Method Acting Ch. 09: Notes

Sam

Sam woke up spooning Princess.

They hadn't started that way. Princess had been barely awake in her bed when Sam returned to the master bedroom. After evicting the Cordobas she'd gone back to the kitchen and poured herself a drink.

Arak wasn't popular in the US. In fact, it was damned hard to find a lot of the time. But Sam's family had spent 12 years in Isreal and, similar to Europe, there was less obsession with drinking ages there, so she'd gotten used to it well before she turned 18.

She'd all but stopped drinking once she started taking subs on. But for the past three years she'd gotten back into the habit. And she wasn't going to be doing anything with Princess that night.

So it was with a slight buzz she'd returned to her bedroom and found her princess, nude and partially sprawled on the bed. One leg was tucked under the covers, but most of her ass and the rest of her body was exposed. It had only taken a slight tug to pull the sheet aside and expose the girl's pussy. It showed no signs of the fucking it had received only hours before. It was clean, bare, and tight; a little slit that promised so much pleasure.

Her hand had cupped Princess's ass before she realized it, and her middle finger had found the crease. She'd slid her finger down to the perineum, close enough to feel the heat of Princess's sex. Then Princess had moaned and shifted, not away from the touch, but toward it. Sam had needed to pull her hand away or her finger would have slipped in.

Am I The Don now? Getting off on assaulting girls who don't want it? Sam had thought.

Except that moan hadn't exactly been a protest. And she hadn't flinched away.

Deciding she was too tired and drunk to think about any of that, she'd simply changed and got into bed, leaving some clear separation between the two of them.

Except that separation had clearly gone. One of her arms was tucked up between Princess's breasts, held there by the fingers interlocked with her own. Her legs tucked up behind Princess's, the girl's ass pressed firmly into her crotch. If she'd been a man and woken up with a morning erection, she probably would have penetrated the girl by accident.

Fuck, she feels so good.

Somewhat guiltily, she let herself lay there, enjoying the position and the feel of the girl's body on hers. Despite the teasing and the hostility, Maria and the Don were right about some things. It had been a long time since Sam had enjoyed a partner. Longer still since she'd had a partner she could order around and know they'd do what she wanted.

And she'd decided to take on a slave who was straight as a laser. Who'd screamed out in panic when a woman's tongue got near her vagina.

She tried not to think about the likelihood that whoever Princess's unconscious snuggled up with, it wasn't her. It might be her ex, or just some generic fantasy guy who'd rescued her, the damsel in distress. She'd probably moaned when Sam touched her because she'd been dreaming about "properly thanking" her hero.

Her mood soured, Sam slipped out of bed without waking her sub and checked the clock. It was 7:30 but Princess deserved to sleep more. She got up and made herself busy.

=-=-=-=-=

After an appropriate amount of time passed, she made a phone call and cashed in a favor. Shortly after that she ordered Princess to put on a shirt and sit on a video call in her office. An hour later, Princess emerged and shocked Sam by walking up and giving her a hug.

"Thank you Mistress Samira," she said.

The hug put her head resting mostly on Sam's breasts, with her head tucked under Sam's chin. Like the morning snuggle, Sam allowed herself to enjoy the contact for a moment and marvel at the feel of Princess's soft body against her own.

Neither of them moved to break the embrace for a while, but Sam told herself she had things to do, responsibilities as the Mistress. She told Princess to go tend to her chores, then went into the office.

"How is she, Doctor Carlisle?" Sam asked the sweater-wearing bespectacled man on the screen.

"Considering how you described the problem when you called, she's fine," the man replied.

"And what does 'fine' mean, for her?" Sam asked.

"Sam, I know because of your habits and lifestyle you want to control her. But you can't control how she feels or what she thinks, beyond the context of your roleplay. I can't reveal any more about her because she's my patient and, legally, you're nothing to her. You aren't her caretaker, you don't have medical decision or power of attorney, and you certainly aren't her parent," Doctor Carlisle said.

"Doctor, I need to know if I should stop... roleplaying... with her?" Sam asked.

The doctor looked at her intently in a way that made Sam squirm. "From a psychological and medical perspective? No."

"Really?" Sam asked, surprised.

"Sam, remember me? Eugene Carlisle, newfangled progressive psychiatrist that doesn't think alternative lifestyles are automatically bad? I can't and won't go into more detail but yeah, what you've got going on with her is fine. Except..." he said trailing off.

