Method Acting Ch. 11: Blocking

As some may have intuited from my warning in the previous chapter, this one is darker, enough that I had to change the category. Some people will probably be angry by the end of this, and if you feel the need to stop reading I wish you well.

SPOILER: the noncon does not involve Dakota.

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Dakota

Dakota had received a lot of orders from Mistress Samira that made her pause, or stop in disbelief. Some of them made her very nervous and apprehensive.

She'd never gotten one where she felt legitimately scared.

It had been a note left for her after she finished her chores that morning, taped to the bathroom door. She usually went there after cleaning up, and sometimes Mistress Samira left her written orders. Dakota had become used to looking for them after the couple of times she missed one and her ass had been tanned red for it.

> Put on your regular street clothes, in full, and come to my office.

She'd been ordered to wear outfits for going outside before, obviously. As much of a naughty thrill as the idea was, parading Dakota naked through the grocery store wouldn't help anyone. But even then, her outfits usually had a naughty component to them. She'd have on loose blouses with no bra, and her boobs would dance beneath the fabric. Or the shirt would be tight, tracing the contours of her body, and leaving no doubt she was braless. And she almost never wore underwear.

"In full," meant everything; all the undergarments, pants, shirt, socks, shoes.

Then she thought about it. If they were going somewhere farther away, she would need the full ensemble just for practical reasons. Given how wet Mistress Samira made her just from being around her half the time, if they had to go somewhere that would take the rest of the day she'd soak through her pants. And it could be wherever they were going needed her to be fully dressed, not teasing everyone with her free-wheeling tits.

So she was in better spirits when she entered Mistress Samira's office. Then her mistress slid a short stack of paper over with a boarding pass on top. Samira congratulated herself on guessing correctly about the trip. Then she paused.

"Mistress Samira?" she said when she saw the paper beneath the boarding pass.

She recognized it immediately. She'd literally read hundreds of them.

"It seems our... training session is ending early," Mistress Samira said, "Eli sent those over. The plane ticket is for-"

"Tomorrow!?" Dakota blurted out after looking at the date, "They want me to fly out tomorrow?"

"I... I think they spelled everything out in the itinerary. I meant to leave it on top of the script," Mistress Samira said, "You fly into Paris and then they're taking you to... I think it was Marseilles? I guess they're filming near-"

"Pascal needed six months to raise the money," Dakota objected.

"Apparently they got a new investor. Rich eccentric woman loves your guy's work. I guess she heard that the only thing slowing the movie down was money and dropped a whole bunch of it in his lap. They start shooting in two weeks. They need you down there for costuming and stuff."

"What costuming?" Dakota snarked, "They want me naked for most of the film."

"That's... not really true," Mistress Samira said.

"'The camera takes the viewer on a visual tour of the house, contrasting mundane, if expensive, house furniture with the implements and specially designed BDSM furniture. After a while the sounds of sex are heard. There are long shots of three bedrooms, including the four-poster in the master bedroom where chains and cuffs are prominent hanging on the furniture. Finally the camera moves to the kitchen. We see George from the chest up, the rest of the view blocked by a kitchen island. Based on body movement and vocalizations, it's clear he is engaged in energetic sex. The camera circles while the view remains obscured. Motions and sounds suggest George reaches climax. The camera finally reveals the rest of the scene; Katherine/Kitty is kneeling on the floor, wearing lacy lingerie, her hair and complexion disheveled, suggesting she was the partner in the sex. George's penis slides out of her mouth and she visibly swallows.'"

"I doubt that penis shot is going to make it intact if your director wants mainstream release," Mistress Samira said.

"Of course not; they'll move the camera so it's showing his butt from an angle. Then he just steps back and I swallow. They can tell the MPAA I was swallowing orange juice. God, Eli was right; this is just softcore porn, I'm such an idiot."

"It's not," Mistress Samira said, "It's... I don't watch a lot of movies, and I've never read a film script. I want to see this movie. I think a lot of people will want to see this movie."

"Of course they will; I can see the title on the reviews: 'Princess Jewel likes it kinky'. 'Now everyone can see why Prince Reginald killed his father'," Dakota scoffed, referencing the plot of the so-called final Princess Jewel movie where her "Romeo and Juliet"-esque romance that had gone on for the last three seasons of the show was resolved.

