Method Acting Ch 02 Costuming

Please review chapter 1 for disclaimers and warnings about story content.

Sam

Sam walked back around the table, pointedly not looking at Dakota. She had to get herself under control for the next part.

What just happened had been easy. Too easy. She'd slipped back into the role like putting on a warm robe. She'd orchestrated the whole scene spontaneously, just by playing on their emotions and mental state.

She thought the whole scene with Eli would have scared the girl, but she slid into her role almost as easily as Sam had. Now she was all worked up. She'd known it might happen, which was why she'd worn the most utilitarian pair of granny-panties she owned and added a liner to them. But when she'd felt Dakota teasing her finger with her tongue it had taken all of Sam's willpower not to hike her skirt up, plant a foot in the table, and pull the girl's head into her cunt.

She was kicking herself, though; she'd skipped some basics and that was dangerous. She'd been out of the lifestyle too long. Now she had to have the real talk. Dakota would either buy in or she would walk out in disgust and fear. Sam honestly wasn't sure which one she was hoping for.

She sat down for the first time and waited for Dakota to face her.

"I have to apologize," she began, "We started that scene without you establishing a safe word, and that's bad for everyone. That won't happen again."

Dakota looked at her expectantly, but Sam didn't add anything. She waited for the reaction she knew was coming. Dakota didn't disappoint.

"So that was a test, right? I won't have to suck his cock again?" she asked.

"That was a test. The fact that it was a test has nothing to do with whether you'll have to suck his cock again."

Dakota's face fell and she looked betrayed. "But..."

"Dakota, look at me," Sam said, trying to soften her voice. She could be gentle but she wasn't known for it. That was because very few people got to see it.

"Your director's little film project specified the woman was a BDSM slave. That's a very specific type of arrangement. Not even most of the people in the lifestyle who are subs go for it, but it's literal. It means the dom is your master. Or mistress. What they say goes. What would you have done if I'd told you to stand up and bend over the table so Eli could fuck you after you sucked him off?"

Sam saw the reaction in Dakota's eyes. She looked at Sam and sighed at the realization.

"That's what I mean," Sam continued, "A slave wouldn't object. They'd have their face on the table with their legs spread in the next heartbeat. That's the kind of thing Pascal's trying to recreate. It's the white good ol' boy's ultimate fantasy, and the thing the feminist movement has been working against for more than a century; a woman whose entire identity is based on the whims, urges, and opinions of someone else. You are chosen because you're visually arousing, and act like you're not only willing but eager to fulfill any of your master's desires, sexual or otherwise, without complaint."

"The key," Sam continued, "and the part where people not in the lifestyle lose touch, is that for the slave? It's the best thing ever. They feel so happy to let go, not make any decisions, and have absolutely no responsibility except what their master tells them. And that's why this isn't a betrayal of women's lib or anything like that. The women or men or whatever aren't giving up responsibility because they can't handle it or aren't smart enough to deal with it and certainly not because they're being forced; they simply don't want to. They're happier without the burden. You take a BDSM slave and make them live in their own house and take care of themselves and they can do it no problem. But they'll never be happy, not the way they were when they had a master to take care of that for them."

There was a pause as Dakota seemed to digest what Sam just told her. As she expected, Dakota got angry.

"So all that bullshit is how you justify making me suck Eli's cock?" she said.

"No, all that 'bullshit' is how you can justify why you did it," Sam replied.

"You made me do it," Dakota said.

"How?" Sam asked.

Dakota did a fish imitation for a moment, then sputtered out, "We both know you were forcing me!"

"I don't have any power over you except what you give me," Sam said, "Now, you didn't have a clear way to tell me 'no', and I apologize for that, but we weren't doing noncon play, so if you'd said 'no,' I would have taken you seriously."

"If I didn't do what you said you wouldn't train me!" Dakota insisted.

"You're right," Sam agreed, "But do you really need this? Pascal's not going to check in with me; I don't know him from Adam. You could do anything I suggested; watch a movie, interview some people in the lifestyle, actually train with a dom for a bit if you want and you'd convince him."

"Then why did put me through that?" Dakota demanded.

"Because I wanted you to know what your options were, and what the reality was if you chose certain options," Sam said.

