Method Acting Ch. 15: Dress Rehersal

Dakota

"So Dakota, I think everyone has the same question; what was it like filming this movie? I mean, it's pretty different from what you've done in the past."

"Well, I like to think I'm a good actress. I mean, I didn't only play Princess Jewel all those years; there's three other movies I managed to squeeze in there and none of them were period pieces," Dakota said.

"Oh I know, but, this is kind of beyond that isn't it? I mean... your previous work was kind of a kid's show, and then the movies were these romcoms and date night movies. This... heavy drama, really erotic content, BDSM, just... that had to be a big switch."

Dakota knew the answers she was supposed to give. Since she didn't have a publicist, the film producers had gotten Pascal to hire one. She'd spent hours with them discussing how to handle what they called the "sex questions." She'd done it five times already. But those publicists weren't concerned about her brand; they were worried about the movie.

Looking into Jimmy Kimmel's bearded face, his nervous but encouraging smile, she just couldn't. She turned her head away. She could barely see the audience in the glare of the lights, but she knew they were there.

"So, how many of you want me to talk about walking around the set naked?" Dakota asked.

There was immediate applause, but it trailed off. She guessed that Jimmy had made some sort of a face to indicate this was not a gag or a joke he was in on.

"How many of you are on the edge of your seat, waiting to see if I'll slip up and talk about cast members being naughty with me, even if it never happened?"

This time there were a few shouts and hollers, but they all sounded male and were quickly shushed.

"How many of you saw or heard my interviews on the Tonight Show? The Late Show? How about the View, for the morning people? I actually had hopes for them. You'd think in a room full of women they'd focus on something besides me showing my privates on film. I suppose I should just be grateful nobody's asking about my clothes, right?"

There were a few very nervous chuckles from the audience.

"You've all heard me talk about the filming. Being cold, how everyone looked at me, whether Danny was nice to me, how helpful the intimacy coordinator was. But you all want to hear that again. You want me to talk about the sex."

She turned back to Jimmy. "Deer in the headlights" didn't even cover how nervous he looked.

"I haven't been asked a single question about the plot, you know that?" Dakota continued, "I think it's important. You have an unconventional relationship, one that gets shunned by most of the mainstream populace. And you have one person in it suffering with their gender identity. And it's not sensationalized or politicized. They don't focus on the issues with legal restrictions, homophobia, transphobia, none of that. It focuses on the relationship. Two people, working through these issues, in a relationship, just like straight people would. I think it's important, and I think it's meaningful, and I think Teri and Jacquemin did an amazing job translating that to the film."

There was some more enthusiastic applause and Jimmy applauded and agreed with her. She could see he was going to pick up the thread, move off his script, but she was losing control, and not just of the interview. She could feel it. She felt bad for him, but she had to end it.

"But nobody cares about that," Dakota said, "Everyone just wants to talk to me about being naked, about on-screen orgasms and whether I faked them or not. But if I'm talking about it, that becomes why I'm in the movie. I'm the sexy part, and Danny's the meaningful part. I happen to think my work was meaningful too. I just did it mostly nude, because that's what that kind of relationship is like for a lot of people, and it's how the director decided to portray it."

"I hope people go to see an intense, meaningful story about a difficult relationship between an unconventional couple. But I know a bunch of people will buy tickets just because Princess Jewel is naked on screen. If you want to go to the movie just for that, either so you can get off, or complain about you not seeing me as a role model, then you have to own that yourself. I'm done giving everyone else excuses."

She got up and walked off the set. She dimly heard an eruption of applause behind her in the studio, but her ears seemed like they were underwater. She ignored the assistants, producers, or whoever it was that tried to get her attention, literally slapping away a hand as it tried to grab her (ironically, using a move Samira had taught her). She just headed for the nearest exit sign. Once she got outside, she took a deep breath like she'd been suffocating. Given Los Angeles's air quality that was silly, but psychologically it was great.

Dakota wandered down a street and into an IHop. She got a look because she was very overdressed; she'd worn a dress that was halfway between elegant and club wear but it was way more than you wore to breakfast unless you were dining with royalty or doing the walk of shame, and she was far too put together for the latter.

I'll have to pay for this if I get anything on it, she thought, and almost broke out in a fit of giggles.

She got herself a plate of pancakes and absolutely drowned them in maple syrup. It had been her comfort food since she was four, and the reason her mother had gotten her a personal trainer starting at ten. She guessed she had about five minutes until the outside of the building was swarmed with reporters. She'd have to call someone to get her.

There was one person she wanted to call, who she knew would give her encouragement and confidence to go on. But she had no way to reach them.

When the publicists finally sent a car to get her 40 minutes later, four police had to hold the paparazzi and reporters back. And there was a solidifying drop of syrup on the skirt of the dress.

Sam

"Miss Nazari?"

"Yes Zara?"

"You asked me to let you know if there was significant news coverage of a woman named Dakota Song?" Zara asked.

Sam felt fifteen different emotions hit her at once. Then she took a deep breath and pushed them all aside. "Yes, Zara, what is it?"

"I'm... I'm having trouble understanding it all, honestly miss. It has something to do with an interview she gave, I believe. I do not follow such news and things; I am afraid I am missing context-"

"Why don't you send me the major links, and I'll look it over? Thank you Zara."

"Yes Miss Nazari," Zara said.

All efforts by Sam to get Zara to address her by anything other than "Miss Nazari" had proved futile. Though if she was honest, Sam thought it made sense coming from the woman. They weren't that far apart in age, but Zara presented herself as much older.

She reviewed the links. First she watched the clip that had apparently gone viral the night after it was released. The Jimmy Kimmel show had given up its usual approach of taping the show and airing the chronological taping, and instead the host had preempted the interview with an apology and a statement of support before showing Dakota answering his initial questions, and then basically derailing the whole segment.

"You throw tantrums with the best of them, Princess," Samira muttered.

The next link went to an interview where Regis Pascal had fully supported Dakota. "I did not cast Dakota so people could gawk at her. I did it because she was right for the role. She worked harder than anyone for the movie. If all people want is to see her without clothes, I would rather pull the film. I am in talks about this now."

Sam raised an eyebrow at that, but reading further, people said that Pascal was known for throwing tantrums himself. Many had pointed out he'd made similar "pull the movie" threats about his last three films, but ultimately they'd been stunts to drum up excitement and controversy, so no one took him seriously.

Next was a published statement from her co-star, Danny Miles.

"It's the same old bullshit; I get asked about my craft, playing a trans character, and learning how to play someone into BDSM. She gets asked if her nipples were cold on set and how we filmed when she was on her period. You know I learned almost everything about my role from Dakota. She was almost my acting coach on that film. And she brought in... well there was so much she contributed to that film besides her body. But that's all anyone can talk about and it's sad."

All of the shows she'd called out had issued apologies. She'd been invited back to the View for a special interview, but the news went on to say that Dakota had cancelled all publicity appearances related to the movie with the support of Regis Pascal, though some people speculated that the movie's producers had pulled her for fear of her damaging the brand and hurting box office figures.

Dakota had just said the quiet part out loud, shaming people for going to the movie just to see her nude. The producers, however, were kind of counting on that to fill some seats in the theaters. They loved the controversy of calling out the misogynists, but they didn't actually want to scare them away.

