Method Acting Ch. 12: Scene Change

Three Months Later

Dakota

"Slave, present yourself!"

Dakota stood, her legs spread, her arms crossed behind her back, chin up, with her chest thrust out.

Her master rose from the dining room table, turned and looked at her while he sipped his coffee.

He kept looking.

His coffee cup was still stopped halfway to his mouth.

After she literally heard a cricket chirp in the distance, Dakota raised an eyebrow at him.

"CUT!" came from off to the left.

Monique practically dove on stage and draped a robe around Dakota's shoulders. She pulled it closed, mostly for everyone else's benefit rather than her own discomfort.

"Monsieur Miles, you have not seen the naked woman before?"

"Not... not like that," Danny Miles, the male lead stammered.

"Bullshit!" Dakota called playfully.

She'd pulled a Kate Winslet his first day on set.

Supposedly, when Kate Winslet and Leonardo DiCaprio had filmed Titanic, knowing she had a nude scene with him and he was American, rather young, and inexperienced with nudity on film, Winslet had flashed him the first time they were introduced to each other.

Dakota had conspired with Regis, the director, so when the director led Danny to Dakota's trailer to introduce her, Dakota had run up and given him a hug first thing.

While completely naked.

"That was... That's totally different; it was a prank. This is... I mean-"

Regis sighed and looked over at Dakota helplessly.

Despite having a reputation as being cavalier about nudity in his films, Regis Pascal wasn't an idiot. Sex and nudity weren't as taboo in Europe as in the US, but that didn't mean even European actors were eager to flash their goods for anyone at any time. When they filmed nude scenes, they still had closed sets with only the cast and crew that were absolutely necessary (though, Dakota mused, the definition of "absolutely necessary" got stretched quite a bit for a few people). Cell phones and anything else that could take a picture other than the film cameras were left outside; everyone who needed them had walkie-talkies to signal PAs outside the set if they needed something looked up or needed a message sent.

The tough part was that a lot of the film, frankly, had Dakota wandering around naked. She, Regis, the writers, Danny, and their intimacy coordinator Monique Gavreau (who was always near Dakota while she was filming nude) had gone over the script in detail for three days, finding, revising, negotiating, and discussing every minute in the script where someone had their clothes off.

In the end, it was decided it was more practical and economical to shoot the film almost in two parts. First, they did all the "normal" scenes where actors were clothed, although they also extended that to include scenes where Dakota was in non-revealing lingerie, since Dakota was fine with it and it allowed them to add a lot more of the film into the "normal" filming schedule.

They filmed all the naughty stuff last. That meant they could also dismiss a lot of the extra cast and crew for the remainder of the shoot, since every take from then on would be on a closed set with a skeleton crew.

Unfortunately, most of the scenes where people were wearing clothes either didn't have Dakota in them, or Dakota was on her own and not with Danny. Even in the scenes where they were together, they didn't interact much; they were scenes set outside the film couple's home, so she was acting the dutiful slave and staying behind him, quiet, and only responding to his commands.

All of their "real" scenes together happened when she was naked.

Danny had actually been the one to balk at that, literally saying during the discussions, "Does she have to be naked all the time?"

To the surprise of everyone there, Dakota had argued for it most strongly, though one of the writers, Teri, quickly backed her up, both arguing it was more authentic to the BDSM experience.

Dakota felt bad for Danny Miles. His acting roles to that point had him playing hard, edgy characters a lot; the type of guys who looked good and acted cocky, who would probably show you a good time in bed but you knew you were getting ghosted after. If you managed to make them your boyfriend you'd be getting cheated on before you updated your profiles with the couples pic. More than once he'd been cast as a villain and he made a convincing one. All of that was even more impressive because he had a soft, almost effeminate look to him; many of his roles played into that by having him act innocent, sweet, and clean only to reveal his "real" persona later.

The actual, "real" Danny Miles? Was a loveable dad. Literally, too, as he had two teenage children. He was 37, something Monique had given Pascal evil eyes for, but Dakota had honestly been surprised the actor cast opposite her wasn't older, and pointed out it was common in the BDSM lifestyle to have age mismatches (at least, based on what she remembered from that one party).

Dakota was also no expert, but she could tell immediately that Danny was not a natural dom. He might not have been fully submissive, but ordering people around and demanding results was not his style. He worked a room, charmed and cajoled, made friends and put people at ease. Plus, he was American and had all the usual hangups about sex and nudity that came with that. The cherry on top was that one of his kids was a girl.

So she could get why he might have trouble telling a naked girl closer in age to his daughter than him to bend over and prepare for a fucking, even if they weren't actually going to.

"I'm going to have lunch with him, just the two of us," Dakota told Monique.

Monique raised an eyebrow, "You will take him on a date?"

"Not exactly," Dakota said.

"I do not think sleeping with him is the answer. He will probably say no," Monique said, her French accent giving her words an extra exotic flavor.

"I wouldn't try that," Dakota said, "I just want to... desensitize him."

=-=-=-=-=

"Um..."

Danny Miles stood outside the door to the bistro.

"Get in here," Dakota said.

She was naked again, and the bistro was empty.

It was actually under construction, technically, but the dining room was done; all the remaining work was in the kitchen. She'd worked with Regis to get the contractors to take the afternoon off. The windows were all blocked up and Monique and some others were running interference to make sure nobody tried to come in or sneak up for a peek.

