Method Action Ch. 14: Guest Stars

This is probably not the next chapter many of you are hoping for, but I promise it's coming up. Thank you to everyone who's been following along and commenting.

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Interlude: Monique

The wrap party wasn't a huge affair. Part of that had to do with the budget; they didn't have a lot left over to splurge and really go crazy like some big-budget productions. But they still rented out a hotel ballroom and got a huge spread of food and an open bar.

The small crowd was from a combination of it not being a particularly large movie (not counting background extras there were maybe 13 speaking roles) and their dismissing a good amount of the crew for the last month and a half of filming so Dakota wouldn't have to show herself off to more people than necessary.

It was still bittersweet. Four months was a long time, especially condensed into the intense environment of a film shoot. Relationships, both casual and intimate, had formed and reality now intruded for better or worse.

For some, though, it had happened much sooner than that. And reality hadn't just intruded, it had breached the gates and set fire to the stronghold.

Dakota had stood up in front of the crowd and given her thank you speech. She was friendly and funny, thanking everyone for helping her move past being a dorky teenager. She made jokes about coping with being in everyone's 'mental porno cast' from then on, and joked that she was so sick of taking orders that she'd probably scream at the flight attendants when they told her to put her seatbelt on.

Monique had known it was an act. The confrontation with Mistress Samira, followed by the scene with her and Danny, had wrecked her. She'd refused to discuss it with Monique, at one point throwing back in her face the warning she'd given Dakota; she wasn't a real psychologist.

Monique had studied psychology, however, and knew there was a lot of risk right now. Dakota had been able to focus on getting the film done. Remembering her lines, her cues, her blocking, her schedule, everything. Now she had nothing. There were no obligations on her time. There was nothing to focus her mind on anymore. And due to her own choices and life circumstances, she had no real family or friends to lean on either.

By working the room, she eventually figured out Dakota had gone to a room in the hotel. Danny was also gone, and a lot of the crew were joking that the two of them were finally giving in to the sexual tension building up through the entire film.

Monique knew that wasn't true. Danny's ex wife and his kids had been visiting the set on weekends. Dakota had actually been entertaining his kids. First she was the celebrity star neither of them ever thought they would meet and just kept them captivated by her mere existence. Then she gradually morphed into the friendly big sister that was old enough to fit into the "mentor" category but young enough to "get" the kids. All of which had given their parents time to reconnect. Despite his wanting to keep it secret, at least twenty people knew Danny had absconded with his family and planned to give his ex a box with a diamond in it.

Monique found Dakota's room, braced herself, and knocked. She had no idea what she'd find in there, and had already promised herself that if Dakota didn't answer, she would get the manager. Major life changes were always shocks, and sometimes people didn't cope well.

She let out a sigh of relief when she heard the fumbling of someone undoing locks. Then she almost coughed when she inhaled as the door opened. She didn't think licorice-flavored paint thinner was a thing, but Dakota had apparently found some.

"Oh, it's you, good," Dakota said, her voice unsteady.

She only had a robe on, and when she'd answered the door Monique got an eyeful. It shouldn't have been a shock, really, given how much of the past month Dakota had been naked on set, but context was everything. There was a difference between seeing an actress nude and made-up for a performance and seeing a woman answer her hotel room door half-naked with her hair a mess.

Monique followed Dakota into the room, dreading what she might see. She let out another sigh of relief when there weren't any other naked bodies on either of the two beds, nor was there a hand mirror or baggies of powder or pills anywhere. The bottle of liquor Dakota currently held seemed to be the only one open, though Dakota saw another one, sealed, sitting on the dresser under the TV. She did raise an eyebrow at the porn scene playing on the TV, showing a redheaded girl completely entwined in ropes, including several that deformed her generous tits. What seemed to be a whole crowd of men hovered around her, taunting, poking, and generally abusing her.

"I need you to tie me... oooh," Dakota stopped to let out a breath, "Tie me up. And then you're gonna fuck me."

"Dakota, that's not-"

"You're the intimacy coordinator!" Dakota insisted loudly, "so... so coordinate the intinimiacy!"

Dakota took another pull from the bottle in her hand and grimaced. "What the fuck. How does she drink this?"

Monique sighed and prepped herself for a long night.

=-=-=-=-=

Two hours later, Monique stepped out of Dakota's room. She went back down to the lobby with the two bottles, one with only a quarter of its contents left. She figured she'd hand the other one back to the bartender.

Regis caught her at the entrance and his French was frantic.

"Did you find Dakota?"

"Yes," she replied in kind, "Stupid girl was drinking herself blind in a hotel room. And yes, she was alone."

Monique had never quite figured out the dynamic between Regis and Dakota. His concern definitely wasn't fatherly, maybe more like an elder sibling? But it also had questionable motives. Everything he'd worried about with Dakota could be genuine concern, but it also could have just been a director worried about his star's ability to perform and represent the movie.

He stood fretting for a moment, though he looked a little less panicked. "Will she be okay?"