"Except what?" I pressed.

"Except why do you want me to give you an excuse to stop?" he asked.

Sam scowled. "I didn't call you to do a session on me," she griped.

"With. I do sessions with patients, not to them or on them," Dr. Carlisle said.

"Well you're not doing a session with, on, or to me," Sam said.

"Samira-" Dr. Carlisle said but he was cut off as the screen of Sam's laptop slammed closed and the program automatically shut down. She sat at her desk breathing hard after several minutes, her phone went off with a text notification.

> If you want to talk, you have my contact info -- Dr. Carlisle.

Sam deleted the message.

=-=-=-=-=

While there were all sorts of unknown consequences of the night around her relationships with the Cordobas, Princess, and possibly the larger BDSM community in the area, there was one undeniable, concrete result that had to be dealt with.

Physics had not been one of Samira's best subjects in school, so she wasn't quite sure how she'd managed to shatter the wood around the doorknob, detach two of the door hinges, and break off one of the strips of molding around the doorframe, but she had. Examining the remaining hinge, Sam realized leaving the door hanging on it for the entire night and morning had also bent it more, so that one was gone too.

Sam was listing materials on her phone when she heard, "Mistress Samira?"

She looked over. "Yes Princess," she asked.

"Are you going to fix that yourself?" she asked.

Sam smirked. "My father never had a boy to help him with all the little household chores. I was his substitute. I think he was heartbroken when my mother had to buy me my first training bra and sent him out to get me tampons." He was more heartbroken about the radical headscarf arguments, but she wasn't going to go into that with Princess.

"Would... would you like some help, Mistress Samira?"

Sam looked back at Princess, bemused. "You know how to hang a door?"

Princess shrugged, which did interestingly distracting things to her breasts. "When you're a kid on set and they don't need you for a scene, you have to stay out of everyone's way. The set builders would be working on places sometimes, and they didn't mind me hanging around. I picked up a few things."

"I'm sure they did too," Sam mused.

"They weren't that creepy, Mistress Samira," Princess said with a sly smile, "I only got my ass pinched by a couple of them."

"All right, Princess. This is our project for the day."

In deference to what they were doing (and possibly because they were in Vermont), Sam had Princess put on jeans and a flannel shirt, and pull her dirty blonde hair back in a ponytail. She kept the heels on because they both thought it was funny.

Both of them laughed together at how many men fell over themselves to help them in the hardware store. If they wanted to, they could have had an army of well-meaning men over to their house helping.

When they had the new door, hinges, and other things loaded into the car, Sam turned to Princess and said, "What do you think, Princess? You still want to hang the door, or do you want me to go back and get the three guys we saw at the register and tell them you'll suck them off if they do it?"

Sam had been joking, but the look Princess gave her made her pause. "Are... are you actually asking me, Mistress Samira?" she said.

"Yes, I am," Sam said.

"I would rather work with you, Mistress Samira. But if you need me to service those men of course I won't question it," Princess said.

Sam nodded and started the car, heading for her house. Doctor Carlisle said she was fine, so she'd thought her tease about servicing the guys would be better received. Maybe she still needed time after the incident.

They spent the rest of the day working. When they got home Princess stayed in the work clothes, but she tied them up so her midriff showed and her tits made impressive cleavage up the top. Somehow, the sight of Princess mostly dressed and teasing was almost more erotic for Sam than when she walked around naked.

Then there was the time she almost put the screw gun through her hand when Princess's head backed into her butt. For a brief moment, she'd thought Princess put her face there, and her imagination had gone completely wild.

The door was hung and swinging smoothly by dinnertime, and miracle of miracles, the new knob matched up with the existing latch. Of course, it still looked like raw wood.

"Do you know how to stain wood as well Princess?" she asked.

"Yes Mistress Samira," she replied.

"That's your job tomorrow then," Sam said, "And if you finish early, you get a treat."

"What kind of treat, Mistress Samira?"

"You'll have to work well to find out, Princess."

Dakota

Dakota wanted to sleep naked in Mistress Samira's bed again. She didn't think her mistress had been able to tell, but she'd felt her move in the morning, and relished the whole time she was awake and Dakota got to cuddle her arm between her breasts and feel her warm crotch against her ass. But she had Dakota sleep in the trundle. She probably could have gone nude, but without Mistress Samira there it wasn't as exciting.