"Dakota, look, I-"

Dakota pulled him inside the bistro and shut the door, then turned to him.

"No, you look. Do it. Stare at me," Dakota said, spreading her arms out. She noticed after a second that Danny was shifting around.

"Danny, I know you're going to get hard. Believe me, I don't flaunt it and we don't talk about it, but everybody knows I wasn't Pascal's first choice for this because of my acting."

"That's not fair," Danny said, "You're doing great. Better-..."

"Better than you thought I would?" Dakota said with a teasing smirk. Danny blushed and Dakota said, "It's okay. Like I said, I have no illusions about why I'm here or what this film is. I knew going into it that I'd be spending a lot of time with my clothes off. If I didn't know before, those three days we spent discussing it should have clued me in. But I have to ask, did you know what you were getting into with this?"

"I... I guess not," Danny admitted.

"Come on, sit down," Dakota said.

She went and got the sandwiches she'd had Monique get from another bistro that actually was open, along with flavored water and small salads. They sat at one of the small tables that was the type where the top was just a diamond pattern of metal lines, so it was possible to see through it.

"This... this just feels wrong," Danny said, "I'm dressed and you're naked it's..."

"Not fair?" Dakota suggested. When Danny nodded, she said, "That's the whole point of the BDSM master/slave thing. It's not fair. I'm your slave. I do what you want. It lets you be the kind of guy every horny teenager dreams of. I'm a hot girl, and you get to tell me to do whatever you want, whenever you want."

There was a pause, and Danny said, "Would you be upset if I just reverted to cave man guy for a second then?"

"Go ahead," Dakota said with a teasing smile.

"Your tits are absolutely amazing," Danny said.

"You want to feel them?" Dakota asked, then laughed when Danny almost choked on his salad.

"Seriously?" Danny asked. He still had a bit of a smile, but she saw worry in his eyes.

Dakota held up a finger, "Look, I'm not trying to seduce you, and I don't think we should fuck. But I know for a fact the script has you feeling me up, and if we don't want a repeat of this morning you should go for it."

A few seconds later, Dakota started reevaluating her "I don't think we should sleep together," declaration.

The man knew what to do with a woman's breasts. He didn't try to pull them off her chest, he didn't maul them like a stress ball, and he didn't slap them just to see them wiggle. His touching was soft and gentle. He definitely probed how firm they were, but the groping was, again, softer. She expected him to start gently twisting her nipples when he pulled away.

Dakota pulled herself together and quipped, "Got that out of your system?"

"If I can be a cave man a bit longer, I'll say it would take me months to get those out of my system."

"You should definitely be a cave man a bit longer. That's half your character's motivation; he... well technically she... anyway, she just wants a woman around she can use as a toy. She wants to be able to give into every little base instinct she has. Think of your first marriage. Imagine how many times you had to settle for a no, or just didn't bother to ask because you know you'd be shot down, when you were feeling horny. Imagine if your wife couldn't say no; you snap your fingers and she has to bend and spread 'em, then thank you afterward."

"What's the other half?" Danny asked.

"Be a dad."

"You can't be serious," Danny objected.

"I mean... that's not all of it, but it's close. Doms are protective of their subs. Very protective. BDSM slaves have no free will. Almost anything they do, it's because their masters allow them to. Some masters demand control over when their slaves use the bathroom. The slaves will get into that, sometimes so completely that they'll hurt themselves. A dedicated slave would control their needs until they constipated themselves, unless their master ordered them to go take care of their business. The master has to remember and pay attention to the slave's needs and well-being, because the slave won't. They gave that up in favor of serving their master."

"That's... kind of crazy. Why would someone do that?" Danny asked.

"I don't... really want to get into why some masters demand their slaves give over control of their bodily functions," Dakota said.

"No, no I mean all of it. Why would someone just, agree to give up that much control to someone else?"

Dakota suddenly consciously realized who had originally told her all the stuff she'd been relaying to Danny, just as she tried to remember what... her... answer to Danny's question would be. Her eyes instantly filled with tears and her chest felt tight. She sucked in a breath.

She looked over at Danny. "Did you ever do something for a wife or girlfriend that you didn't necessarily like, but you saw how happy that made them and that made it all worth it?"

"Of course," he said, "Dakota are you all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Dakota said dismissively, "Now, just imagine living in that feeling. Constantly giving up something just to see the other person be happy."

"Okay, I sort of get that," Danny said, "What about the master? Is it just the sex?"

"Oh hell no, but that's easy. Think of the first time you told your kid to eat something they didn't want to try, and then the feeling you had when they really liked it afterward."

She saw Danny look away and smile.

"That's it," Dakota said, "That's what the Master gets out of it. And that's why some master and slave pairs stay together after one of them can't even do anything sexual. The sex is only part of it."

"They love each other too, don't they?" Danny asked.

"Some of them, yeah," Dakota agreed.

There was a pause then and they both ate something. Dakota collected herself and let it go on for a bit, then she said, "I want to point something out."

"What?" Danny asked.

"It's been probably ten minutes since you noticed that I'm still naked, hasn't it?"

Danny blinked and Dakota saw him check her out again. She giggled. "See what I mean? My-... um... A friend of mine told me once that you could have a bunch of porn stars walk around a frat house naked 24/7, and by the end of a week none of the guys would notice it."

"Yeah, you're probably right. It'll probably hit me a few more times though," Danny said.