Monique mentally recalled the session of fending off come-ons, crying, screaming in anger, vomiting, and exhaustion she'd just shepherded the nineteen-year-old through.

"She's not going to die tonight," Monique said, "Everything else is up in the air."

Regis pulled out his phone and tapped on it, then Monique felt hers vibrate with a notification. "I just sent you info. We set aside some money for psychological help."

"Really?" Monique asked.

Regis rolled his eyes. "I'm not an idiot. Teri warned me about how intense things might get. I thought we were going to have to use it on Danny so he could come to terms with what he'd have to do to Dakota. But after that woman Samira visited..."

"Yeah," Monique agreed.

They all remembered that day of shooting. They thought they'd seen intensity during Samira's demonstration with Dakota.

When Regis had said "action" that day, Mistress Samira had let herself out.

Samira had kept Dakota in that pseudo-trance state she'd called "subspace" for forty-five minutes of shooting. She'd basically taken over direction, too. Regis had just said what kind of reactions he needed and then Samira had played Dakota's body like a fiddle. A finger here, a palm there, rubbing and caressing or spanking and striking. Monique remembered thinking if Regis had said he needed Dakota to bark like a dog, Mistress Samira would have found a way to make it happen.

And the end of it... Samira had just said she was going to prime Dakota for the end of the scene, and told Danny to be ready. All he was supposed to do was drop the flogger, walk forward, grab Dakota, and then move to suggest he'd thrust into her. Samira had laid down on the couch beneath Samira so she wasn't visible to the camera shooting from behind it. Everyone had seen her hand up between Dakota's thighs. They'd watched the girl start shaking, then begging, crying out for a release. That had been when Monique suddenly wished she was Dakota. She'd never been in a state where she was begging for an orgasm while also obviously in so much pleasure.

Samira had ordered Danny then. Danny walked up behind Dakota, grabbed the girl's breasts, and twisted the nipples while shoving his hips forward. There had been no penetration; he'd made a motion like he pulled himself out of his boxers when he got behind her, but the camera angle hid the fact that he'd stayed tucked away. Everyone could tell he also wasn't hard. Monique could understand that. The scene was obviously erotic but it was also frightening; Dakota had looked like she'd literally lost her mind.

If the lead up was frightening, the orgasm was terrifying. Samira had shouted down people who called for medics and forced Danny to stay where he was so the cameras could capture Dakota's complete undoing.

"Did you actually get enough footage when you yelled cut?" Monique asked. The question had been nagging her since the filming.

"I did. But I didn't know it at the time. I just... Samira wouldn't let anyone help because we were still filming. Then... Well afterward it didn't matter."

Monique just nodded. As soon as Regis had yelled cut Samira had gathered Dakota into her arms. The two women who'd been stiff and prickly toward each other for two days had curled into each other on the couch like lovers. She knew Regis had kept a camera on them. She'd seen the footage afterward of Samira caring for Dakota. They'd set up a similar scene with Danny and Dakota a few days later as the aftermath of the sex, but the impact wasn't the same.

"She was right," Regis said, "I asked her to cameo in the movie, write her in as another dom visiting or something, but it would have ruined it. Comparing Danny to Samira..."

They stood in silence. Monique didn't share with anyone that when she'd gone to Dakota's trailer a while after Samira had taken her there, she'd seen Samira leave. She'd practically stumbled out of the trailer, furiously rubbing her eyes, and needed a long time to collect herself before she could stand straight and put on a stern face again. Monique had backed away and they'd passed each other "coincidentally" where it looked like Monique hadn't been close enough to see. She'd still caught the tears flowing down Samira's cheeks as the woman walked.

"Monique, I know it's not part of your job, but will you help make sure she's okay? I... I feel like I did this to her, but I know I won't be able to help," Regis said.

Monique looked at her phone and pulled up the message from weeks ago.

> We will fix this

"I'll do what I can," she said.

Interlude: Mira

Mira looked at her phone and pulled up the message from weeks ago.

> We will fix this

A huge knot of guilt settled into her stomach. She felt the cool breeze come in through the window and sneak under the sheets of the bed where it caused goosebumps up and down her nude body. Then she jumped and flipped the phone down when she heard the water start in the shower.

Looking over, she could see the powerfully curvy form of Samira Nazari slipping out of the silky robe she'd donned when she got up that morning. She clenched muscles between her legs and winced at the soreness she felt.

She didn't exactly know how things had gotten so out of control.

When they'd come back from the film set Mira thought she'd been subtle. She made sure to highlight but not obviously call out the line items on expenses related to the trip, and she'd forwarded all the e-mails people sent just to wish her a happy and relaxing vacation.

A week later, she'd asked Samira what happened to the whip she brought on the trip and Samira had fixed her with a stare that made her shiver. When Samira was sure she'd held Mira's attention, she said, "Miss el-Awan. I don't know if you think you are being subtle, but you aren't. Whatever your opinion of what you saw with me on the trip or whatever your personal desires are related to it, I neither care nor am I interested in participating. If you bring any of those topics up with me again, it will be the last conversation we ever have."