After breakfast Mistress Samira had her start on the door. She had the stain that the other doors had been done with, and provided Dakota with all the other tools and brushes she'd need. Dakota wasn't sure what her mistress went off to do, but she didn't mind; she lost herself in the work.

She'd always enjoyed little projects like that. She'd suggested to Mistress Samira that she'd just wandered over to the set builders and got taken in, but the reality was she'd had to go seek them out. For obvious reasons, directors didn't want construction with power tools going on right next to their set when they were recording. And it had taken a while for the (mostly) guy crew to accept she wasn't going to be a pain underfoot.

They never let her do anything involving ladders or power tools, and even hammers were something they got nervous about. None of them wanted to be responsible for the child actor suddenly getting a broken finger that would have to be explained on-set.

But stuff like sanding, painting, manually using screwdrivers, all of that stuff she got to do whenever she could get away from her mother. It was a solace for her a lot of the time. And it gave her something to do while she thought.

Mistress Samira owned her thoughts. It was kind of fitting, since she was Mistress Samira's slave, but the woman hadn't been in her head like this before. That was why she'd responded so... awkwardly to her mistress's quip at the hardware store.

She knew what she should have done. She should have been coy and just this side of sarcastic and said something about how eager she would be to suck all of their cocks, maybe ask if Mistress Samira would have them fuck her too. Truthfully, a month ago, it was the kind of BDSM fantasy she'd actually thought about in the deep, secret corners of her brain.

But it would have meant losing out on spending the day with Mistress Samira. Now? She wanted that more than anything.

Actually, what she wanted more than anything was Mistress Samira to push her boundaries.

It didn't make a lot of sense if she tried to describe it out loud. She knew, because she'd done exactly that with the psychiatrist Dr. Carlisle.

~~~~~~~~~

"You're uncertain because you're attracted to Samira?" Dr. Carlisle said.

"That's just it. I'm attracted to Mistress Samira. I... I don't know if I'd feel the same if it was just... Samira, older girl I'm hanging out with," Dakota said.

"Does it matter?" Dr. Carlisle asked.

"Well... I mean yeah," Dakota said.

"Why?" Dr. Carlisle asked.

"Because... I mean... isn't that leading her on? Not liking the 'real her'? It's like... with my fans. They all love Princess Jewel, wearing court dresses and riding horses and fighting in armor. If they met me in yoga pants and a crop-top and saw me laughing at a Tik Tok on my cell phone a lot of their brains would melt. Mistress Samira... isn't actually Mistress Samira. It wouldn't be fair for me to... do anything with that, would it?" Dakota asked.

"You have to remember Dakota, the type of roleplay you're doing with Samira is very, very different from your acting. Because of the agreement you've worked out, you never leave the set. You never break character. I assume Samira told you not a lot of subs do what you're doing? The slavery set up?" Dr. Carlisle asked.

Dakota nodded and he continued, "The reason for that is what I said; both the sub and the dom in those situations are more comfortable interacting on that level. With those roles. Many subs genuinely feel their slave persona, how they are with their master, is the real them. Whenever they have to go to work or out to the store or wherever? That's when they're putting on the act. That's when they're pretending. Stripping off their clothes, kneeling down in front of their dom, and being pet on the head or whipped? That's their real self. And many doms feel the same way."

"Does... does Mistress Samira feel that way?" Dakota asked.

"I don't know, Dakota. I wish I could tell you. Samira... was very damaged by what happened three years ago. Before then, I wouldn't have hesitated in saying she believed her real person was her dominant one. If I knew that were still true, I would tell you that being attracted to Samira as your mistress? Might be more real than if you did meet her in a coffee shop."

~~~~~~~

Dr. Carlisle had told her that in her position as a slave, she couldn't really help Mistress Samira be comfortable in her dom role any more than she already was. He's also said if she really thought she was cut out to be a submissive slave, and she wanted to pursue a relationship in that vein, she should trust her instincts.

She finished the door much sooner than she thought she would and made sure everything and everywhere around it was cleaned up before summoning Mistress Samira. Mistress Samira greeted her work with an impressed smile.

"Excellent job Princess," she said, "Now I have to take you for your massage lesson. Then tonight, you get a treat. You want to know what it is?"

