Part 1 of 3
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This work is the copyrighted material of the respective author. ~Tigger
Cautionary Notes: This is a love story with Female Dominant, Male Dominant, TV Dominant, Female Submissive, Male Submissive, TV Submissive themes. It is not 'Forced Femme' so much as 'Strongly Urged and Gently Manipulated Femme.' These are necessary to the story I want to tell, but I hope, as with my earlier story, "Contract Modifications," that most readers will not find these elements of theme too distressing.
I consider this tale to be a 'Hard-R' in rating as due to the love/sexual scenes and due to some hard language. In truth, however, it is not much more graphic than most bodice-ripper romances available at your local book-store so I feel that an 'X' rating is inappropriate. It does, as noted above, feature Dominance and Submission themes, so the reader should take that into consideration when deciding to read this tale. ~Tigger
Acknowledgments: My sincere thanks to Brandy Dewinter for the gifts of her creativity, her insight, her eye for 'just the right word' (and just the wrong one of mine) and her, ummm, persistence. I can say without qualm that there were many times when I was about to take this story in a direction I did not want it to go because my characters were getting out of hand. In each case, she helped me see the problem and helped me rein them in. Not an easy task because, as I hope you'll see, ShaJuana Price is a lady who is VERY determined to go and get her own way! So it took BOTH of us to keep her in line! My muse and I thank you, Brandy!
Special thanks to the TG-Fiction Listserv community who read this tale in its pre-publication form and provided me with feedback, editing help and encouragement. At some point in every writing project, it becomes impossible for me to read what I wrote because I 'see' what I thought I wrote. Any remaining errors are mine, probably because I wrongly thought my way was better than those recommended by my 'beta-testers'. ~Tigger
Part I
Prologue: Don't Call Us
"Dammit, dammit, DAMMIT!" Ty Edwards railed, even as he slammed his apartment door closed behind him. "Dammit _ALL_ to _HELL_!!!"
Another audition down the toilet. Hell, the eight hours of minimum wage pay he MIGHT have earned had he not been standing around waiting for his turn to read for this part had long since spiraled down the porcelain throne, too. That fifty bucks wouldn't have paid his (seriously overdue) rent, but it would have meant something more appetizing than the three-day old bread and the pitiful bit of moldy cheese that would now be his dinner.
But the worst - that absolute worst - was getting slapped squarely in the face with unequivocal proof of something he already knew and should have long ago acknowledged.
Deep in his heart, anyway.
He wasn't going to make it as a serious actor.
The proof of that had come when he'd slipped back into the theater to retrieve his forgotten umbrella. . .
Once back inside the theater, Ty found that the audition room door cracked open. Crossing to the coat-tree from which his umbrella hung, he was able to make out voices from within the audition room - voices he recognized all too easily as belonging to producer and the director who'd conducted his audition. Unable to resist, and hoping to hear something positive, he stole over to the door for a quick, furtive peak through the tiny opening. He wasn't able to see much, but apparently the two men had been joined by a woman who had not been present for his reading. She was seated facing the two men with her back to the door. He couldn't see her face, but Ty could tell from her relaxed manner that she was perfectly at ease being so close to the brusque producer.
"I really liked that Edwards-kid's delivery," the director said.
"Too damned short," growled the producer, making the statement sound like an epithet. "And he can't sing for shit."
"We might be able to work around his height - Alan Ladd was short, and he did just fine with the ladies. As for the singing, all he really needs is to be heard and understood. I'm sure he can. His enunciation and delivery were great."
"This isn't Hollywood! This is live theater and you can't hide the fact that he's barely five-five when he has to trot out on stage or dance with the rest of the cast. Hell, Roxie Hunter is gonna be the female lead, and she's five-seven in her stocking feet! Not only that, but the only time she's EVER in only her stocking feet is when she's changing from one pair of heels to another."
"Darling," a feminine voice put in, "Language, please."
"Sorry, luvie," the producer's tone became instantly contrite, but only in response to the woman's admonition. His voice hardened again when he turned his attention back to the director. "Roxie's a freakin' dancer! Her legs are her best feature so we have to play to them, and that kid can't. Forget him."
"But he dances well - really gracefully - you saw the tape of his workout, Jazz," the director said, evidently to the woman because Ty thought he heard an affirmative murmur from her. "He'd be easy to choreograph, and he's got a real feel for the part..." The director's persistence gave Ty hope.
"Look, the broads are taller, so the studs have to be taller, too. He isn't, so he isn't getting the part! Got it?"
"Dar-ling," the voice of the woman called Jazz was sharp now. "I WON'T tell you again. Watch your mouth!"
"Yes, sweetie." That must be some woman, Ty thought. He found himself wondering about a woman who could shut up the boorish producer in mid-spate - even if only for a few seconds.
"He did move very well," she continued speculatively.
"But, luvie," the producer countered, almost obsequiously, "What happens if he drops Roxie during one of the dance routines? The show would be ruined." Then, he changed the target of his remarks back to the director. "Don't waste my time with him, again - got it?"
"Got it," the director sighed with an awful finality.
"Look, Roxie would make your guy look fragile and dainty, for go. . goodness' sake. Find me somebody who's tall enough to make our star look dainty."
"Okay, you're the boss."
"Glad you finally remembered that fact."
The utter finality of that pronouncement was still ringing in his ears when Ty had crept away from the theater to wander aimlessly about the streets of downtown New York. For several gray, wet hours Ty had tried - really tried - to find that hoped-for something positive in what he'd overheard. On one hand, the director - that is to say - the TRUE theater professional in that damned room had wanted to give him a chance at the lead role. He, at least, had recognized Ty's professional acting abilities and had valued them.
Unfortunately, it was the money men - the *angels* - and wasn't THAT term a joke when applied to that unfeeling oaf of a producer - and not the professionals who provided the monetary grease upon which the wheels of theatrical world turned.
And this show's angel had just cast Ty out of the theater's bright lights and into the darkness of the 'real world.'
Ty told himself that it was past time that he had accepted the harsh realities, and took stock of what passed for his life in this big, bad and lonely city. As he began to slowly make his way back across downtown toward his little apartment, he began mentally ticking off those painful truths on his wet fingers.
Truth 1. He hadn't had a real acting job in nearly six months.
Truth 2. Whatever money he could make as a waiter, or short order cook, or in retail sales, was barely enough to keep him afloat here in the big bad city, and with the economic down turn, even those lousy jobs were hard to come by. They were hard to keep, too, since most employers preferred 'reliable' workers, which they defined to be a species that did not include wannabe actors who regularly asked for time off to go to auditions. Or who would quit without the desired notice if a 'real' acting job came along. Not that he'd seen one of those real acting jobs recently, anyway - see Truth 1 above.
Truth 3. He currently didn't have one of those lousy jobs, either. He didn't have ANY job - period.
Truth 4. He was flat broke. See Truth 3 above.
So here he was, broke, out of work, three days from eviction from a ramshackle room, and looking forward to a meal that just might give him food poisoning. Not much to show for years of education, training, hard work and sweat. Fighting back the dark emotions that closed in about his soul, Ty cursed the gene set that had given him the talent and the drive to succeed, but had denied him the scant inches he needed to have the opportunity to express that talent.