Sam went back and watched the interview again, focusing on Dakota the whole time. When she finished her third rewatch, she reached up and wiped a tear away, then hit the intercom.

"Zara? I need you to put me in touch with an American film agent named Eli Chambers..."

Dakota

> I'm proud of you Princess.

The message had come from an unknown number, but Dakota hadn't needed to look it up. She'd received it in the middle of a meeting with Eli, Regis, Danny, and people from the publicist and she'd had to choke back a sob. Then she'd run from the conference room and bawled in the bathroom.

When she gathered herself, she went back to the meeting.

"I'm not doing any more press," she said.

They'd announced that already. This meeting was about whether that was a real announcement or if they'd have to come out later and say, "We just meant right after the interview; we needed to compare notes etc. etc."

"Honey, you made good points. Nobody's blaming you for that," Pascal said, shooting a daring look at the PR rep.

"And everyone's already talking about them. I made enough noise that they'll keep talking about them. I'll show up for the premiere. I'll do the red carpet. Other than that, no."

"I can carry the torch," Danny said, "We want them focusing on my character anyway, right?"

They continued hammering out a PR campaign without Dakota. She just sat in her chair, almost cradling her phone, looking at the message.

Sam

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

I'm sorry.

It's all I can offer you, because it's all you'll allow me to.

But I know I can't make it through this premiere without you there.

I don't deserve a favor. I don't deserve your attention. I didn't even deserve your message.

But I'm begging you anyway.

Please come.

- Princess

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

The invitation was on cardstock almost thick enough to be the wood the paper originally came from. It was textured and embossed with gold calligraphy she bet a lot of her peers couldn't read, even the ones who'd learned English first. The capital letters looked like the calligrapher had gotten bored and begun artfully doodling after they finished the letter.

It was the premier of Cord Progression, being held in five days. To Sam's surprise, it was in LA at the Chinese Theatre, not in France. Then she remembered that Pascal wanted this film to entice mainstream American audiences.

She had serious doubts about "mainstream" but "entice" probably fit.

She'd checked in on the buzz about the film off and on for the last couple of weeks. Pascal had made no secret of the fact that he was putting the movie out when he did so anytime another "Oscar bait" movie came out people couldn't help bringing up Cord Progression as the first one out of the gate, so to speak. Dakota's viral interview had reignited some buzz about women in Hollywood, and a bunch of big names had given statements supporting her or stayed conspicuously silent. A few had also scolded her, effectively saying that she knew exactly what she was doing taking her clothes off on camera after being a child star for years and her objections to the interviews were either naïve or very calculated.

Sam smirked. They were partly right; Dakota's outburst had been the righteous anger of the young, acting with that sense of invincibility that made them ignore potential consequences. That wasn't why Sam had been proud of her for saying what she did. But her source of pride made her fret over the invitation.

Zara came into Sam's office to drop off some folders. "Zara," Sam said, stopping the woman, "Would... this isn't strictly job related. It's... not related at all, actually, but... could I ask you some personal advice?"

"Of course," Zara said.

Sam handed over the invite. "If you got this from one of your children that... you were estranged from, what would you do?"

"I would go," Zara said immediately.

"Just like that."

Zara shrugged. "They're my children. First it is our duty to support them and build them up, but beyond that, I love them. This... this seems like someone desperately crying for help and support."

Sam took the invite back and stared at it.

"May I ask you a personal question, Miss?" Zara asked.

"It would seem fair," Sam said.

"This isn't a child of yours. Is it the Dakota woman you've been following?"

Sam felt her face flush and wanted to snap at Zora for snooping, but she wouldn't have had to snoop; she had access to Sam's office and had walked in more than once when a paused video or article was on one of the screens. "Yes," Sam admitted.

"You sent her a message before, about her outburst during the interview?" Zara asked.

Sam nodded, but then look up, confused. "I thought you said you didn't follow any of that stuff."

"I do when my boss is interested," Zara said, "And I have children. You get very good at playing along when people think they're being clever. My oldest thinks I don't know his college roommate is much more than that. I don't know if he's just embarrassed or actually scared that I'll disown him or something, but I know they've been together for a year. I figured it out with you because you were doing exactly the things I do to keep track of him while he's away. Like I said, there's only two reasons to support someone like that: family or love."

"I hurt her. I... I was afraid I'd broken her."

"We hurt everyone we know well," Zara said, "Love is when you recognize it, admit it, and try to stop. Everyone today thinks love must be romance or sex, but Allah's love has many levels and nuances. For her, who wrote the note? It's forgiving and giving you another chance. Whatever you did? She seems to have forgiven you. Her message makes it sound like she hurt you. If you do not love her, you owe her nothing. If you do, you still don't owe her anything. But you need to move past it enough to work it out with her."

"But... I thought the way she acted... she'd moved past me. She doesn't need me anymore."

"And now she's telling you that's not true," Zara said, nodding to the note, "Like I said; you don't owe her anything. But I'm guessing you gave her permission to go off on her own when you sent that message. She's asking you to come back and be with her instead."

Sam felt tears prick her eyes. "You're only a few years older than me, how can you seem so much wiser?"

"Children. They give you joy and wisdom... and they take everything else. I am in bed by eight most nights, and not because I am seducing my husband. He called my hair the finest black silk, and he almost wept when I gave him my body. Now my body looks like the bags of rice at the market, sagging and flabby everywhere. And up here?" she said, pointing to her hijab, "Looks like an old spiderweb, all gray and white."

Sam and Zara both laughed. Zara reached over for the invite. "I'll get you a flight and let the right people know you'll be unavailable for a few days."

Dakota

Dakota was too much of a coward to see Samira herself when she arrived, so she foisted it off on Pascal, forcing him to arrange it. He still thought of Sam as some sort of celebrity, so he was more than willing.

Pascal had messaged her and let her know Mistress Samira had been recovered and taken care of. Dakota knew Mistress Samira had brought her own dress, but agreed to a hair styling and makeup session, which Dakota paid for.

Dakota donned her own dress, with a little help. She hadn't decided on anything until she knew Mistress Samira was coming. Then it had been easy; she was dressing for her mistress.

That in itself was kind of ironic, considering the "outfits" her mistress had usually demanded.

She had collaborated with the designer in advance and chosen one that she thought was a little symbolic; it had a collar high around her neck that linked to wide strips of fabric. The strips came diagonally down across her breasts and linked to the "sleeves" that looked more like extra long opera gloves. Then they wrapped around her back and down to form the belt of the skirt. It left her shoulders, most of her back, and her midriff uncovered, though if she'd wanted to she could have had mesh put there. There was a bit of underboob showing, and Dakota definitely felt like if she jumped too much her tits were going to drop out of it. The skirt was tight and went down to her calves.

The whole dress gave the impression of being wrapped up, or "bound" in it; the legs didn't have much room to move, the sleeves kept the arms close, and the strips of fabric just reinforced the "tied up" look. She also had a light shawl to ward off the chill.

Dakota had rented a small townhouse a few miles from the center of LA to stay in rather than going to a hotel. Mostly that was so she could avoid as much press as possible. She'd only been in town since that morning and gone directly to the house.

