Genevieve could feel his strength, not just in the extent that his muscles pushed her forward, bending her inexorably to the floor.  But also in the expert way he applied the pressure, arranged his body to produce the greatest force with the smallest effort, arranged himself to limit her body's options, to remove the possibility of existence.  His masterful techniques made her submission inevitable.  Her own enviable skills were hardly needed yet, for she was sure the Mandrake could corral any woman with such skill.  It would be later that she would prove her worth.<br/><br/>It was small touches, like the way that he granted her his flogger, which showed the touch of Namaah in his work.  Her hand gripped the handle of the device tightly, not out of any thought that she might, or would, keep it from him, but as a grip on something solid.  She knew she would need it as he bent her to his will.  And indeed instantly, it seemed, he used his leverage to fold her body.  Where an amateur would shove her to the ground, he used the leverage of her own body to force her to bend herself, placing her own forehead on the stone tiles.<br/><br/>Genevieve let out a gasp, more of surprise but also laced with pain as she was bent, her shoulders twisting back, the audience getting a glimpse of the anguish on her face before it was hidden from their view.  Gravon could see her patron, a portly man not much taller than Genevieve herself, smile wickedly as he witnessed her pain.  Like many who frequented House Valerian, it made his blood race and he stepped forward unconsciously, marking himself from the crowd.<br/><br/>Gravon could feel Genevieve quickly adapt her body to this new position.  Her joints were supple, her muscles not hard, but indeed well trained in endurance.  An adept would keep a position like this for hours, training their body to bend, to endure.  By the smallest adjustments she found a way to take it.  She breathed deeply, her ribs spreading in clear view of the audience as she let the pain flow.  She could feel the tongs of the flogger brushing her back, dangling above her like the sword of Damocles.  She held her pose, motionless, as he spoke to the crowd.  She was his toy, his ornament right now, a piece for display.<br/><br/>The faces of the audience showed that Gravon had many of them in grasp jsut as he did Genevieve. They were intimidated or aroused.  A few, including Genevieve's patron, simply looked back coldly, or hot with arousal at the scene.  No one spoke in the silent room, as if the dark of the long night was creeping inside.