Dakota smirked and said, "Well, I'd be a little insulted if it didn't. I promise not to tease you too much though."

"You aren't teasing me now?" he said.

"No," she said, "if I were teasing you, I'd do this."

Dakota faked a yawn. As she did, she stretched her arms up and arched her back, spreading her legs out straight to either side as well.

From where Danny sat he could easily see everything.

"Jesus Christ you're going to kill me," Danny said. She noticed he'd had to look away.

"Sorry, that was out of line," Dakota said seriously.

"No, I'll get over it, just... look can I tell you something? Between us?" Danny said.

"Yeah," Dakota agreed.

"I'm trying to get back with my wife," he said, "I miss my kids; I want to see them more, and... well... she made this movie a test. She said if I can do a movie like this and keep it in my pants, she'll know I'm serious."

"Okay, I get you loud and clear. No more teasing. Why are you keeping that quiet, though?"

Danny blushed. "My publicist thinks it'll get more people interested in this if I'm single. I mean, I'm playing a dominant guy... well girl, but I look like a guy for almost the whole film, and the kind of movie this is a lot of people going to see it will probably be women."

"Yeah, I remember that bullshit from when I started dating during Princess Jewel. But your wife does know one of the scenes he wants to do is a real blowjob. Unsimulated, my mouth, your penis?" Dakota said.

"I thought Monique said that was still a maybe," Davey said.

"She said that because she noticed how awkward we were around each other. She doesn't want me to be forced to suck your cock if I'm gonna throw up as soon as Regis yells 'cut'."

"Oh. Well anyway, yeah, she's in film. She said if I'm naked with any other girl it better be on a film reel or a script page," Davey said.

"Got it. No tempting the costar with my irresistibly hot teenage body. Strictly professional come-ons only," Dakota said.

"Right, something like that... umm... can... I ask for one more favor?" Danny said.

"See, if we hadn't had that conversation I'd think you were about to ask me for something naughty," Dakota teased.

"No, it's... my kids," Danny said.

"What about them?"

"They're visiting this weekend, when we have a day off?... They're... huge Princess Jewel fans."

Dakota gave him a teasingly accusing look. "You gawking at me during the shoot isn't just because I look good naked, is it? Is there some very naughty fantasy way back in that brain of yours?"

"I'm going to plead the 5th on that," Danny said.

"Fine," Dakota said, "So you want me to sign a picture for them?"

"Could you... meet them?" Danny asked.

Dakota paused, actually a bit shocked. "You... you want me to meet them? Really?"

"Well, yeah," Danny said, "You're their childhood hero. I mean, they'll probably act like they're way too cool to think you're special, but I know they'll get a kick out of it."

"Even-" Dakota started, then swallowed, "Danny, I'm doing this movie. I mean... Princess Jewel is going to be naked sucking a cock-"

"Don't think like that. You aren't Princess Jewel in this movie, you're Katherine. Your roles don't define who you are," Danny said.

"You weren't a children's hero for eight years," Dakota said.

"No, I wasn't," Danny admitted, "And I can't say people won't be pissed. There will probably be some pearl-clutchers that'll shoo their children away and give you dirty looks after this. But that says more about them than you. They just don't want to deal with the fact that you growing up and having sex means their kids are going to do that too. They don't get to point at you and go 'look, she doesn't sleep around, you can't either.'"

"I didn't realize I was a surrogate chastity belt," Dakota snarked.

"Oh you have no idea. I know for a fact my daughter first became interested in kissing a boy after season four."

Dakota blushed. They'd introduced Prince Reginald in season four, and her first on-screen kiss with him was four episodes later.

"Was there anything there, by the way?" Danny asked.

"With Charlie?" Dakota asked, referring to Prince Reginald's actor, "No. He had a steady girlfriend back home before he started. They got married... midway through season six, I think? I got invited to the wedding. They made us dance and then I handed him off to his bride, it was kind of cute. I mean... it would have been cuter if he wasn't twenty-five, but..."

Danny winced and then Dakota did too. "Shit, sorry, I don't... you're fine. I mean, this is Hollywood, that's how it works. If I'm acting with a guy my own age they're my son, right?"

Danny sighed. "Yeah. Okay. I should go. And... thank you. I mean that. This... helps a lot."

"No problem," Dakota said, "I'd say any time but you want to stay faithful to your ex."

"I'll get you for that," he said.

=-=-=-=-=

Some time later, Dakota stood in her trailer. She had on a black garter belt and stockings, with three inch heels. Costuming didn't have any five inch ones. The only other thing she had on was the collar she wore as Kitty in the movie. She'd turned it so the rhinestone "Kitty" name wasn't visible. She was looking at herself in the mirror, and softly crying.

"Dakota? Are you-oh mon dieu, I am so-"

"It's okay," Dakota said to Monique, "Just come in, it's not like you haven't seen it all."

"Just because I have seen it before does not mean you have to show me again," Monique said.

"Is it bothering you? Do you need me to cover up?" Dakota asked, looking back at Monique and putting her arms up to cover her breasts.

"Do you want to cover up?" Monique asked.

Dakota looked back at the mirror. "Would you think something was wrong with me if I said no?"

"Of course not," Monique said, and she took a seat gently on one of Dakota's chairs. They stood in silence for a little while.

"You're very beautiful you know," Monique said.

"Thanks," Dakota said.

"Dakota... did Danny say something? Or do something?"

