Method Acting Ch 06 Test Audience

I'll apologize in advance because this chapter has no real "action" in it, though there is a lot of discussion of BDSM activities and racy scenes. I promise from this point on it'll be more consistent.

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Dakota

Dakota woke up sore, with a pounding headache.

The headache she recognized as dehydration, and she was immediately thankful to see a glass of water on the end table next to the bed. She drank but also looked around surprised.

She was in Mistress Samira's bed, but her mistress wasn't there. She glanced over at the clock perched on top of a bureau and saw it was very late. She was usually expected to have chores done and helped her mistress with breakfast by then.

Dakota drained the water and went to get out of the bed, but Mistress Samira came into the bedroom before she got the covers off. She froze in fear.

"Easy, Princess," Mistress Samira said, "you have no responsibilities this morning. How are you feeling?"

"Um...sore. And I have a headache, Mistress Samira," Dakota replied.

Her mistress glanced at the glass and nodded. "I see you drank all the water I left, that's good; you're definitely dehydrated. I will get you another glass and some Tylenol. I imagine you have to use the bathroom as well?"

"Yes, Mistress Samira," Dakota replied hesitantly. She couldn't help but ask, "Mistress Samira...shouldn't I do that? I...you're offering to wait on me."

Her mistress paused, then sat on the edge of the bed near Dakota's legs. She noticed that Mistress Samira's face had an expression she hadn't seen before. It was almost...motherly concern?

"Your responsibility as the slave is to follow my orders, be submissive in attitude, and intuit my needs and expectations as you get more familiar with me. But the master has responsibilities too. I must provide for you, protect you from people who would take advantage of your position, and I have to respect the safe word if you decide to use it. I'm also responsible for your well being. Really involved slaves, ones that are wholly devoted to their master, will go to dangerous lengths to serve them."

"Dangerous lengths, Mistress Samira?" Dakota asked.

"Here's a simple example: A couple just playing at tying each other up in the bedroom to spice up their sex life might tie a binding too tight around a wrist. The person tied up would have no problem telling their partner the rope or scarf or whatever is making their hand go numb. A slave, devoted to their master? Unless the master specifically allowed them to mention it was too tight, the slave would sit there and endure it long after they lost feeling. The master has to remember to give their slave permission to call for help, first of all, but many slaves trust their master so much that they wouldn't cry out even if it was uncomfortable. After all, a lot of the scenes don't start out in the most pleasant of ways. The dom has to be conscious of the sub's condition at all times and recognize if there's pain or discomfort that the sub is experiencing that they aren't supposed to."

"Was...was I supposed to call out last night Mistress Samira?" Dakota asked hesitantly, "I...I don't remember you saying-"

Dakota almost gasped in shock when her mistress put a comforting hand on her cheek. "No, my little Princess," she said. Then she looked away for a moment, took a deep breath, and said, "I...I made a very big mistake last night, with you, and I'm sorry. You didn't use your safe word, but I honestly don't know if you could have. I...I understand if you want to use it now."

"I...I've never had an orgasm that literally made me lose my mind afterward, Mistress Samira," Dakota admitted.

Mistress Samira was shaking her head before Dakota finished, though, and replied, "I pushed you too hard. You had a panic attack, your blood pressure was probably dangerously high; when I held you I could feel your heartbeat in your chest."

"Can...can I ask what happened, Mistress Samira? Would you be able to explain it to me?" Dakota asked.

Mistress Samira sighed. "I suppose it fits in with what you wanted to learn. I told you about subspace and I was hoping you'd cum before you got there. It was...careless of me. Subspace is based on taking advantage of the endorphins pain produces. The problem is that the endorphins are a secondary part of it; mostly what pain does is triggers stress and our fight or flight response, adrenaline and the rest of it. Subs get to subspace because they can sort of...relax into the pain. They know they aren't actually in any danger because they trust their dom, so they can move past the fight or flight response, the adrenaline doesn't flow quite as strongly, but the endorphins are still there."

Mistress Samira looked at her. "You don't trust me enough for that. No! No, that's not an accusation. And don't try to deny it because I know you'd be lying. The trust has to be almost an unconscious thing. You need to know that I wouldn't hurt you and I'm looking out for you. There's no way to rush that. What I tried last night was way too soon."