It was probably just as well that Ma Bell had cut off his phone service last week, he mused ironically. Otherwise he'd have to deal with the decision of whether he should call home to ask for money. Wouldn't his father just relish that 'I told you so' opportunity?
Okay, he thought, let's call that 'Truth 5.' He had what almost any sane person would call a great job waiting for him back home - good salary, great benefits, a share of the company, and the fast track to the president's corner-office in a few years. God, but the last thing Ty wanted to do with his life was to 'work his way up the ladder', busting his ass to prove he had the 'right stuff' for the corporate world until his father finally deemed that he was ready to take over the family business. There WAS more to life than making money.
Wasn't there?
Ty had always hoped so - believed so - but what other choice did he have now? Being homeless and hungry on the streets of New York would flat-out suck. Even fuel injectors had to be better than that.
Chapter 1: Casting Call
The schizoid ringing of his door bell ("Be it ever so humble" with five or so of the notes randomly refusing to play) was a welcome distraction from that line of thought. A true survivor of the 'hard-knocks' school of city dwelling, Ty checked his peephole before starting to unlock his door. What, or rather who he saw on the other side had him hurrying to undo the four independently-keyed deadbolt security locks he'd installed at his own expense when he'd moved in so many months ago.
"ShaJuana!" he said, real pleasure suffusing his tone. "What's up?"
"Eaten yet?" the ebony-skinned goddess in jeans and a "Gold's Gym" muscle shirt asked, holding up a bulging bag with the logo of a nearby Chinese take-out place. "I have sweet and sour pork," she said, teasingly.
"No!" he said in a rush, and then stepped back to let her in. "I was just trying to figure out what culinary wonder with which I would tempt my palette."
"Well, if you're gonna cook, this can always get eaten as leftovers," ShaJuana offered.
"No, I think this will be much better all around. Not to mention safer."
"Great. You get some plates and stuff, and I'll lay this out and open the wine."
In the claustrophobically-tight niche that the landlord had proudly advertised as a kitchen, Ty's mind was only half on sorting out knives, forks and plates - the other half was focused on the magnificent ShaJuana Price. ShaJuana was a singer/dancer who kept the wolves from her door by working part-time as both a fitness model and as a personal trainer when she was 'between acting engagements'. She was five feet, ten and a half inches and one hundred and fifty-nine pounds (okay, maybe 165) of tautly muscled, yet shapely black beauty. She was, in Ty's opinion, the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.
ShaJuana's problem in the theater was exactly the opposite of Ty?s own. In three inch dancing heels, she towered over most leading men and just about every locally available male principal dancer. Few if any of the current crop of actors or dancers could partner her in a serious modern dance without risking a hernia. Last Ty had heard, she was looking to put a girl-group together - sort of a ?Destiny?s Child Grows Up and Joins the WNBA? with some of her taller girl-pals. Since she hadn't invited him to attend so much as a rehearsal, that probably wasn't going all that well either.
"Hey, Ty-RONE," a voice called from the other side of the studio. "You gonna bring those plates or let us starve here?"
Suddenly, he was ravenous. "Coming. And for calling me Tyrone, YOU have to surrender ALL the sweet and sour!"
"Dream ON, Ty-RONE, you dream on."
After the disappointments of the day, it felt good to laugh.
Somehow, over the meal, she had teased him into talking about the audition. When he'd asked her how she'd heard, she'd simply informed him that, "A little bird told me." And then she'd just listened, saying only enough to keep him talking until he?d finally run down. Only much later did Ty realize just how skillfully his friend had drawn him out, how much he had revealed that he might otherwise have preferred unsaid - even to as close a friend as Juana.
"So," ShaJuana said, topping off his wineglass, "What are you going to do? Go back home to sticksville? Make fuel injectors for the rest of your life?"
Ty sighed. "It's either that or porn, I guess." At the startled look on his guest's face, he chuckled. "One of my, umm, co-stars from an earlier acting gig shared a dressing room with me. He does the occasional adult video these days. Anyway, he calls me about once a month or so to ask me if I'm ready to earn some 'real money'. He thinks I've got - how do I put this politely? Ah, yes, I've got 'what it takes' to make it big in the skin-trade."
"Oh really?" ShaJuana cooed, infusing a world of mock sensual interest into those two words. "Packin' large, are you, cutie? How many inches?"
"Juana!" Ty yelped, and then glared at her as the tall woman dissolved into a surprisingly girlish giggle fit.
"The.. hee hee hee. . LOOK. . on your FACE!" she managed to gasp out. "Oh, god, Ty, that LOOK!"
"I cannot say how pleased I am to have provided you with such amusement, I'm sure," he replied, calling upon the starchy, pompous dignity of a character role he'd once played in an Agatha Christie production.
And then laughed back at ShaJuana when she started to babble out an apology. "Oh, you," she finally muttered when they'd both calmed down. "So, will I be able to see this. . .'what it takes' in Debbie Does Dallas 15, coming soon to an adult vid-shop near you?"
Ty didn't answer immediately, and instead sipped his wine reflectively. It wasn't like he hadn't given the concept a good deal of thought. Truth to tell, the money would have been damned useful, but in the end, it wouldn't work for him and he knew it. "No. Too public, too much baggage. Even if I were never to work in the legitimate theater again, who knows who might recognize you from the few face shots a guy gets in one of those vids? Might make it hard to sell fuel injectors in the Bible Belt, you know?"
Now it was the elegant black woman's turn to gaze thoughtfully into her wine glass. "You say so, but from what I've seen, about the only thing in the world more faceless than the chick doing a porn shoot is the stud doing her, but I can see it your way, too. So, it's the, ahhh, public nature of doin' porn that really stops you from goin' there?"
"I guess so, when you put it that way. Why do you ask?"
"'Cause I just might have a proposition for you, Ty. It's a little off in left field - okay," she grinned wickedly, "Maybe it's a LOT out in left field, but if you agree, you're guaranteed $250.00 for two hours work - maybe twice that, with the chance for more of the same if things work out."
"Who do I have to kill?" Ty demanded flippantly, and then saw the serious look on his friend's face. Suddenly, he put things together. "Not public. . .you want me to . . .to become a prostitute?" His voice cracked in shock.
ShaJuana sat up and leaned towards him. "Not quite. What I have in mind isn't prostitution - not under the legal code of the City and State of New York, anyway. Look, Ty, my. . . employer and I have this client who likes to play on the edge. She's looking for some way to . . . to meet his needs without," she hesitated, as if seeking the right words, then shrugged. "Without things going too far. Let's just leave it at that for the moment, okay?"
"Okay, but I'm not sure what I could do to help you with a client of yours in that vein. I thought you were a personal trainer. Besides, isn't going to the edge with that kind of thing dangerous? What about heart attacks and. . ."
The black woman's cheeks darkened as blood rushed to her face. She held up a hand to squelch his questions. "Well, I am a personal trainer, Ty, but just not quite the way you mean, and I do have a client who you COULD really help me with him. Without havin' to worry about a heart attack or such."
"Oh, really? If you're not THAT type of trainer, and this ISN'T hooking, just what kind of client are we talking around here?"