"Oh for God's sakes, no; Danny's harmless. He's more scared of me than I am of him; he's got a secret naughty Princess Jewel fantasy because his kids used to watch my show. He flubbed the take earlier today because he's so afraid of perving on me."

Monique sighed. "I will have the talk again with him about the difference between leering and looking."

"He'll be fine," Dakota said.

"Will you be?" Monique asked.

"Yeah," Dakota said, "Just... I was talking to Danny describing what his character's motivations would be from the BDSM side."

"You would be one of the best at that, other than Teri. Regis said you much of the..."

Monique trailed off and looked at Dakota. Dakota noticed she'd been avoiding peeking at her the whole time she was in the trailer. Now the woman almost seemed to be studying her.

"This is not costume from the show," Monique said quietly. Dakota shook her head.

Monique got up and stood behind Dakota. Dakota was almost taller than her because of the heels. Monique put her hand on Dakota's arm gently and Dakota felt her tears increase.

"Who is this in the mirror?" Monique asked.

"Princess," Dakota said.

"From... your old show?," Monique asked.

Dakota shook her head. "You-... you know how there's Katherine, and then there's Kitty?"

Monique reached up and rubbed her fingers through Dakota's hair gently. "So there is Dakota... and then there is Princess," she said.

Dakota nodded and then sniffed.

"Kitty has the master George... who is Princess's master?" Monique asked.

"Mistress," Dakota corrected her with a whisper.

She lost it then. Monique pulled her into her arms immediately, holding and rocking the sobbing, crying girl.

Over the next hour, Dakota unloaded the whole story for Monique. Mistress Samira, the agreement, the time together, the disaster with the Cordobas... and the end. Monique just sat and listened through the whole thing, gently rubbing Dakota's back.

"And here I was, worrying I have to work and build you up to do the scene where you're bound to the chair," Monique joked, "This is another Tuesday for you, no?"

Dakota managed a short laugh. "No... Tuesdays were light days. No bondage or pain on light days."

Monique laughed with her. Then she sighed. "Dakota, I am hired by Regis and the producers for the film, so I have to ask this first even though it makes me seem the bitch. Is this too much for you? Will you be able to film this? Or is this... relationship too raw?"

"No!" Dakota said immediately, "No, I'm... I'm fine with the film, it's not giving me flashbacks or anything. I mean, it's nothing like what I did with... before. I mean, still BDSM slave stuff but... you know?"

"Is different enough that it is not triggering," Monique said.

"Yeah. Plus it's acting. I know that. And I can tell you right now, Danny sucks as a dom. He kind of gets there when he's acting, but... I mean if you could have met Mistress Samira? She walked in a room and she was in charge. It just... happened."

"She had the control of you, and Danny, he cannot," Monique said, and it sounded more like an observation than a question.

Dakota sat in thought for a minute. "Do you think she was right? It was unhealthy, and she was... damaging me?"

"I am not an expert, you understand this?" Monique said.

"Doesn't 'intimacy coordinator' kind of mean you are?" Dakota countered.

"This is not about the physical intimacy, I don't think. This is more relationship counseling. I have the degree in psychology, but..."

"I promise I won't sue you if you say something about me I don't like," Dakota said snarkily.

Monique playfully slapped her shoulder. "You be careful or I give you the spanking, yes?"

"Promise? I am the sub, remember?"

"You are a brat, is what you are," Monique said, "But... about your mistress... the relationship was unhealthy. She had forced herself into a sexless relationship. She was giving without receiving from her partner. Imagine you had a boyfriend that you just gave blowjobs to every time you were together, but got nothing in return."

"Isn't that every girl's first boyfriend?" Dakota quipped.

"Touche," Monique said, "but either way, it was unfair to her. That is not your fault; she agreed to it. But that, I think, is why there was such conflict. She thought of the relationship as a business one. She was the consultant, as I am. I help you and Danny be comfortable with your intimate scenes. I am not here to help you have a sexual relationship with each other. Your mistress was helping you be a BDSM slave. She did not expect to make you her BDSM slave. When you started to push the relationship further, she felt trapped. Again, the blowjob boyfriend, imagine your reaction if he asked you to get married."

"But... I told her I'd be willing to... you know..."

"Is not a good sign if you cannot say it out loud," Monique said.

"Fine, I offered to lick her pussy. I told her I'd do it. She didn't believe me. She thought I'd been brainwashed."

"That, I think, has more to do with her, and less to do with you," Monique said.

"How?" Dakota asked.

"I not know. I do not think you do either. It is something personal to your mistress," Monique said, then looked over until Dakota met her eyes, "Let me ask you something. If I could get her to come here, would you want to see her?"

"How would you get her here?" Dakota asked.

"Well I would have to find her, but I doubt she's gone into hiding," Monique said.

"But... I don't think she's going to come to Paris just because I'm crying a bit."

"You might be surprised, but either way, I have a good excuse; she can consult on being a domme. As you said, Danny... is not the best example."

"I don't want to trick her into coming here. You don't want that either," Dakota said, sounding fearful.

"Nothing like that," Monique assured her, "We'll be up front about you being here, and that you'll probably be working together a bit. Anything about your relationship, though; that's on you."

Dakota thought for a moment. "I don't know if I could stand seeing her leave again," Dakota said, "And... is there anything there, really, or am I just pining over my ex?"

"What is her name?" Monique asked.