Mistress Samira stopped speaking and looked away, but stayed seated on the bed. Dakota could tell the woman whom she'd asked to be her mistress and take her as a slave obviously felt bad. Dakota was honestly a bit surprised, and for the first time in a while she thought of Mistress Samira out of the context of the slave/mistress dynamic. Given how harsh, demanding, and almost dismissive the woman had been, Dakota had expected her to simply move past the incident and expect her to toughen up. The worry and compassion was a surprise, and it made her rethink the gut reaction she'd had when Samira...her mistress...described the dangerous reactions her body had.

Reaffirming her decision, she said, "I...if you would still have me, Mistress Samira, I'll keep obeying you."

Her mistress's eyes widened briefly in surprise. Then her "Mistress Samira" persona settled back in. "Thank you, Princess. I will arrange a brunch at 11:00. Until that time, there were a number of things I used in the bathroom last night. Please give it a going over."

"Of course Mistress Samira," Dakota replied. That time, even though Dakota swore the tone of voice and words hadn't been any different from the times she'd been ordered around before, there was an unexpected feeling of comfort that washed through Dakota like she'd been told she did a good job.

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She had more freedom that day than any since she'd started her whole experiment/training with Mistress Samira.

Her mistress had handled brunch completely, not expecting or allowing Dakota to do anything. That was when Dakota discovered her mistress was an impressive cook; she made French toast from scratch and served it with homemade hash browns. Dakota was suddenly ashamed of the food she'd tried to serve over the past two weeks, but her mistress dismissed her concerns and ordered her to eat up.

She did require a workout, even though it was afternoon and they usually worked in the mornings. Dakota didn't mind, though; the workouts were actually a more pleasant part of her day. Most of it involved simply stretching and holding a pose for a while as her muscles stretched and left her with a satisfying burn in them. She'd long ago gotten over the fact that she did the stretches naked in most of the ways it mattered, and most of them involved her spreading or otherwise moving her legs so that her pussy was fully visible. Even though Mistress Samira hadn't said or done anything, it wasn't hard for Dakota to imagine a man (or a woman, even) walking up to her while she was in one of the poses and simply pushing themselves into her. Imagining seeing someone do it, she admitted it might look erotic. Secretly, she also wondered how it might feel.

Screwing up her courage, she asked her mistress about it.

Sam

Sam's workouts with Princess were quickly pushing the limits of her control.

Sam spent most of her time doing weights and heavy cardio mixed with her forms and hitting the heavy bag. Sam did some of the flexibility workouts with her princess but had no personal desire to be a contortionist.

Seeing her posed, her curves artfully and athletically manipulated by her position, coupled with the exposure of her sex and breasts, forced Sam to maintain rigid control. More than a few times she had the sudden urge to order her princess to freeze so she could move forward and shove her fingers or face into her snatch.

Annoyingly, The Don's words about her torturing myself not getting a "real sub" bubbled up into her mind too.

Then, she had the audacity to ask if she looked sexy.

If Princess had more experience, Sam would have assumed she was intentionally teasing, pushing Sam to punish her for being cheeky and giving her an excuse to sate her desires. But Princess didn't have a clue what her posing did to Sam, and the way she worded the question (or tried to) told Sam she was curious, not teasing; she had a good guess why Sam wanted her to practice all of the poses, but she wanted confirmation.

Sam was about to explain it to her, but then an idea popped into her head. Combined with what had happened yesterday, Sam's own mental state, and the girl's inexperience, it seemed like a bad idea.

But it would take most of the responsibility off of Sam. Of course, the potential issues with her idea were legion. But it would be another good "make or break" test for them.

In a last ditch effort to see if Sam could find an alternate excuse to avoid it, she checked the calendar. But of course, it was the second Tuesday in November.

She still thought it wasn't the best idea. But she also had to make it up to Princess for what had happened. With a quick note to her to continue the workout, Sam went to make a phone call.

Dakota

"Mistress Samira? Can I ask where we're going?" Dakota asked.