"A submissive," was her soft, almost whispered reply.
"A what?" Ty asked, confused.
"A submissive," she reiterated more firmly. "To put a point on it, the guy pays big bucks to be my part-time sex slave."
"A sex slave," he repeated. "You said this wasn't about prostitution."
"It's not prostitution because there is no intercourse, no oral sex, not even a hand job - by me, that is. If he gets off, he jacks off. I just watch, and give him some. . .pointed direction and make a few snide comments from time to time while he does it."
"And you think I can help? How? I'm not exactly Mr. Studly, you know. . . Oh. . .you want me to play the part of another, what did you call him? Oh, yeah, another submissive with him?" He shrugged away the twinges of emotion - embarrassment and annoyance, that idea evoked in his heart. He was, after all, an actor, and a role was a role, and money was money!
"No. . ." ShaJuana said, drawing out the word, "I want you to be the other dominant in a scene with him - a very passable TV mistress."
"Huh? TV? Mistress? Don't tell there's some kind of reality show on the tube about learning to be a dominatrix now!? Must be one of the cable access channels 'cause I sure haven't seen it on my over-the-airwaves-only rabbit-ears."
Chocolate brown eyes rolled heavenward in laughing disbelief. "Not TV - as in TELEVISION -, you knucklehead! Cripes, Ty, you kill me! I want you to be a TV - as in TRANSVESTITE - Mistress! I want to rig you out in leather, lace and latex, squeeze you into a corset and too-tight, too-high heels, slap a big-hair wig and some Goth-girl lip gloss on you and have you there when I work him. At the critical moment, we'll just, ah well, spring your true nature on him - literally."
"You're kidding me, right? This is one of your practical jokes, isn't it?"
"If it is a practical joke, it's on him - my client, that is - not you. Really, I'm serious about this, Ty. My, ah, boss is serious, too. Look, I'm not supposed to get into this with you, but she's already talked money with me about this. It's her idea, but she asked me if I knew anyone, from my actor friends, who might be able and willing to pull it off."
"She talked money?"
"She talked money - some of it up front, assuming you give it your best shot and don't wimp out on me. And if we can pull this off and really screw with his head for him? Maybe enough to give you some breathing space with your landlord."
"He'll know I'm a guy from the beginning," he protested weakly. "There won't be any surprise or shock value or whatever it is you're planning."
"Oh, trust me, cutie, just trust me. I've made uglier men than you into passable girls in my time as a 'personal trainer'. You'll be drop-dead sexy. And you'll be disguised so he'll never know what you really look like - as Tyrone, that is. Heck, the whole public thing won't even be an issue. He could meet you at the bus stop right after the session, and unless you forget to cream away your makeup, never even know you've been just introduced."
"Great, just what I need to hear," he groaned.
"Huh?" Juana interrupted, confused. "What's the matter now?"
Ty could only shake his head and laugh. "What's the matter, the woman asks me. Shit, Juana, I'll tell you what's the matter. The very first time - in my WHOLE life - anyone has EVER said I could be 'drop-dead sexy?' She's talking about dressing me as a woman. What a world." Juana didn't say anything, letting her friend stew over it in his mind. Then, he turned back to her. "What makes you think I could pull this off? I have to tell you that in my sadly limited romantic experience, I haven't ever ravished anyone."
ShaJuana tossed her wild mane of black curls back and laughed. With a saucy, suggestive smile, she purred, "Honey, it ain't about ravishin', it's about dominatin', and trust me, you can handle that part just fine."
That stopped Ty in mid-argument. Dominating? Him? Well, that was certainly paradigm shift for his self image. It was rather exciting that a woman like ShaJuana Price thought he could be dominant. "You think I could pull that off?" he asked, hesitantly.
The cackle of laughter that answered him sent shivers up and down his spine. "WHooooeeee, ty-RONE, How kin you axe me that?" his guest demanded in the heavy, city-black accent of a younger, less self-assured ShaJuana. "ME? Homegirl herself? Keee-ripes, sugah, ya most scared me white tryin' to teach me to talk good for that turkey play we was in, boy."
Ty had to smile at that memory. He had first met the statuesque actress when they'd both been hired for the cast of an off-off-off-Broadway show about a mind-swapped couple. ShaJuana, as the maid into whom the Master's mind was swapped, had needed to recite her lines using an aristocratic English accent. Tyrone, as the Master into whom the maid's mind switched, had needed to learn how to 'shake his booty' for several dance sequences. Since neither of them had the financial wherewithal to pay for acting or dancing lessons, they'd coached each other, becoming close friends in the process. Ty had learned his lessons more easily than had ShaJuana, but by god, she'd eventually learned them.
In time for the ill-fated show to fold before its third performance, but she HAD learned them.
"Will you do it?" ShaJuana asked again.
For a moment, Ty thought about refusing, only to remember that sticksville and fuel injectors still lurked out there in the darkness - waiting to pounce, waiting to suck the creative juices from him forever. As long as there was hope, another way open to him, he couldn't give up his dream and go crawling back to his father's business. Ty shrugged, and tried to smile. "Okay, when? I really do need money that badly."
"The session is scheduled for two days from now, in the afternoon. How about you come to my place tomorrow, and we'll see what we can do to make you pretty, okay?"
Ty hesitated just a moment more. If she could pull this off, it would just about put paid to his dreams of ever being a serious stage actor. Serious stage actors had to be 'leading men' - they didn't 'lead men' about while wearing leather catsuits and stiletto heels.
Still, it was paid 'employment' - even acting - and it was legal. Or at least, it wasn't actually illegal.
And it wasn't fuel injectors, which was all that needed to be said. "I'll be there," he promised. "10 o'clock okay with you?"
Chapter 2: Stage Test 1: Act 1, Scene 1: Costume Fitting
Ty was far less certain about his decision the next morning when he presented himself at ShaJuana's flat. He'd almost called Juana twice to beg off. Vandalized public phones and his own disconnected service were all that had gotten him this far. He'd just have to tell her to her face that he couldn't do it.
Unfortunately for that plan, telling ShaJuana Price 'no' - particularly face-to-face - was not something at which Tyrone Edwards had ever had any degree of success. Nor was this time the exception that might otherwise prove that rule. Juana had literally dragged him inside the door of her small flat before Ty had so much as drawn breath to speak. And then, she'd laid a finger across his lips to keep him shut up with one hand, while she passed a heavy parchment envelope to him with the other. "Not a word, Ty, until you've opened that and read the note inside."
Baffled, he nodded his head and saw his name written on the envelope. The first thing he noticed was the handwriting. It was exquisite, and somehow, he knew without reading the first word that the author was female and proud of that fact. "Your boss?" he asked, holding up the envelope to ShaJuana.
"I said 'not a word,' Tyrone, until you've read it," his friend replied sternly. "Either read it, or put it down now and we'll forget the whole deal."
Seeing the resolve on his friend's lovely features, Ty shrugged, then broke the old-fashioned wax seal on the envelope. Inside were two items - a note on parchment stationery that matched the envelope, and a crisp, brand-new fifty-dollar bill. Ty glanced longingly at the bill before turning his full attention to unfolding the note and reading its contents.