Mira supposed she'd gotten a little selfish at that point. Why not have her cake and eat it too?

Once she was sure the coast was clear, so to speak, she'd resumed the heavy flirting with Samira during the course of the day. Suggesting she was horny, begging her boss to take her on the desk, asking her if she needed Mira to come home and take care of her at night, all of it.

She figured the flirting would keep Samira in the right mindset to think about her personal relationships.

Then it had been a late night at the office because they were waiting for critical feedback from a US contact. They'd finally gotten the call at one in the morning. After they got their update and hung up, Mira had quipped, "You know, you could have told me to strip down and crawl under the desk and the wait would have been much more interesting for both of us."

Samira had seemed to almost teleport over in front of Mira and was suddenly standing over her. "What would you do, my little Mira, if I called one of your bluffs?" Samira had purred at her.

Mira had been shocked (and slightly scared) into not moving, so Samira did instead. Their lips had locked, their clothes had disappeared, and shortly afterward Samira had eaten Mira out on the desk the way Mira had been teasing her about for weeks.

After that, the flirting had gone way down, but no more than three days went by without Mira waking up in Samira's bed.

Mira convinced herself that she was still remaining true to their goals. She could never be the perfect lover for Samira; she wasn't submissive enough and had absolutely no interest in the games Samira played with her subs. Samira definitely took the lead when they were in bed, but there was no "mistress", no demanding orders, and no BDSM gear of any kind. She figured the gaps in her abilities as a bedmate would remind her boss of what she was missing. Her mind would turn back to Dakota, and Mira would let her go to chase the woman she clearly belonged with.

But after three weeks with Samira just maintaining the same "coworkers with benefits" arrangement and not showing any signs she wanted more, Mira began to feel guilty. It got worse after Monique texted her and let her know that the end of filming had been rough for Dakota and the girl might be headed for rehab or some sort of inpatient facility for depression.

She hadn't wanted to admit it, but Mira had seen a change in Samira as well. She had always been blunt and efficient, but since coming back from the film set she'd been downright ruthless. Several managers in the organization had been publicly humiliated by Samira in various ways because of inefficiencies and mistakes in their areas of responsibility. One of them, upon being handed an unfavorable review of his departments, had challenged Samira to do his job for a week. She had stepped in and done his job on top of her normal responsibilities, increased his department's productivity by 10%, reduced the error rate by 20%, and made several staff aware of benefits details they'd missed, issues she knew about when she spoke to the employees in question. At the end of the week the former manager had been let go and one of the people there had been promoted to manager.

Still, the staff in that unit hadn't liked her, per se. They appreciated the impact she had, but Mira had visited Samira multiple times while she stationed herself in the department and the people there seemed to treat her like a wrathful god; you appreciated what they did, you admired their power, and you were thankful for their help, but you never wanted to interact with them or be called to their attention in case they smote you.

After the note about Dakota's condition, Mira refocused on the overall goal. She was having fun, and Samira knew how to take care of a girl even without whips and floggers. But Mira knew it was just fun for them.

So she'd tried to push Samira's mindset in the right direction by waiting for her in bed wearing the most stereotypically risqué harem girl costume she could find. When Samira had walked in to Mira welcoming her "mistress" home and promising she, the harem girl, was willing and eager to cater to her every need, Samira had frozen in shock for maybe two minutes.

Then she'd proceeded to fuck the hell out of Mira.

A few different toys had been laid out by Mira, just thinking she'd offer Samira some variety. Fifteen minutes later, she'd been tied to the headboard by her own scarf and harem pants, had a vibrator with a clit tickler and g-spot massager jammed in her pussy at full blast, had two clamps on her nipples and a gag in her mouth that was connected to the chain linking the two clamps. All of this was while Samira had taken a harness and was using it and the large dildo slid inside it to fuck Mira's ass harder than she'd been fucked anywhere in her whole life.

She wasn't sure if she was more embarrassed by how she must have looked in the middle of everything, or that she'd cum more often and harder than ever. She'd seen the term "feargasm" online, usually used as a joke, but she felt like she'd actually had several that night.

Mira had brought a change of clothes and stashed them. She just had to walk gingerly to get them.

"There's no need to slip out all dirty," Samira told her, emerging from the bathroom wearing only a towel, though it did cover everything, "Feel free to wash up."

"Thanks, but I should get going," Mira said.

"You aren't injured, are you?" Samira asked, "I know I asked last night but I'm hoping nothing else cropped up?"

"No, no; I'm okay," Mira insisted.

She didn't want to admit that what drove her was a sense of guilt, but also of fear. She had an odd, almost primal sense that if she didn't get out of that apartment before Samira finished showering and dressing, she wouldn't be allowed to leave.

=-=-=-=-=

She spent the weekend trying to come up with clever ways to get through to Samira and shift her thinking back to subjects that would remind her of Dakota. She considered dyeing her hair blonde but figured that was too on the nose. She had ordered a garter belt and stockings like the ones Dakota had worn; they would arrive that Wednesday.