Dakota saw her mistress's lip come up almost in a snarl, then she relaxed. "We're going to the Lemon Café," she said.

"Sorry Mistress Samira, but they actually named it the Lame Café?"

"Ley-mon, emphasis on the second syllable. It's someone's name, and it's French. Get used to it; given the director, your movie will probably be filmed in France. Anyway, the owner is in the lifestyle. On Tuesdays it's closed for private functions. On the second Tuesday of each month she has a BDSM party in the lower ballroom. Fully catered, very private, all of that. We're going."

Dakota felt a thrilling rush. "I...I thought you said we wouldn't be going to any parties Mistress Samira?" she hesitantly asked.

Her mistress quickly glared over at her while driving and Dakota cowered a bit.

"Do not mistake my attitude this morning as a fundamental shift in our relationship, or a movement toward a new dynamic. Remember, this relationship is fundamentally unfair. I am allowed to change my mind, and I do not owe you an explanation. I am the mistress, you are the slave. If I decide tomorrow you no longer wear lingerie and heels and instead you are to wear a corset, nipple clamps, and walk around with a nine inch dildo in your twat, you do not have the luxury of asking why, you simply say 'Yes Mistress Samira'."

"I...I'm sorry, Mistress Samira," Dakota said as she looked out the window. The building was dark, the curved windows making up the outer wall only showing a few lights on inside the clearly closed restaurant. It definitely didn't hint that there was some sort of kinky party anywhere.

"Princess, you need to listen to me," her mistress said, and she turned. She was almost scared by the intense look on Mistress Samira's face.

"There are strict rules in a place like this and you need to follow them exactly and without question. There are more rules for me, so don't go feeling all put upon, but here's the one you have to remember. I am your Mistress. You obey me."

"That...You just made that very clear Mistress Samira," Dakota said.

"The rule is easy to follow when it is just me. Are you going to immediately respond without question when I tell you to expose yourself to a room full of people?" Mistress Samira asked.

Dakota suddenly felt a lump in her throat. She was pretty sure she'd come to terms with the idea of exposing herself on screen, and even on-set; nude shots were always closed set and everyone there was a professional. This was a room full of people she didn't know.

"Further, are you going to be able to stand there and endure it if I allow someone to touch you?" Mistress Samira added.

Dakota felt herself shiver. The idea of being pawed at by strangers...

"Mistress Samria," she said, swallowing around the lump, "Will...will you make me do anything with them?"

"This is a test, Princess," her mistress said, "That is the way this works. I expect you to obey my orders, immediately and without question, as soon as I give them and regardless of what they are. You...you trust me to have your best interests at heart, and to be aware of your limits, even when you do not know them yourself. Just like explanations, you are not owed a warning in advance of my orders."

Dakota took several deep breaths, trying to come to terms with what was about to happen.

"I will give you this choice, Princess," Mistress Samira said, "If you do not believe you can handle this, then we will return home. If you trust my ability to keep you safe, we stay."

Dakota wasn't sure how to respond. The question felt like a trap, but in the time she'd been with the woman, Dakota hadn't known her to play mind games like that. After another moment of silence, her mistress said, "I'm giving you this choice because I know I was irresponsible last night. If you have lost trust in me or faith in my capabilities, that is justified."

Dakota looked over, surprised again at her mistress's behavior. Dakota hadn't heard another apology from the woman, which made her feel a little annoyed, especially if it had been as risky as she described. She acted like one "I'm sorry" was enough to cover everything, and had gone back to being the controlling, domineering mistress, snapping back at her about her place as a slave.

But as Dakota thought some more realized their current situation was an apology. Dakota had wanted to see a BDSM party; Sam had probably been to hundreds, and had said they weren't likely to attend one. Bringing her here and then giving her the choice of whether to proceed, rather than forcing her, was her mea culpa.

Dakota took a deep breath. "Let's go in, Mistress Samira."

"Very well. There is one thing we must do before we go in, and it is the first area where you must trust me more than you've had to so far."

Sam

Sam went around back to one of the emergency exits. It was one of the doors that opened out but had no handle or knob to enter from outside. She knocked on it four times. The door opened and a tall, muscular man stood on the other side with a tablet.