The doorbell rang. Dakota slipped into her heels, clomped to the front door, and opened it.

Mistress Samira had on a blood red dress. It looked halfway between a business dress and a more fashionable one. It hugged her figure but wasn't skintight and had sharp lines; the shoulders were cornered, and the collar was high around three quarters of her neck, but left a triangular opening in front that ended in a straight bodice. The fabric of the dress looked stiffer than the flowing drapery effect of Dakota's own. Her hair, of course, was pulled back in a tight bun. Her eyes had been shaded to match the dress, but she had on very dark blue lipstick, almost black. And she wore heels as high as Dakota's, meaning she still towered over her, and would probably tower over most of the people at the premier. She looked down at Dakota.

"That dress looks nice on you," she said.

Dakota felt her jaw quiver. Her eyes stung. She leaned forward, but hesitated.

"You may hug me... if you do not cry," Mistress Samira said.

Dakota practically fell into the taller woman's arms.

=-=-=-=-=

The ride to the theater was quiet, but Dakota had tentatively reached out a hand to grip Mistress Samira's, and the other woman had allowed it. Dakota looked out the window, gripping the other woman's hand, for most of the ride.

"What am I?" Mistress Samira asked as they got closer to the theater.

"What?" Dakota asked.

"The red carpet," Mistress Samira said, "People will want to know who I am, or at least what my relationship is to you."

"Oh. Well, you don't have to do any of that. I can get them to escort you around and you avoid the actual carpet walk," Dakota said.

"Is that what you want?"

Dakota's voice failed. She felt like there was a lot of weight behind the question, though she was sure most if not all of it was only in her own head.

Mistress Samira studied her for a moment and then said, "I'll walk with you. Just call me your plus one. Let them stew and figure out what that means."

The fact that Mistress Samira made the decision suddenly lifted a massive weight from her shoulders.

Yes, Mistress Samira.

The walk wasn't too much. She didn't stop to answer questions, though she did quickly mention her dress was by Givenchy when asked. She did get questions about Mistress Samira but she ignored those along with the questions about the movie, her Kimmel interview, and her feelings on nudity and misogyny in Hollywood.

The pre-screening reception was a bit of a blur, literally; she posed for so many pictures she felt like she couldn't see from the spots in her vision. She shared small talk with many of the people she hadn't seen since the filming, but there were a number of people she recognized as studio execs and Hollywood bigwigs that were giving her a bit of a wide berth. It could have been because they didn't want to associate too closely with her for making waves with her interview.

Or they were scared of Mistress Samira.

Dakota had to avoid busting out laughing a few times at the reactions her companion got. Some people seemed to not notice her until she stepped closer or injected herself into a conversation, then they just sort of stared at her dumbfounded. Several of the people who'd been "in the know" during the filming saw her and looked nervous. A few people tried to pull a "do you know who I am" air or posturing, but Dakota could tell they were ready to collapse. A very small subset of people saw Mistress Samira and just sort of nodded to her, and she often returned the nod. Dakota didn't sense that Mistress Samira knew any of them, but Dakota knew she did something similar when she picked another actor out of a crowd. It was game recognizing game. The people her mistress recognized like that were not always ones Dakota would have guessed.

Finally, it was time for the movie.

The opening scene was still as it had been in the script; the camera going through the house, the sounds of sex, and the finish with her kneeling in front of Danny's character. They'd convinced Pascal to remove the shot of his actual penis pulling away, but Dakota visibly swallowed on screen. She heard a number of gasps in the audience. Mistress Samira turned her head a bit.

"Water," Dakota whispered.

Mistress Samira just nodded.

Dakota was a little shocked herself, but not for the reasons she expected.

To appease the general prudishness of American cinema, even though Dakota spent a lot of the beginning of the film functionally naked, they usually edited it so there was an establishing shot displaying what Dakota was (or wasn't) wearing, then dialogue would be done showing her from the shoulders up, or over her shoulder from the back. Her boobs and her ass only got screen time when she moved. The full frontal shots were limited to when they showed BDSM activities.

"The scene" happened probably halfway through the movie. They'd filmed the preceding scene literally a month before the sexual part of it, so they never discussed the leadup. Dakota's "Kitty" had issued an ultimatum to Danny's George, declaring that she's not allowed to get rid of her penis, because it gives Kitty so much pleasure. The resulting scene ended with a threat/promise from George that it's the last time Kitty will ever feel the cock inside her, presumably because she'd be having surgery to remove it shortly after.

Daktota was impressed. The scene was edited almost more like an action scene than a sex scene, with quick cuts and intense camera work. That made the transitions to hide Mistress Samira's presence fit in with the pace of the scene overall.

She quickly glanced over and saw an impressed look on Mistress Samira's face, but Dakota had seen editing magic have her jump off of a castle wall and land on a horse when the only part of the scene she actually filmed was sitting on the animal, so it didn't hold her interest.

What did was the shots of her.

She was instantly transported back to set that day. The feeling of the whip on her skin. The sensation of the lotion spreading cold fire across her ass. When her orgasm happened on screen, she almost had a sympathetic one in the seat.

The movie continued, but Dakota didn't pay as much attention to it. She hadn't lied in her interview; it was a powerful story about navigating a nontraditional relationship amongst a gender identity crisis. She imagined a lot of the voyeur viewers would tune out at the same point; after her orgasm scene the relationship between Kat and George turned rocky and she spent much of the time in lingerie that was titillating but not revealing, or she was fully dressed. The only other scene of her body was the last one, when George (who doesn't change her name even after her physical transition) reaffirms her control over Kitty, who kneels in front of her in a lace body suit. George tears the suit open and inspects Kitty's breasts, then kisses her and orders Kitty to follow her into the bedroom. Fade to black.

That scene had been an interesting day on set, because they'd actually cast a post-op trans woman to play George for it. It was a point Pascal and Danny had brought up in several of their interviews. Dakota remembered being inappropriately excited at the novelty of screen-kissing the woman, but they'd both been professional.

Dakota couldn't get past the orgasm, though. That, combined with the complete relief she'd felt in the car when Mistress Samira had made the decision about the red carpet, brought everything rushing back.

Unlike a regular showing, most people sat through the credits, since a lot of the people listed in them sat in the room. Dakota made sure to keep Mistress Samira seated until near the end, when "Mistress Sam" was listed under the "Special Thanks" section.

They were still one of the last people out of the actual theater, and Dakota could feel her heart pounding harder at the thought of facing the crowd outside. She turned to Mistress Samira.

"Can... can I ask you for something more?" Dakota asked.

Mistress Samira raised an eyebrow, but gave a short nod.

"Don't let me leave. I want to run outside and jump in a car and disappear right now, and I can't do that. So... make me stay for half an hour at least?"

"I can do that," Mistress Samira said.

Dakota took a breath and walked out of the theater.

A lot of it was what she expected. Everyone, man, woman, and every gender or preference you could think of, gave her a once over, obviously trying to compare what they'd seen on screen to her wearing clothes. A lot of the crew that hadn't been present for the second half of filming and people that hadn't been in the know about the content kept making comments to the effect of, "You were... really naked." Other people obviously avoided her, probably concerned they'd make similar inane comments if they tried to talk to her.