'Dear Mr. Edwards,
Since you are reading this, I must assume that ShaJuana has managed to convince you to attempt my little project. Once you have read this note, you may keep the enclosed $50.00 even if you elect not to take this any further. ShaJuana has been directed to give you a quick quiz on the contents of this note should you decide to leave. You must pass the quiz in order to keep the money, so I suggest you finish reading my little missive.
What I have in mind is for you to help me play with one of my favorite clients. However, I am a perfectionist when it comes to my vocation, and I must have confidence that you can and will give satisfaction in the role I intend you to fill. In order to evaluate your abilities in this area, I propose two tests: one today, and one tomorrow. If you pass today's test, you will be given the opportunity to attempt tomorrow's challenge. Let me assure you that I will pay you at the end of each test, provided that you make an honest attempt.
I point this out because, in honesty, the tests will be demanding, and for many men in our society, unacceptable to their basic self image. All I ask is that you start each test, and if you do reach a point where you find you cannot continue, be honest enough to share that with ShaJuana and myself.
Today's exercise will be simple enough for you if you are, indeed, the actor ShaJuana believes you are. You must try to dress passably as a woman. Between your own talents and those of ShaJuana, that should not be difficult. Complete this day's challenge successfully, which I insist you prove by having a photograph of you taken en femme, and you will be given another $150.00.
I hasten to add that the picture is not for the purposes of blackmailing you. As an actor, it would be very easy for you to pass off any such attempt as being required for a role - which in fact, it is. No, the picture is to ensure that ShaJuana fulfills her part of this exercise, which is to dress you properly. I know of the friendship between you, and of your current financial need. I also know that you have refused direct financial help from ShaJuana on at least two occasions. Unless she shows me 'before' and 'after' pictures of you, any money you receive will be deducted from her next paycheck.
For an actor, this should be the easiest two hundred dollars you'll ever make, and it will be the prerequisite for taking tomorrow's test.
For now, I won't go into specifics about what I intend to ask of you in that regard as I want your full attention on completing today's test to the best of your ability. I will say that tomorrow's test will be more in nature of 'method' training for the role I have in mind for you should you decide to play with us. If you come tomorrow, and give it your honest, best attempt, I will pay you $1,000, even if in the end either of us decides you cannot go any further.
Consider your options carefully, Mr. Edwards. You risk very little, as anonymity is every bit as vital to my clients and me as it would be to you. No real harm will be inflicted on any person involved in this venture as that would both violate my personal ethics and would ruin my personal pleasure in my play.
I hope to see you tomorrow at 10:00 AM.
Sincerely,
Maitresse Solange'
"Holy shit," Ty muttered softly as he digested the unknown woman's words for a moment. She was right, he told himself. There was nothing about what she wanted him to do that couldn't be written off as preparation for part in a play - a strange play, certainly, but a play nonetheless. Come to that, it wasn't any more off-the-wall than learning to dance like a hip-hop music video girl for that first play with ShaJuana. And if no one was going to get hurt in all this. . . well, for TWELVE HUNDRED BUCKS, cripes, but he hadn't had that much money at one time in - well, he couldn't even remember when he had. He could handle a whole lot of teasing for that kind of money. Smiling for the first time that day, Ty raised his hand in the air like a school boy who needed to go to the bathroom. "Can I talk, now, teacher?"
"Smartass," ShaJuana said with a rueful grin. Then she picked up a small recording device and turned it on. "Are you going to stay and finish today's exercises, Mr. Edwards?" she went on, in formal tones.
"Yes, ShaJuana, I will stay and do my best."
For just a moment, she shut her eyes in something like relief, before reaching over and turning off the recorder. "Glad that's over. The Maitresse can be the most total bitch when she's crossed. Now, you can keep that fifty without worrying about whether it is really my money."
"She evidently knows a lot about me," Ty said carefully. "Including how close our friendship is."
Serious again, ShaJuana nodded. "She had to know, Ty, before she decided to trust you even this far. She has to protect our clients and the other girls who work for her at the dungeon. I think it was the fact that you wouldn't take any money from me, even when you needed it to stay in that rathole flat of yours is what convinced her to give you a try in this role."
"Okay, I can understand that. So what's the plan for today? Leather bustiers, latex panties and fishnet stockings?"
"Hah, you wish!"
"What? I wish?"
"Can't go for a nice walk in the park in full-up Domme gear, honey."
"HEY, no one said anything about going out. . "
"And we won't, unless I think you'll pass and you're willing. . "
"Which I won't. . ."
"For another fifty bucks," ShaJuana said coaxingly. "Which, combined with the other two hundred she promised you will be enough to keep your landlord off your back for a few more days. Maitresse said that if the after pictures come from that little photo-booth outside the park, she'd spring for the extra fifty as a bonus," 'Juana wheedled.
That stopped Ty in mid-sentence. Unfortunately, her assessment of the current state of his finances and his landlord's patience was only too true. "Bitch," he finally breathed, before giving her a bashful smile. "You promise you'll be honest with me? About passing?"
"Would I lie to you, Ty-RONE?!?"
"I won't answer that," he sniffed, and barely managed to duck the flying pillow that answered him. "So, to ask again, what's on the costume manager's list for today?"
"Nothing too unusual. Couple outfits, actually - just basic everyday stuff. Think sexy girl next door," then she grinned wickedly, "except for a pair of two, well, maybe three inch high heels. You'll need the practice."
"Three inch heels? You're kidding, right?"
ShaJuana smiled wickedly. "Nope. If you pull this gig off, you'll need them. Hey, the shortest I wear when I'm working a sub measure five inches, honey. For the scene, Maitresse will probably put you in four-inchers, at least, but you'd be kinda conspicuous walking around downtown in those ankle-breakers - particularly if you're a slow learner. Think of it as easing yourself into the role slowly."
"Slow learner, my ass. So, where do I stand for my before-pic?" he asked, looking around for a decent backdrop for his first portrait of the day.
"Into the shower, ty-RONE," ShaJuana ordered sternly from behind the small bathroom's closed door. "That hair remover should be just about done."
"Thank you, God," he breathed as he scampered for the relief of cool, running water to wash away the liquid fire she'd rubbed everywhere that wasn't covered by the Speedo swimsuit his friend had provided for his modesty.
ShaJuana peaked through in the doorway, smiling as she heard heartfelt sighs of relief issue from the other side of the shower curtain. "Better get those trunks off, Ty, and soap up your crotch and butt real good. The hot soapy water will soften those pubes of yours and make them easier for me to shave for you."
Ty's head burst out from a crack between the curtain-halves, the two panes clutched tightly about his body to preserve what little dignity he still possessed. "Shave?!? Down there?!? You're shitting me!"
Smiling, 'Juana shook her head slowly, while dangling an unopened economy package of pink "Lady Bic" razors up for his examination. "Gotta be done, boy. Part of the costume, Ty. Maitresse's orders. Don't want no scraggly ol' guy-pubes showin' when you work our client. So, either you shave off what's left, or I do. And I figure those precious jewels are gonna be a whole lot safer in my hands than yours. Least-ways, I can see what I'm doin' down there, but hey, it's your choice. " She watched her friend struggle with this next step. Clearly, he hadn't fully digested that they were going to have to be nude or nearly nude in each other's presence; something that brought a whole new level of intimacy into their heretofore platonic if flirtatious relationship.