Dakota paused again, and said, "You think I could do better in the film if I let you train me to be a slave."

"I don't give a fuck about the film, Dakota. I'm telling you all this because I think you'd be happier," Sam said.

"Wait, you think I'm a submissive?" Dakota said.

"I don't think you're a submissive, I know you are," Sam said almost dismissively.

"Bullshit. You just met me, you don't know me!" Dakota insisted.

"I know what I need to. You never questioned your mother's control of your life until you had a boyfriend to support you against her. You let your castmate talk you into a one-sided relationship to cover for him while you got no benefits."

"He kept the creeps away!" Dakota said.

"Dakota, be honest with yourself at least. Did going out with Jamie really cut down on the number of people who hit on you? At all?" Sam pressed.

Dakota was quiet for a while, and refused to meet Sam's eyes.

"What else?" she finally asked. She still sounded combative, but not as much as before.

"How about ten minutes ago, when you sucked your agent's cock?"

"I told you; that doesn't count!" Dakota insisted.

"Fine. How about your acting career? You're constantly playing the damsel in distress, in crisis until a big strong

dominant

figure rescues you," Sam said.

"The whole point of Princess Jewel is that we were subverting the damsel in distress trope," Dakota said.

"That's a wonderful marketing line that is also complete BS. Half the time you ran off on an adventure that your friends or someone else had to save you from. The rest of the time you were trying to keep your knight from finding out what the hell you were doing. You might as well have been holding up a 'notice me senpai' sign for the whole show, and the whole schtick was done with the approval of the king, so there wasn't actually any risk."

"Until season 5," Dakota muttered.

"Season 5 only helps my case. When the king forbids you from squiring anymore, instead of running out from under his robe of support, you work within the system to get him to reinstate you. And then there's the movie."

"Which movie? Queen's Gem?"

Sam rolled her eyes. "No, the movie that's the reason you blackmailed Eli. Seriously think about that. You blew up your relationship with your agent because you wanted this role. He had a nice adult transition movie lined up for you that would have pushed you into the next phase of your career. If you really wanted to stick it to your fans and find out who your real supporters were it would be much easier to go to Cosmo or Howard Stern and let them ask you what your favorite position is and how many sex toys you own. Or go to Playboy and let them take some pictures of you in see-through lingerie. Instead you saw 'BDSM slave' and decided that was what you had to do."

"You're reading way too much into that. Pascal was a friend of my mother's, but he took my side in the fight. I've known him for a long time," Dakota insisted.

"He's not Steven Spielberg. Eli told me all the arguments he gave you, and he's right. There's no guarantee this does anything but blow up your career. You claim you don't need the money and you just enjoy acting. If that's true, go to college. Get a theater degree, or any other four-year degree, then join a local community theatre group and blow their mind. I guarantee you it's a lot easier than this."

There was another long pause. Finally Dakota looked up at Sam. Her face was grim, and she tried to look tough. But Sam saw a glimmer of uncertainty in her eye. Inwardly, Sam sighed. Dakota was a young girl on her own for the first time, and clearly "no one knew what her situation was like." She would crash into the wall, it was just a matter of who was there to pick up the pieces. And because of how she'd behaved, it seemed Sam was the only person left who would do that.

"$400,000," she said.

Dakota's eyes widened. "What?"

"When does the movie start filming?" Sam asked.

"Six months from now," Dakota said.

"Fine, so, you take $400,000 and put it in an escrow account. Eli is the trustee for it. After six months, if you think I've trained you sufficiently and you no longer require my services, Eli pays me the money and we go our separate ways."

Dakota wasn't ready to accept her submissiveness. She wasn't in the right state of mind, especially so soon after striking out on her own with legions of fans supporting her independence. Sam could get a notarized letter from Allah that said "Dakota has a submissive personality" and she'd still fight it.

But in six months? Things would be different.

Dakota

Dakota looked up at the plain house. She didn't know why, but she'd expected Sam's house to be more opulent, or modern. Instead it almost looked like a child's drawing; a box with a triangle on top, a few rectangular windows and a door. She looked it over a few times as she walked up, but in her head she was replaying their first meeting.