"Samira. Samira... Nazari. Most people call her Sam, but she wanted me to call her Samira."

"Let's try this," Monique said, "Don't think about your answer, just respond instinctively. Is Danny your master?"

"No."

"Is Samira your mistress?"

"Yes-" Dakota said, and then clapped her hand over her mouth. She looked at Monique and the tears were back.

"I'll get her here," Monique said.

Dakota hugged her again, tight.

Sam

"Assalamu'alaikum"

"Wa-Alaikum-Salaam," Sam replied.

"His Highness is expecting you," the bearded man said, waving toward the elevator.

Sam walked into the elevator and looked out the glass walls at the Persian Gulf.

Three months and half a million dollars can change a lot of things. So can a father in international relations.

Sam's family history was a mess. Her Israeli father married her Egyptian mother, had Samira, then decided to move to Israel to be closer to her father's family when her mother was pregnant with her little brother.

After her brother was born her mother doted on him, while Samira gravitated more to her father. When a terror attack killed her brother at three, it broke her mother. At least, that was how Samira saw it.

Her mother "rediscovered" her lapsed Muslim faith and went deep. She wore hijab and abaya at all times from then on, observed prayer and went to the mosque at least once every day. Some days she did every prayer there. She tried to interest Samira, but as a child of her father she didn't really show an interest; he was nominally religious at best, not following any faith.

Things, of course, got messy when Samira got her first period, not even counting her clothes from the day. Her father had been able to fight off her mother's passive-aggressive attempts to put Samira in a hijab after she turned seven. When she demanded it upon Samira reaching puberty, things came to a head.

Her parents' marriage didn't survive. Her mother had made it plain she planned to abscond back to Egypt and try to bring Samira up as a "proper Muslim," something Samira wanted no part of. Fortunately she was old enough that her preferences mattered to the Israeli courts and she got to stay with her father.

They muddled along between the both of them, but as they grew older their relationship became a bit distant. Her father still loved her, cared for her, and helped her, but she could tell she was also a reminder of the relationship he'd lost and the bitter fight he'd had. Her father had been a fairly stern, stoic man before, to the point where their common joke was he only smiled for Samira. After the split, he didn't do that often either.

Samira believed she did her father a favor by not revealing until she was already a year done with college in the United States that she'd happily share her bed with a woman or a man. He was not unsupportive, but he didn't seem to grasp the concept. Samira didn't push for it.

When she had left for the US, he'd left for Germany and worked with their government's foreign relations. Both of them had remained in their chosen countries for more than a decade. So when Samira had contacted him and said she needed a job far away, he'd come through.

However, when she'd chosen the opportunity in the United Arab Emirates, he'd balked.

"Samira... it is a Muslim country," he'd said.

"I am not an idiot Papa," she'd replied, "You should read up on their laws. As long as I do not start fondling a woman in public they should not bother me."

"The job involves working directly with the son of a sheikh," he'd added, "The rules are different."

Despite that, she'd taken the job. The sheikh's son in question, Tahir Al-Dubai, was refreshingly progressive given the area, not that the United Arab Emirates was a hellscape of Sharia law. Muslim dress was optional, even for women. If you weren't a Muslim you were fine as long as you weren't blatant about it, and "don't ask, don't tell" pretty much covered any non-mainstream sexual activity. It wasn't ideal, to be sure, but it could have been much worse.

The elevator opened to Tahir's "apartment." It was basically one whole half of a high-rise. The floor was marble, despite the fact it was 14 stories up, and gadgets and toys were everywhere. Servants scurried about too, cleaning or simply waiting to be called. She knew the garage at the bottom of the building had no less than seven of Tahir's cars, the cheapest of which was some sort of Maserati.

She'd been talking with several people from Texas recently related to the work she was doing and what one of them said stuck with her: "The one percenters have 'fuck you' money. Middle Eastern oil tycoons have 'and the horse you rode in on' money."

"Ahh, Miss Nazari, welcome," Tahir said. There was a woman on his arm whom Sam didn't recognize. She was in a loose dress-type outfit but to her practiced eye Sam thought it was possible the woman had nothing on besides that. She wondered if she'd interrupted something, but Tahir had asked for the meeting at this time.

"Hello your Highness."

"Would you like some coffee?" he offered as some servants brought some for him and his lady friend.

"Thank you, no," she said.

"Do you want to keep speaking Arabic or switch to English? I know you're more used to English."

"I spent most of my childhood in Isreal, your highness," Sam replied, "Arabic is fine."

"I have to say you're doing wonders with my shipping projects. The efficiency improvements on our side alone are impressive. And now you've started working with our remote sites. Soon I will have you hopping around the globe, I think."

"You probably just needed an outside perspective," Sam said, "Familiarity can blind you, and so on."

"Too true," he said, "I wanted to personally congratulate you; our quarterly earnings are projected to improve by 5% thanks to your efforts. We only expect that to grow. You'll be receiving a bonus."

"You don't have to do that, your highness; I enjoy the work and you pay me more than enough," Sam said.

"My father and yours are good friends," Tahir said, "I do not want it getting back to either of them that I didn't treat you fairly or that I'm abusing the use of you."

"I assure you I wouldn't tell them that," Sam said.

"I know, I know. Please at least relax Miss Nazari; you are making me nervous, towering over us."

