Her silence spoke volumes as she looked out of the open window and saw a sea of green fields, interspersed by little islets of trees and edges.
In the distance, a shadowy grey escarpment blocked her view of the sea itself, but she could hear the waves throwing themselves against the cliff-face under the heavy grey skies; and he wasn't listening to her.
"What a dull day," she frowned and turned away from the window, looking back over her shoulder at her master, wanting him to stop reading and start paying attention to her.
His head remained focused on the book open in front of him and he didn't respond, other than shifting in his comfortable chair.
She stood close to the window and raised her voice a little: "I said it's a dull day."
"I heard you the first time, pet," he frowned and turned the book face down on his lap. As he tapped the hardback cover meaning fully with his knuckle, he stared back across at her.
It was a piercing stare and she felt herself looking down to avoid it, staring at the book in his lap and the lap itself beneath it.
She could imagine herself being turned face down over his knee, knowing that he might require her to reposition herself in place of the book at some point in the very near future.
On reflection, she definitely liked that idea: the control and the power he exerted were always thrilling, even if dispensed in small doses and the positioning would be followed by a firm admonishment by his hand sweeping down and leaving a print on her arse.
It was not that he was a brutal master, but he did like to ensure a modicum of control, coaxing her at times but ultimately enforcing his will with a quiet word, a loud wallop or a combination of both.
Truly, he did allow her considerable freedom, but did rein her back and drew her in very close whenever he felt and she knew that she was straying too far from where he wished her to be.
On the whole, it was a comfortable and a comforting arrangement that suited them both most of the time. She could admittedly buck against his insistence, usually finding a teasing way to draw a smile from him or to force him into an action which would briefly deter her from crossing the lines that he drew so effortless in the sands of her consciousness.
"Am I disturbing you, sir?"
"You know the answer to that already."
"Well, I'm terribly sorry for that."
"Your sorrow is as deep as my disturbance."
"Are you calling me insincere, sir?"
"No. I'm calling any day with you in it far from dull."
"Thank you."
"Now kindly come over here and kneel up on the rug so you can gaze up lovingly into my eyes, instead of grumbling so ineffectually at the weather."
"I so wanted to go down to the coast today."
"Patience is not one of your virtues is it, dear lady?"
"No sir."
"Nor is it one of mine."
Her face flushed a little and, taking the hint, the dark haired woman made her way across the room leaving the landscape to its own devices.
She was bare footed on this occasion and stepped slightly gingerly across the cold wooden floor. She took her time because of the chill, but also because she knew that it would rouse him to see her delaying. She liked to get his gander up in small ways, whenever she could, knowing that his suppression of such small challenges ultimately cemented their relationship.
He decided not to rise to her bait as he watched her amble across towards him. A fleeting thought crossed his mind causing him to wonder if he should tug her over his lap for her torpor, in the face of what had actually been a direct command.
In the end he determined, however, that he would draw more enjoyment from each concession that he knew she would make. It was a well trodden journey that always led to her accepting her role as his plaything and his toy.
Even so the idea of a quick seizure rather than a long siege did have its merits. How, for instance, would she react if he suddenly seized her wrist? What would she be thinking as he tugged her down, pressing her lower back down to accentuate the curves?
Would she look back at him pleadingly as he flipped her skirt up and began to belabour her backside with an open palm that had not felt her flesh beneath it for some several hours?
"So, pet, how do you intend to entertain me having so recklessly disturbed me?"
"I could read to you," she smiled and picked up the book. "All things Greek' seems a rather boring title for a novel."
"It's not a novel."
"And there are no illustrations -- just maps."
"It's a grown-ups book, pet. Read from it."
"Laconophilia," she began, "is love or admiration of Sparta and of the Spartan culture or constitution. Ugh! Must I?"
"Yes."
"Sparta was subject of considerable admiration in its day, even in its rival, Athens. In ancient times many of the noblest and best of the Athenians always considered the Spartan state nearly as an ideal theory realised in practice. What is your ideal theory in practice, sir?"
"That you obey and read aloud as instructed without facetious commentaries."
"That may be way beyond me sir."
"Have a go nonetheless."
"Greek philosophers, especially Platonists, would often described Sparta as an ideal state: strong, brave, and free from the corruptions of commerce and money. Gosh it is boring; very boring."