In a less teasing voice, she said again, "If we do the scene, I'm going to see your treasures in all their glory, anyway, so it might as well be now. I am pretty good with a razor around the, ah, sensitive bits, ya know. I do mine every week, and have done more than a couple of my darlin' little sissy boys, too," she added, "at the dungeon. Of course," she added, in an exaggeratedly reflective tone, "I did those with a straight razor. I think I have one if. . ."
"NO!" Ty bellowed, retreating back under the shower and letting the water stream down his body. Then, with a dripping shrug, he slipped out of the trunks, extended them out between the curtains, and tossed them to the floor at ShaJuana's feet. They made, he decided, a rather satisfyingly wet 'splat' when they hit, and he could only hope they'd splashed Juana. "Those safety razors will be just fine, thankyouverymuch!"
"Relax, Ty, I promise I won't cut off anything important!"
"I know that in my head, but . . . "
"I know," ShaJuana said with a giggle, "It's your little head down here that's not getting the message. Not that it's all that little. Maybe you do have a future in adult vids, after all." She gave the length of his penis a sensually teasing slide with her soapy hand. "Mmmmmmmm," she purred suggestively from deep in her throat, "You DO have a nice one, white boy."
"Juana! Don't DO that!"
"Oh pooh, Ty. Just relax and enjoy it, okay? Besides, it's easier to get a smooth shave when the skin is taut." Another fondle had him shuddering. Women and sex, like money, had been in sadly short supply in recent times. It was all he could do to hold back the eruption that nearly overwhelmed his control as his ebony Amazon drew the razor down the center of his scrotum.
And besides - this was 'Juana! His best friend, the angelic-Ty standing piously atop his right shoulder reminded him. She was, in the final analysis, just another buddy, for all she was a girl. Kind of like a sister, right?
Like HELL, the little devil leering at her form his perch on Ty's left shoulder shouted in his mind. ShaJuana wasn't his sister and she wasn't JUST a girl - she was a damned GORGEOUS girl, and to hell with this 'just buddies' crap!!
Before the little angel could retaliate with a suitable riposte to that argument, the little devil won. "I get to do you!" Ty blurted, and instantly regretted it as her grip on his manhood suddenly tightened reflexively.
"Do me. . .WHAT, Ty-rone?" she demanded, her eyes wide and her lips a tight line.
Swallowing hard, he considered backing down and making a joke. Only, he realized, he didn't think it was a joke. "I want to shave you," he managed to get past the lump in his throat. "Ummm, down there. . . . some time. . ."
For a moment, he was sure he'd blown it, and then her face relaxed into the teasing smile that he'd learned to beware. "Do you really?" she mused, her hands returning to her task. "Well, maybe I'll let you." And the smile went from teasing to . . . something more.
Ty goggled, and ShaJuana laughed. "Maybe," she repeated. "Afterwards."
"After what? You're done doing me?"
Juana laughed throatily at that. "Hell, no, cute-thing. Sometime AFTER we blow my slave boy's mind together and after Maitresse pays you for what had damn well better be the most stellar performance of your acting career tomorrow." She leaned over, hinting at her mouth going to his now-throbbing manhood, then bent back up and gave him a quick pecking kiss on the tip of his nose. "Consider that offer as motivation for getting into your role, sweetie."
Chapter 3: Stage Test 1 - Act 1, Scene 2: Just a Walk in the Park
"That wasn't so bad, now was it. . . Tyra?" Juana asked with the smug assurance of a parent whose child had just learned - the hard way - that broccoli wasn't poisonous. She was slipping the two strips of photo-booth pictures into an envelope for later delivery to her boss, confident that Maitresse would love them. "Don't leave your purse in the booth, sweetie."
"Oh! Right!" the blonde came up short and hurried back into the booth, returning moments later carrying the small day purse over her shoulder. "Forgot about, well. . . and I guess it wasn't too bad - the picture taking I mean. It's not like I was in a war zone, being shot at. . ."
"Or you could be in your daddy's factory, fiddling with carburetors?" At her companion's reluctant nod, she smiled. "How about a little walk, girl friend? Not to be too picky, but, honey? You could use the practice."
"Okay, I guess," was the softly spoken reply. "And it's fuel injectors."
One nice thing about trained actors, Juana mused, they already knew how to modulate their voices to suit the parts they were playing. Ty's pitch was already good enough to pass - they just needed to work on a few minor touches, and then only if Maitresse decided to give him a speaking part in her little comedy. However, her friend's body-carriage and movement still needed some pointed reminders that Tyra wasn't Ty and she shouldn't be moving like him. ShaJuana leaned over to whisper, "Don't clomp like that! You'll hurt yourself in them heels and, 'sides, you'll call attention to yourself!"
"Oh!" Ty repeated, "Got it. I'll try, but let's not go too fast or too far from your place?" Ty asked, "I know these shoes aren't quite three inches, but I don't want to have to limp back to your place barefoot over the streets of New York because I got carried away in your enthusiasms."
"No prob, Tyra. Just keep movin' them hips to the rhythm of the city and you'll be just fine. You try to stride out like you're marching and those heels'll come back and bite you."
"I suppose." Distracted by the reflection in one of the glass storefronts, Ty slipped up and fell back into 'male voice'. He'd played many roles, he thought wonderingly, from a teenaged boy to a stodgy, geriatric British aristocrat whose body had been taken over by the mind of a Jamaican tweenie. He was USED to seeing himself transformed by the magic of costume and makeup into someone completely different.
But this? Never.
The person who stared back from those murky depths would have been at home on any college campus in the country. Well, ones that had girls on them, anyway. She, for the reflected person was definitely a she, was of average height for a woman, thanks mostly to the aforementioned high heels.
Because the shade suited Ty's natural coloration, the 'she' in that window had straight blond hair which Juana had combed back into a simple pony tail. Gold wire-framed glasses were perched on the nose of a very lightly made-up face, giving the reflected 'she' the large eyed look of a startled fawn. A figure hugging t-shirt clung lovingly to a modest, yet shapely bosom and was tucked into skin-tight, calf-length jeans that showed off very womanly hips and a rounded butt.
Still amazed, Ty turned away from the glass, arched his back and looked over his shoulder at the back of the reflected girl. "I still can't believe you let me wear jeans. . ."
"Voice!" ShaJuana hissed urgently, bringing Ty up short.
Taking a deep breath, the blonde nodded, and started moving down the sidewalk. The tall black girl relaxed, as they put some distance between themselves and anyone who might have heard her partner's momentary slip. As mistakes went, it really hadn't been that bad, she thought, recalling her experiences as a dominatrix who often pushed her subbies out into the public world en femme, but then again, there was no point in taking undue risks.
"Tyra? Why don't we take a turn around the park? I know you've got questions, and we'll have some privacy there for the answers." And if you slip up again, she thought, there won't be so many people who might pick up on it. With that, she took Ty's elbow gently in her hand, and firmly guided her creation across the street to the park entrance.