Dakota nodded excitedly, bouncing up and down on her feet. She knew she was acting like a small child, but right then she didn't care.

"You get to pick any scene or piece of equipment downstairs and I'll show you how it works. And I'll make sure you enjoy it," Mistress Samira said.

Dakota instantly knew what she wanted.

"Can... can you teach me... orgasm control again, Mistress Samira?"

A knowing smile appeared on Mistress Samira's face. "Of course, Princess.

=-=-=-=-=

"Now, Princess! Let it out, let yourself cum hard!"

"AaaaaAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!" Dakota screamed out.

Unlike the first time, Mistress Samira had taken her down to the basement again and put her on the bench, bent forward like she was on a sport bike, or galloping on a horse. A hip-hop song would have described it as "face down, booty up." This time there was no flogger or whip, though; only toys.

But those had changed as well.

The toys in her pussy and ass could vibrate, but they also writhed and undulated. Mistress Samira had held the one she called "the little snake" out in front of her. It looked like a shallow "S" shape with a penis head on one end. When it moved in her, it felt like someone dragging a smooth... something from the depths of her vagina out to the opening.

The anal toy felt like an enormous, never-tiring tongue that simply licked in and around every part of her rectum and sphincter.

Taken together, they were a completely different feel than the straight vibrator, but the orgasms were almost more intense. They were harder to hold off, too; the one she'd just managed was her first success in three tries.

"Now we're going to try something new, Princess. But in order for it to work you have to really try to control yourself, understand me, Princess?"

"Yes Mistress Samira," Dakota said breathlessly.

The toys started up again. A wave of pressure went straight past her G-spot, then one dug at her pussy and set off the insides. The maddening fake tongue in her ass made little knots of pleasure light up in different parts of her ass, one after the other in a crazy sequence. She'd been through it three times already over she didn't know how long, but it still felt exquisite. It was better than any partner had ever felt for her.

She dug her fingernails into her palms, but her long nails were long gone and they didn't provide enough pain to offset the stimulations from her ass and pussy. Actually, she wasn't sure the little bit of pain she did feel wasn't helping her get there faster.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to control her muscles and focus on something other than the tremendous pleasure rocking up from between her legs. When she opened them, Mistress Samira was right there.

She'd specifically requested not to be blindfolded. Mistress Samira hadn't thought anything of it.

"Please Mistress Samira... I'm trying... I'm really trying... I want to hold out."

"Good Princess, you need to! You need to hold out a bit longer."

She focused on her mistress's violet eyes. They sparkled with amusement, probably relishing the trouble Dakota was having holding on. But Dakota saw more in there. There was a little bit of pride. And lust. There was lust in there. Her mistress was turned on by what was happening.

Dakota started her own staring contest, fighting not to close her eyes and lose eye contact, trying to keep her eyes open like she was trying to keep her body from succumbing to the pleasure inflicted on it.

"Hang on Princess," Mistress Samira said, "This is about to get worse. I need you to hold. On!"

The toy in her pussy got faster. It wasn't someone rubbing her G-spot frantically anymore, it was someone slamming into it. Her pussy stretched in many directions, all of them intense, all of them pushing Dakota farther and farther off the edge.

"I have to touch you Princess," Mistress Samira said.

Dakota almost lost it when she heard those words. She felt her whole crotch quiver and she clenched her ass so tight she thought the toy would rip her skin. "Mistress... Mistress please," she begged.

"I think I've got you on the edge, but I need to send you over huge. To do that I need to touch you."

"Yes Mistress Samira. Anything Mistress I just want to cum!"

"Anything Princess? I can touch your pussy? I can put my fingers on your clit?" Mistress Samira asked.

"Mistress... Mistress I can't hold on! Do whatever you have to, please!"

Suddenly Mistress Samira's face was cheek-to-cheek with Dakota's, her mouth next to Dakota's ear.

"Cum for me Princess," she said.

At the same time she said that, her fingers flicked wildly over Dakota's clit.

Dakota felt like she should be screaming but instead her whole body locked up and she went dead quiet. The rubbing on her clit felt like it was gathering up every bit of pleasure and stimulation into the little bud, somehow sucking it out of her pussy and ass. Her whole body shook so badly the bench began rattling.

"OH MY FUCKING GOOOOODDDDDDD!"

She felt every part of her the bench restrained dig into the metal frame as her whole body clenched and thrashed from the pleasure tearing through it. She felt like it was some sort of physical force that should be coming out of her holes.