In her head, she thought, It'll definitely be the last Princess Jewel movie if I do this.

"It's not like that," Mistress Samira said, snapping Dakota out of her musing, "I read it all the way through. It's a real, meaningful movie. Maybe I'm biased because it just deals with BDSM, but whoever wrote it knows the lifestyle. Despite that, it's not just about the lifestyle. I would see this movie. I would tell all of my friends in the lifestyle to see this movie. I would tell people not in the lifestyle to see this movie. You need to do this."

"I don't want to," Dakota said.

"Why?" Mistress Samira asked.

Dakota wished she could tell what her mistress was thinking, but the woman had a poker face Dakota had never been able to crack.

"What-... What do you mean 'why' Mistress Samira? You want me to be away for months shooting this movie. You want me to be serving a different dom, and showing myself off on screen?"

"That's not up to me-"

"What the fuck are you talking about!?" Dakota yelled, "You're my fucking mistress, of course it's up to you!"

"Sit down," Mistress Samira said.

Dakota did. It was automatic.

"Eli told me you don't have a new agent. If you turn this film down, are you going to be able to find work?" Mistress Samira asked.

"I don't need to Mistress Samira," Dakota said, "I have millions of dollars in the bank. What are your expenses for this place? A couple thousand a month? We could live here forever and never have to worry about it. Or you could go back to work if you wanted, and I could... I don't know, give actual massages, if you think we really need to have more income-"

"Why are you saying 'we'?"

Dakota felt like she'd been punched in the gut. She had to swallow twice to keep bile out of her throat. She took a slow breath because she thought she'd throw up.

"Because... you're my mistress," Dakota said weakly.

"You hired me to teach you about BDSM for that movie," Mistress Samira said, waving at the script, "I've... I've been training you for that reason. You can't be my long-term slave."

Dakota felt tears leaking down her cheek. "Mistress Samira... please... why?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Mistress Samira said.

"No! It's not obvious! This... this is amazing. It's perfect!" Dakota insisted.

"Make me cum with your mouth," Mistress Samira said.

Dakota paused. "What?"

Mistress Samira stood and sat on the corner of her desk. She had a long skirt on, so when she spread her legs she didn't reveal anything, but she gathered some of the material at the front to pull the hem up over her knees. "Come over here and lick my pussy until I have an orgasm," Mistress Samira said.

Dakota didn't move.

She still had feelings, yearning for her mistress, but in the past couple of weeks she'd been too caught up in new experiences. The subspace activities, all the different BDSM scenes, the excursions. It had distracted her She... she wanted to be with Mistress Samira but this was... cold and impersonal. Sudden. She had the fantasy built up in her head, and this wasn't it.

Mistress Samira stood and walked back behind her desk. "I'll drive you to the airport tomorrow," she said.

"No!" Dakota said, "Come back, I'll do it, I'll-"

"You'll do no such thing," Mistress Samira said, "I'm not going to have a slave that forces themselves through intimate encounters. Don does that shit with his subs and it never did anything for me. I've taught you as much as I'm willing to, and probably more than you need for this movie. I'm sorry, because I shouldn't have led you on the way I did."

"Led me on about what?" Dakota asked, feeling a small spark of hope.

"Led you on about becoming my sub," Mistress Samira replied, then had to take a breath, "When you... when you got yourself into subspace I wasn't thinking. I should have stopped it after that week."

"I was trying to seduce you," Dakota said.

Both women looked shocked. Dakota shocked herself by saying it, Mistress Samira seemed shocked to hear it. Dakota got a little thrill because she rarely surprised the other woman.

"Why would you do that?" Mistress Samira asked.

"WHY THE FUCK DO YOU THINK?!" Dakota screamed loud enough that Mistress Samira winced.

Dakota wiped away the tears that sprang up and clouded her vision. When she did, she was shocked again to see tears in Mistress Samira's eyes.

"I'm... I'm so sorry. God I'm... I should have realized. I've totally failed you as a mistress," Mistress Samira said.

"What are you talking about?" Dakota said, genuinely confused. The tears from her mistress had given her hope. She'd been encouraged when Mistress Samira apologized, but then she said she'd failed...

