This I Gotta See!

Empty parlor. Slow day. Hyley and Diana sat on the bench trading new five-star reviews. A smirk. A laugh. Then the brag started. Hyley claimed her hands worked better blind than anyone else's could wide open. Diana dared her. Hyley swallowed, unknotted a terry robe belt, wrapped it over her eyes, and sat tight while Diana peeled every last piece of clothing and stretched across the table. Touch came first. Warm oil. Silent edges. Hyley mapped the slope of shoulders, drifted down ribs, circled a waist that shifted under her thumbs. Her fingers moved slower without sight, tracing tighter. She brushed Diana's breast. Hardened nipple. Heat flushed her face, but Diana's breath pulled in deep and told her to continue. The touch stayed there, cupped, kneaded, until Diana pushed up into the palm. Each stroke fell heavier. Tension gathered, then snapped when Hyley slipped off the slick line of the hipbone, brushed the wet seam between Diana's parted legs, and jerked away like she'd touched a live wire. Diana caught her wrist, pulled the trembling fingers back where they had left off. "Keep proving it," she whispered. Hyley steadied, swapped panic for a measured glide, and decided touch wasn't the only tool she still owned.