Her declarations to be beaten and whipped would have caused me to raise an eyebrow in surprise, if I hadn’t already read her love of pain from the heels she wore, the moment I’d clapped eyes on them. One does not wear such a pair, and willingly kneel on a wooden floor, if one didn’t have a predilection for such stimulus.<br/><br/>Not that I felt the need to acknowledge this, of course, it was enough that we both knew of the reasons behind the choice, and the fact her legs would be aching the longer I kept her in that position. Pain that I was purposely, yet subtly, varying by the alternation of pressure on her shoulder and breast with my feet, so that she was forced to shift those deliciously screaming muscles.<br/><br/><strong>“You seem to enjoy that word,”</strong>I observed after a few moments; letting go of her nipple to allow the blood to flow back into it as she massaged my foot; knowing the combination of the blouse she wore, the air conditioning and her very movements would all combine to give a very interesting stimulus on that hard, sensitive nipple now.<strong>“Though I’d imagine your staff, and friends, would be shocked to hear you being called ‘bitch’ as if it was your real name. Do you have a special kinship for the word, little bitch, or are there others that make you drip as obviously as you are doing onto my floor at the moment?”</strong><br/><br/>The lack of wish for a safeword spoke to me of someone who enjoys the risk as much as being kept in the dark to what the night would bring, so I determined to keep things as random and unexpected as possible to see if I was correct. It may be I have read her wrong, and will need to revaluate as the evening went on, but for now, keeping her off balance may be a good way of infiltrating her psyche deeper, to see what makes her tick.<br/>