Mira still felt a little guilty about seducing the woman to do it, but, again, there wasn't any reason she couldn't get something out of this.

She was a bit confused when she got a message to report to the apartment of Tahir al-Dubai, but she knew sometimes he held important executive discussions there. She guessed Samira wanted her around for one.

She got to the building and was guided up to his apartment. She smiled as she remembered being introduced to Samira for the first time. Despite what Samira might have assumed, she didn't sleep with Tahir, though she did treat him to a full view of her naked body. She would have fucked him if he'd asked. He was a Sheikh's son, after all.

She got up to the apartment and walked past the lowered lounge area where she'd first met Samira. Tahir came around the corner with a wide smile, which Mira returned along with his greeting. Then she was confused when a larger man came out with a suitcase.

"Mira, great news," he said, "Samira has recommended you for a manager position at our operations in Los Angeles."

"Los-... In the United States!?" Mira blurted.

"That is the Los Angeles I'm referring to, yes," Tahir confirmed, "It is unfortunately a bit of an urgent need, so we would need you to travel today. Samira contacted some people within the company and they arranged travel and luggage for you. Our offices are in the process of securing an apartment for you there as well. It should be all in hand by the time you arrive."

"But... I... Samir-... I mean Miss Nazari needs-"

"Her needs are being taken care of, Mira," Tahir assured her, "The company cannot afford to lose her given the improvements she had made. She suggested to us that your talents were wasted as her assistant, and you'd be able to help us better where you're going."

"I... you can't expect me to go right now!?"

Tahir suddenly stepped closer to Mira and took her hand in both of his, holding it between his palms. She looked up at him. His gaze was compassionate, but intense.

"Miss el-Awan, we value Miss Nazari's continuing work with us greatly. She has made this recommendation, and I and my advisors have no reason to disagree with her. If you disagree with our judgement, I'm afraid we have nothing else to offer you."

Mira felt a lump in her throat. She had no choice. If she turned this down, she'd be fired, and probably labeled a rebellious, uncooperative employee. She would have trouble finding a quality job within the emirate, possibly within the entire UAE depending on how much Tahir wanted to push the issue.

Or, really, how much Samira wants to push it.

In a much quieter voice, Tahir said, "I do not know what plans you made with Samira, my child, but... they are done now."

Mira blinked back tears. "I... I hear Los Angeles is somewhat cooler than here."

Tahir smiled but did not lose the sympathetic look in his eyes. "We have packed for you warm clothes. See if you can have one of those random encounters with the movie stars."

Mira walked to the elevator with the large man, who handed her the luggage. Blinking back tears as the car descended, she recalled the words from Samira weeks ago.

"If you bring any of those topics up with me again, it will be the last conversation we ever have."

And I was stupid enough to call her Mistress when we fucked.

She pulled out her phone to text the woman Monique, but put it away.

She would have seventeen hours to figure out what to say and when to send it.

=-=-=-=-=

Tahir al-Dubai returned to his desk, mildly concerned. He reread the e-mail that had arrived for him in the predawn hours.

=======================

Greetings Your Highness,

I need your assistance with a few matters.

1. I was told you had some pull with the finance minister. If you could get me a ballpark figure of the budget I can have a preliminary estimate of resource availability by the end of business today.

2. If I am forced to speak to, meet, or interact with Mira el-Awan in any way from today forward, you can accept my immediate resignation. She is a capable woman and should be reassigned. I believe the supply chain management position in California is a suitable option.

3. If you decide I need another personal assistant, unless they are married and over the age of 50 with traditional values and attitudes you can again expect my resignation before end of business that same day.

I do work. I do not play games.

Samira Nazari

Executive Director of Operations

========================

Tahir sighed and began sending messages. Samira did need an assistant; she was being tapped for too many critical projects, or would be in the near future. He had thought some sort of accord had been reached between her and Mira. He knew Samira said she enjoyed the company of men, but it seemed she preferred females. Even though the UAE was not Saudi Arabia or (Allah forbid) Iran, it was not easy for such women to relax and find companionship. When reports filtered up to him of Mira's visits to Samira's home, he had thought himself clever.

Then the stupid girl had attracted the wrath of Si'lah. It didn't matter what her side of the story was, unfortunately; his advisors had been quite clear. A full 1% of the quarterly profits could be traced directly back to what Samira had done. If you factored in the knock-on effects of her efforts, that number rose to 8%. She was one of the most valuable assets in the company, ahead of some of the buildings. If Samira had wanted the girl hanged from the roof of the corporate headquarters, there'd have been a vote on whether to allow it.

Tahir only hoped the lack of whatever relief, comfort, or companionship Mira had provided wouldn't become a source of strife for them down the line.

Dakota

Dakota knew it wasn't fair, but she laid a lot of the blame for her situation on Monique. The woman had "helpfully" taken her to a therapy and rehab facility two days after the wrap party. Dakota had cursed her out and accused her of everything from overreacting to projecting her own issues on Dakota just because she'd gotten a little drunk.