After the first five people did that, Dakota almost unconsciously turned for the doors. A very firm hand on her shoulder steered her back toward the crowd. Then did it again a few minutes later. When she went to hide in the bathroom stall, she'd been there for maybe two minutes before another voice snapped, "Finish up or I'm coming in." Mistress Samira's tone suggested she would not be coming in to hold tissues and let Dakota cry it out.

Dakota mentally added "Princess" to the end of the sentence. She literally had to hold her jaw closed before she said, "Yes Mistress Samira."

Finally Pascal came up to her and gave her kisses on each cheek before embracing her.

"C'est bon, mademoiselle," he said, and seemed in good spirits. He turned to Mistress Samira and said, "Maitresse Sam, to see you again is magnifique."

"Hey Pascal," Dakota said, "Did you know I'm nude in your movie?"

Pascal chuckled. "I am aware, my dear Dakota. Is that all anyone is telling you?"

"Basically," Dakota said, "I'm pretty sure I could have been singing my lines in Chinese through the whole movie and they wouldn't have noticed."

"You were powerful in the movie," Mistress Samira said, "Powerful women scare people. They keep bringing up your nudity to put them back on top."

"Oui, she is not wrong," Pascal agreed, "To me, they are congratulating me. Several have assured me I will have the statues."

"That's wonderful, Pascal, congratulations," Dakota said.

"To you as well," Pascal said, "They have told me, if they don't tell you, that you surprised all of them. And not because you are not wearing the clothes. They keep asking how I got you to be the great actress when you were nude. I simply tell them 'she was already a great actress. The clothes, they do not matter'."

Dakota felt tears running down her cheeks and hugged Pascal. "I'll take my clothes off for you anytime," she said.

"Oh, I think Jacquemin would have some things to say about that," Pascal said, nodding toward his partner over at the drink table.

The note from Pascal that she was getting positive reviews, even though no one had the guts to tell her to her face, gave Dakota the energy to stick around for a while longer. She ran into Danny and his "re-wife" as he jokingly called her. Dakota felt bad when she felt like she caused a fight: Danny's wife asked her if she'd covered up when the camera only showed her from the shoulders up, and Danny scolded her for the question. She looked put out, but soon apologized, and both of them said that they'd heard wonderful feedback about her performance.

After a while either Pascal, Danny, or a sense of decency finally got it through to people that they should try to talk to Dakota about something other than her on-screen nudity. Unfortunately with a lot of them that didn't leave much to discuss. Eli was there, and she saw him give a surprised glance seeing her with Mistress Samira, but given the dynamics between all of them they avoided each other. She didn't see Monique, and when she asked someone said the woman was working on another film and couldn't make it. Dakota didn't think the person would cover for her, but she also guiltily wondered if Monique hadn't bothered trying to make the time after how they'd parted ways.

After making sure she said hi to most of the crew she remembered and who were still there, Dakota made her exit. Mistress Samira rode with her to the house she rented. Dakota's heart began pounding as they approached, even more than when they'd begun pulling up to the theater earlier that day. As soon as the car did the little rock-back from stopping, Dakota turned to Mistress Samira and blurted out everything in a rush.

"Please come inside. I need to talk to you, I need... I need to do a lot of things but I need to talk to you and you have to come inside please-"

"Stop."

Mistress Samira's command was harsh and loud and it stopped Dakota's rambling. They stared at each other briefly, then Mistress Samira said, "I can't tonight. I will return tomorrow. Nine."

"I-"

"Tomorrow. Or not at all," Mistress Samira said.

Dakota just nodded.

She got out of the car but stayed on the curb, watching the car drive off until it turned and passed out of sight. She imagined Mistress Samira had turned to look at her.

=-=-=-=-=

Dakota had one of the worst nights of sleep of her life. She wasn't even sure she really slept, she just knew that she laid down in her bed under the sheets with pillows and then by 6:00 the next morning she decided to give up and stop trying.

She got coffee and breakfast delivered, then realized Mistress Samira wouldn't arrive until the breakfast had gone cold and threw out everything she'd ordered. She did her workout (sans weights; the house she rented didn't have a home gym of any sort) and then showered.

Then she drove herself to distraction trying to figure out what to wear.

I packed my garter belt, but the stockings have a run in them. But last time I wore those she said I was manipulating her. I should wear the dress from last night; it's sexy and submissive. Except it's a rental; it can't get damaged. But I can afford to buy it. But what if she shows up in casual clothes? I should just go casual. But that suggests we're the same, and I don't want to be the same. Did I pack any other lingerie?

She cried out to the ceiling. She flopped back onto the bed, holding bundles of clothes in both her hands. She closed her eyes and tried to think.

=-=-=-=-=

She opened them with a gasp and shot up. The towel she'd wrapped around herself after the shower came undone. Her hair was half dry. She looked at the bedside clock.

It was 9:00! She'd fallen asleep.

The doorbell rang.

Dakota panicked. She looked around at the clothes. All of them would take time to put on. In her head, she imagined if she didn't answer the door, Mistress Samira would leave. She wasn't patient, and she would figure Dakota had been swept up in the emotions last night and had "come to her senses" after sleeping it off.

Desperate, she just grabbed the towel, pulled it around herself as best she could, and ran for the front door.

When she opened it, Mistress Samira stood there in a sea green jumpsuit, her hair back in a bun, with an oversized black bag. The bag confused Dakota; she couldn't remember ever seeing Mistress Samira carrying one.

Mistress Samira took one look at Dakota and then brushed past her into the house. Dakota stammered for a moment but then just shut the door and followed her.

"I... I need to put something on, I'll just-"

"Stop."

Dakota stopped moving. Her body quaked.

"Drop the towel, come over here, and stand in front of me," Mistress Samira said.

Dakota hesitated a second, but she dropped the towel. She walked across the hardwood floor to where Mistress Samira stood in the living room of the house.

"Presentation One."

In the middle of her "training" with Mistress Samira, Dakota probably would have dropped to the floor hard enough to bruise her knees. In the present, Dakota was still hesitant, so she slowly lowered herself until she sat on her heels, thighs spread, hands behind her head.

They stayed like that for a long time, but Dakota just basked in the sensation of relief she'd felt at being given an order by her mistress.

Finally, Mistress Samira spoke.

"I know we could sit and talk. I know we have a few things we should hash out. Your feelings, mine, expectations, all of that. Couple's therapy, probably, too," Mistress Samira said.

Dakota felt a thrill of hope and excitement at "couple's therapy", but then refocused when Mistress Samira sat in the large arm chair so she was closer to eye level with Dakota.

"But that's not me. I don't think it's us. Most of the time couples do that because there's mismatched expectations or a lack of communication, or things like that. We don't have that. We lived together for two months, and I showed or told you everything I expect out of the relationship; I'm the mistress, you're the slave. We both know what that means, or at least I'm hoping you do because otherwise you are far dumber than I thought. So the only real question is, what do you want? Because if you want anything other than being my slave, there's no reason for me to be here."

"NO! Please I... I want to be your slave," Dakota said, "I want... no, I need you to be my mistress. I haven't... I can't function without orders. I put off making decisions about stupid stuff. After the filming... I've been broken."

"You've been fucking a rapper."

"Not for weeks," Dakota said, "We knew it was temporary. He went back on tour."