She noticed distantly, second to the erupting pleasure, that something was splashing on her legs.

Dakota had no idea how long the orgasm took to really subside. She knew Mistress Samira stopped rubbing her clit, but it took a long time after that before her body stopped trembling, she stopped sobbing, and her pussy stopped trying to crush anything inside it. Nothing was inside it anymore. Mercifully, the toy in her ass had stopped moving too.

With her head resting on the bench, she opened her eyes. She saw Mistress Samira's hand, and it was wet. Not only that, there was actual liquid puddled between her fingers.

"Congratulations Princess. You had your first squirting orgasm."

Sam

Sam wanted to take a picture. Or better yet, have a portrait artist come in and capture it on canvas.

She'd suspected Princess was capable of it. Most women were, if given enough stimulation in the right areas, but few women (and fewer of their partners) took the time or knew the techniques.

She hadn't actually had that as a goal, but she saw how much she'd pushed Princess and knew the situation was right.

Now the girl still lay on the bench. Her full breasts hung down, her back made a smooth curving slope up to the pale, round form of her ass. Her pussy was still spread, the inner pink visible around the swollen lips that were open and desperately seeking something to devour. Sweat coated her entire body, except for her thighs where the liquid was mixed. Her hair, darkened in places where the sweat brought out the brown more than the blonde in her mane, framed her desperate face. Her lips remained parted to help her breathing, but still looked like they would happily open wider if given a reason.

Her eyes said to Sam what the girl couldn't, or wasn't allowed to. Please, I want more.

There was a little hint of caution, a note of warning in the back of Sam's mind, but she ignored it. She hadn't felt this engrossed in a scene for years, and the fire in her blood (and other places) pushed her on.

She retrieved the toy from where Princess's pussy had ejected it to the floor. It was an ingenious design, in Sam's opinion. You wouldn't think just rotating a slightly curved object would feel like someone dragging things in and out of your pussy, but that's exactly what the toy did. She briefly ducked into the bathroom attached to the basement and cleaned it off, then wiped it down.

Princess seemed a bit calmer. Sam was sure she was getting chilled from the dried sweat and the cooler basement air. It was time to heat her up again.

She applied some more lube to the tip of the toy only; everything else as far as lubrication would come from Princess's body. The purple plastic nudged her pussy lips aside and slid in, getting a moan out of their owner.

"Slow training this time, Princess," Sam said, "Remember, you have five minutes."

Nine and a half minutes later, Sam was grinning to herself at the trembling woman on the bench as the toy inside her moved at a glacial pace. She was trying a different tack, resting her hand on the rounded, warm peaks of Princess's ass as she desperately tried to coax an orgasm out of the bare minimum of stimulation she got.

Sam had her finger sliding slowly past the top of Princess's ass crack, letting her think the next bit of stimulation might be a rubbing or even penetration of her asshole with the digit. She knew as well as anyone there was a difference between stimulation by a toy and stimulation by a person. Even if you had a girl that regularly took cucumbers up her pussy, she'd still seek out a real cock just for the difference.

That thought brought Sam up short. She jerked her hand away from Princess's ass, then stepped back.

She took in the girl's posture, the way her body reacted. The clenching of her muscles. The twitching she noticed, and the way that Princess moved.

She wasn't clenching down on the toy on purpose. She had her core tightened to prevent her moving too much. Her ass was relaxed, not clenching, imitating...

Imitating what she'd done a few minutes ago. When she was trying to hold off cumming.

Sam stomped up to the front of the bench. Without warning she grabbed Princess's hair and yanked her head up, then dropped down to make eye contact.

"Are you holding your orgasm off, Princess?" she growled.

She saw a spike of fear in Princess's eyes. Her mouth worked but she didn't make any sound.

"When I told you to cum, did you deliberately keep yourself from orgasming?" Sam asked.

She saw new tears leak from Princess's eyes. "M-m-Mistress-"

"Answer me!" Sam yelled.

"Yeeesss!" Princess said, breaking into a crying fit.

Sam sprang up. In one move she reached back, yanked the toy out of Princess and sent it flying hard enough that it shattered against the wall. Princess let out a startled, frightened yelp at the sound as she sobbed and sniffled.

