She comes in wearing her street clothes: sweatpants, a t-shirt. I know from experience that she’s not wearing anything exciting beneath them; that’s fine. She’s cute no matter what she’s in and no matter how many times we play and the twisted nature of our style of play, she always looks naïve and innocent and like she can’t believe that she’s doing this.
I hug her and she squeezes back tightly, letting out a quiet excited squeal. At that, I squeeze tighter, using my back muscles to press her between my arms and my chest—not quite enough to hurt. But I lift her a few inches off the ground, turn on my heels, and walk her over to the bed before putting her down again. Reminding her that I’m much stronger than she is and that I can put her wherever I want her. It’s nothing overt but her smile is larger when I step back from her and I know she’s starting to get excited.
“So,” I say, “what are we doing today?” For her, I’m a service top. She’s exploring her wants and needs and I take great pleasure in hurting her however she likes. We’ve been going at it for a year now whenever we’re both free, but it’s not as often as either of us like so there’s always excitement when we meet.