Method Acting Ch. 10: Immersive

Sam

After the incident with the orgasm training things seemed to go back to normal. There was a slight difference, though, one that they didn't speak of.

Princess was much more physically affectionate than she had been. It reminded Sam of April, her first female sub. She'd only taken male subs up to that point and had basically taken April on as a dare after idly commenting that she grew bored of her male subs after only a couple of months. She'd known she had bisexual tendencies; she certainly had no trouble enjoying receiving or giving her attention to a female sub before that, but she'd always assumed it was just in the context of the scenes, and hadn't considered any sort of long-term commitment with a woman.

Despite years watching doms inflict much harsher punishments on their female subs than Sam ever had on her male ones, she'd assumed she needed a lighter touch with April. Their first few months together had almost been like girls at a sleepover, and they'd spent a lot of time touching. They shared a bed almost every night, but ironically didn't often have sex there. Sex happened almost everywhere else; bed was for cuddling.

Eventually April had shown that life as a sub wasn't for her. Or at least, life as a sub with Sam wasn't for her. At the same time Sam was being awakened to the idea of a longer term relationship with one woman, April had the opposite awakening. It had only taken one time for Sam to notice how excited April got at the idea of fucking new people. After Sam "forced" her into allowing three men to airtight her on a stage in the middle of a party, Sam told her to go into porn. Despite starting at 23 (practically ancient in the porn world), April, under her stage name, had gone on to win several AVN awards and showed no signs of slowing down five years later. She wasn't featured in any "young starlet" roles anymore, but she hadn't quite crossed the MILF line yet. Sam did know she was backing away from working with major studios and doing more self-promotion and content, as many people in the industry were.

She wasn't embarrassed to admit her former sub was the focus of several of her internet bookmarks when she needed to get off.

And because of Princess, that was happening more often. What reminded Sam of April wasn't a latent desire in Princess for more partners (as if the incident with the Cordobas wasn't enough of a clue); it was the touching.

Princess spent a lot more time touching Sam. Just random, incidental touches mostly, but where before Princess would call to her from across a room, instead she walked up and touched her to get Sam's attention. She also looked so heartbroken when Sam had her sleep on the trundle that in her head she was starting to think of it as a punishment for Princess.

She could stop it, of course. One command that she had to ask permission to touch her mistress and all of that would stop. But Sam almost felt like she was addicted to it. She'd never thought of herself as someone who needed physical contact, but getting so much of it now after almost three years of barely any was a game changer.

In her head, sometimes, when Princess touched her on the shoulder while she sat, Sam imagined her sliding her hands over the shoulders and around her chest, then leaning in to nuzzle and kiss her neck. April used to do that to her.

April was on her mind so much because Sam had found herself reviewing the girl's catalogue of performances while Princess was at the parlor learning her massage skills. Three times she'd caught herself waking up in the morning with her head running through Princess's hair and starting to push her head down. She'd woken up fully before actually trying to get Princess to suck on her breast or go down on her, but sometimes it had been close.

The fact that Princess hadn't objected she just put down to the girl being half awake.

Sam looked at the calendar. Her month of sabbatical or leave or whatever they were calling it at the office was up. On Monday she'd have to go back to work and try to convince everyone on her team that they weren't actually working for Miranda Priestly.

... Or do I?

Sam looked up her employee data and spent some time with a calculator.

She had the equivalent of two months of vacation time banked because she never took time off. Vermont didn't require companies to pay out that time if an employee left, but their company had branches in other states that did, so company policy was that it happened. She'd also received an e-mail from Lisa that told her she was getting a $20,000 bonus for her work on the previous project.

Even without the pay she might receive for... helping... Princess, Sam had enough coming her way to live off of for most of a year. If she really got antsy, one-off Project Management consulting contracts were everywhere, particularly if she leveraged some of her contacts.

She mentally prepared herself and then called Lisa.

Dakota

"You-ah good masseuse ah-now."