"Perhaps it would be less boring if you read it over my lap with your skirt up round your waist and your knickers round your hips."
"I don't know how that would improve matters for me sir."
"Consider how it could improve matters for me."
"Yes sir," she smiled. "I see your perspective."
"If you were a good girl, then you should be looking from that perspective at all times."
She nodded, conceding the issue. Then she rucked her skirt up obligingly, before tucking it into the waistband. As she lowered her panties to her hips, she glanced nervously down at him; he said nothing but just patted his thigh.
Realising that he was not going to be moved, she slid over his lap and returned to her reading out loud, not even pausing when he placed his hand firmly across her bare behind.
"Continue."
"With the revival of classical learning in Renaissance Europe, Laconophilia re-appears, for example in the writings of Machiavelli," she carried on, holding the book out in her hands, very conscious of the fact that he was looking down at her bottom and stroking it as she obeyed him.
"The Elizabethan English constitutionalist John Aylmer compared the mixed government of Tudor England to the Spartan republic, stating that: Lacedemonia, meaning Sparta, was the noblest and best city governed that ever was. He commended it as a model for England. I hope you aren't commending it as a model for us, sir?"
"Not as such," he grinned and stroked her arse, pinching her flesh and pressing his fingers into the cleft. His manipulations caused her to squirm on his lap. "Do carry on."
"The philosopher Jean-Jacques Rousseau contrasted Sparta favourably with Athens in his Discourse on the Arts and Sciences, arguing that its austere constitution was preferable to the more cultured nature of Athenian life. I think I rather prefer the sound of Athenian life."
"You would, you hedonistic creature."
"Absolutely, sir."
"However Hedon can wait. Read on."
"Sparta was also used as a model of social purity by Revolutionary and Napoleonic France. I really think we can do without too much purity here."
"I feel you may have a point there pet."
"No sir. You have the point. I feel it sticking up into my mid-riff."
"If you weren't wriggling quite so much, then you wouldn't feel it quite so much."
"I wouldn't want to deprive you of your tumescence. In the modern times, the adjective "Spartan" is used to imply simplicity, frugality, or avoidance of luxury and comfort. Oh I don't like the sound of that at all sir."
"What do you like the sound of: my hand descending like a thunderbolt on the luxury and comfort of your rump?"
"How about I distract you from such avant-garde ideas by turning my head to gaze up lovingly into your eyes, sir?" The girl responded as she turned her head and looked up at him with melting eyes.
"Well, that was the proposition on the table a while back."
"I'm the proposition on your lap now, sir. Or is there anything else on your agenda?"
"How about you sit up, straddle me, spread your legs, open your blouse and show me your fabulous breasts."
"That's a lot of instructions all at once."
A multi-tasker like you should be able to cope easily."
"I think that I can, just about," she agreed, raising herself up. As she straddled him, he smiled and watched her deftly unbutton her shirt, "No sooner said than done."
"I rather enjoy your doings, even your delayed doings. Kindly oblige me by losing the brassiere too."
"I think you enjoy my 'undoings' more," she smiled and reached behind her to undo the clasp, catching the cups of her lingerie as they fell away from her form.
"Stay, girl." He looked across at her, admiring her stillness along with the fact that she could respond to a single command so precisely, when she knew that she had reached the end of the line with her frolics and teases.
"Don't hide from me," he added, watching her clutch the garment to her chest. "I have a far better use for your hands than clenched around the remnants of your modesty."
"You do, sir?"
"You can undo me. Then you can kneel down between my thighs and oblige my cock with the softness of your breasts."
"Is that your idea of frugality and simplicity, sir?"
"No, but it's what I want you to do."
"I thought you'd never get round to insisting on that, sir."
"Do you find these encounters so laborious then?"
"You know the answer to that full well, sir."
"I suppose I oughtn't to press you."
"There isn't anything that you oughtn't to do with me, sir."
"Thank you for the carte-blanche, pet."
"My pleasure sir," she smiled and tugged his cock from his trousers, caressing it lovingly in her hands.
"And your pleasure is mine."
"Then all is as it should be, sir."
"Balance restored then. You have clever hands pet."
"It would seem so, sir. Are they as clever as my mouth?"
"I doubt anything could seem as clever as your mouth."