"I... I don't know what I did or when, but this has obviously gone too far," Mistress Samira said, "You need to go to Boston tonight, you need to be away from me. I'll give you Dr. Carlisle's number, use the money you were going to pay me, set up some emergency-"

"Mistress Samira, what the fuck are you talking about?" Dakota snapped.

"I brainwashed you," Mistress Samira said.

Dakota couldn't speak for a moment. "How... when... what do you mean? I'm not brainwashed."

"You're straight," Mistress Samira said, "You laid out the limits when we started. You safeworded out of sexual contact with a woman in a scene, just because it was a woman. Now you say you tried to seduce me."

"You can't brainwash someone like that Mistress Samira," Dakota insisted.

"Of course you fucking can, I've done it!" Mistress Samira snapped.

The words seemed to echo in the room in the moment of silence that followed. Dakota felt a chill in her heart. "You have?"

"Yes, it was..." Mistress Samira said and then paused, "That's not my story to tell you. Regardless, a month ago you would have thrown up at the thought of eating pussy, now you're trying to insist you'll be fine with it. You're either lying to me, which just reinforces that you're not going to be my sub, or I've messed your head up so much that you believe it's what you want now, which is worse."

"Have you heard of fluid sexuality?" Dakota demanded, "Trust me; I live in LA, it's a thing."

"Your head isn't in any kind of state to figure out what you actually want and what you think you want because I beat it into you. God, you don't even realize what kind of risk you're taking staying here. You need to leave," Mistress Samira said.

"I already told you I'm not doing the mov-"

"I don't care about the ya khara movie! Go to France, go back to LA, wherever you need to go, just... you need to get away from me before I do any more damage," Mistress Samira said, slipping into another language in the middle and sounding frantic.

"No, this is stupid, I'm not brainwashed, and I'm not leaving," Dakota said, pulling off her top.

"What are you doing?" Mistress Samira asked.

"I'm stripping down naked; that's how your slave dresses," Dakota said, unhooking her bra.

"I'm not training you anymore. We're done," Mistress Samira said.

"You aren't training me, I'm serving you, Mistress Samira."

"You aren't my slave, Dakota! You never were! We were both pretending! That wasn't-" Mistress Samira's voice choked off.

Something about hearing her say "Dakota" broke her. She didn't know why it was that, why that was the final straw. All the denials, the dismissals, none of it had gotten through until Mist-... until Samira had called her "Dakota" instead of "Princess."

Dakota grabbed her shirt and bra, quickly covering herself, suddenly horrified at the idea of the woman seeing her body. "I'll have Eli release the money. I'll wait outside for the Uber."

"Your clothes-"

"Give them to the next stupid slut you have to beat into fucking you," Dakota shouted back over her shoulder as she walked to the front door.

=-=-=-=-=

Burlington Vermont to Boston Massachusetts was a trip that would take three and a half hours by car, so there was no way Dakota could do that by Uber.

Well, technically that wasn't true, but it was far less hassle to call a car service. Once they'd left the city and seemed to be in the middle of woods that would make the set dressers of Princess Jewel jealous, Dakota pulled out her phone and dialed a number she'd been told to delete.

"Eli Chambers."

"T-thank you for taking my call," Dakota said.

"I was sort of expecting it. I can refer you to several other agents I trust and who are willing to support you working with Pascal. I have-"

"Would-," Dakota cut him off, choked on her words for a moment, then continued, "Eli... is there any way you could forgive me and consider representing me again? At least... at least for this film?"

"To be frank, Miss Song, our brief relationship was not one of my more pleasant ones. I don't believe our styles and outlooks align," Eli said.

"I know," Dakota said, "I know, I... I can't begin to describe how sorry I am. For what it's worth... you were right. You were right and... I don't have anyone else right now and I don't have the energy to go through finding an agent while trying to start this movie next fucking week. I'll... I'll give you 20% for Cord Progression."

It was double the usual cut an agent got. Of course, Pascal was still basically an indie director producing an indie movie. Even if it somehow got Oscar-worthy attention, most Oscar films barely broke $60 million, and the budgets assumed they'd settle much lower. It wasn't like Eli would be getting 20% of multiple millions of dollars. She had royally screwed Eli over, but she was hoping her groveling might help.

She almost considered offering similar favors to what had happened the first time they met Samira, but even thinking of anything related to her former mistress threatened to send her off an emotional cliff.