"He," Samira snapped.

Dakota winced. There was another long pause before Mistress Samira spoke again.

"I'm not playing games," Samira said, "Last time, I put up with your bullshit because you were paying me $400,000. That was a consultant's fee, training you for a film role. I'm not a whore. I'm not an on-call dominatrix. And I told you; I have no interest in a sexless relationship. I have needs. One of them is to give orders and have them obeyed. I can get that at my job, even if I'm not allowed to use a whip. But I recently discovered, and accepted, that I can't separate that from sex. It's not worth it for me."

"My slave is attractive. Her walking around naked is distracting. Seeing her cum is arousing. Ordering her to do any of that gets me wet. Making her cum makes me flat out fucking horny. And I'm sick of taking care of that problem myself when it should be my slave's responsibility."

"I... I agree Mistress Samira."

"Do you agree that you unfairly prevented me from using my slave for pleasure for two months?"

"Yes."

"Do you agree that you teased me, manipulated me, and used me when I visited your film set?"

"... Yes."

"Are you willing and able to serve me physically in any way I might require, and you will neither deny me access to your body nor refuse any request I make that you service mine?"

"Yes."

"Come over here and kiss me."

Dakota was off like a shot. Their mouths came together so tightly and quickly that Dakota thought she cut her lip on Mistress Samira's teeth. Their tongues wrestled for a second, but then Dakota gave way. Mistress Samira's tongue plundered her mouth. She kissed so thoroughly Dakota thought her mouth was somehow completely filled with Mistress Samira's tongue. Her mistress kept a firm grip on Dakota's ass and the sharp fingernails dug in as they kissed. Their breasts, hers covered, Dakota's bare, pressed against each other, the warmth between them seeming to heat up so much Dakota thought her mistress's jumpsuit might melt.

Mistress Samira pushed Dakota away. "Presentation One," she said.

Dakota returned to the floor, but closer to the chair. She repressed a smirk at the breathy tone and slight quiver in Mistress Samira's voice.

"Are you ready for the hard part, slave?" Mistress Samira asked.

Dakota's eyes darted to the junction of her thighs. "Yes Mistress Samira."

"That's not the hard part, slave. There is a massive imbalance. We both agree that you've wronged me. You wronged me for two months, and then compounded it badly at the film shoot. Do you know what that means?"

Dakota tensed. She closed her eyes and focused on breathing. "I... You're going to punish me?"

There was a clank on the floor. Dakota opened her eyes.

In front of her was something Dakota could only think of as a sci-fi prop bikini. There was a triangular plastic section with a clear front and a narrow opening. Two wide straps went around from the "top" corners to a smaller metal triangle in back. Then a thin cable came down and connected to a large ring, which also connected to the bottom of the large plastic triangle.

"Part one," Mistress Samira said, "For two months, you will wear this chastity belt. It will prevent you or me or anyone from touching any part of your pubic area. Each week on Sunday it will be removed for cleaning and so you can have yourself waxed. This model is designed to allow you to use the bathroom without removing it. Some cleaning during the process will be required. You'll be responsible for that.

Another small, pink object dropped to the floor.

"Part two. That is a remote controlled vibrator. While you have the belt on, I will occasionally activate the vibrator. It will make you horny. It will stimulate you. You are not allowed to cum unless I give you explicit permission. I will tell you right now that I'm going to have you walking around, horny out of your mind, ready to beg me for an orgasm. I will give them to you, but not nearly as often as you'll want. I want you to experience what I was going through, watching you cum in front of me, prancing around naked, and touching me."

The next object to hit the ground was a large red dildo, but the base didn't have fake balls or a suction cup like many did. Instead there was a sort of hook with a bulb at the end.

"Part three. This is called a strapless strap-on dildo. I didn't go over this last time because it was moot. I like fucking my slaves. I like seeing them bent over in front of me, or tied up to something, so I can ram my fake cock into them until I cum. This is designed to be pleasurable for the wearer, but it still takes a while to get an orgasm. You'll only have one hole available most of the time. This dildo fits through the ring that goes around your asshole. I will be taking full advantage of that fact."

Mistress Samira leaned over and turned Dakota's face up so they were looking eye to eye.

"Part four," she said, more quietly, "You... you have been the worst slave I've ever agreed to take on. I'm rescinding your name. You are no longer Princess, you are just 'Slave'. You've also lost the right to use my name. You will only call me 'Mistress'. You will start over as the most put upon, abused example of a slave ever. In addition to everything, I will make you do more demeaning chores. You will entertain me in the most degrading and sexual ways I can think of that I will still enjoy. When you exhale, your breath will stink of my pussy. You will become intimately familiar with the taste of my ass. I won't be sharing you with anyone or showing you off because you're an embarrassment. If anyone knew how you'd behaved and what I allowed and saw that I'd taken you back, I'd be the laughingstock of the lifestyle. You certainly won't feel a real cock split your pussy for a very long time. After two months, we'll see where things stand."

"Now you have two choices. Either take the vibrator, push it into your pussy, and put on the belt... or use your safe word."

Dakota shook nervously, staring into her mistress's eyes.

"May... May I ask a question Mistress?"

"Yes."

"What... what will you do if I mess up?" Dakota asked.

"You know that already. You will be punished. You cannot fathom how many ways I have to do that. You will beg me to return to the simple pleasure that is the paddle. I may even make you punish yourself while I watch, just because I can."

"But... will you throw me out again? Will you give up on me and send me away?" Dakota asked with tears streaming down her face.

Her mistress stared hard into her eyes. "Never."

Dakota grabbed the vibrator and pushed it inside herself so fast she thought she scraped her insides with a fingernail. The belt took some work, but a short time later she had the hard shell of plastic covering her crotch. The coated metal ring prevented her ass cheeks from fully closing over her asshole, and occasionally a waft of air felt chilly against it. Mistress Samira stood behind her and twisted something that pulled the straps tight around her, keeping everything about the belt cinched. Then there was a solid-sounding metal "clink".

"Bedroom," Mistress Samira said.

"Yes Mistress-... Mistress," Dakota said, catching herself.

She went to the master bedroom and grimaced. The sheets were a mess and half her wardrobe was still strewn on the bed.

"Clean that shit off," her mistress said.

Dakota rushed over and removed the clothes, not bothering to try folding them or putting them in drawers; her mistress had only said to clean them off, not put them away.

"Stand here," she said, pointing to the corner of the bed.

Dakota stood where she pointed.

Then her mistress unzipped her jumpsuit and slid it off.

She did it casually, not being slow or provocative, but Dakota couldn't take her eyes off of the spectacle. In their entire time together, her mistress had never revealed herself to Dakota. The closest she'd come was wearing a one-piece bathing suit in the shower, where a thin layer of plastic-like material gave a hint of her form. Then there was the ill-fated massage, where her back and legs had been exposed but her derriere remained covered.

Now she studied her mistress as her body was exposed.

Her shoulders were powerfully rounded muscles, pinching only slightly to form bi- and triceps that were visible on her arms but not so prominent that they distracted from her form. She'd turned away from Dakota so her smooth, muscular back was next.