She had talked with the therapist but hadn't been cooperative. Her mother had sent her to all kinds of therapists and psychologists when she was a teenager, so she knew all the responses to give to leading questions and how to respond to make the professional believe they were making progress when she was just spouting bullshit. The trick was making the professionals believe her. She saw it as an acting workshop.

It was possible they knew she was just giving canned responses but either way it didn't matter; they could only act based on what she told them, and having one drunken night after a film wrap when she hadn't touched drugs or alcohol during the entire shoot certainly didn't suggest addiction. She completely avoided talking about anything related to the film's content and BDSM. By the end of the session she actually got the therapist to concede that Monique might have more of an issue than she did.

Not only did Dakota lose Monique's number after that incident, she trashed her phone, switched carriers, and changed her number.

She did feel a little pang afterward when she realized she only had two contacts she needed to re-enter, and both of them were for business related to the film.

=-=-=-=-=

Dakota didn't have a publicist anymore; she'd let the firm go after her first month with Mistress Samira, when she deluded herself into thinking she had a future with the domme. No pictures had leaked from the set of Cord Progression, thankfully, only rumors that she'd been cast and that the movie was risqué, but those rumors were just based on what Pascal had said about his movie. The press weren't focused on it anymore because the news of her casting was already old and it wasn't close enough to the film's release

She knew they'd want her to do press for it and she was dreading it; despite brushing off the fact that the movie involved a lot of nudity while they'd been filming (if nothing else, she had to admit Mistress Samira helped her be more comfortable naked) she knew she was in for a lot of interviews that focused on nothing else.

"So there's nudity in the film."

"Yes."

"Full frontal nudity too?"

"Yes."

"Did it bother you?"

"No, I think my body's very attractive. Especially my pussy, would you like to see?" she would ask before flipping her skirt up.

In her head she was imagining giving that interview on the Tonight Show. In reality she'd only be able to do that without getting thrown out if she were on a show like Howard Stern or one of the film interview podcasts where she'd only actually be exposing herself to the pod jocks and not an entire network and studio audience. And either way, the film producers (other than Pascal) would have a complete meltdown.

It seemed ludicrous to her; she'd be taken out and censored for flashing her vagina during an interview when no kids would be around anyway, but pay twenty-five bucks (more? Maybe? She had literally never paid to see a movie herself) and you can watch it on screen.

Maybe she'd been hanging around the French too much during her filming; her attitudes about sex and nudity were certainly not the good ol' quazi-Puritan ones her mother had tried to instill in her.

It was probably because of those thoughts going through her head that Dakota greeted Eli with, "You know, I could make more money doing porn next month than I could for any of the movie offers you showed me."

Eli wiped a hand down his face, "Dakota..."

"No, look, I've been paying attention. TMZ said that Playboy will pay me a million to do a spread and an interview for them, and then Vixen media offered me two if I shoot a video with them. I wouldn't even have to actually do anything; they'd just tie me up on something in the background and I'd be 'forced' to watch my boyfriend or whoever get it on with the actual porn star. Kind of a waste if you ask me; I mean if you're going to be that close to someone with that kind of hardware you may as well-"

"Dakota!" Eli snapped.

"Oh calm down," Dakota said to Eli, who looked a bit flushed, "You know I'm not serious."

"Sometimes I can't tell," Eli growled.

"Besides, we both know these offers are basically empty," Dakota said, waving at a stack of scripts on Eli's desk, "None of them are seriously thinking about hiring me."

"That's only partly true," Eli said, "They'll hire you to get you contracted. If the blowback from the movie is too much they drop you and you just become a trivia note on imdb that you were 'in consideration'. If your star shoots up, they already have their hooks in and you can't run off when better offers come along."

"Right, so what's the upside for me? I mean, most of these movies are schlock, throwaway ones. Some of them are streaming only, which, not all of those are bad but a lot of them are the kind they used to put straight on DVD."

"If you're serious about your finances then nothing. The studios assume you're scared about your next paycheck or desperate to stay in the industry however you can. If, say, Olivia were getting these offers, she'd be seriously considering them.

Dakota grimaced. Olivia Canberra had been her costar on Princess Jewel, playing her court rival. She'd had a familiar "enemy to frenemy to put upon ally" arc (except in a quazi medieval court instead of high school) throughout the series and had upgraded herself from recurring to regular character, but once the show wrapped Olivia (then in her late-20s in real life) had struggled to find regular or prominent roles. The latest rumors Dakota knew of had her retired from acting and starting a family.

"So I shouldn't be doing anything with these?" Dakota asked.

"Unless one really caught your attention, no," Eli agreed.

"I don't know... Playing the catatonic daughter of a put upon single mother who spends all of her time sitting in a sun lounger by the pool every day sounded like an easy payday," Dakota said sarcastically.

"That's the one where the director has only done football commercials and the lead is his wife, right?" Eli asked.