"All right, fine," Eli said and Dakota almost cried in relief, "But just for this movie. After that..."

"Whatever you want," Dakota replied, "I'm on my way to Boston. I should be there in three hours or so and the flight out is tomorrow..."

She talked with Eli about details for getting things like her passport and credit cards to her before she left the next day. She'd had all of that put in secure storage.

"So you're still going through with the movie then?" Eli asked.

Dakota paused. "Have you read the new script Eli? Does it change things from what you said before?"

She heard Eli sigh over the phone. "I'll admit this is better than I was expecting. It's still a Pascal film, but the characters are way more developed, and the storyline isn't as high concept or outlandish as he usually tries to pull off. Still, BDSM is not exactly normal, and most people only know about it from 50 Shades. Grabbing mainstream audiences will be tough."

"I'll be straight with you. If I were handed this and told to find a female lead, I'd go for a more experienced actress whose star is losing its shine. Think Ali Larter or Hayden Panettiere in the 2010s. The nudity would be just as much of a titillating shock, but people had seen them act in dramatic roles before."

"Dakota for you... this wouldn't automatically blow up your career. You can make the argument the nudity is necessary for the movie and the scenes, but that argument only sticks if you nail the performance. Otherwise you just become the girl Pascal chose for the shock value when someone else could have acted it better."

Dakota was silent for a while, thinking. "And what happens if I do nail it?" Dakota asked.

"Best case, you're the next Léa Seydoux. You can get naked in every other film you do but no one cares because they respect your craft. You could be asked to do anything from being a Marvel superhero to sharing the screen with Bradley Cooper and Cillian Murphy. Or you could go the Rooney Mara path; make a big splash with this film, then only come back every 3-5 years for big, impactful movies, since you've said before you're more interested in acting than you are in making money, and never take your clothes off on screen ever again."

There was another long stretch of silence.

"Look, sleep on this," Eli said, "I can tell you're not in the right frame of mind right now. Get to your hotel, relax. If you really want me to, I can get someone to put some THC or some booze in your room. Just don't ask me for anything else."

Last time she ignored Eli's advice, she'd had her life destroyed.

"Okay. I will. Maybe... if you could find some sweet wine for me, I might like that. Thank you. Thank you so much Eli. I... I don't know-"

"Don't worry about anything like that right now, honey," Eli said, "I'll talk to you tomorrow.

Dakota hung up the phone and watched the woods fly by.

Sam

Sam was sure she'd made the right decision, especially after that blindside of a revelation from the girl. Sam had messed up and badly, horribly miscalculated.

I should have pulled the plug when Prin-... when Dakota had that panic attack on the bench. I didn't slow down enough, I didn't give her enough time to adjust. I made her whole existence about me faster than she was ready to accept it and gave her fucking Stockholm Syndrome.

Sam swallowed down the last of the Arak in her glass, then poured herself another and added the water after to turn it the familiar milky white. She laughed grimly as she recalled the day she and her friends in Isreal had "educated" themselves on the particulars of sex. That same day they had snuck some Arak out of one of their parents' collections. One look at the drink after they added the water and they had been unable to control their giggling. From that point on they never called it anything except "the devil's cum."

Then she remembered years later when they had debated which had the worse taste and had universally agreed they preferred drinking the devil's brand; at least it had some benefits after you swallowed, unlike so many men they knew.

Lost in thought and somewhat drunk, it took Sam a minute to realize she'd gotten several notifications on her phone. She hesitated; Dakota had a long car ride to think up and send any number of messages. Sam didn't think she could handle that, regardless if they were pleas to return, insults and threats, or even just a quick request to send a few favorite pieces of clothing she didn't actually want to abandon.

She took another swallow of liquor and picked up the phone. She didn't recognize the number but opened the message.

> Hey Sam, it's Amelia.

> I wanted to let you know, you completely fucked up the Cordobas. I think they've been fighting since that night.

> I didn't help. I was in the middle of a scene with Rafael at the office and he told me "your slutty clothes make me do this."

> My brain just stuck on "make me do this" and what you said to him and I just couldn't help snorting.

> Anyway, Rafael and the crazy bitch yeeted me out of their sex lives. Kept me hired until I found another job. I'm off to DC in a couple days.

> But... I'd be kicking myself if I didn't at least ask.