Dakota laughed as Mr. Toma laid the "stereotypical Asian" accent on even thicker than he usually did. She was washing oil off of her hands after her last massage.

For the past week, it had been less teaching and more practical experience. When customers came in that Mr. Toma knew he didn't have to keep "the act" up for and were either trustworthy enough to keep a secret or didn't know who Dakota was, he would let Dakota do their massages. If there weren't enough people to keep Dakota busy doing that, he would ask a few of the more reliable girls in the parlor if they wanted one. Most were eager to accept; a lot of them had tightness around their shoulders, arms, and hands especially. Dakota was nervous about being "outed" the first couple of days, but so far everyone had stayed quiet.

Dakota felt her heart speed up as she remembered one from earlier in the week.

The girl went by Suki for the customers but her actual name was Leslie. She was mixed Asian but had enough of the look in her face to match the aesthetic of the place. But she also had a lot of curves to her.

When Dakota worked on her, she couldn't help comparing the woman's body to Mistress Samira's. They had almost the same skin tone, and both had dark, luxuriously wavy hair. Dakota had begun daydreaming that she was giving her mistress the massage, and she hadn't paid close attention to what she was doing.

"You're making me feel too good, honey," Leslie had said, and Dakota had realized she'd moved from relaxing the girl to turning her on. She'd moved her hands swiftly, but Leslie had said, "I didn't say stop."

Heart pounding, Dakota had lost herself further in the fantasy. She'd had no idea what was going through Leslie's head until a few minutes later.

She'd been standing to one side of the table, rubbing Leslie's lower back, her fingers trailing across the upper crack of her ass. Suddenly Leslie had rolled and sat up on the table facing Dakota. She had a hand behind Dakota's neck before the girl had realized it. Leslie's face had been wide-eyed and hungry.

Or, as the internet might say, thirsty.

She pulled, but Dakota had resisted. She'd put a hand on the top of Leslie's chest, trying to avoid touching either of the firm, perky breasts now exposed at her. Leslie's face had gone through a bunch of expressions as they looked into each other's eyes.

"Someone else?" Leslie had asked. Dakota had only nodded. "Is... wow... this... you've never done this before, have you? With a girl, I mean?"

Dakota found herself blinking back tears as she shook her head. "I'm sorry," she said.

Leslie had pulled her into a hug and let Dakota cry a little. When Dakota composed herself, Leslie had said, "She doesn't know, does she?"

"No," Dakota admitted, "Actually, I pretty much told her flat out that I was straight and wanted nothing to do with girl sex. Hell I still wouldn't mind jumping on a cock if it was a nice one. Does that make me horrible?"

"God no, honey. You're what? Eighteen?"

"Nineteen," Dakota had admitted.

"No nineteen year old has their shit figured out. And anybody who gives you shit for not swearing off men completely just because you might be hot for another woman is an idiot. If you like this girl, go for it. Maybe you keep going. Maybe she's the only woman you ever date and you jump back to the cock after. No shame or harm in trying."

Dakota had laughed nervously. "You're pretty quick to give out intimate advice."

"Bitch I'm sitting here flashing my kitty at you after a failed attempt to get you to fuck me on this massage table. Let's just say I don't waste time and I don't have patience for bullshit."

Over the last few days Leslie had tried to encourage Dakota to stop wasting time as well. The day before she'd threatened to "find this bitch and go after her myself if you don't get a move on."

Dakota smiled to herself at what could happen if Leslie tried to force herself into Mistress Samira's life. Though she suspected Leslie was nowhere near submissive; when she'd had her hand on the back of Dakota's neck, she'd felt a faint echo of the same sort of twinge she got when Mistress Samira was ordering her around. Then she flushed as she imagined the two women butting heads, then coming to some sort of arrangement where they both descended on Dakota like a new toy for them to share...

Thanks in part to Leslie's pushing, Dakota thought she might have the courage to do something, to act on the feelings she'd been turning over in her head for the past week. The problem was, she was stuck.