"Yeah. Her experience as... hang on...'first understudy for numerous productions in UC Berkely's drama department' is reassuring. I think he's got a sleeper hit on his hands, I should get in now," Dakota said with infinite sarcasm.

"So what are you going to do with yourself for the next month?" Eli asked.

"You think I've only got a month?" Dakota asked.

"Pascal told me the last time I talked to him that's when they're hoping to have the first teaser out. Actual trailer three weeks later, film out in seven."

"That's... really fast, isn't it?" Dakota asked, trying to remember the marketing timing for her previous films. The problem was she'd usually had to jump right back into filming the series after those movies so her sense of how much time passed was a little skewed.

"Pascal's trying to get it out before year end, and as a real release, not just sneaking it into a film festival so it counts as coming out this year so it's eligible. It's not a bad play; there are a few acting powerhouse films dropping that might nab a nom for the stars, but nothing so far is making people think there's a lock on directing or writing."

"But it's like you told me before; I'm not going to be in any categories," Dakota said. She was actually kind of surprised that there was no bitterness in her tone.

"It's not impossible," Eli said, "Honestly... from what I'm hearing from the people you worked with you impressed everyone. Performing as well as you did with all the... other stuff about the film? Even if you don't get any award nods, word'll get around. Unless they're overstating your performance or the movie tanks, you'll probably get offers for serious work."

"I don't mean this to be rude, but why do you care?" Dakota asked.

"Because I'm the closest thing you have to a publicist right now, and people are asking me about your plans," Eli said.

"Tell them to buzz off. Unless it's Pascal, Spielberg, or Nolan, I don't need to hear from them. If Gunn or Snyder call, find out what they want first."

"Bay?" Eli asked teasingly.

"Fuck no," Dakota said, "If he needs a bimbo to run around in a bikini while everything's exploding tell him to call another modeling agency. As far as everyone's concerned, I'll be busy."

"Ooookay," Eli said slowly.

"What?" Dakota asked.

"It's just... I got the sense that you were treating this as your swan song. You keep talking about how you don't need to act to make money and... rumor has the time on set was a little rough for you."

Dakota squirmed a bit but didn't say anything.

"Anyway, I almost expected you to tell me everyone should buzz off because this is it and you're moving on completely. So is that it, or are you just going to be 'busy' for a bit?"

Dakota could only shrug in response. What she couldn't say out loud is that she was hoping Eli would tell her what to do.

=-=-=-=-=

She did end up busy, though sort of by accident.

Thanks to a weird series of mistakes, misclicks, and not enough motivation to fix things, Dakota had ended up hearing several songs by a British hip-hop group called The Right Honorables. Then she'd seen they were having a concert in England the next week and decided to fly over and see it. That had led to going backstage to meet & greet the band, though it sort of turned into mutual admiration as two of the members of the group were fans of hers.

One was the lead singer, MZ (pronounced em-zed, given they were British).

He very much had a few Princess Jewel fantasies, but he could also recognize she was a real person, and she found herself being a sucker for his accent. It wasn't stereotypical British as most Americans thought of it; it reminded Dakota of Sean Bean, and was told it was a Yorkshire accent. His dark, thin body with ropey muscles and his wide smile didn't put her off either.

It took three days for the tabloids to hook them up in pictures and print. In real life it took a week and a half.

The Right Honorables were on the last half of their UK tour before they went on a European one, opening for an Amsterdam house band Dakota had never heard of. That tour lasted a few months and would definitely conflict with Dakota's media commitments for the movies. So there was a ticking clock on their relationship from the start, but Dakota didn't mind that and MZ didn't either.

Once their tour wrapped up, the band decided to splurge and took a trip to the UAE. Dakota was invited along.

They spent their first day shopping, enjoying the weather and shopping that reminded Dakota of LA but cleaner and somehow more formal, at least as far as the crowds were concerned. Some of the other band mates had grabbed a few girls each to come along with them for the trip, but Dakota didn't make an effort to get to know any of them. One trip to the bathroom where two of them had been debating how many sex acts they'd have to perform to get their chosen man to pay for their desired wardrobe was all Dakota needed to hear. She resisted the urge that night to wander down and press her ear to one of the hotel room doors to find out how much the girls decided to "reward" their artist of choice for the pants and halter tops they'd snagged during their shopping trip earlier that day.

The second day the group rented a yacht.

Dakota had gone daring and wore a string bikini with triangles of fabric that could be pulled wider or thinner along the strings depending on how big her areolae were or how much she'd shaved. Or depending on how much of any area she wanted to show off. She felt a little twinge as she thought that if she were still in the habit of wearing a butt plug there was no way the bikini's floss-sized string would hide it.

She'd been encouraged by the other girls (and guys, except for MZ) to "relax" which many of the other girls were doing; four of them hadn't bothered to wear tops, and two had gone fully nude when they lay out on the deck to catch some sun. Dakota begged off for the exact reason that manifested around midafternoon.