"Caught you by surprise, didn't it?" Juana asked when they were in a quiet section of the park. "When you saw yourself in that window and saw what other folks were seeing?"
"My Go. . " Ty's voice started, and then modulated into Tyra's, "od, Juana. You told me to swing my hips, and then I saw myself! I mean, I really have, well, hips to swing! I mean, I've heard of falsies - what guy hasn't - but I always thought that meant, well, you know," and Tyra's hands made a subtle cupping motion in the general direction of her modest bosom. "and. . and these aren't even very big. I sort of expected, well, more. . ."
Juana laughed at her friend's confused rambling. "Hey, some girls need help up top and some need booty-buildin'. Now, most of my special clients - the ones like YOU - well, they need help both ways, so we keep a supply of both types of falsies at the house. As to why your figure is more J-Lo than Dolly? In case you never thought about it, hon, it ain't boobs that say 'girl!' and bring out the 'yee-hah' in a guy's hormones. It's hips and it's a great ass that flare out from a small waist. Thanks to those falsies and that bit of corset, you, baby, got back!"
"And the makeup? I know I told you I could do it, but. . "
"But you would have done what you've been trained to do with makeup, Ty, not what was needed today. It would have been more dramatic - stage makeup - much too obvious for this outing. I wanted your face to be subtle for the same reason I had you wear jeans instead of that skirt set. We don't want you getting too many second looks because you don't know enough about your role yet to pass the closer second look. You don't understand how to operate in a skirt without flashing half of Manhattan. Jeans aren't out of place. That light makeup isn't out of place. So, YOU, Tyra-the-girl aren't seen as being out of place. Got it?
"Hiding in plain sight?"
"Exactly! Any other questions?"
"Can we go back to your place now? I need to get out of these shoes soon or I won't be able to walk tomorrow, let alone perform."
"Sure, hon. Feel like some eggs and toast? I'll give you some 'Eating like a girl' lessons while we have lunch."
Interlude: A Family Affair.
"Mistress?" a male voice called to her, interrupting her anticipation of tomorrow's little play.
The woman looked up from her desk, and fought back the smile that threatened to soften her aristocratic features. He was a sight in nothing but his absurdly small mob cap, the white lace apron and the men's size 13 EEEE, six-inch-tall stiletto heels. A feather duster hanging from a leather lanyard at his wrist was his only accessory. Ridiculous as his costume might seem to others less discerning than herself, he was, in a word, perfect - at least for her.
"Yes, what is it?" she demanded sternly.
"I've finished cleaning up after dinner and am about to go down to prepare the dungeon, Mistress. I just wanted to know what type of wine you would like for afterwards? I have a very nice red that I could set to breathe, if you think that would suit?"
She didn't answer immediately, as if she were carefully considering the possibilities. In reality, she was simply reveling in her view of her submissive flushing red with excitement from this mild humiliation she had imposed upon him. The 'unsightly' bulge beneath the lacy apron proved that she was not alone enjoying this little warmup scene before their night's main event.
"I think I'm in the mood for something bubbly tonight. Put some Krug on ice, and then go wait for me in the dungeon. I'll be down shortly. I expect to be pleased with your cleaning and with your personal presentation." There was an implied 'or else' in her tone that sent shivers racing up and down her submissive's spine.
As she'd intended.
"Yes, Mistress," was the quick response. She heard the eagerness in his voice, and smiled as she watched him scurry bare-assed from the room, his heels clicking on the hard tile of the hallway floor. Those size-13's had been expensive, but well worth it for the fun they both had whenever she prescribed their wear for this task or another.
With the preparations for the evening's entertainment now well in hand, she turned her attention back to the parcel she'd just received from ShaJuana. She laid the two strips of photographs carefully on her desk and examined them closely under the light of her lamp.
The pictures were snapshot quality, but still sufficient for her purposes. The potential she'd expected to find was there, captured in Kodacolor. The child had made the effort to 'be in role' for the pictures, too, for the classic images of the 'just-barely-adult' female were there - the head cocked, teasing smile; wide eyes peaking over the lenses of those cute glasses (props to ShaJuana for that little embellishment) at the camera; the half-grin, with the glasses dangling near her mouth, and so on.
However, it was the final picture that caught her eye, and that gave her confidence that this one could indeed pull off the role she envisioned for ShaJuana's friend. Lips tight and showing white teeth in a feral grin, and the manicured middle finger of one hand presented in the classic gesture, the sweet girl of the other photos was no where to be found in this one. No, this was the picture of a female predator, ready to pounce on her prey and then happily play with it before finally deigning to make the kill.
If the young actor did as well tomorrow when she gave him his go-no-go test, then they'd see, wouldn't they? The possibilities, she mused, there were just such interesting possibilities.
Smiling at the thought of those possibilities, she put the photos back in the envelope, carefully filed it away, and then rose from the desk. She had other things to do now, such as inspect her 'maid-servant's' attempts at housework.
Her poor subbie had yet to do a really thorough job of cleaning anything the first time when she had him in those stilts. She had never figured out if it was because,
a. being male, he was genetically incapable of properly cleaning anything;
b. being that tall meant he didn't see the dirt that well, or
c. that he rushed so he could get out of the shoes as quickly as possible, or
d. because he liked being punished as much as she liked punishing him.
Probably some or all of the above, she thought with a smile. In any case, she headed for the dining room and kitchen with every expectation that her darling mate would have to sleep on his tummy tonight; his penance for yet another botched clean-up assignment.
When she finally let him go to sleep, that is. She had other tasks for him that would, she was sure, take up a goodly portion of the night, to their mutual pleasure.
Chapter 4: Stage Test 2 - Staging and Scenery
The cacophony of the big city's rush hour assailed their ears as ShaJuana led Ty through the theater district towards an area undergoing serious regentrification. Ty expected that they would continue through that neighborhood and into the rougher, as-yet un-reclaimed section of town. Surely, he thought, that was where establishments such as 'dungeons' could thrive without bothering (or being bothered by) the neighbors.
So he was surprised when they stopped in front of a 1940's era warehouse that had been converted into a rather high end street bazaar. The block-long building was filled from end to end with stylish boutiques and shops offering everything from designer clothes to designer foods to designer hair and grooming services. This couldn't be a 'dungeon', he thought. It was too, well, too out in plain sight. How could they hide what was going on with so many people about?
Smiling at his obvious confusion, Juana took him by the arm and led him to a door at the far end of the block of store fronts. A sign on the door indicated it provided access to the "Service Associates, LLC." The door opened onto a well appointed foyer in which a perky, blond receptionist, seated on the other side of the well appointed room, greeted them. "Hi, Juana. The Boss told me to expect you. You and your friend are set to meet with her at 10 AM in Room Play Room - 3. You've got Prep Room -1 right now for your setups."
"Thanks, DeeDee."
"Have fun," the Little-Mary-Sunshine clone chirped as ShaJuana stepped up to the door next the receptionist's station and quickly keyed in a code on the electronic keypad next to the doorknob. When a soft buzzer sounded, she opened the door and indicated that Ty was to enter. Inside the door, a set of stairs led up to the second floor, where a complex of the expected offices were located. Juana led him down a short hallway to a door marked "Office Supplies" and entered. It seemed like a dead end to Ty, and he was about to ask what was up when the entire back wall of the supply closet, shelves and all, swung open to reveal another waiting room. They went inside and the hidden door closed behind them.