As she'd known before starting the whole wild experiment, and as had been reinforced over the past month, BDSM relationships were built around almost inflexible boundaries, rules, and agreements. You never had to worry about informed consent or misinterpreted signals; "Suck my cock or you get the whip," is fairly unambiguous, as is a safe word if it's called out in the middle of the action.

But that also meant there was barely any room for experimentation or natural evolution of the relationship. Especially not from the sub's side. She didn't have to wonder what the reaction would be if she pushed things with her mistress; she knew. She'd be tied up to... something and beaten. It had been bad enough when she was ignorant and fumbling around. If Mistress Samira suspected she'd intentionally gone against her directions for something like this?

Sleeping on the bench would probably be the best she could hope for.

But she also knew Leslie was right. She had to do something.

=-=-=-=-=

She'd hoped for some more time to think about her options, but that evening she got an opportunity she couldn't ignore.

"Princess, Mr. Toma tells me you're fully trained now?"

"Yes Mistress Samira," Dakota replied, "He said I would be able to pass certification if I wanted... or if you wanted me to."

"Somehow I don't think you need the extra income stream," Mistress Samira said.

Dakota smiled, but felt odd about it. It was almost like she'd forgotten about her life before moving in with Mistress Samira. She wasn't sure when, but she'd long since stopped thinking of this as training for a movie role. Now, when she thought of acting, she more often thought of it like an older part of her life that she'd moved on from.

"But that does mean you can give me a massage. Given the day I've had, I could use one. Gather the things you need and come to me in my bedroom."

"Yes Mistress Samira," Dakota said, trying to ignore the little flutter she'd felt at the phrase "come to me in my bedroom."

A few minutes later she entered Mistress Samira's room and gaped.

The room was lit low with yellow-orange light. It gave off the same sort of glow as candles without there actually being any; all the light came from the same lamps on the walls, it was just a different color. She hadn't known the lights could do that. There was also slow, ethereal music playing. People probably would have called it meditation music.

But none of that grabbed her attention.

Mistress Samira lay on her bed, nude, with just a towel draped over her ass. The curve of it stuck up above the rest of her body enough that the edges of the folded towel didn't touch her back or legs.

The legs were long, muscular, and smooth. They looked like coiled power, but still with a soft feminine quality to them. Her back was smooth and flawless, Dakota thought, with the two smooth ridges forming a near perfect curved trough from her neck all the way down to the towel. Mistress Samira's powerful, muscled arms were folded under the small pillow she rested her head on, revealing the slight curve of the edges of her breasts as they peeked around her torso from being flattened against the bed. She'd gathered her hair up into a bun, but it was looser than the one she usually wore; just enough to keep her hair out of the way.

"Today, Princess."

Dakota let out a sound that might have been a yelp or a squeak and moved to her mistress.

Mistress Samira's mattress was memory foam, so not as soft as some mattresses were, but not quite as firm as a massage table. That wasn't as much of a problem though since her mistress had asked for a relaxation massage, not a therapeutic one.

Dakota took a deep breath, coated her hands in the oil she'd warmed with the help of the hot plate she had, then began.

Dakota almost had an orgasm when her hands touched Mistress Samira's body. It seemed silly; they'd cuddled in bed, showered and bathed together, and interacted physically any number of ways, usually while Dakota was naked, or may as well have been.

But this time, Dakota was the one initiating the touching. She was choosing where her hands went, and her mistress was the passive recipient of her caresses and rubbing. She was more or less free to explore and touch Mistress Samira's body in a way she hadn't up until then.

The contrast of the soft, pliable skin and the hard, unyielding muscles beneath kept Dakota fascinated as her fingers and palms traced every group of them. She spent a long time on her mistress's back, and she got somewhat frustrated at the bad angle she had trying to rub the far side of Mistress Samira's body.

"You may climb on the bed and straddle me, Princess."

Dakota had to stop at that. She felt a shiver of anticipation run through her, and she swore her pussy quivered.

She moved the container of oil, then got up and, as requested, straddled her mistress's legs.