> I don't know what your rules are with Princess, but you didn't seem totally against swapping that night, even if all we did was look at pictures of Rafael in bondage gear while you told stories.

> So, yeah, I'm putting it out there. One night, my little body that loves noncon play and being a sub. You, one of the best doms around.

> HMU if you're interested.

Sam reread the messages several times. She focused on the name she'd been avoiding all day, written there.

Princess.

Princess... Princess had been part of the house. Princess had been with Sam at least a third of the time every day. Princess cleaned every room of the house, helped with the meals, slept in her bed.

And those memories just lay atop the ones that had lingered for three years. With another girl named Dearest.

Sam had promised to stop lying to herself.

The first part of that meant not continuing the dangerous, damaging relationship she had with Dakota Song.

The next part meant giving up acting like staying at that house and continuing with her life as it had been was something she was okay with.

No more half measures.

Sam went to her office and powered on her laptop. She sent a message out to an email she rarely contacted. Then she grabbed her phone and sent another one.

Because the last part meant admitting that after two months of having a teenage goddess strutting around her house, she was fucking horny. And she was a dominatrix.

Dakota

The car pulled up to the Mandarin Oriental hotel in Boston. The rooms there averaged $1000 per night.

Given the day she'd had, Dakota decided to treat herself.

She'd only had to give her name to the desk clerk before the concierge swooped in and personally escorted her to her room, leaving her with keys, complimentary passes for some of the hotel amenities, and a promise to arrange transportation to the airport the next day. A small garment bag with pants, blouses, some nightwear, and a semi-formal dress already hung in the room's closet.

An envelope waited in the room as well. Inside was her passport, a few of her credit cards, her driver's license, and a small purse to keep it all in. Next to that was a bottle of wine and a glass for it. She poured herself a glass much fuller than any proper bartender or server would ever go. She all but chugged it right after.

It all felt surreal, like waking up from a dream. She'd almost forgotten what it was like to be a celebrity throwing money around.

On the disastrous night encounter with the Cordobas, she'd waited for the feeling of shame and disgust to overwhelm her while she showered. It had never happened. Dakota had thought she was in the midst of an awakening, a new perspective.

When the hot water hit her in the hotel, it took maybe fifteen seconds for her stomach to revolt. She stumbled out of the shower and filled the toilet with the few snacks she'd eaten in the car and all the wine she'd just drunk. After that she curled into a ball on the floor of the huge tub, let the water get scalding hot, and sat there hoping it would burn off a layer of skin. She'd read somewhere once that an average adult's skin completely replaced itself in a month. She wanted it to happen that night. She wanted every part of her body that she'd offered to that woman to be gone.

After half an hour she got herself under control and washed up. She didn't bother putting more clothes on; she just crawled into bed naked. A few minutes later she was cuddling a pillow. When the fleeting thought went through her head that Mistress Samira feels better, the tears flowed.

She was asleep before she stopped crying.

Sam

Sam opened her front door. Standing outside was Amelia, former sub to Rafael "The Don" and Maria Cordoba. Her waify, freckled body was hidden by a graphic tee, black leggings that went down into work boots, and a denim miniskirt.

Sam just looked at her expectantly. Amelia walked in, unable to get rid of the excited look from her face or the anticipation in her steps. As soon as she was far enough inside, Sam slammed the door shut and loudly set the locks.

"Congratulations, bitch. You just made one of the stupidest mistakes of your life," Sam said.

"Um... Mistress?" Amelia said nervously.

"Over there, move, bitch or I'll move you," Sam said as she herded Amelia toward the stairs.

"Where-"

Sam cut Amelia off. "See, Princess isn't here anymore. It was a fucking mess. And I shouldn't tell you this because it makes me look pathetic as a domme, but as you might have guessed from listening to that cunt and her husband, my Princess didn't do girl play. So I'm frustrated, I'm angry, I'm feeling a little betrayed, and I've drunk probably four hundred milliliters of shit called Arak, which is basically Israeli vodka that kind of looks like cum."

"Wait," Amelia said, "No way I'm doing anything if you're-"

Sam had one hand in Amelia's hair and another twisting her arm up almost past her neck before Amelia could react. She held the girl at the top of the steps.