After a late lunch the sunbathing had resumed in earnest and a speedboat approached and then started circling them. Everyone noticed it and some of the girls seemed initially nervous but when the boat didn't get any closer they relaxed a bit. It kept circling and weaving around in the distance, though, and finally Dakota asked the crew.

"Likely predatory photographers, miss," one of them said, "They are staying far enough away that we cannot report them for being a navigation hazard, and we are far enough from shore that law enforcement here is murky. This is why we have not objected to the women... sunning, and why many wish to take these trips. Unfortunately it also means we can do little about the boat."

Dakota spread the word about what the boat probably was, and that set one of the girls off.

"Oi! You wankers trying to get a peek!?" she shouted at them, "Well get a good one!"

With that the girl stood up fully on the back of the deck, swinging her body so her legs spread wide and her large (but artificial) breasts bounced all around her chest. Dakota rolled her eyes a bit at the woman's antics, but then found herself shocked when the girl called up one of MZ's "mates" and began blowing him, again in full view of the pursuing boat, assuming they were still watching.

Dakota suddenly wondered, if Mistress Samira were in this same situation with a slave, how would she react? Would she order her slave to demean themselves for the voyeurs to demonstrate her control and find another source of humiliation and testing for her sub? Or would she go protective and send them below deck so she could force a confrontation with the other boat?

Dakota looked off toward the shore. She knew Samira had moved to somewhere in the Middle East. She suddenly wondered how close she was to her Mistress...

"Dakota, you should probably go down, yeah?" MZ said to her.

Dakota turned back to him with a mischievous smirk, "A little presumptuous of you, don't you think?"

"I didn't mean that love," he said, "Though... if you're offerin'..."

"Hmmm... it's possible I might have been... inspired by recent events," Dakota teased.

Behind her, the exhibitionist girl was not only continuing her blowjob, but had stood up fully so she could twerk her naked ass at the boat while she performed. Dakota knew MZ was right; their group's songs weren't the kind that celebrated degrading women or forcing them into vulgar sex acts, but on the other hand they made it clear that when they were with a woman it was not because they wanted to have tea and talk about the weather.

Dakota smiled. "Show me where our cabin is again?"

Sam

Sam sipped her tea, staring out the window of her office at the gulf.

It was Saturday, but that didn't matter to her. End of month was approaching fast, and they were hoping to wrap up the first phase of their project by the end of the calendar year. The work culture in the sheikh's son's company was a little more tolerant about work outside of normal hours, but she was still trying to avoid the situation she'd found herself in at her last job, where all of her subordinates assumed she required 14 hour days six days a week.

"I just sent you the files you requested, Miss Nazari."

Sam turned and nodded to Zara.

Tahir hadn't found her a personal assistant older than 50. However, Zara was 39, sixteen years married, and had three children. She was also a practicing, reserved Muslim woman who habitually came into the office wearing hijab and an abaya. Samira legitimately had no idea if the woman was over- or underweight, how long she kept her hair, or if her tits were an A or a D cup. There was definitely no talk of either of them having sex on Sam's desk. For all she knew, the last time Zara had had sex was when her youngest son was conceived.

The last time Sam had had sex, she'd nearly lost control.

Seeing Mira in that harem slave girl outfit, with all the toys arranged, had felt like a taunt. She hadn't talked with Mira about the situation on the film set, but she'd thought the girl was perceptive enough, especially with the warning. Maybe Mira had been curious about it and wanted to explore new areas of her sexuality. Or maybe she'd just remembered Dakota's reaction to the treatment Sam had given her on the set and she was hoping Sam would do the same for her. Or maybe she was daring Sam to do the same to her.

At best it was a lack of communication and ignorance of Sam's feelings. At worst it had been manipulation and a disregard for those same feelings. Either way, Sam would rather deal with sexual frustration.

Perhaps Sam should have let it go; walked out of the room, or started a discussion. Most people would say that was the healthier, more responsible reaction. But Sam's domme instincts kicked in. The girl had challenged her control, and possibly goaded her in the process. She'd acted, in fact, just like Princess had by clumsily "topping from the bottom"; trying to act all submissive in ways she thought would force Sam to respond in particular ways. Sam's immediate instinct had been to reestablish dominance.

Mira was lucky Sam had thrown out her whip.

Sam focused on the waters of the Persian Gulf. The wind and the passing ships made for an active but not choppy sea, and the sun sparkled on the churning water. Tourists and locals were scattered along the coastline wearing everything from burqas to bikinis. Small jet skis skimmed over the waters closer to shore while pleasure boats and yachts cruised by well out to the horizon. Occasionally a full-sized shipping tanker lumbered by in the distance, set out from the nearby port.

Samira briefly wondered who was on those boats. Local Middle Eastern pseudo- or actual royalty, wiling away another day of leisure? Vacationers checking off a bucket list item? Locals enjoying their day off?