Sam grimaced but he had a point; Tahir was not a tall man, and Samira was in heels. She lowered herself into the low cushioned seats around the table Tahir and his woman were at. Sam was in a skirt suit and the hem of the skirt didn't have a slit or much give, so she had to fold her legs kind of awkwardly.

"There! Now I am not so intimidated," Tahir said with a chuckle, "Some of my managers they tell me you are Si'lah, the djinn who forces men to dance for her before she kills them."

"I only kill the people that dance badly," Sam replied, trying to joke.

Tahir laughed. "That you do. I also hear from the managers that you got rid of some who should have been gone long ago, but others lacked the drive to do this. From when I first met you, I thought you were not a woman who lacks drive."

"I suppose that's true, your highness," Sam said.

"Samira... may I call you Samira?" Tahira asked.

"I... I would prefer Sam, if anything, your highness," Sam said.

"Very well, though your name is too beautiful to be shortened, in my opinion. Anyway, I wanted to discuss some personal matters with you. I suppose you know I keep an eye on most of my managers. Partly this is for security of them; as you know we are far from the worst of the groups, ISIS and others, but things happen."

"I have noticed some of the security, yes," Sam admitted.

"I imagine; sometimes they are the only ones left when you leave the office, I am told."

"There's a lot to do, your highness. That five percent boost didn't come from slacking off. And I wasn't lying when I said I enjoy the work. I am sorry if it's been a burden on your security."

"Sam, yours is the easiest detail my security teams have. You leave your apartment, you come to work, and you stay there for ten hours a day. You only do not work on Sundays, and then I am told you go to a local training spot and proceed to beat people senseless. Again, several of my security teams have worried that if you are personally attacked they will have to stop you from eliminating the attackers before they can be apprehended."

"Krav Maga is a hobby of mine," Sam said.

"Do you have no other hobbies?"

"I read a bit. I'm sorry your highness but what does this have to do with my work?"

Tahir looked a little worried. "Sam, you've done excellent work for me, and I want you to keep doing that work for me."

"I intend to, if you'll have me," Sam said.

"I do. But I worry that you are like a firework. You are burning bright and the effects are beautiful, but then all your fuel burns up and you are gone. My father does not keep your hours and his responsibilities are far greater. And you have no companion, no partner you return to. You haven't even sought one out, apparently."

Sam tried to move past the annoying intrusion into her personal life and said, "I've only been here for three months, your highness, and as you said, I've been working. Plus, I really don't think I'm the kind of woman most men in your country are looking for. I don't think I've been 'meek' since I could talk."

"You would be surprised, I think, by what some of the men here might want. But I have two things I want to talk to you about. I know this will upset you, but I believe in being direct. I had some people dig into your past as part of your interview. You know this. They discovered your... unique preferences with regard to your personal partners."

Sam tensed up, but Tahir held out a hand. "Do not worry. I make no judgements. I will admit I may have... experimented with similar things myself. A scarf can be used for many things after it is off the woman's head, can it not?"

Sam smiled politely at the joke.

"Now, you have enough responsibilities that I believe you could benefit from a personal assistant. This is Mira," Tahir said, gesturing to the woman sitting next to him. She stood and moved around the table toward Sam.

"She is fluent in English, Farsi, and German, apart from Arabic of course, and she is an excellent notetaker and schedule keeper. I would like you to use her to help you coordinate and plan."

"Thank you, your highness. I can probably find a few things for her to do."

"There is something else you should know," Tahir said, and he snapped.

Sam couldn't keep the shock from her expression as Mira lifted the front of her dress. Sam had been right; she was nude underneath. Her dark brown pussy was shaved bare, the lips squeezed tight between her legs. She had average-sized breasts that were a little flattened, with dark brown areolae.

"Mira is fully capable and somewhat eager to assist you in any of your more personal needs. Including ones that involve scarves, among other things."

Sam gaped at Tahir. "Your Highness... this doesn't seem appropriate. You can't hire someone to-"

"You actually can, but that's not what happened here. We simply asked a few... extra questions during the interview process. It is perfectly clear to Mira, as I am making clear to you, that anything she does beyond regular personal assistant duties is not expected or required for her to keep her job," Tahir said.

"Okay fine," Sam said, uncomfortable but not sure what else she could do. She waved at Mira and said, "Put your dress down for Allah's sake."

Mira covered herself and sat, this time closer to Sam. She also produced a tablet Sam was fairly sure she conjured by magic; she didn't see anywhere the girl might have kept it.

"The other thing is you should take some time off. I know you hardly ever did at your last job, and I refuse to allow that here. We have some of the best tourist destinations, resorts, and entertainment in the world here, and I expect you to take advantage of them. The country has its own airline, too, and we get a discount, so if you'd rather go somewhere else, that can be arranged. In fact, I insist you arrange it within the next week."

"I... vacation doesn't start accruing until I've been here six months-" Sam protested but was cut off.

"I believe I have some sway over the HR policies," the Prince said with a smirk.

"... I don't really have anywhere to go, your highness," Sam said.

She'd sold her house and Vermont along with almost everything in it before moving, so she couldn't go back there if she wanted to.

"Visit your father in Dusseldorf, perhaps," he said, "I don't have a preference. But you need to take a week off in the next month and go somewhere. Otherwise I will dock your pay one day for every one you do not take off."

Sam glowered at him while the prince had a smug look on his face.

"I'll figure something out, then, I guess," she said.

"Excellent. Now, enjoy the rest of your day and get to know your new assistant... in whatever way you'd like," Tahir said, clearly dismissing them.

