Sensual Deprivation (or 5 Shades of...Nope)
"The idea is to enhance the senses through sensory deprivation."
"Isn't that an oxymoron?"
"A bit, but not really."
"Oh-kay," she looked at the handcuffs fastened to the bedpost. An exceptionally skeptical eyebrow raised.
"The concept requires an open mind.."
"I'll bite," Her arms crossed betraying the opposite of the attitude he was looking for, "explain."
"The earplugs and the blindfold take sound and sight, so the focus is purely on touch."
"..and taste."
"Right."
"Smell?"
"Those two are pretty minor."
"If you say so.." she nodded questioningly towards the restraints.
"Those ensure touch is unidirectional," he said.
"No crossover between receptive and active."
"Right."
"Okay," she considered the bed and the blindfold, "where's the open mind?"
"Pardon?"
She picked up the blindfold. "I assume you're experimenting only with enhancing the sense of touch of the receptive subject."
"Yes..?"
"That's a little wasteful of potential, don't you think?"
"What?"
She shook her head at him. "If I understand correctly, you're working on the theory that when deprived of major senses that the others will enhance - like the blind becoming more aware of sound, et cetera..?"
"Right."
She nodded. "That should do a bit," she blindfolded him, "but did you consider the enhancing effect some senses have for each other?"
He had no idea where she was headed with this, but his brain attempted to follow anyway. "Um," unfortunately, coherent thoughts got lost somewhere between skull and vocal cords.
"When you don't see anything, there may be a heightened sense of touch, granted, but what's the point if you can't move to make use of it?"
She took his hand to place it on her shoulder. "Wouldn't it be more interesting to feel the differences in texture from fabric" - she moved his hand along her t-shirt's sleeve - "to skin, et cetera?" She let go, allowing his hand to finish on its own at her fingertips before removing the cloth from his eyes.
He blinked at her, not sure about her unprecedented reaction.
"Then there's the factor of anticipation," she covered her own eyes.
"Anticipation," His voice parroted without consulting the mind when her hands found his collar and slowly began to unbutton his shirt.
"Right," she continued, "I have to stay in contact to not lose touch (pardon the pun) with what I'm trying to accomplish. But on the receiving end," she nudged him to sit on the side of the bed, "if you were immobile," he watched her blindly fasten a handcuff around his wrist, "you would be at the mercy of anticipation, the sight of my actions, and my sense of touch." Her hands never left his torso as they found and unbuckled his belt. His mouth went dry.
"Now imagine the application of the earplugs as well," she went on in that matter-of-fact way she used for all of her theories from dna-repair to, apparently, ideas of much more immediate interest.
"All your directions and attempts at dirty talk - or even mood-music would be lost on me, and I'd have to rely solely on touch.. You'd hear the belt hit the floor," the buckle dropped with a muffled thud onto the carpet.
"I'd still have scent," she whispered near his ear as her breath tickled along his neck. Her hands slipped into his pockets. He watched her tongue moisten her lips, completely distracted by her searching fingers.
"I'd still have taste.." His pulse rang in his ears. His free arm reached out of its own accord to encircle her waist.
Abruptly, she stepped out of reach, removing the blindfold. "I'd also have these," she dangled the handcuff keys triumphantly with the most evil little grin he had ever seen on a woman. His jaw dropped.
"Experiment with THAT," she placed the key next to his phone on the dresser, by the door. "See you later."
He stared after her as she walked away. Then he burst out laughing.