Sam walked over to a cabinet. "Answer this honestly Princess, or your life will be hell. Did you deliberately defy me? Not misunderstand, not confuse, but intentionally act directly contrary to what I told you to do?"

"I-I-I-I'm sorry Mistress Samira," Princess wailed.

"No," Sam growled, "You will be now, though."

Sam let the whip fly.

What followed the crack was the most gut-wrenching, bloodcurdling scream Sam had ever heard. It was possibly the greatest amount of pain the girl had ever experienced. She thrashed on the bench, trying to pull off of it, trying to reach back and cover herself, but of course she couldn't. She finally settled in the bench, sobbing and crying pathetically.

Sam coiled the whip and put it back, then grabbed a long foam wedge. She walked over to the bench and looked.

A bright red line that looked like it could have been drawn with a marker appeared across Princess's ass cheeks. It almost formed a perfect cross with the crack of her ass. She stared at it for a moment, telling herself she was looking to make sure it didn't start bleeding. The red was angry enough it almost looked like it.

Satisfied she hadn't actually broken skin, she walked to the head of the bench.

Princess's face was a mess of tears, sweat, spit and snot from her nose. Her eyes looked bloodshot. If she'd been wearing makeup, Sam was sure it would have streaked and smeared all over her face.

"The rest of your punishment is going to be staying down here for the night. You will remain restrained. You will not get a blanket. I will put this under you to support your weight so you don't injure yourself. Once I put it in place you will not see or hear me until morning. If you want to use your safe word, do it now."

"Mistress... Mistress Samira please... I just wante-"

"You. Are. The. SLAVE!" Sam barked, "The only thing you should want is to obey your mistress! Your entire life is broken down into three choices; obey me, disobey me, or use your safe word. You chose to disobey me, and I've explained the consequences. Now your choices are to accept the punishment or use your safe word."

The only sound in the basement was Princess's sniveling.

"Push your body up as much as you can," Sam said.

Princess didn't move.

"Push yourself up or I will get the whip again," Sam threatened.

Princess's body rose off the bench. Sam noted that the girl's breasts were big enough that she couldn't quite get them to lift free of the top.

She went around to the front and slid the wedge of foam beneath Princess's body, then secured some Velcro straps to it and the bench.

"That will take the weight off of your arms and legs and prevent you from staying in a position where all your blood rushes to your head over the course of the night. I will come get you in the morning."

Dakota

There had been a location shoot they'd done for an episode of Princess Jewel once. The princess and her friends had gotten lost in some cursed swamps. The producers had decided the best option for cursed swamps was Louisiana.

Dakota and the others had been given wetsuits to wear in the swamps. That would have been fine, except for the wool and armor that made up the rest of their costumes. The armor was only plastic, but even plastic had weight. Since they'd been filming in August, it was like wearing a sauna. They also had to wear their regular boots for climbing in and out of the water.

The boots had become filled with mud immediately, so Dakota had felt like she was pulling buckets around with her legs. Also, as anyone who's worn one knows, wetsuits don't actually prevent you from getting wet, and they're designed to push water around the inside of the suit to create an insulating layer. So instead of just her legs being doused in the swamp water, her entire body was. She'd wanted to ask what the wetsuits were even supposed to accomplish, but by then it was too late. Her boots had been sucked down into a mud hole after the first hour. The two spare pairs had been eaten by the swamp within the next two. They had a schedule to keep, so Dakota pressed on and they wrote the loss of footwear into the script instead. She just had to deal with the alternating reality of slicing her feet open on roots, rocks, and sticks on the not submerged ground (nothing in the swamp was dry) and then walking the bottom of the swamp that felt like gritty gelatin where everything moved around her feet each step. A check for leeches between every take became mandatory. They fed her antibiotic pills almost too big to swallow. Then she'd had the brilliant idea to forego showering that night since she'd just have to do it all again the next day. The AC unit in her portable shelter had been no match for the heat and humidity of the bayou.

She'd thought that was the worst night of her life.

Her situation in Mistress Samira's basement was objectively better. It was temperature controlled, she wasn't covered in muck (except for her face, maybe), and instead of fourteen hours of acting and running lines she'd just had an hour or more of orgasms.

The problem was the aching dread and disappointment Dakota felt.

She'd remembered her first "orgasm control" lesson, and how her inability to cum on command had led to Mistress Samira threatening her with "manual stimulation".