In one sense, Sam had been right. The training that was required was part of the draw for her. But it wasn't for any of that psychobabble BS she'd been saying. Dakota was just looking forward to the press interviews when someone would ask her how she prepared for the role and she'd get to knowingly smile at the camera and explain how she worked with an experienced professional.

AKA "that's right bitches, I prepped for the role with shit-tons of kinky sex. Princess Jewel was giving it up hardcore!"

As for all the other shit, it was easy for Dakota to dismiss it. She knew lots of people like Sam in Hollywood. Not scary dom types, but gurus or life coaches who convinced everyone that the lens they saw things through was the truth. Dakota hadn't followed Sam's directions because she was a secret submissive, it was just the only way to get the training she needed. Same with sucking Eli's cock. She could have said no, but she had everything to gain and very little to lose. Lots of girls had given up worse to more disgusting men for a lot less.

She shook her head and steered her thoughts away from the meeting. She thought what Sam had said was bullshit, but she was training to be a slave and that was going to need focus. Dakota got to the door and it opened before she could ring the bell. Her eyes widened when she saw Sam.

She was nervous because she knew what was coming. She'd worked herself up for a week, getting herself mentally used to the idea that some man, possibly a much older one, would be abusing her body and probably fucking her all in the name of training for this movie. Nobody had told her "Sam" was a woman. And her outfit now made that painfully obvious.

Sam only wore athletic shorts and a sports bra and her body was toned. Olive skin stretched over defined muscles everywhere she could see. She didn't look like an Olympian or a bodybuilder where all of her feminine curves had given way to muscle, but there were definite valleys and creases that you only got with a good workout regimen. She'd had to work her ass off for Princess Jewel, so she knew.

Despite that, Sam's curves were as impressive as she'd thought the other day. Her hips pushed the athletic shorts out, and her ass provided definite curve between her back and her legs, though not enough to be a "bubble butt." Her stomach had that crease down the middle suggesting a hint of abs and a thin belly button that was crying out for a jewel piercing. Sam's black hair was still pulled wincingly tight on her head, but instead of a bun she'd put it in a short braid.

Her sports bra seemed close to giving up. Sam's tits were large, and Dakota no longer wondered if her own were smaller; she knew. She thought if she looked under them, the bra's bottom elastic would be pulled away from Sam's torso. She could even make out the faint bump of Sam's nipples.

Dakota was straight. She'd certainly had a number of opportunities to figure out otherwise, given how they had to do some of the costume changes on sets and how intense some of the scenes with her female costars had gotten (they never crossed into gay subplots; their network had been too eager to stay on everyone's good side to touch the idea of teenage homosexuality). It was something she planned to discuss with Sam, because Sam had told her there could be limits.

But right at that moment, deep down, Dakota had to admit that lezzing out with Sam wouldn't be the worst hardship in the world.

As she went into the house, two things struck her.

First, there was barely any furniture. The living room, or what she assumed was the living room, only had one sofa. The sofa was nice, with thick, plush leather cushions and arm rests, but it was the only thing there. No easy chair, no coffee table, and no TV on the wall or on any entertainment center. Not even any art. The dining room was similar, with only the dining room table that could seat six, lacking a centerpiece, tablecloth, or even placemats. Dakota also noticed a crease in the middle meaning it could be made larger, but it was set to be as small as possible. The kitchen appliances all looked out of date, though they were all clean and seemed functional. Dakota suddenly wondered if Sam ever ate at home when she didn't have a slave.

She also noticed it was hot. It reminded her of the times she would do press visits at nursing homes for whatever reason. She was often in costume for those, meeting the grand- and great grandchildren of the residents, and the heavy medieval dresses did not work in a building where they kept it at 85. It probably wasn't that warm in Sam's house, but Dakota had on leggings and a sweatshirt. She almost asked about it.

Then she thought about what she was wearing

beneath

the leggings and sweatshirt. Combined with what Sam wore, the temperature suddenly made sense.

Sam led her into the living room.

"Just to be clear, this is the last time we have a conversation as anything approaching equals. It doesn't mean we won't talk. It does mean you ask permission first, and it means you are always conscious of the fact that I'm your mistress. But for right now, that's not in place. First order of business, what's your word?"

