That moment

That moment; when all has been set up, but before the main course begins, the anticipation, the eagerness builds.
The rise of goose bumps, a wiggle to test the limits of arms bound at the wrist, ankles clasped by the firm hand of leather separated by iron, thighs kept at the exact distance apart.
Blindfold and bit gag creating sightless eyes and muffled sighs that will soon grow to groans and cries.
Tightened nipples cushioned and caressed by soft cotton down contrasted by the firm press of knee to floor alleviated only by the plump of a pillow.
He cruelly extends that moment of waiting, all focus is on him, his presence behind like heat from a furnace; as he surveys his handiwork and devours the sight.
The manifestations of his control, the growing connection as the moment turns electric. Your whole presence yearns for him to do something, nothing, anything, to prolong that time, to end that time, that endless time.
Then he does.
He snaps the tension; the almost living presence between you now.
He gently, ever so gently, strokes his hand from the side of your waist, past the curve of your restrained arm, down into the dip of you back and then over the crest of you bare bottom.
His fingers casually grazing the two places that call out for attention one so puckered the other pulsing wetter at his tune.
All this he knows, a calculated play on his part.
Thus the moment is broken, ended and the rest begins.......