Dakota thought she would be clever. It was a bad habit of hers. She'd tried it a few times training with the show's sword master, when she'd thought she'd advanced enough to get the better of him. Every time she'd tried a move he hadn't approved of, she'd found herself disarmed with his sword touching her throat or her chest, when he didn't just use the flat of the blade to smack her backside.

Mistress Samira had been a dom for a decade, at least. She'd apparently taken some time off, but everyone else involved in the community was actually afraid of her skills.

Dakota hadn't even been serious about committing to the lifestyle when she started.

Mistress Samira had been able to tell, without fail, every time Dakota had an orgasm. Not all of them had been earth-shattering ones Mistress Samira had wrenched out of her with toys and time, either. Some of them Dakota had barely moved, simply sighing. And Dakota had tried to hide the fact that she was delaying her orgasm.

"You are so fucking stupid," Dakota said to the empty, cold room.

It wasn't freezing, but the room was large and open and Dakota was naked. The cooling sweat on her body hadn't helped. Plus, she thought she'd remembered Mistress Samira saying she kept the room a little colder. Given what usually happened there, it made sense.

Dakota tried to settle into the foam cushion. It did help take the weight off of her arms, but she wasn't used to sleeping on her stomach. She'd given that up sometime in her teens when it started feeling like she was lying on a pillow because of the size of her chest. Now she had no choice.

=-=-=-=-=

She was jerked awake by a shiver. She tried shifting and her body ached. She squeezed out more tears.

Why the fuck didn't you use your safe word? You know more than enough about this shit to do the movie. Is it really worth it just because you think you might want to have sex with that bitch?

She'd had sex with her. Dakota was sure if she talked to most regular people and described what she and Mistress Samira had done together, they absolutely would say they'd had sex.

You had sex, she showed you BDSM life, you even learned how to give a massage. Your next boyfriend, you can turn his body into a puddle of goo. If you really want to, you can find a hot chick, lay her out on a table, and get her pussy dripping after rubbing her with oil. She'll be begging you to go down.

Mistress Samira's demanding, inflexible, she'd rather have people terrified of her than friendly with her, and she's capable of doing...

Dakota cut off the thought by flexing her ass. The fiery line of pain still burned across her ass cheeks. She literally thought she'd been sliced open when it hit. She'd been sure the wetness she felt dripping down her legs was blood.

She closed her eyes and kept flexing the muscles. Trying to feel out how bad the damage was.

=-=-=-=-=

Why do you still think of her as Mistress Samira?

She was half awake, in a weird state where she knew she wasn't completely asleep, but she felt like she was riding the edge. She also thought she was partially dreaming. She could open her eyes and see the basement, but when she closed her eyes she saw Dr. Carlisle on a laptop screen.

If you're done with her, if she's crossed a line, if this is too much and you don't actually want to do this anymore, why are you still calling her Mistress Samira in your head? You know her real name.

"She did this to me," Dakota said, not totally sure if she was speaking out loud.

Did she?

"Of course she did. She tied me to the bench, she held the whip, she left me here."

Are you sure you didn't do that to yourself?

"That's bullshit. That's bullshit gaslighting. That's what abusers always say; 'look what you made me do.'"

Do abusers give you a chance to get out of it? Do abusers take the time to stop and remind you there's a way out?

Dakota spent a long time turning that over and over in her head.

=-=-=-=-=

"That feels nice."

She was getting a scalp massage after a day on the set. It had been a fight day; she was sore all over. She was sore between her legs too, she realized, blushing. She must have jilled off too hard the night before. Scenes with Coulter were like that sometimes. Sometimes after the last stunt guy went flying, she'd look up into those purple eyes...

"Princess, you have to wake up now."

Dakota almost jumped. She did jump, actually, but she was still secured to the bench. Mistress Samira's hand was on her head.

Had... had Mistress Samira been rubbing her head?

"I'm going to undo the restraints now. Try not to fall over. Then I'll help you to stand."

Dakota wanted to say she didn't need help, but when her arms came free and she tried to push herself up off the bench she almost rolled onto the floor. She probably would have, if Mistress Samira hadn't caught her. A few minutes later she was being led up the stairs by her as if she were an old lady.

She didn't want to admit how good Mistress Samira's body felt against her. A big part of her brain was outraged. This was the woman who'd left her tied up in the basement, forced her to shiver in the cold, barely getting any sleep, after putting a line on her ass with a bullwhip!