Her ass came into view, muscular but still looking tight and squeezable, or kissable. The cheeks formed a tight line, not spoiling her secrets with views of her asshole. A slight crease was present at the bottom of the curve of each cheek before her powerful, smooth legs descended to the floor, the muscles of her thighs narrowing to the knee joint before her calves flared out again.

Then she turned around and Dakota sighed.

Her stomach was perfect; muscled but soft, strong enough to inspire envy but, like the rest of her, not overdeveloped. Her recessed navel would beg for a jewel or decoration if it wouldn't mar the rest of the view.

Her mistress's pussy was two dark, dusky lips with little wrinkled strips of even darker flesh peeking out. There was a single thin strip of dark hair leading up but it was so tight and thin it almost looked like the crease of her pussy went up to her waist.

Dakota had rarely seen breasts larger than hers that weren't either fake or somewhat misshapen, victims of gravity most of the time. Her mistress's breasts covered most of her chest, spreading out to her arms on either side and nearly touching in the middle even without a bra. They each formed nearly perfect teardrops, with dark brown nipples in the center. The aureolae were large and crinkled, with nipples that looked as wide as her thumb. They didn't stick very far out from the breasts; just enough to suck on and maybe nip with one's teeth.

Her mistress climbed onto the bed and sat, her legs spread just enough so her thighs parted to give a view of her snatch. She looked at Dakota and idly ran a finger down into her folds. In her other hand, she raised a remote.

"Are you ready to start your punishment, Slave?" she asked.

"Yes Mistress," Dakota said.

Her pussy erupted with sensation. She knew the vibrator was small, but it felt like it shook her entire sex. She gasped and hissed at the suddenness.

"Play with your breasts, Slave," her mistress ordered.

Dakota's hands clasped her mounds. Her fingers deformed the tit flesh, the pale skin bulging between her fingers. Her nipples pressed into her palms and she moved to grab them with her fingers.

"No, Slave," her mistress snapped, "You may only tease your nipples with your mouth."

Dakota had never tried that, but she ached to at that moment. She pulled the flesh up, recalling girlfriends' stories about awkward boys who forgot their tits were attached to an actual human. She bent her neck and extended her tongue, lashing out to lick and flick at the nub on her breast.

Her legs quaked as the pleasure from the toy inside her began overwhelming her. When her tongue flicked over her nipple finally, she felt the intensity of the vibrations go up.

"Mistresssssssss."

"Cum slave. Enjoy your last orgasm."

Dakota's legs buckled as her vagina pumped pleasure and tingles throughout her body. She released her breasts to grip the bed as her chest landed on it, her knees and crotch settling to the ground as they twitched from the climax.

"That was beautiful, Slave, and it turned me on. Now," her mistress said, spreading her legs wide and using two fingers in an inverted "V" to pry her labia apart and reveal the bright pink interior, "make me cum with your mouth."

Dakota's brain instantly went to the last time her mistress had said those words. She wouldn't let it end the same way.

Though she still felt shaky from the orgasm, Dakota crawled onto the bed like a desperate, starving woman suddenly offered a gourmet meal. Before she knew it, her nose was hit with the tangy and spicy aroma of her mistress's body, mixed with the musk of her sex. She wanted to pause there and savor the scent, but a hand came up and gripped her hair painfully.

"I mean now!"

Her face was forced down. Her mouth met her mistress's lips for the first time. She didn't hesitate. Her tongue snaked out with all the enthusiasm she'd shown during their first kiss.

After all, her lips were on her Mistress's. She could say this was her second first kiss.

The tang and spice was sharper from the source than the smell had been. Dakota almost imagined there was some bite to the flavor on her tongue. She knew she was instantly and irrevocably addicted to it. She wanted to drink this juice, taste this flavor, forever.

She desperately sought it out. Her tongue traced every nook and crevice of the slit and interior that held it. When it ran low, she traced her tongue upward to the nub, the magic button at the top that released more juice when it was stimulated. Then she dove back in to find the freshest samples.

Her mistress moaned encouragement and groaned in pleasure. Dakota felt thrilling shivers up and down her body; her mistress felt good, and she had caused it.

She lost herself in the rhythm of sucking, licking, and stimulating her clit until it happened. Hands gripped her head, pulling her in, thighs clamped over her ears and face. She couldn't breathe, and had no hope of escaping the iron hands and powerful legs. She closed her eyes tighter and accepted the trap, but kept her tongue going as a sudden bounty of nectar flowed out of the hole she licked.

She felt her mistress's body shudder several times, then she was released and pulled up away from her treat. Instead of the wet slit, leaking the wonderful nectar she'd been drinking, she was faced with a contented face viewed through the valley of two large breasts. Dakota glanced at them now that she was closer.

She could see the slightest hints of gravity and age affecting the shape and sitting of the breasts from here, but nowhere near enough to detract from their sexy allure. Apparently her mistress noticed her examination.

"Do you like my breasts now that you've seen them, Slave?" Mistress asked.

"Yes Mistress," Dakota said.

"Then worship them."

Dakota slid up and got her mouth wholly around the areola and nipple of one breasts, sucking so hard on it that it hurt her own mouth. It forced another groan of pleasure from her mistress, redoubled when Dakota's hand went to the other breast. Dakota had no idea the difference in their size, but her mistress's tits seemed extreme. Where the flesh of her own tits poked through her fingers, she felt like she plain lost her fingers in the swell of the breasts before her. Meanwhile, her tongue found every ridge, bump, and crease of her nipples, and she imagined she could taste salt on them.

"Equal time, slave," Mistress said, flicking Dakota's left ear to get her to switch sides. She loved on the other one no less and let her hand take over the first, using the spit from her first attempt to help her hand glide over the sensitive mound.

Dakota was so distracted she sort of lost track of the rest of her body. So when she instinctively slid a hand down to her crotch to relieve some of the aching need she had, her fingers just hit hard plastic. For the first time in what she suspected would be a long ordeal, she mentally cursed the belt.

She also lost track of how long she focused on the breasts before Mistress pushed her head back down between her thighs. The musk and moisture of her pussy had fully returned, though it was open now and displaying the pink interior in anticipation. It wouldn't be penetrated as nature supposed, but Dakota was glad for that. As she moved, a sting erupted on her ass. She stopped and looked up, seeing a riding crop suddenly in her mistress's hand.

"I want you as you were before," she said, "Face down in my pussy, ass up in the air, ready and waiting for anyone to come along and claim it."

Dakota shifted her posture, made sure she had the right leverage, and then sank down and arched her back until her spine was a bit sore. She didn't care about the pain; she just wanted to please her mistress. She licked for a while, again gathering as much nectar as she could.

"Yes, look at those arches. A pair of perfect hills for me to admire and explore later. Tell me you weren't lying, slave. Tell me I'll be the first person to fuck that hole."

"Yes Mistress," Dakota said.

"What kept you from giving it up for your dear Duncan?" Mistress asked.

Dakota answered between kisses and licks. "He... he was too large Mistress. I thought it would hurt too much."

"Did you get a good look at that dildo, slave? How does it compare to your ex?"

Dakota couldn't help gulping a bit. "It's... bigger, Mistress."