"You need to understand, Ty, that you now have enough knowledge to do a lot of damage if you were so inclined, or if you slipped up and told the wrong people. The location of this dungeon is known only to the people who work directly for Maitresse and those people she trusts enough to take on as clients."
"This is it? Really? I mean, this is not what I think of when I hear 'dungeon', Juana."
The beautiful woman's face relaxed into a broad smile. "Oh, you just never know what you'll find where in New York. Besides, who says you gotta have a castle for a real dungeon, right?" Then she became serious again. "You do understand that Maitresse is trusting you, and I'm the one vouching for you?"
"I won't violate your or her trusts, Juana." and there was a stiff, offended tone to his voice.
ShaJuana relaxed, and smiled again. "I know, but I had to hear you say it. Okay, let me give you the nickel tour. Maitresse's business takes up the rest of this floor and all of the third floor of the old warehouse. From here to the other end of the block are the public and preparation rooms - where folks do the meet and greet, get ready to play or come down off a scene. There's even a real clinic down here, as opposed to the play clinic upstairs"
"You ever needed that?"
"Not since I've been here. Maitresse is very careful who she lets play here and how hard she lets them play, but you just never know for sure, right? You never need something like a clinic in-house until you really need it. Come on. Don't know how complicated today's gonna be, but we'll find out what Maitresse wants us, well, what she wants you to be and do today."
The prep-room was a cross between a health club locker room and a theater dressing room. There were large, metal lockers on one wall opposite a large mirror, a multiple-seat vanity table and a dressing screen against the facing wall. The other two walls were lined with clothes racks filled with garments of all types and materials. Beneath the racks were what must have been more than one hundred pairs of shoes, while the shelf on top of one rack had mannikin heads, each sporting a different wig in a variety of colors and styles. The shelf on the other rack held a large number of strange headgear that really could not be called 'hats.'
One thing was immediately obvious. None of the garments, shoes, wigs or headgear were in any way masculine. Well, Ty thought, no surprise there.
While Ty had been staring at the room, ShaJuana had moved over to the vanity and picked up an envelope. Opening it, she quickly removed and scanned through the note, then shrugged. "Okay, Tyra, time to get you fitted out. Skin out of them boy clothes and put them in one of the lockers. All the way! It's just nine and we only have an hour to get ready. Good thing we got rid of the body hair yesterday," she added, more to herself.
Ty just stared at her for a second, then turned to the locker and began to strip. "Gonna give me an idea on the script for this play, Juana?" he asked, looking over his shoulder.
And nearly gave himself whiplash when he snapped back to see the gorgeous Juana already down to her bra and panties. "Umm. . . Juana? Don't you think you should use the screen?"
"No, we don't have time," she replied forcefully, "And didn't I just tell you to strip, boy?"
"Yes, ma'am," he said, and resumed his undressing, caught between that angel and devil again, wanting to respect her privacy while at the same time, wanting to enjoy her tall, voluptuous beauty.
"Hurry up! We've got to get you into this corset, and that will take time."
"We've got an hour," he offered, as he tossed the last of his clothes into the locker. Juana pushed her own into the same locker, and then set the combination lock.
"Didn't you learn anything yesterday, knucklehead? Guess not! Okay, over to the corseting trapeze - NOW!"
"Corseting trapeze? What the hell is that?!?"
"Trust me. You'll love it!"
As it turned out, he didn't.
At 9:45, both he and ShaJuana were mostly in costume. She hadn't been kidding about the heels, either. Hers were easily five inches, probably more, and his were at least four inches tall. Other than that, their costumes couldn't have been more different. Ty wore a classic French Maid's dress in black satin, the skirt stiffened from waist to hem so that it's lowest point was but bare inches lower than the smallest measure of his tightly corseted waist. Impressively realistic breast prosthetics gave the illusion of a full bust and incredible cleavage. Black satin garters, attached to the corset, held up black fishnet stockings. He had a bow tie collar and cuff-linked wrist cuffs that looked like they'd been borrowed from a Playboy Bunny. A blond wig, this time done up in a tight, French braid, was on his head, and was accessorized with a lacy cap.
"I feel like a kinky Mary Poppins who swallowed her umbrella," he groused. "Does this skirt have to poof out like this? It covers nothing and I can't even see my feet!"
"Hey, 'least you ain't havin' to wear the hip and bun pads, boy. In case you haven't figured it out yet, Ty-RONE, that skirt's not s'posed ta cover anything. It has a built-in petticoat to make it stand out like that because that's what a French Maid's skirt looks like, and they're part of that skirt because it's easier for us dominatin' types that way. Only the skirt has to come off when it's time to get the client stripped for action. Petticoats just get in the way and time flies when you're havin' fun." and then she cast a teasing eye-twinkle at her friend. "You'll see. . . maybe."
"Great. Oh well, the show must go on, even for Practically Imperfect in Every Way French Maids with poofed-out skirts."
For her role, Juana was clad head to toe and throat to wrist in a white, leather catsuit that was so tight, it had taken both of them to get her zipped. The contrast between her flawless black skin and the shiny white suit was both shocking and erotic. Moreover, the deeply cut bodice made her breasts look huge. In fact, Ty wasn't entirely sure how what little of Juana's boobs that were covered stayed covered. Just one deep breath, he thought longingly, and all that glory would be just . . . out there to enjoy.
"Do your own makeup, Tyra," Juana ordered as she moved to the vanity herself. "Think about your costume, and think theater. In other words, lay it on thick, bright 'n heavy."
Obeying, Ty moved to the vanity beside his friend. "What about the script?"
The tall woman gave what might have been a sigh. "That's just it, Tyra, there ain't no script. This is all on the fly, improv-stuff, okay? You're a guy, masquerading as maid. Maitresse and I are gonna be the ones you're serving. The thing is, that if you're not spot-on perfect in both the servin' and the girl-stuff, you're gonna get punished as part of the scene."
"Punished? I thought you said I was to play a dominant role in this little play! Punished, HOW?"
"Dominant role's tomorrow, honey. You ain't gonna be a Domme today - not rigged out like that, okay? Maitresse wants to make sure you won't break, won't, well, go spaz during the real scene and ruin it for everyone - especially for the client. So she's going to try to push your buttons. As for the punishment? I'd guess some teasing - heavy teasing, maybe some bondage, and probably a spanking." ShaJuana considered that more carefully and continued. "I'd say a spanking's gonna be a 'for certain', Ty. Maitresse likes handin' out sexy spankings."
Ty was flabbergasted. "SPANKING? She said no one would get hurt! When the hell did THAT change?! Let me out of here, dammit!" he snapped, bending over to undo the straps that held his feet in the inflexible shoes he already hated.
Strong hands gripped his wrists, pulling him back upright so that he was looking up into Juana's chocolate eyes. "It WON'T hurt - not really - trust me, Ty, okay? Sting a little, maybe, but no more than that, I promise you. I went through worse during my training to be a Domme because I had to learn what everything felt like and how to control my strength. This test is to see if you can control yourself, stay in character when things get a little rough emotionally. So you won't mess up the works with Bil. . .I mean, my client. No more than that - believe me."