"Name?" he asked.

"Sam."

"Full name?"

"It will be listed under just Sam, trust me," Sam said.

She ignored his eye roll, but couldn't help smirking when his eyebrows lifted in surprise. "So it is. To the left please."

Sam knew he was hired security not connected to the scene or anyone in it. It wasn't uncommon; people didn't trust "my cousin's friends who does bouncing at a club on weekends." People trusted paid security contractors under NDAs.

A portion of the ballroom had been sectioned off with temporary walls to form a sort of foyer and coatroom. Two girls Sam recognized as subs (even if she didn't know who they were specifically) manned the table. Both wore skintight dark lace bodysuits over their light-skinned bodies. Both outfits covered them completely, with the lace patterned so neither their nipples or pubic hair (if any) showed through, but it was still transparent enough overall to show neither girl had anything else on. Both of them were wide-eyed and flushed as Sam approached and she could tell they'd been talking.

Sam ignored them for the moment and held her hand out. "Coat," she said.

It was the first test, and Princess passed admirably. She had the long trenchcoat Sam had given her off and in her hand quickly despite what she wore beneath it.

Sam had dressed her in a turquoise slip that had a silk bodice with built-in support but was transparent mesh the rest of the way down. She wore a matching pair of tanga panties where the waistband came up above her hips. The panties were silk and matched the bodice. Sam had also provided matching thigh-high stockings and, of course, the high heels. It was more covered than any outfit she'd worn for the past weeks except for when we visited the massage parlor, but still very revealing for a crowd. Sam saw Princess steel herself and resist trying to cover her body with her hands.

Sam reached out and touched Princess's arm. It was reassuring to Sam that she relaxed. She did trust Sam enough to take comfort in her presence. Her eyes came up as she smiled.

Her face was mostly covered by a turquoise mask with feathers around the edge and decorative silver on the mask. Even though BDSM groups like this were highly secretive for a lot of reasons, for some there wasn't much risk and they weren't as invested in the lifestyle. Even banishment from the group and possible lawsuits because of the NDAs wouldn't be any deterrent when provided with the opportunity to get a shot of Dakota Song out in lingerie acting as a submissive. She could sue them into oblivion, too, but some gossip site would make it worth the leaker's time regardless.

The mask wouldn't cause much comment; other people less important than Dakota showed up and did various things to hide their identities, so she wouldn't be the only sub or even the only dominant masked. Sam had never hid her slaves' identities before, though, so people would be more curious than she wanted.

The subs behind the counter looked nervous after taking her coats and she asked them, "What is it?"

"Mistress...your sub needs to be leashed," the one with a long brown ponytail said.

Sam tensed.

"We have ones you can borrow, Mistress," the other girl, a small dark-haired waif, offered.

"Get me one," Sam said.

The girl squatted down and reached beneath the table. Either by design or coincidence, her pale ass protruded from beneath the table, her thin physique making the bones of her seat push out and form rounded points and a valley the bodysuit settled into. She rose again and set a velcro collar with a gold chain leash already fixed to the eye in front.

Sam took the collar and turned to Princess. Then her hands shook.

She couldn't do it. She couldn't put a collar on the girl. She knew Princess would be confused, and she didn't care. She stuck out the collar.

"Put this on your neck, Princess, then hand me the leash."

She noticed the confused glance between the subs behind the counter and found a target for her tension.

"What are you called, and who is your master?" she snapped at them.

"I'm...B-Bunny mistress and this is Brownie," the darker haired, thin girl stammered.

Sam waited a beat and then demanded, "Your master!?" with a hissing voice.

"Master Doyle, mistress!" the dark haired girl said with a flinch.

"I will report your misbehavior to him," Sam said.

"Mistress?" the girl Brownie said. She was respectful but Sam could sense the challenge.

"Were you or were you not gossiping about me being here when I walked up? Were you going to discuss what happened with the collar when I left?" Sam demanded.

The girls shared a look and then hunched over, looking at the floor.

"Were you?!" Sam snapped.

"Yes Mistress," the girls answered in unison, their voices trembling.

Sam simply nodded. She took the leash now attached to Princess's neck and walked out into the ballroom.