"Yes it is. It's bigger than anything else I put in your ass too," she admitted, "Oh, stop there, keep licking keep licking keep lickingggggg... gahhhh. Yes, now come back up to my breasts. Worship them, thank me for the privilege, and then tell me how much you're looking forward to me gaping your ass with that red monster."

Dakota did as she was told, and she found she didn't have to lie. She was nervous, and she knew it would involve pain, but so did whipping, and if her mistress did it, pain just meant more intense orgasms.

Her vagina erupted again with massive, unrelenting stimulation, seemingly on every nerve at once, except the one that would actually speed things up.

"Arch your back slave, like that. Form the twin peaks and pull your ass cheeks apart. Expose your dirty brown hole. God I wish I could be behind you too. I have to buy some mirrors. That exquisite body that you showed off for millions of people will be all mine, and I want to see it from every angle. I will fuck every one of your dirty holes and lick and grope every part of that body whenever I want, just so I can see how it looks when I take you."

"Yes, use me Mistress," Dakota said, sounding semi-delirious "Take me where you like, when you like. Put anything you want in my cunt. Make my asshole a gaping tunnel for your cock."

"Maybe later," her mistress said, "Now, continue with your tongue."

Dakota had never had to service a partner for as long as she did then; guys never took that long to cum or they wanted to start fucking. She didn't think her tongue could manage any real pressure anymore but Dakota ate her mistress to another orgasm, and then was pulled back up to continue lavishing attention on the breasts of her mistress. As she continued, her mistress revealed they were 36-F. At one point she held her slave's face in the cleavage and the flesh of the breasts covered her face and her ears without trouble.

After her third orgasm, the attention became torture.

Her mistress turned the vibrator on as Dakota worshipped her breasts. It was set on low, so the pleasure built slowly. She would continue fondling, sucking, and nipping at the breasts as her pleasure built. Sometimes she told her mistress she was close, but other times the woman seemed to just know. Whenever she neared orgasm, Dakota was pushed down between her mistress's legs. The vibrator would turn off until her mistress had a climax. Once she did, the toy's slow, low rumbling would resume.

"I... I..." Dakota stammered, her mistress's breasts jiggling in Dakota's grip as her arms trembled.

"Time to start eating then, slave, but you've worn out my pussy," Mistress said, "How about you eat elsewhere? If you do, you might get a treat."

"Treat" was punctuated with a flare of the vibrator, more than it had been doing since the start.

Her mistress rolled over onto her front as if she were about to get a massage. Instead, Dakota pried the tight, muscular cheeks of her ass apart to find the dark puckered star between. The only odor that hit her was what she'd been smelling since the start; the spicy, sharp aroma of her mistress's pussy. The crack and pucker of her ass glistened with the juice that had been leaking from her slit, and Dakota realized she'd missed this obvious location to find more.

She lapped at the crinkled hole, finding all the juice on the surface but digging for more. Her tongue pointed and probed at the tight, twitching opening. Soon it pushed through, the tight anal ring hugging her tongue as it entered. Her tongue explored the hot cavern inside, finding and exciting every nerve and bundle of sensation she could. Whenever her mistress shivered, twitched, or moaned, Dakota made note of it and returned to the spot.

In the back of her mind, she kept waiting to find a smell or a taste that would make her gag, but it never happened.

She kept going until her tongue felt heavy. She could barely move it against the resistance of her mistress's sphincter. Her jaw muscles ached, and her lips were chapped from the dried juices of her mistress's body. Her neck was cramped from the awkward poses she had to hold as well.

Her mistress's hand gripped her hair again and pulled, albeit gently. She scrambled up, trying to move her head toward her mistress's pussy, then breasts, but the hand pulled her farther up until she reached the pillows. It took her a moment to realize what was happening.

Her mistress wanted to cuddle.

Her mistress spooned in behind her, and Dakota shivered a bit as she felt the saliva-dampened mounds of her breasts pressing against her back. Their legs intertwined so her mistress had the leverage to push her hips tight against Dakota's ass. One of her hands cupped one of Dakota's substantial breasts, gently fondling and groping it without really trying to arouse.

They stayed like that for a long time. Despite the lingering ache of unfulfilled arousal in her pussy and the drying juices on her face and lips, Dakota felt more satisfied and relaxed than she could remember.

"You were wonderful in the movie," her mistress finally said.

"You helped me with that," Dakota said.

"I didn't mean just that part," Mistress said.

"I didn't either," Dakota said, "I know the training was... unfair and hurt you. But I learned so much about myself and about the lifestyle. Pascal and Danny will tell you; I was giving notes and script updates through the whole shoot. That sex scene was originally just their playtime and had nothing to do with the argument about George's dick. I was the one to point out that no slave would get away with contradicting their master like that."

"Even though you had," her mistress teased.

"I knew," Dakota said after a moment, "I knew I'd pay for it. It took me a while to accept it, but you were right. Everything you said to me in my trailer that day. And I promised myself, if I ever had a chance with you, I would accept it. Mistress... I've never felt this way. I feel like I belong. When you were away I tried to fake it. I went out with MZ and I let him make all the decisions without really noticing. I hooked up with another guy and let him blindfold me and tie my hands. He only played with my body for a minute or so before he just started fucking me. I even..."

After a wait, her mistress said, "Tell me."

"I hired a dominatrix for a weekend," Dakota said, "I'm sorry, I just... I wanted to try to get back to subspace. She... she tried, but she was more used to domming men, and she never did subspace play with them. She only had a riding crop, and it wasn't enough pain for me to really sink in like I needed to. Her arm wore out, and she was getting nervous about hurting me. She was nice, though; she gave me half my money back when I didn't want her to eat me out."

"Perhaps I should hire her, give her a lesson on my slave," Mistress said, trailing a finger down Dakota's side and drawing circles on her ass with it.

"You would scare her, mistress; she is not as confident a domme."

"That's why I need you."

It was a soft whisper and Dakota wasn't sure she'd heard it. "Mistress?"

"I need you," her mistress repeated a little louder, "Everyone is afraid of me. I am good at my job, but everyone is in fear of me. They fear I will fire them, that I'll get them reprimanded. My boss is afraid I am a loose cannon who will turn on him. My assistant is afraid to get familiar with me because of the issues with my last one."

"What happened to Mira?" Dakota asked.

"I fucked her."

Dakota remembered when her mistress mentioned "figuring out" she couldn't have sex without BDSM and immediately felt a flare of jealousy and anger, but she controlled herself. "Was... was that against policy?" Dakota asked carefully.

"Claws away, slave, she never had a chance of taking your place," her mistress said, gently rubbing Dakota's arm, "Actually I believe she was trying to get us back together. Neither of us was romantically interested in the other; it was just play. But she would drop hints about my dominant habits. But then she tried to surprise me, manipulate me into doing a full scene with her. I was so angry that I just let my restraint go. I might have hurt her. I know I made her cum, but I'm not sure she enjoyed the experience."

Dakota shivered. Thanks to her time with Mistress, she knew that sometimes an orgasm wasn't pleasure; it was relief, and a signal that whatever you'd been going through was over.

"What happened after that?" Dakota asked.

"I had her reassigned to America. She's probably less than fifty miles from this spot, actually," her mistress said.

Dakota smiled. "Perhaps we should visit? You could tie her up and have her observe how repaired our relationship is?"