"You're going to do what the fuck I say, bitch. Because you're the sub and I'm the domme, and you walked in here. You begged me to be able to walk in here. Now, your choices are to walk down those stairs and into the playroom so I can take out all my frustrations on you, or be dragged in there after I throw you down the stairs."

Amelia scurried down the stairs so fast Sam thought she might trip herself up and tumble down them anyway. Sam followed at a steady, inevitable pace, the heels of her shoes making ominous footfalls on each step. Amelia opened the door blind, her eyes fixed on Sam as she advanced. She stopped six feet away, assessing Amelia like a hunter looking at prey.

Amelia glanced around, then she tried to move to the side. Sam was on her in a second. Amelia barely had time to react as Sam got in behind her and cuffed her arms together, then hoisted her on her shoulder, holding her legs. Amelia tried to kick her legs up or spread them out but Sam held them tight.

Sam swung her around and dropped her on a frame. It didn't look like much; just some metal piping attached to a base formed out of heavy steel bars. The piping had padding in the middle of the top bar and at two points on the lower.

Amelia's back rested against the top bar. Her knees landed on the two lower pads. Before she could think to move, the cuffs on her arm went tight.

"The genius of this little setup," Sam said, stepping into Amelia's view, "Is that I've just completely immobilized you. You can't move your torso without dislocating your shoulders. You might be able to pull your legs up, but the angle is really bad; you'd probably scrape the hell out of your feet, if you could get them past the metal at all."

"If you weren't convinced how completely at my mercy you are, I'm going to show you," Sam added. Then she pulled a knife.

The blade was four to five inches long. The sharp edge had a wave pattern to it and came back to a point. There was an angle cut from the back side. Amelia tried to pull back from Sam as she approached, but of course she couldn't. She'd already tried to move her feet a little and didn't seem able to overcome the angle and bend her body the way she needed to.

"I suggest you stop struggling," Sam said.

Then she cut off Amelia's clothes.

She made it slow. The cold edge of the knife started at the hollow of Amelia's throat and traced down her sternum. It only took a little bit of tension between the blade and the fabric of her shirt before it parted. From there it was like watching sharp scissors glide through wrapping paper. The fabric simply parted as the knife moved on, helped by how tight the T-shirt was. Amelia hadn't bothered to wear a bra; her tits were small enough that they all but vanished even with her only partially reclined. Her finger-sized nipples pointed out far, though.

The skirt fell to the ground after the waist band was severed, leaving only the yoga pants. Sam cut more strategically there. She split the crotch but left the waist band, only exposing what she needed to. She stepped back and admired her work.

Amelia was the picture of a girl about to be ravaged; her clothes had ragged edges and no longer concealed anything she'd want to hide, and the fact that she still wore most of them suggested whoever did this was in a hurry and just wanted to get to the good stuff.

Ironically that couldn't be farther from the truth.

For the first time in over three years, Sam stripped off her clothes with her sub in the room.

She saw Amelia look over as the fabric dropped, and the girl's eyes widened in appreciation. Sam knew she'd kept her body up. She had good muscle tone from all of her workouts and her training. Her legs were smooth but muscled. Her ass showed visible grooves when she flexed. Her stomach had the lines outlining her abs, though she didn't have a full six pack. Her arms had visible definition to them. And despite all that, she still had mostly perky, full, F-cup breasts on her chest with dark brown, poker-chip sized areolae. Her nipples were about the same size as Amelia's, but looked smaller because of their placement.

Her pubic hair had been lasered away long ago. Sam didn't like the look of her own pussy; the dark brown labia majora barely stuck out from her crotch, but her inner labia peeked out between them regardless of her arousal. Fortunately she didn't have to look at it that often.

She walked forward and swung her leg over Amelia's head, then backed up. She could feel the girl's breath on her pussy.

"For every minute I'm not cumming, my riding crop gets to know your body better," Sam said.

"But... I could-"

"If I wanted your opinion I'd ask for it," Sam said, reaching back and forcing the girl's face into her groin.

Then she closed her eyes and reveled in the feeling of a (mostly) willing tongue going to work on her pussy.

As she had that one time in the Don's office, Amelia proved she knew her way around a pussy. Sam could tell she wasn't fully committed. It could be from the scene or because she wasn't really into girls, but she definitely lacked the passion of a girl eating pussy because she enjoyed it.