"Coulter," Dakota said.

"No," Sam said immediately.

"But-"

"He's the only real sexual partner you've had, isn't he?" Sam asked.

"Yes," Dakota said.

"Is he?"

"Yes!" Dakota insisted.

"And you don't think he might come up when you're lost in passion, so horny you can't think straight? I told you, the word has to be completely separate from sex. As erotic as a frog dissection, and if you find that erotic we're going to have a very different conversation that neither of us will enjoy. Also not something that comes up in regular conversation. Now, try again."

Dakota went through her brain and ended up thinking of her high school English work.

"Fair-weather."

"As long as you can remember it," Sam said, "Now pay attention, because this is key. You want the slave experience. That means there's no degrees here. You don't get to say slow down. You're trusting me to take care of you. You are not allowed to question that trust. That's not how this works. Unlike BDSM play, that is not a time out word. That's your rip cord. That's your ticket out. You use it, we're done."

Dakota panicked a bit, suddenly paranoid she'd accidentally say it and prematurely end the training she wanted.

"That's why it shouldn't come up in normal conversation," Sam said, as if reading her mind, "Now I'm not saying that because I want to be a bitch. The level of trust and understanding between master and slave, or mistress and slave in this case, is the foundation for everything that goes on here. Using that word means you don't trust me or what I'm doing, and you're not willing to give me the benefit of the doubt. Once that level of trust is lost, it's not something you can get back. At least, I don't believe it is. Maybe I'm wrong, but I'm not willing to risk your or my safety on that. So, remember; you say fair weather, I'm calling you an Uber and you're on the next plane to LA."

Dakota let out a breath and nodded. She already felt exhausted just from the intensity of the conversation.

"Now there's the fun part," Sam said with a bit of a teasing tone, "I will let you talk here, but I need to lay down some ground rules. If nothing else, your film specifies that it's a

sexual

BDSM relationship. I'm not teaching you to be a Roman slave, I'm teaching you to be a sex slave. So, the obvious; I'm going to be touching you. I'm going to be penetrating you with toys and fingers at the minimum. I

will

have you undergo anal training. How far that goes depends on...well...how it goes. We will also be exploring subspace, which involves a certain amount of pain. If any of that is a dealbreaker, get your money back from Eli. If not, tell me what else has you concerned. Keep in mind, if you throw too many things out then we're stopping right now."

"Um...no animals," Dakota said.

She winced as Sam rolled her eyes. "Why don't you just assume I'm not going to make you do anything illegal."

Dakota looked at Sam's face, trying to muster the courage for the next part. When she didn't speak and Sam raised an eyebrow, Dakota squeezed her eyes shut and blurted, "I'm not a lesbian I'm not gay I'm not attracted to women like that."

There was a pregnant pause for a moment, then Sam said, "Okay, let's break that down. Do you find women being together disturbing or disgusting?"

"No! I'm not a homophobe," Dakota said.

"Okay. Do you dislike the idea of me using my fingers on you?"

"How?" Dakota asked.

"Really?"

Dakota sighed. She thought about it for a moment.

It would basically be like masturbation, right?

"I...I think I could handle that."

"What about my mouth?" Sam asked.

I'll just pretend it's some hot guy. Maybe Coulter! Shit, Sam was right about him.

"I...I guess that's okay. I don't know if I'd be able to watch though," Dakota said.

Sam chuckled and said, "Oh I'm pretty sure you won't be able to see most of the time. Now the hard parts. What about you touching me?"

"I...um...I could probably do that," Dakota said, though she didn't sound convincing to herself.

"And your mouth?" Sam prompted.

"I...um...Maybe your neck and your breasts...?"

"You don't want to go down on me, is the real issue here," Sam said.

Dakota felt her face get hotter than the room. She didn't trust herself to speak so she just nodded.

"Okay, here's something I want you to keep in mind. I, as your master, want to make you happy, even though it'll take a long time for you to believe that. I know you will be happiest if you can fuck a guy, but I don't have a male slave and I don't have time to find and train one in the next six months. Also there's the whole 'you're a famous actress' problem, so I can't just put an ad out for some rando to come in and fuck you and trust them to keep their mouth shut."