But the rest of her... the rest of her just wanted to stay in her mistress's arms as long as possible.

She led Dakota to the en suite of the master bedroom, where a steaming tub of water was ready for her. She sank in with Mistress Samira's help, then shivered with something besides cold when Mistress Samira dropped her robe and joined her in the water.

Mistress Samira had a bathing suit on, just like when they showered. It was a silver-looking one-piece that only left her arms and legs exposed and even came up high on her neck. Dakota wanted to tell her she didn't need to wear it, that she would actually prefer she not wear it, but she didn't know how to tell that to her mistress, especially after the previous night.

Mistress Samira's legs went around her hips and crossed under her knees. The older woman pulled her back so she rested against her chest. She had the perverse thought that Mistress Samira's breasts almost acted like a neck pillow, and if she hadn't been wearing the suit the globes of flesh might be sitting on her shoulders.

She suddenly very much wanted to know what that would feel like.

Instead, Mistress Samira washed her. It was half a washing and half a massage. She rubbed feeling back into Dakota's arms and legs, and caressed her back.

Even though she had full and easy access to all the intimate parts of Dakota's body, she never went near them with her hands.

After a mostly silent washing session, Mistress Samira finally said, "I'm proud of you."

Dakota stiffened in shock. "You are, Mistress Samira?" Dakota said.

"You accepted the punishment. You tried to endure it. You didn't spend all night trying to get out of your restraints. You didn't spend it screaming at me and cursing me out. You didn't try to hurt yourself."

"Did... did you come and check on me, Mistress?" Dakota asked.

"There's a security camera that I can use to see the basement, Princess," Mistress Samira said. Then, answering Dakota's unspoken question, she added, "You aren't the first sub I've had restrained in my basement overnight."

There was another stretch of silence as Mistress Samira continued the washing, though it was more caressing and rubbing than washing. It wasn't erotic either. Dakota didn't feel turned on. She felt... comforted. She was also a little shocked at Mistress Samira's admission she watched Dakota. Not because the woman had been spying on her. It was the way she'd said so confidently that Dakota hadn't acted out. Dakota had to wonder... how long had Mistress Samira spent watching her overnight?

"I have to admit, Princess, I expected you to spend the morning sulking or screaming at me," Mistress Samira said.

"I..." Dakota started, then stopped.

"It's okay, Princess," Mistress Samira said, "I want to know what your reaction was to the punishment. It may not change anything, but I do want to know."

"I... at some point I realized it was me. You'd laid out the rules, Mistress Samira. You... you even gave me an out. You reminded me I didn't have to go through with it. I wasn't your prisoner. I decided to... to sleep down there. Maybe not directly, but... I had a way out. If I chose to do that and then started screaming at you because it happened, what kind of an asshole would I be?"

There was another pregnant pause as Mistress Samira dumped a cup of water over the back of Dakota's head.

"I may not have much more to teach you about being a slave, Princess," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

They got out and dried off. Dakota was much steadier on her feet after the bath. After Mistress Samira dried her, Dakota turned to her and looked at the ground.

"Mistress Samira... I'm so, so sorry I disobeyed you," she said.

"I know Princess," Mistress Samira said, pulling her in a bit and kissing the top of her head, "Let's forget about it, okay? But I want you to go down after breakfast and clean all around the bench. That should keep you busy until lunch."

"Mistress Samira?" Dakota asked nervously.

"What is it Princess?"

"After lunch... May I take a nap?"

"I think I can allow that, Princess."

Dakota dared to peek up at Mistress Samira. Her mouth opened, but she stopped.

God, she was a dumb blonde right out of a joke. She was the slave, the only thing she should want is to make her mistress happy, not try to get her mistress-

"Princess?" Mistress Samira asked.

"Yes Mistress Samira?"

"Were you hoping for some... company... for your nap?"

Dakota felt such an overwhelming rush of feelings she forgot to speak. She just stared up at her mistress as a small smirk came over Mistress Samira's face.

"That would be very bold of you to ask for, especially right after a punishment. But... you stopped yourself from asking. That shows me you learned from last night, you didn't just endure it."

The praise from Mistress Samira only compounded the confusing rush of embarrassment, gratitude, pride... and desire.

Not waiting for a response, Mistress Samira said, "Do your morning tasks well... and we'll see."