Lady Deborah Turns the Tables by Robin Bond

Author:Robin Bond [Bond, Robin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: erotica
Publisher: Pink Flamingo Media
Published: 2017-09-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

She cast her spell not by means of what she did but in her demeanour. Nothing aroused him more than the studied show of indifference with which she tormented him. His gasps of pain, his whimpering, aroused no more response in her than an occasional raised eyebrow, as if to say, “oh surely, that didn’t hurt much, did it?” before doing something that hurt even worse. From time to time a sardonic smile played across her lips as he groaned under the control of her strong fingers, tormenting a nipple or his cock. On rare occasions she laughed openly as he cried out in pain, as if she delighted in her power and its effects, but more often she looked at him with a withering contempt as he grovelled on the floor, begging for some small favour, or writhed as she twisted his defenceless flesh.

When she deigned to speak to him at all during their sessions it was disdainfully, as if she could hardly bring herself to notice his presence, and indeed sometimes he was set to stand in a corner, or kneel, for what seemed to him hours at a time, during which she appeared to forget about him entirely. Secretly, he suspected that she was always mindful of him even when she affected not to be so, since she took such pleasure in reminding him of his powerlessness. Her pleasure, he felt sure, lay in convincing him that he mattered to her not one jot, and for his part he took a perverse satisfaction in the pretence that he was nothing to her. But such was the elaboration of the rituals she designed, such was the time and effort she put into teasing and tormenting him, that he could hardly suppose in reality that she was careless of his state of mind.

She had a manner of speaking which carried such authority that he found himself quite unable to imagine any dissent on his part, or any engagement with what she said other than to signal acquiescence. In any case, most of the things which she said to him required only a “no” or a “yes”. He had never known a woman capable of speaking to him in this way, not had he ever had such a response as he was compelled to give to her.

She had said to him one day, not long after they first met, “I can do anything I want with you.” At the time he was inclined to dispute it; he hadn’t actually said anything, but he had thought that it was not so. There were things she could persuade him to, doubtless, but there were things he would resist, he felt sure. But it was not long before that assurance drained away, as her imperious voice, her patrician manner, her dignified and supremely confident deportment, imposed itself on him. Soon obedience became a pavlovian response. She had but to snap her fingers, or turn on him that withering look, or else he

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