The room is filled with the scent of oil and the sound of wet skin sliding against skin. The woman's body is a canvas, her therapist the artist, painting a masterpiece of lust with his hands. He works his way down her legs, his fingers digging into her muscles, releasing tension, building anticipation. He pauses at her thighs, his thumbs brushing against her inner thighs, making her squirm. She wants more, she wants him to touch her where she's wet and aching, but he takes his time, teasing her, building the anticipation until she can barely stand it.