When she got back in the elevator Sam put her head in her hands for a while, trying to collect her thoughts. She finally looked over at Mira, who seemed much shorter than her. Sam was in heels while the woman wasn't, but she still probably had at least six inches on the girl.

They got to the bottom floor and outside. Once they passed the doors, Samira pulled the girl around to a corner of the building. The wind whipped by fast, which she hoped would make eavesdropping difficult. She'd spotted one of her security detail, but he was several meters away, hanging back.

"Look," she said, meeting Mira's eyes, "Just tell me you aren't being forced. You weren't kidnapped, they don't have your family held somewhere-"

"It is nothing like that, Miss Nazari," the girl said, now looking nervous.

"Why are you scared then?" Sam asked.

"You... you are rather intense, Miss Nazari. Also I did not expect to be outside long in this outfit, and with this wind."

Sam sighed. The wind off the Gulf was about to turn Mira into Marilyn Monroe, but she'd be showing off way more than her underwear. They didn't make women wear burqas but women flashing their goods in public wasn't exactly smiled at.

"Let's go," she said.

=-=-=-=-=

Fortunately Tahir hadn't been lying and Mira was not the UAE version of a teenage bimbo secretary with fake boobs who doesn't know how to use an online calendar but does know how to give a blowjob while crammed under a desk.

Sam's office was executive style and also looked out over the Persian Gulf from almost the same height as Tahir's apartment, just a bit farther away. Mira immediately set herself up in the anteroom outside Sam's office that had been unused up to that point. She spent the first couple of hours transferring dates, contacts, critical information locations, and finding out exactly how Sam liked her tea.

Sam just got on with what she'd been working on before, and tried very hard to forget that Mira was still wearing the same dress she had at Tahir's and, since she'd never left Sam's sight since, had probably not put on any underwear. And that Tahir had dug into her personal life. She was morbidly curious about Tahir's quip about scarves. Did he know she was into BDSM, or was he just talking about her sleeping with women?

Annoyingly for Sam, it bothered her enough to ask Mira into her office an hour later.

"Look, I don't believe in beating around the bush so I apologize if I offend you but... does Tahir expect you to sleep with me?"

"I... don't know if he expects it Miss Nazari. I will say again that I won't be offended or upset if you want to do so," Mira replied.

"But... you or I won't get in trouble or anything if I... don't?" Sam asked.

"I don't believe so, no," Mira confirmed.

"Are... are you going to be okay if I just have you as my assistant for work? Like, you weren't taking this job hoping to have sex with me regularly and you'll be depressed if you don't or anything?" Sam asked, feeling a little silly.

Mira smiled a little condescendingly, but Sam gave that to her. "I'm perfectly happy 'just' being your business assistant, Miss Nazari; his highness is certainly paying me enough. But... I certainly will be a little disappointed if I never get the chance."

Sam rocked back in her chair a bit. The little tramp is flirting with me!

"Nice to know I've still got it," Sam quipped.

"You've more than got it, Miss," Mira replied.

"Okay, well, calm your tits. I may never need you for that."

"If you don't want me to crawl under your desk, Miss, there are a few things we should discuss. Such as a call hierarchy."

"Heirarchy?"

"Who I should put through immediately, who I take messages from and pass them along, who I redirect to someone else, who I simply refuse contact from, and so on."

"Right, so if the Sheikh's son calls, you refuse contact," Sam said.

"I... am not sure, but it is possible I could be executed for that, Miss."

"Fine," Sam said with a sigh, "Let's get to work."

=-=-=-=-=

By the end of the week she'd developed a playfully flirtatious rapport with Mira. For a woman who had grown up in a fully Muslim nation (she was a Saudi by birth), she was surprisingly adept at lesbian flirting. Sam found it added an extra element of fun to her day.

"Ishaaq al-Rassi wanted to talk to you about shipping schedules for an outlet in the Red Sea," Mira said.

"No, Mister al-Rassi just doesn't want to talk to Mohamed about it because he doesn't like that Mohamed is keeping him to the new timetables and he thinks he can browbeat me into submission."

"Is it possible Mohamed escalated it to you?" Mira asked.

"No again, because Mohamed has a soft spot for al-Rassi and he knows if the man complains to me I will have his ass dropped into the Nile where he can discuss new employment opportunities with the local wildlife. Let Mohamed know he's complaining."

"That brings us to lunch, which I have to remind you of or you'll skip, again," Mira said.

"What are my options?" Sam said resignedly.

"The cafeteria is serving Madrouba with chicken, there is if course the Ghuzi from the place across the street, or there is a fruit platter with each item coated in the juices from my sex."

Sam leveled a glare at Mira, who was simply looking down at her tablet with a smirk.

"And what would you say if I told you I wanted the fruit platter to contain oranges and bananas, and you had to fully insert each one before I ate it?" Sam said.

"I'd say I accept the challenge, Miss," Mira said, meeting her gaze.

"I'll have the Ghuzi, Mira. In twenty," Sam replied.

She was getting more and more nervous about their game of sexual chicken. She was pretty sure the girl would try to call any bluff Sam made. She actually seemed a little eager to do so, sometimes.

Fifteen minutes later Mira buzzed her.

"I wasn't serious about the fruit, Mira," Sam answered.

