Torment is not always pain. It is not always the deep ache of contact, the sharp sting of a tool. Torment, like anything else, is an art. It is the subtle differences of a glance, of a promise of further contact. It is the hundred soft touches before the first taste of pain.<br/><br/>Gravon knew this, knew the every kiss of the tongs of the Flogger before him. His hand wrapped around Genevieve's wrists, lifting slightly, drawing her arms behind and above her body until he felt that resistance caused by muscle. He locked her hands in this position, keeping her lithe form in the kneel before him. He straddled her, looking about, challenging anyone to disturb him in his work. Without looking down he moved, bringing a boot shod foot up and balancing on the other foot. He used her arms as another column of support.<br/><br/>Standing like a dancer he pointed his toe down, and in one movement, thrust the toe to the floor,like a wedge between her knees, turning the foot and placing it firmly on the ground with a slap. It was a show,but only to the initiated.  Instead of punishing her it gave her more stability spreading her base, but to the crowd gathered it served to expose the cleft of her body even more.  He pushed her legs apart with a casual seeming negligence before removing his foot to stand beside her.<br/><br/>He looked down, the practiced visage of indifference hammered upon his face. His free hand came up, taking the flogger from her grasp, pulling up, dragging the long tongs against her arms before flicking his wrist. The tongs swung in a practiced arc, slowly whirling above her prone form.  The tongs completed the arc, coming to strike against her pinned arms with the sounds of heavy rain. From there he let the flogger droop in his hand. the black leather pooling on the untouched flesh of her back. He felt a stirring within his body, a heaviness flooding to display arousal. He was not erect, instead a fullness shown to the onlookers.<br/><br/>He knelt down, one hand keeping her arms locked above her body. the other moved the flogger and the pooled tines of leather. The flogger moved dragging down between the curves of her upturned rear. He brought the device between her legs, letting the tongs press to aroused flesh, drag across sensitive skin before being pulled away so as not to puddle on the floor. In a whisper he spoke.<br/><br/>"There is a man, portly and slight in height. He is watching this with the countenance of a Viper, is he your patron this evening." His voice would not carry, meant for her ears alone. It bore no signs of arousal, but his body spoke of a different story. He continued to apply the flogger to her skin, dragging it up this time, heavy sheets slowly drawn over her flesh before exposing her to the assembled crowd.