Their bare legs had touched before. Their bodies had been close. Closer than they were then, even. But for some reason, the situation they were in at that moment was really getting to Dakota. Her heart was pounding in her head, she felt like the room was far too hot...

She was amazingly turned on.

Her nipples could cut glass. She was licking her lips as her hands traced over the smooth curves of her mistress's body, coating it in oil and making it look even more amazing. She feared sitting back on her heels in case her pussy left a smear of her juices on Mistress Samira. She hoped the fragrance of the oil was masking her own, because she was sure she smelled like an eager whore.

As her hands moved down to massage one of Mistress Samira's thighs, another fundamental realization hit Dakota.

She'd always thought her attraction to Mistress Samira was emotional. She was impressed by her commanding personality, the force of her presence, and the way she carried herself. She recognized Mistress Samira's softer side, her ability to empathize and show compassion, and how well she listened and understood her subs' needs and followed through with them. She wanted to just bask in the woman's presence, not physically be with her.

Even with physical intimacy, she blamed hormones and circumstances. She'd wanted the closeness, the intimacy of feeling Mistress Samira touching her, even tasting her, but only in her quest for an orgasm. She wanted to heighten the intimacy, and in the sex-drowned brain she had after four orgasms and continued stimulation, the idea of having Mistress Samira touch her, or even lick her, seemed like the kind of taboo thrill that would get her off.

What was the joke? Spaghetti's straight too, until you get it wet?

Now, though... even if she wanted to, she couldn't blame her feelings on an altered state of mind. Touching Mistress Samira, the physical act of it, was doing things to her. She wanted to keep touching this woman. She wanted to explore her body. She wanted to know how Mistress Samira's breasts felt. She...

She wanted to know how they tasted.

She'd slid back to Mistress Samira's heels so she could get good leverage to massage the thighs. Her eyes were fixed on the line made by the two legs pushed together. Mistress Samira was too developed and too voluptuous to have a thigh gap.

As Dakota kept massaging, she let her imagination go wild. She imagined gently pushing Mistress Samira's legs apart so she could stare at what was between them. She imagined working her hands farther up the thighs, rubbing the sensitive insides gently. Her fingers would get to the pussy first, but she wouldn't use them. She'd spread her hands and fingers around to massage the wondrously pliable flesh of her ass.

"Princess."

She heard the voice as an eager moan. An unspoken plea, an order for her to keep rubbing, but use her tongue. She would steel herself, find a way to get rid of that last bit of hesitation so she could push her head in and use her tongue on her first pussy. To taste her mistress and make her cum the way she'd been given so many orgasms.

"Princess!"

That cry was neither moaning nor eager. Mistress Samira had pushed herself up, her hand using the comforter to cover herself. She was looking in the mirror at the head of the bed.

She was not happy.

"What are you doing?"

"G-giving you a massage, Mistress Samira, just as you requested.

"Really? And how was that?"

"Y... you wanted a relaxation massage, Mistress Samira," Dakota said.

"Then what were you doing?"

Samira looked down at her hands and felt her face flush. Based on the oil trail, she'd massaged the backs of Mistress Samira's thighs maybe once. The rest of the time, while she'd been daydreaming, her hands and fingers had touched nothing but the backs of her knees and the inside of her thighs, up to where they formed a crease.

"Get off," Mistress Samira snapped, "And go stand in the corner. If you turn around, I will slap you."

Dakota scurried off and faced the corner of the room. She heard Mistress Samira get out of the bed and then the swishing of fabric. She tried to listen more to guess what Mistress Samira would do next, but the next thing that did happen was a hand grabbing her hair. Dakota winced as Mistress Samira dragged her over to the foot of the bed.

"Congratulations, Princess," Mistress Samira said, "I wanted to be relaxed, and now I'm frustrated. I'm frustrated because I didn't get the massage I asked for, I'm frustrated because my slave didn't follow instructions and I'm frustrated because my slave decided to make me horny instead of relaxed. Do you know how I'm going to deal with this, Princess?"

By making me lick your pussy and get you off?

