Can this flesh and these hands and this touch and these sensations be bound by rules. Sensation is a powerful force. Her thoughts travel and she wonders what all of those possibilities might mean.
They fall into traditional roles. He is male. He will fulfill that role. He will lead. His is the active partner. She is female. She knows the place she wants to inhabit in this dynamic. She will follow. Her role is to be passive. This makes her happy. This surrender fulfills her.
He massages her body, performing what was agreed upon. Her muscles relax. Her body softens and becomes pliant. His hands continue their work. Sensation.
Then there is the sheet. The sheet. He is not quite so careful with it as the rules require him to be.
The sheet is how he makes his proposal. It could be an innocent mistake, easily corrected. It is not. Although he is anxious, his hands have read her body. They are expert. They know.
Her body answers them.
The subtle placement of the sheet makes her smile. He cannot see her face. His hands must interpret. She is female. She is prone. She is passive. All she wants to know is his hands. She likes them. She wants their touch. She does not protest the placement of the sheet.
His hands continue their work. Flesh, hands, sensation, pleasure. From him, through her, returning to him.