"I have no need to rub it in her face. But that is the sort of thing everyone expects. Vicious, vindictive retaliation, uncompromising demands, laughless discussions."

Her mistress's hands suddenly pulled her tight. "I must discipline you, and you are my slave, so there are demands I would make of you. But please... don't ever be scared of me. I need someone who can accept my harsh approach."

"The first scene with the whip," Dakota said after a moment.

"What?"

"The first time you used a whip on me, mistress. I think that's when it happened. I realized, really understood deep, deep down, that you cared. You weren't out of control, you weren't raging. You weren't unfair. I recognized that... you discipline because you know better. And then you show me new heights of pleasure because I don't know how to get there myself. And... I like being with you as we were. It makes me feel complete."

Suddenly Dakota was spun around and they kissed.

Dakota very briefly worried about the fact that the last thing she'd been doing was eating her mistress's ass, but her mistress didn't seem to care and leaned into the kiss with gusto. They made out like teenagers just discovering kissing. They ground their bodies against each other like they were trying to pull themselves into the other's body. Their breasts rubbed and slid across and over each other while their legs locked around and formed a living knot of joints. Their hands went absolutely everywhere on each other's bodies except for their cores; one because it was blocked, the other because it wasn't allowed or requested.

Minutes later, both breathing heavy, the two rested their foreheads together.

"I thought..." her mistress started, then gulped and said, "I thought when you walked out of that show, that you didn't need me anymore. I thought you were going to make it on your own, and you'd moved past me. I was happy for you, but I didn't want to admit how sad it made me. Or how happy I was to get your invite."

"I really want to pull that belt off you and feast on your pussy, Slave," her mistress said, "but I can't. If nothing else, I hope this punishment will highlight for you why, when I say the punishments hurt me at the same time they do you, I'm not just saying that. I'm denying myself access to you as well."

As she explained, her mistress's fingers slid up the inside of Dakota's thighs. She moaned and spread her legs, groaning as the fingers traced around the edge of the plate blocking access to her pussy.

"Ever since I saw that delicious little slit between your creamy thighs, I've dreamt of burying my face in it. Do you remember the first time you orgasmed so hard you practically shot the dildo out of your cunt?"

"Often, mistress," Dakota said, her voice almost a moan.

"I have a confession," her mistress said. She rolled Dakota onto her back and her mouth went down to Dakota's navel. She kissed and breathed on her stomach, and licked down to the top edge of the belt. She paused and looked up at Dakota, and Dakota met her eyes.

"I licked all of your cream off that dildo after I'd sent you up to wash," her mistress said.

Dakota swore she felt her pussy clench hearing those words. In her head, she pictured her mistress taking the dildo into her mouth and sucking on it like she was giving it a blowjob. As she imagined that, she felt more of the juices her mistress talked about leaking down, slipping through the small gap her perineum made.

Suddenly pain burst from one of her nipples. She gasped and saw that her mistress had flicked the erect bud hard with a fingernail.

"No cumming, slave," her mistress reminded her.

"No mistress, but... I swear I almost came just from hearing you talk and... and imagining what you did," Dakota confessed.

"Hm, from what I just saw, I believe you could do it. Do you think you could handle that, Slave? Could you deal with the depravation and teasing I'd have to put you through so you could reach the point where you'd be able to cum just from thinking about it?" her mistress asked.

"I... I..." Dakota had to stop herself from immediately agreeing. She was so wrapped up in relief and joy at being with her mistress again that she felt she would agree to anything. She worried about promising something she wouldn't be able to do.

Then her mistress stopped teasing her thighs and stroked a hand down her cheek, leaning up to kiss her forehead tenderly.

"It's okay, Slave. You don't have to worry about that, because that's the point. You don't choose if you're ready for it, or if you can handle it. I make all of those decisions for you now. I will warn you though; you being in a chastity belt, being teased with no physical way to relieve yourself? That's the perfect time to see if you can think your way to an orgasm."

Dakota shuddered as she imagined the amount of edging and pleasurable torture that implied. Then her mistress flicked her nipple again.

"But I say when you're allowed to do that. From now on, you don't cum unless I tell you. If I want to keep you quivering on the edge, your nipples hard as diamonds, your breasts jiggling from the tension, and your pussy leaking enough juice to fill a pint glass, what do you say?"

"I... I say I want to, Mistress. I want to do that for you. I want you to teach me how to do whatever you wish. I want to be the best slave for you, Mistress."

"I want that too, slave. Because like I said, this," she said, tapping on the shell covering Dakota's crotch, "Is as torturous for me as it is for you. You have no idea how delicious you smell right now."

Her mistress bent down and paused until she was sure Dakota focused on her. Then she stuck her tongue out and took a long, slow lick up the plastic shell. Dakota couldn't help but imagine what that long, slow lick would feel like on her soaked and dripping vagina, and the resulting shudder almost looked like an orgasm. Dakota looked at her mistress with a pleading look.

Her mistress had a regretful look on her face as she said, "That's why I need you to be the very best slave you can for me. So when your punishment is over, I can take off that belt, tie you down with your thighs wide open, and spend hours licking my Princess's cunt and making you cry my name to the heavens. How does that sound, Slave?"

"It sounds amazing, Mistress."

"I know. Now, I need you to do one of the hardest things you've ever done, Slave."

"Anything, Mistress."

"I need you to come up here, lie with me, and go to sleep," her mistress said.

Dakota gulped and blinked back tears. Her body was wound so tight she thought she might cum just from the feel of putting on panties. But her mistress had commanded her, and Dakota claimed she wanted everything the punishment entailed.

Slowly, she rolled to her side and curled up partially into a fetal position. She felt her mistress move back in behind her, spooning her again.

"We'll nap for a while. Then we'll get up, find some lunch, and figure out what the next two months will look like. Until then, rest... my beautiful, horny slave. Your mistress has you."

"Yes Mistress," Dakota said, a huge smile spreading across her face.

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

I've probably rewritten this chapter 20 times trying to make sure all the interactions and dialogue makes sense and covers what it needs to cover. Hopefully it's a satisfying conclusion and not a jumbled mess of ideas and hasty wrap-ups.

I really liked writing the two of them. I know people are probably hoping for more but I have to say I'm not sure there will be anything else with these two. Many have commented that what attracted them to this story was the imperfect relationship and the struggle of the two characters to find their roles, particularly with Sam. She is not the type of domme you find in many stories on this site. But from this point forward it would morph into a very run-of-the-mill BDSM story; Dakota is in a place where she wouldn't challenge her mistress seriously, and Sam is mostly over her hesitation from the trauma of her previous slave. It would just be a mistress educating a slave in how to please her, and there are a number of well written stories already on the site that cover that type of journey.

I tried to look for other avenues of conflict that might be interesting, but the only thing that really fits that is their jobs, and I sort of shot myself in the foot there since Dakota has stated multiple times that she has enough money banked for either of them to live on the interest as long as they keep their lives modest, and neither of them has family connections or similar to trip them up that way.

So I'm fairly sure this is the end for these two. If I get some inspiration I may write an interlude or an epilogue covering a particular milestone (like the chastity belt coming off) but it's likely that would mostly be a "stroke story" without a lot of character work. Apologies if that's terribly disappointing.