Dakota almost said it aloud. She had Leslie's voice in her head practically yelling at her to do it. But in the end she just stayed silent.

"They say misery loves company, Princess. So I'm going to put you in the same state."

Sam

The loud "thwack" of the paddle made Princess's ass cheeks ripple around the jeweled plug and the girl let out a moan. It was her tenth spanking with the paddle. Most of her ass was angry red with a pink fringe around it. Sam got the ointment she always used for this and rubbed it on her.

Despite still being frustrated, Sam relished the excuse to fondle her ass. Usually her frustration at having a beautiful slave around she couldn't make use of was a low simmer. After Princess had spent something like ten minutes driving her crazy with the massage, Sam was ready to blow. So she decided to push some boundaries and fondle her ass while she applied the cream.

What brought her up short was the gasp and the moan.

The ointment had a lot of menthol in it. It worked a bit as an analgesic, but before it did that it usually tingled. On raw, reddened skin it could feel like a bunch of needles poking in. Hissing from the cold and the stinging was common. Groaning from the pain until it lessened was also something a lot of subs did.

Princess hadn't groaned in pain.

Sam checked the remote in her pocket. She'd put a ribbed, rotating dildo inside her. She chose a medium setting to get Princess worked up quickly, but not so fast that Sam might miss it. She'd seen Princess cum enough over the past month to recognize her tells, and she'd brought her right to the edge three times so far before stopping to spank her.

The toy was off. Sam looked up at Princess's face.

She looked... drugged.

Sam turned the dildo on its lowest setting. Princess let out a low groan, but didn't twitch or try to move. She did slowly sway her hips, roughly the same way the dildo turned. Her eyes were closed, her head thrown back to the ceiling.

Sam took the paddle and laid it across Princess's ass one more time.

Princess's face scrunched up and she gasped, but she didn't flinch away or try to move herself around. She just accepted the punishment. She seemed to almost absorb the pain.

Subspace, Samira thought, she's... we've gotten her to subspace.

Subs had difficulty describing it. Some said it was like an out of body experience where it didn't matter what happened to them but they were able to watch it and appreciate the beauty of being a sub. Others said it was more like an altered state where pain, pleasure, and everything else one could feel lost their edges and blended together, so even sharp pain was dulled and fed into pleasure.

However Princess was experiencing it, Sam was suddenly desperate to help her stay there. She wanted her princess to experience this and know what it was like.

She switched to intermittent hand spankings. She also spanked the girl's thighs when she thought the ass would hurt too much. She left the dildo on, lowest setting, to keep feeding her pleasure from her pussy. Whenever she spanked or struck her skin, Sam would follow it up with the menthol moisturizer.

Through it all Princess kept mostly steady breathing, except when she let out long, low moans.

Sam let it go on for half an hour. Then she turned the dildo up several levels. Princess's breathing got faster, and her eyes seemed to lose a little bit of the glaze. Sam had climbed onto the bed to take in the view. The girl's breasts were heaving, coated in so much sweat they almost looked oiled. Her pussy dripped rivers of fluid down her thighs. Now the vision in front of her quivered, still lost to the sea of endorphins, adrenaline, and a few other chemicals that created a cocktail in Princess's brain.

She mumbled and murmured, whatever words she wanted to say lost to the fact that her body was wholly consumed by pleasure and sensation. The noise increased a bit as the dildo increased its stimulation. As she was, it would take a long time for the sensations to push through and cause the kind of devastating orgasm she wanted to use to bring Princess out of subspace.

She knew what she would have done with her other subs. But Princess had hard limits. Looking at the view in front of her, Sam had an idea. It was borderline, but it was the best she could think of.

Ignoring the little gleeful voice in the back of her head that kept telling her how much she wanted, if not deserved, to play with the near-perfect breasts in front of her, she carefully reached over with her fingers and grabbed Princess's nipples. Hard.

