The reed waits for his master's breath,
Supple. Leather bands encircling his wrists.
Satisfying. Click of the clips as they are connected and hooked into place.
Security. The hands of the one person whom he trusts completely.
Strong. Fingers twisting the straps to the perfect tightness.
Sensual. Fingers caressing his bare, pale skin.
Stillness. Quietude of mind he can never find even in the music of his violin.
Smile. Full of promises soon to be fulfilled.
Shade. A blindfold tied tenderly around his eyes.
Submission. Freedom from the demands of his frenetic brain.
Sweet. A trail of kisses pressed along the curve of his neck.
Silence. Only the feeling of his lover's breath tickling his ear.
Sigh. The joy of releasing all control for once; for him; for himself.
Softly. "What's your word tonight?"
Surrender. "It's 'elementary', my dearest John."