The Show

His eyes met her gleam from across the floor. Her pull was magnetic. He had to go to her; to touch her. To hold her.

The palm of his hand gently stroked the back of her neck, as if he was unsure of where to start. His fingers began to move slowly, mechanically. His other hand grazed her belly and sent electric signals up her spine.

She was at his command.

His fingers began to move wildly, yet always in intricate patterns. He began to shift his hand up her neck, increasing the tension. His other hand strummed and played more violently at her midsection.

They watched him in awe from afar. Amazement betrayed their composure as they realized the intensity with which he controlled her. It was a feat that surely, they themselves, could not perform.

His hand continued to creep up her neck. His fingers flying more violently with every heartbeat. Always moving. Always increasing the pressure. His other hand nearly pounded at her midsection. He began to grind his pelvis into her back, gyrating seductively.

His hand, still moving up her neck, flew quickly now. The tension was unbearable. She began to squeal a shrill tortured cry. His hand beat and banged, his groin still grinding into her back, as his other hand finally reached the top of her neck. He held her there as she let out an orgasmic scream, a sustained cry of pleasure. And then they collapsed together.

They clapped.

He bowed.