The sudden gasp and violent shudders told Sam she'd gotten through. She held Princess up with one arm while she undid the arm restraints, then pulled her down into her lap. She stroked the girl's hair and waited. Reactions to coming out of subspace, especially the first time, could range wildly.

Finally she felt Princess curl up in a way that was becoming familiar.

"It was so much..." Princess muttered airily, "I felt everything, and it was all good. It was all... wonderful."

One of her hands reached up slowly and stroked Sam's cheek. "Thank you Mistress Samira," she said breathily.

"Let's clean you up, Princess."

Dakota

Dakota wasn't completely sure what had changed with Mistress Samira because she reached subspace, but it seemed like her mistress had a new excitement and focus afterward.

She'd taken Dakota there again on Sunday, strapping her to the X cross. Even though she'd been frightened of it at first, Mistress Samira had brought the whip into play. She'd experienced how starting with the paddle or the flogger and then escalating to the whip got her body more used to the pain and, in the end, got her to subspace faster.

After that, they'd begun exploring the possibilities and combinations of mixing pain and pleasure. Most of it focused on her breasts, an area of her anatomy that had largely been ignored by Mistress Samira until then.

First they had a session with nipple clamps, where the squeezing and tugging sensations acted like an overaggressive lover playing with her breasts while a dildo simulated her getting fucked.

Then they'd done binding. Dakota had been horrified when she saw her breasts sticking out in front of her, looking like overinflated balloons the color of bruises. Then Mistress Samira had run a feather duster over them and Dakota had lost her mind. Riding the pain and pleasure edge at that extreme had been so intense for her she didn't know whether to beg for more or ask to stop. Mistress Samira had kept it up while using another vibrator to bring her to orgasm, and then had let her breasts loose. She'd screamed through the whole ordeal of the blood flow returning to her tits as her body convulsed through an orgasm. After that, she still hadn't been completely sure if it was a good or a bad experience.

By the time the weekend rolled around, Dakota knew first hand why wooden clothespins hadn't gone out of fashion despite the invention of the powered tumble-dryer. She'd also learned how frighteningly accurate Mistress Samira was with her bullwhip; it was her favorite way to remove the pins. One at a time.

At one point Dakota was fastened to the X. Red marks discolored her breasts in six places where they'd been pinching her skin, and her nipples were pointed, red, and angry from the same treatment. All eight pins had been whipped off by Mistress Samira and lay scattered around the basement. One remained, pinching her clit. The mixture of pain and pleasure was familiar to Dakota by then, but the moment was so intense Dakota could almost taste it. She'd stared into Mistress Samira's eyes and the woman had said something to her for the first time in fifteen minutes.

"Do you trust me, Princess?"

Dakota had had to swallow the lump in her throat. "Always, Mistress Samira."

The whip had cracked and Dakota had wondered if the absolute wrenching pleasure and agony was the last orgasm she'd ever have; she thought her clit had come right off.

She hadn't cared, though. The words they exchanged had a deeper meaning. She wasn't sure whether Mistress Samira had actually meant "trust."

She only knew she hadn't.

Sam

Sam stared at the package on her desk.

She wanted to ignore it, but she couldn't. Too many people knew about it.

Eli had sent her a message. She still had it saved. As she sat at her desk, swinging slouched in the chair, she pulled it up on her phone.

> She doesn't have a new agent, so I'm the last person anyone in the industry knows to contact her about things. They got new funding. Filming schedule moved up. Script is on its way to you, along with itinerary and tickets. She needs to get to Boston Logan for the flight.

That had been two days ago. The script had been sent by overnight courier, which even Sam hadn't thought was a real thing anymore. When the guy had arrived, Sam wanted to front kick him in the chest and then chase him off her property with one of her whips.

How can two months become a lifetime?

She wasn't done with Princess. Once the pain/pleasure block had been broken, they'd explored so much about her limits and her experiences. They'd shifted into an "every other day" pattern. One day would be chores and heavy conditioning for Dakota and Sam, and then they'd spend the afternoon and evening doing scenes. They'd end up snuggled together in bed, Princess nursing bruises and soreness, both of them smiling.