Despite that, she was experienced enough to have the mechanics down. Her tongue did a full tour of Sam's anatomy, digging into the crevices of her pussy lips, flicking past but not focusing yet on her clit, delving into the hole of her sex.

A beep sounded from Sam's smart watch, the only thing she still wore. That was followed by short "smack" as she brought the riding crop down on Amelia's pussy.

The girl shrieked into Sam's vagina, but Sam just enjoyed the new stimulation.

That continued for thirty minutes. Sam went into automatic, enjoying the licking and eventual sucking as Amelia worked to get her off. She managed it three times, and each one felt better for Sam than the last.

She lost herself so much in the third one that she actually whispered, "That's it, Princess."

That shocked her back into reality and she stepped away from Amelia. The girl's face was covered in juice from the nose down, and her pussy was red and inflamed from the repeated strikes of the riding crop.

But it was also wet.

Sam walked over to one of her cabinets as Amelia called after her to be let go because she'd gotten off.

"Oh I haven't gotten off nearly enough, bitch," Sam called back. She slipped on a harness and worked for a moment to make sure the extra appendage was seated correctly. As she walked back, she did it from an angle that Amelia couldn't see. She grabbed the girl's hair again and freed the cuffs from the frame. Amelia instinctively curled forward to relieve the strain on her legs and abs. Sam allowed it but then hauled her up and marched her to the X-frame.

"Please... please just let me go," Amelia said, "You aren't right in the head right now-"

"Right now?" Sam laughed harshly, "I beat people up to get off, bitch, I'm not right in the head, period. Now I'm going to undo these cuffs and you're going to put your arms and legs up against that cross. Don't try to run."

She tried to run. But she couldn't run at the speed of sound.

The first whip strike was like something out of Zorro. The leather wrapped around the girl's ankle and she tumbled to the ground. Sam winced quickly; the ground was bare concrete. Amelia pushed herself up a bit, but her bony ass was fully visible and perfectly placed for Sam to put a bright red stripe across it. Then she added one vertically on each cheek.

Amelia writhed and screamed with each hit, scrambling away. She finally flipped over so her ass was against the ground. She looked at Sam with terrified eyes. Holding the whip up threateningly, Sam advanced on her again.

She grabbed Amelia's hair (there was a lot of it and the frizziness gave it a sort of sponge-like texture when she gathered it in her fist) and dragged her across the ground. She heard the slaps and grunts as Amelia tried to get her arms and legs down in place so she wasn't literally dragged.

When they reached the X, Sam pulled the girl up to a standing position and forced her chest against the cold surface of the frame.

"Spread your legs, bitch. It's time," Sam hissed in her ear.

Less than two minutes later, and without using the whip, Sam had Amelia bound to the X frame, facing it. Her arms and legs were secured in the polished chrome binders built into the furniture. Sam had decided to up the discomfort; rather than a flat board for Amelia to rest her feet on, there were only large round pegs to support her weight.

She could see the girl shivering, either from cold, fear, or anticipation. Probably all three. The marks on her ass made an uneven red "H".

Sam grabbed a toy from the table next to the frame. It was a nine inch long, three inch thick jet black dildo with a mild vibrator function.

"Have you ever been fucked by a big black cock, bitch?" she asked.

"No! Please! I'm small, something like that won't fit. I don't want to fuck a big black cock."

"Good, that's okay honey, you won't," Sam said.

There was a small part of Sam that worried she was going too far, even though she knew what Amelia supposedly liked as a sub. But most of those concerns eased when the dildo, barely lubed, slid into the girl's pussy smoothly.

"Noooooooo!" Amelia moaned out. Unable to resist it, the waif's little cunt swallowed the fake appendage. When Sam had pushed it in as far as it could go, the fake balls of the toy were barely half an inch from the girl's clit, totally exposed and distended from her skin being pulled tight.

Sam tore off a strip of medical tape to hold the dildo in place. She made sure the adhesive stuck right onto that little bundle of nerves poking out.

"You aren't getting fucked by a big black cock, bitch," she said as she stood back up and took hold of the nearly identical toy she'd strapped to her waist, "You're taking two."