Either way, they weren't her concern. Her concern was likely the crews on the larger ships, moving goods and materials to other locations so their owners could make good on invoices and requests. There the hierarchies were understood. She gave orders, people followed them, and she got results. No one played games, no one threw temper tantrums, and Samira herself wasn't in danger of permanently damaging someone. Her instinct, her (if she was honest with herself) need to give orders and be obeyed would be satisfied that way.

Mira had been helpful to her in a personal sense. She'd tried to convince herself that if she had her job to order people around, she could have a relationship without the trappings of BDSM. Then the bitch had pushed the boundaries, and Sam hadn't been invested in fixing anything. Mira had been a pretty sex doll. But in the end, she couldn't follow orders.

Sam couldn't be with someone who didn't follow orders. At least, not if she wasn't able to correct them. If that made her a bitch, well... nobody she worked with would argue against that.

Sam told herself it didn't matter; people didn't need sex or orgasms to survive. Any number of sexless relationships bore that out.

She turned away from the vista and sat in her chair, pulling up the reports Zara had sent her.

Dakota

Dakota moaned deeply as MZ's cock speared up into her. His ample hands supported her breasts, her nipples poking out between his fingers.

She licked her lips, barely tasting any remains of sweat from MZ's cock. She'd sucked on him until he was hard and then pushed him over and mounted him before he had a chance to object.

He didn't; he never did. Dakota got a little thrill every time she caught the brief look of wonder in her lover's eyes. Without saying it, the look always translated as "Holy shit; I'm about to fuck Princess Jewel."

One day soon, I'm going to find one of the damn court dresses and go to his bedroom wearing it. Completely blow his mind. Among other things.

Her thighs began to burn with the effort of her cowgirl ride. His hands on her tits and his matching thrusts helped, but she was still working hard. She didn't want to stop or change positions though, because it was working for her. MZ's cock was big enough to scratch her internal itch just right, and the drop onto his crotch hit her clit the way she needed.

Soon he picked up his pace. His hands crushed her tits a little harder. There was the barest hint of pain.

Her hands came up and put a death grip on his forearms and she leaned back a bit as the orgasm hit her. She let out a groan as the pleasure washed over her.

MZ didn't stop, but his frantic thrusting only lasted another few seconds before she felt his man-muscle pulsing inside her, filling her up with more than just his girth. His hands didn't leave her breasts, though, so she simply leaned against his arms.

"That... was pretty good," she said.

"Bloody hell, I'll say," he said, "Is there a thing for sex on the water? Like the mile high club?"

"I don't know," Dakota said, "Would it make you happy if I told you that was a first for me too?"

"Certainly can't complain," MZ said.

"Well, you better let me up or you will complain," Dakota said, "I don't exactly have a sponge up there."

"Right."

Dakota rolled off MZ and found a cloth to prevent leaking. She briefly considered just walking out to the bathroom, given how the rest of the girls were, but even though she was comfortable with nudity, she wasn't eager to show herself off to MZ's group mates. Also she knew the other girls had their phones and barely trusted them more than the people who'd been stalking them from the boat. None of them had said anything about recognizing her, but if they were trying to sneak a nudie shot of her that might be part of the ploy.

She found a shirt, her panties, and a towel and held those in front of her while she scurried to the cramped toilet.

This would be so much easier if everyone on board were trustworthy. I wouldn't mind walking naked on deck. Going up to kneel next to-

Dakota froze. Her heart pounded and her eyes stung.

She's not here, Dakota. She's not going to be here. You're with MZ now.

She wasn't though. Not really. MZ was a good friend, a good looking guy, and a nice fuck. He respected her, understood the realities of her position as a movie star, and didn't put pressure on her to make things more than they were.

He didn't order her around. He didn't make demands. He didn't spank her, whip her, or tie her up. He didn't stick anything in her ass.

And he didn't give her orgasms that were out-of-body experiences that left her screaming, crying, and shaking in pleasure.

All that's over now. Dakota thought as she wiped herself off, briefly looking down at the wide landing strip that she'd allowed to grow back now that no one was dictating her intimate grooming, or anything else.

But as she saw herself in the mirror, she had to wonder.

MZ had asked her out, as a proper British man would, nothing odd there. He'd made all the dates, including suggesting this trip. She'd constantly ask him what she should wear, and she'd find herself getting flustered when he told her it didn't matter.

One time she'd actually said, "Of course it matters, you have to tell me!" and she'd only barely managed to make it come off as a playful tease. She couldn't admit that without his instructions she'd be a confused, nervous mess trying to choose her outfit.

And on this trip she hadn't wanted the other girls around, for all the reasons she'd been fretting over. But he'd said his bandmates wanted some company, and he "couldn't cockblock them just because you're famous, luv." So she'd sat on her objections and her worries the whole time.

No. It's... I'm being a dutiful, stereotypical girlfriend. Girls always take forever to get ready. And he's right; it's not fair to his bandmates. If they want to fuck a bunch of boat babes I don't have the right to stop them.

Because she wasn't the one in charge. She didn't want to be the one in charge.

I don't want to make the decisions. But I could if I had to.

She blinked back a tear when a traitorous voice in her head asked, But do you have to?