The off day was relaxation; yoga and stretching workouts, some study work that each of them wanted to do, and then self-defense. Princess had been taught the very basics of self defense at some point (probably because of her mother), and combat training for her show had given her an inconsistent mix of dozens of different techniques and styles to fit various scenes. Dakota had told her a different expert had been brought in each time she needed to learn something. She'd train with them for three days or so, and then never see them again.

Sam had been trained in Krav Maga by Israelis for over a decade. Basic self defense emphasized escaping. Sam's training did too, it just had the philosophy that you're harder to chase if you crush the opponent's larynx before taking off.

Sundays were days out. Exercise and chores remained, but they'd take day trips and experiment with how comfortable Princess was with public slavery. Of course, they didn't walk through the center of town with Princess on a leash. But she stayed behind Sam, always let her take the lead, and followed instructions. People probably thought she was Sam's PA.

She still messed up occasionally and had to be tied to the bed for a paddling. She hadn't royally messed up since that time Sam had sent her into subspace for the first time, though.

It was almost perfect, in Sam's opinion.

But the "almost" was huge. Princess was still straight. There was a huge, gaping hole in their relationship and Princess's BDSM education that existed because Sam was a woman. She'd realized the other day she'd been looking at the girl's breasts every day for two months and the only time she'd ever touched them was the squeezing of her nipples that first day she'd achieved subspace. She'd never come in contact with the girl's pussy or ass unless it was accidental while manipulating a toy. Even now that they were playing with clothespins, she always made Princess put them on herself as a test.

Except for the hairline at the top of her forehead, Sam's mouth hadn't been on any part of her.

And in the end, Sam was still getting herself off the same way she had been before Princess; alone, on her computer, looking at her ex-sub's porn.

It wouldn't take her more than five minutes of talking with Dr. Carlisle before he told her she was using Princess as a substitute for a life partner. The BDSM framework and the master/slave relationship meant everything was spelled out and defined. She only had to deal with what was in that relationship. And either intentionally or subconsciously, they'd left out everything important.

Most people, looking from the outside, would think she was just protecting Princess's feelings (Well, okay most people would think "protecting" was the last thing she was doing to Princess, but that aside...). It was fun for the girl, it was helping her career, and she was getting more and better orgasms than she probably would any other time of her life, so she wouldn't end it. Sam was tough, she was the responsible older woman; she knew she had to end this. But she wasn't heartless; she'd be looking for a rip cord. An out. An easy way to end the relationship without having to tell Princess, "you can't give me what I need."

Then, as if in answer to prayer, the solution had literally been hand delivered.

So what did Sam, the responsible, older, dom caring for her charge and looking out for both her and Princess's best interests do? She tried to sabotage it, of course.

She'd pulled out the script, ignoring the pages threatening to figuratively end a person's life if they read, talked about, or admitted the existence of it without the director and studio's permission. Sam had been almost giddy. All she had to do was verify that the script was an inaccurate, softcore porn-parody of BDSM and they only wanted Princess on there so the director could use very thoughtful lighting, artful sets, and precise and groundbreaking cinematography to show off Princess Jewel's naked body without actually having her act at all. He would win awards, she would be spank-bank material without any credibility.

The problem would solve itself. Princess would reject it on her own.

Two hours later she'd finished reading it with tears in her eyes. She wasn't a film expert, but she'd been in relationships and she was considered an expert in BDSM by several people. She didn't know the scriptwriters, but she wanted to meet them, figure out which one was in the lifestyle, and spend a week comparing notes.

The story was raw, it was real, and it was intense. It focused on BDSM as a framework for communication; it highlighted what the weak points of the relationship were. It was the reason and the mechanism for all the conflict and resolution. It wasn't a gimmick.

Princess needed to be in it.

And Sam had to stop lying to herself.

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Slight spoilers

Because I don't want people to be completely blindsided, I structured this story like a romance. There are five more chapters. Hopefully those that need to will draw the appropriate conclusions.