Sam violently shoved the head of her fake cock past Amelia's anal ring and coaxed a scream from her. The Don had been right; Amelia sounded like a sound bite from a horror film. The rest of what she said was an incoherent mix of begging, pleading, groaning, and panting as a second massive toy was pushed into her rectum.

Once Sam had most of the strapped-on dildo inserted and lubed up, she found a good point of leverage. The version of the toy she'd strapped on had a sort of "mini dildo" on the other end of it that slid into her own pussy, with ridges all along the curve that supposedly stimulated the wearer's clit and g-spot. The slight "up and down" and the pulling and pushing of fucking someone while wearing it provided the needed motion.

Sam did a few experimental thrusts that pulled most of the dildo out only to shove it back in. The ridges and friction seemed to work as advertised.

From there she just let herself go. She tried to forget about everything; her job, Princess, Eli, even details about Amelia; she just knew she had a girl strapped to the frame and she was fucking her.

To be a really good dom taking care of her sub she should have kept up the commentary, threatening Amelia with worse treatment, taunting her about the fact that she couldn't prevent what was happening, things like that, but Sam literally didn't care. She'd been honest with everyone; she didn't really like noncon play. She assumed Amelia did, otherwise she wouldn't have agreed to be with the Cordobas.

But right now, she needed a proxy for the teenage starlet who she'd been sexually training and stimulating for months, but wasn't allowed to touch. The one that finally claimed, right when everything was finished, that she actually wouldn't mind. The one Sam had been imagining and dreaming about.

That girl owed her two months of sexual relief. She was out of reach, but Amelia was trapped in her dungeon.

She wasn't worried because Amelia clearly wasn't losing out from the experience. Amelia wasn't a quiet lover, but the protests had stopped. Now she begged for more, shouted in surprise, moaned in pleasure, or wailed and screamed as an orgasm ripped through her. In the heat of it when both of them were cresting to climax at the same time, Sam even pulled her head back and they shared a kiss.

Sam literally fucked her until her hips and legs simply refused to make the motion anymore. She'd drained the entire bottle of lube keeping the toy slick, though Amelia had produced enough sweat it might not have mattered. Their combined juices had made a literal puddle on the floor even though neither of them were natural squirters. Based on her watch, they'd been at it for an hour. Both of Amelia's holes gaped open for a bit after the dildoes came out, and her entire crotch looked sunburnt and inflamed.

They showered together, in the master en suite, but it was tame. Sam helped apply cream to the whip strikes on Amelia's ass. Then there was an awkward pause when they emerged from the bathroom.

"There's a spare set of clothes on the dining table," Sam said.

"Thank you Mistress," Amelia said.

"We're done with the scene, Amelia, you don't have to call me that," Sam said.

"I want to," Amelia admitted, "You... wow... you told me noncon wasn't your jam but you could've fooled me."

"I wasn't that impressive," Sam said, "I couldn't keep it up until the end."

"Mistress, you got me to forget it was a scene a few times, but not because I thought you'd gone off the rails. Somehow you just... perfectly nailed that mix of trust and absolute intimidation. That hasn't happened for me in I don't know how long. By the time I was on that cross you had me so worked up I didn't care. I would have gone full girlfriend experience for you as long as you kept fucking me. And your stamina... God my ass has never felt so deliciously sore. I swear, if you liked this shit I'd be literally begging on my knees to stay with you."

Sam followed the naked girl out into the kitchen, dressed only in a robe herself, and returned the cell phone she'd quickly grabbed and tossed aside when Amelia first entered the house; they'd arranged all the safewords and limits via text so they could start right in on the scene and have it feel more authentic for Amelia. Sam saw Amelia bring up a rideshare app and spoke before she could stop herself.

"You can stay over if you like," Sam said.

Amelia paused and looked at her. "I'm not up for another scene tonight."

"No, I don't want to do anything more tonight either," Sam admitted.

Amelia looked confused and hesitantly said, "Mistress... I told you I'm leaving soon. For DC. I'm... I don't think I could do something long-distance...?"

Sam took a deep breath and said, "This... this will probably destroy your image of me as an amazing domme but... I would kind of like some company tonight? Just... just someone there?"

To her surprise, Amelia came over and hugged her. It suddenly made Sam feel very tired.

"I totally spaced on your sub leaving. I'm so sorry; I'm a selfish bitch. You're still an amazing domme, Mistress. It just makes you a human one."