"Your loss, Miss, but I have an outside phone call from a Monique Gavreau. The country code says it's from France. I don't have her on the list of any of our contacts-"

"Put her through," Sam said immediately, after she was sure her heart had started beating again.

"Hello?" the woman said in French-accented English.

"This is Samira Nazari," Sam said.

"Hello Miss Nazari. I hope you'll forgive the suddenness of the call, but I was given your name by Dakota Song-"

"Is P-... is Dakota all right?" Sam asked.

"She's fine. There's a bit of a situation we hope you can help us with..."

=-=-=-=-=

An hour later, Mira hesitantly came into Sam's office.

"That was a long call, Miss Nazari," Mira said.

"You are as subtle as a screaming orgasm, Mira," Sam said.

"I have those too," Mira quipped.

Sam sighed and leaned on her desk, putting her face in her hands. She indulged herself for a bit, but pulled back when she noticed Mira had moved closer, though the girl still seemed hesitant to touch her.

"Was it bad news?" Mira asked.

"It was... a mess. It is a mess," Sam said.

"I'm here to help you, you know," Mira said.

Sam scoffed. "You don't want to know the details of my fucked up failure of a life before this, Mira, trust me."

"With all due respect, trust me when I say that I do," Mira said.

Sam looked over at her skeptically. Mira sighed. "Miss Nazari, I know you think I'm... an escort that Tahir hired because he thought he was doing you a favor. I'm willing to bet you kept me around partly because you were worried that if you sent me away Tahir was going to just find another executive who'd happily bend me over their desk while I answered their phones," Mira said.

"That's not... You have been a real help to me this past week, Mira. I don't think you're just an escort. But apart from our flirting, this is all work. It's business. Tahir isn't paying you to actually help me out with my personal problems; that was just a euphemism so he could tell me he wouldn't mind if I fucked you."

"That may be true for him, Miss Nazari, but I'm choosing to interpret it differently. I'm willing to listen to and help you with your issues, even if they don't relate to the company. You need to be healthy to make the company work, and that includes mentally."

Sam kept looking at her skeptically but Mira stepped closer and gently put a hand on Sam's harm.

"Miss... do you have anyone else you would talk to about this?" she asked, subtle but pointedly.

It was Sam's turn to sigh. "Fine. We're having dinner tonight. Make reservations at that restaurant by the water."

"I thought you'd never ask me," Mira said with a smile.

"No sex on the first date," Sam said.

"Keep telling yourself that," Mira called back to her.

=-=-=-=-=

Sam didn't really notice the restaurant or the food when she got there. As with most dishes in the UAE, it started with lamb and vegetables and then the chefs got creative. One thing that Sam was doubly grateful for that night was that the UAE was not a dry country. She did get a bit of side-eye from the server when she ordered Arak, but at least she didn't have to explain what it was.

While they ate, Sam told Mira about Princess.

When Sam finished, Mira looked a little sad.

"I know, I'm a horrible person," Sam said.

"That's not it, Miss-"

"Just call me Sam, Mira."

"Okay. Sam. That's not it. I'm sad because now I know I don't have a chance," Mira said.

"What are you talking about?" Sam asked.

"Sam, you have to go see this Princess girl. And if you don't have her in your arms sucking face afterward I will find one of your bullwhips and beat you with it."

"You whip someone with a bullwhip, you don't beat them," Sam said.

"Well I don't know how to use one, so it would probably be more beating than anything. You're hung up on this girl, Sam, how can you not see that?"

"Of course I'm hung up on her, Mira; I... I damaged her. And she's the second girl I've done that to. I can't go back to her; it's not healthy for either of us."

"Why do you think you damaged her like your other sub?" Mira asked.

"Because she was ready to fake being a lesbian just to keep being my slave."

"And you never thought she might have actually caught feelings for you?"

"Even if she had feelings, what kind of a relationship would it really be if we couldn't have sex?" Sam asked.

"She said she was trying to seduce you, Sam," Mira pointed out.

"She was... I had her brainwashed by then, Mira. She would have agreed to play around as a dog, barking and pissing on the carpet, if I asked her."

"One, I don't think that's true, but it's a hell of a visual. Two, if that's really true, that's all the more reason to go see her now. It's been three months. You aren't in the middle of an intense master/slave setup anymore. If you don't think she was telling the truth before, she will be now."

Sam mulled over Mira's words, but she was still doubtful.

"If nothing else it will give you closure, Sam," Mira said.

"Then you can shoot your shot for real?" Sam said with a hint of accusation.

Mira shook her head. "Tahir... his people thought you played around with things in your sex life. That's what he told me anyway. I've done that too. Sex when you're tied up and have a blindfold on is a trip. None of us had any clue you were that hardcore. Being constantly naked, responding 24/7, being chained to a fucking bench overnight... I couldn't handle that."

"I know you're a bit submissive," Sam said.

"A bit. I'm not on your level. I... I am curious to see it though."

"You want to come with me?" Sam said.

"I want to meet this girl," Mira said, "And... I want to help you. It sounds like your Princess has this Monique advocating for her. You need someone doing the same for you."

Sam thought in silence for another few minutes, then looked into Mira's brown eyes. "All right. I need you to do a few things for me. First, I need a tight sheath dress, mostly black with red accents. I need a pair of five inch patent leather heels in black. And I need you to buy me an eight foot kangaroo leather bullwhip. Don't look at me like that; the actual animals are fucking vicious. Then tell Tahir we're taking a vacation to Paris."