Ty didn't answer, but she could see the doubt and scepticism in his eyes. "I don't know HER," he finally managed to get out.
"Ty, if I thought she'd hurt you, you wouldn't be here, and neither would I, okay? And if she does hurt you, even by accident - and I truly believe that is the ONLY way she would hurt you - I'll have you out of there in a New York second! Got that?"
"Okay, so if I mess up, and get spanked, I lose my 'Get out of dungeon free card', do not pass Go, but I still collect 1,000 dollars on my way out? I mean, if I'm not feminine enough, I can't do the thing tomorrow, is that it?"
"Well, that's not quite what's goin' down, okay?" Juana momentarily struggled with what and how much to say, then decided to opt for full disclosure. Ty wasn't an experienced player - hell, he wasn't any kind of player - and he could really screw things up from pure ignorance and surprise. "Look, Ty. . . The thing is you ain't been doing 'girl' long enough NOT to mess up, and the Maitresse knows that - Hell, Ty, she expects it and more than that? She WANTS it. What I think this is about is that if you can remain in character as a woman during the scene, she'll figure you can handle whatever she has in mind for tomorrow, and give you the job."
Ty thought about that for a few moments, during which ShaJuana held her breath. Finally, he shrugged. "Okay, I can always quit if it hurts. Guess that explains the REAL reason you didn't give me any fanny padding this time, huh?"
Climbing the stairs to the third floor in four inch heels was not the most fun thing Ty had done in his life. Especially since the steps weren't wide enough for him to put both the toe and the heel of the shoe on the step. The heel, such as it was, always hung over the edge of the step tread. The shoes also messed with his center of gravity, putting parts of his body where his muscle memory didn't expect those body parts to be. He was damned grateful for the stair railing because without it to hang on to, sure as anything, he would've found himself sitting at the bottom of the stairs with a very sore butt well before he'd managed half the damned steps.
They stopped at a door labeled PR (Play Room)-3. "This is it, Tyra," ShaJuana said softly. "From here, I go in and close the door. Once we're sure everything in there is ready for us, you'll be summoned. Once you enter, the curtain raises and you're on. Your safe word is 'Shakespeare.' If you really get hurt, or if you just can't handle what's going down for ANY reason, before you hurt yourself or any one else, just say 'Shakespeare.' Okay? If you say it, we stop, the scene ends, we go get your clothes, get you get paid for today, and you don't come back tomorrow. Understand?"
Ty nodded.
"I need to you say the words, Tyra."
"Yes, ShaJuana, I understand. It's okay with me," he told her. She nodded, and started to open the door. "Except for one thing," he amended quickly. Startled, Juana turned back to face him, concern on her lovely features. "Je m'appelle Tia, s'il vous plaá®t?"
"HUH? What did you say?"
Ty grinned. "I said, my name is Tia, if you please. I'm not the one here who looks like Tyra Banks."
ShaJuana gave a laughing snort. "Well, the only person I call Tia is my Tia Elaina. She's my dad's older sister, and you look a helluva lot more like Tyra Banks than you look like my maiden aunt. Hell, if she ever wore an outfit like the one you're wearin', she wouldn't have ended up an old maid. You're not going to sell yourself as *anyone's* auntie, little girl."
The feminine face wrinkled into a frown. "Well, I still don't think Tyra works for me. I can't get my head around that getting into a role with that name. How about . . . Tysa . . . Tyma . . . Tyka . . . ummm . .I KNOW! Tina. That's a nice maid name, eh?"
"Tina," the tall goddess said, stretching the name out as if she were tasting it to see if the dish was properly seasoned. "Yes, that works just fine - nice and girly," and then she grinned wickedly. "Just like you."
Bending down, she planted a soft kiss on Ty's heavily powdered cheek. "See ya on the other side . . . Tina."
And then she was gone, and the door was shut.
And Tyrone Edwards was suddenly very much alone.
Chapter 5: Stage Test 2: The Admirable Tina
He was beginning to fidget in the uncomfortable heels when a stern voice called from within the room for 'the maid' to enter. For just a moment, the man in him faltered, but only for a moment. Then the actor within him called out, "Curtain!" whereupon Ty released himself to his role. With all his skill and will, he would become Tina. Taking one last deep breath (or at least, as deep as the cursed corset crushing her diaphragm would permit) she opened the door, and stepped inside.
As the door closed behind her, the actor carefully scanned the staging the room provided. Her first reaction was that this space had plucked directly out of the old 1930's, black and white film version of the 'Scarlet Pimpernel.' Then someone had colorized everything and moved the room here. There was a huge stone fireplace, what appeared to be authentic antique furniture, and an exquisite chandelier, designed to look as if it were lighted by candles instead of electric bulbs. Moreover, the room still retained the dark and shadowed mood of the old film despite the light provided by the fire and the chandelier.
It was then that Tina caught her first glimpse of the woman who had to be the Maitresse Solange.
If the room had been taken from a bygone age and a bygone style of living, then the woman who sat enthroned therein seemed utterly at home with both. She was, in a word, magnificent. In that era, and in that lifestyle, this woman would clearly have been the undisputed matriarch of the aristocratic family that made this place their ancestral home.
Maitresse Solange had taken as much or more care with her own costume as she had directed for Tina. Oddly, her dress covered her completely, revealing only the skin of her face and hands, and yet, Tina wondered to herself, had she ever seen a more femininely enticing dress? The answer was a resounding "No!" La Maitresse had done both her face and her hair in styles that appeared to fit the era evoked by the staging around them both, but it was her cool, grey eyes that captured and held Tina's attention.
A hint of a smile twitched at the corner of Solange's mouth, but that instantly curled into a sneer. "Well, girl, what are you waiting for?"
Startled by the snapped out question, Tina jumped and almost slipped, but caught her balance at the last second. "Pardonez-moi, Maitresse. Vous me demandez?"
Tina was pleased to see the older woman momentarily hesitate at her use of her barely recalled high school French, but Maitresse recovered quickly. "How many times must I tell you, girl, that not all my friends speak French and that I expect you to speak English in my employ?!?"
Tina flushed at the reprimand, and felt embarrassed at the imaginary failure, such was the power of the older woman's personality. How would a maid react to this type of reprimand? Okay, she thought, act submissive - what else? - and use a bad accent.
Holding her hands together in front of her apron, Tina replied haltingly in her best, terrible-French accented English, "Pah-done moi. .. Me, please, Maitresse,"
"And how many times have I told you to curtsy properly when you enter my presence?"
Curtsy? How the hell did a guy curtsy? Tina thought frantically, her mind going instantly blank. Certainly, Ty had seen the movement done numerous times on television or at the movies, but being a guy, he'd been far too interested in checking out the girl doing the curtsy to pay any real attention to HOW the curtsy was done. Then she had a flash of memory - that play during college - when Ty had been cast as Cyrano! All the actresses in that production had been required to learn the movement, and Ty had watched them, hadn't he?
But HOW THE HELL HAD THEY DONE IT? All she could remember was that the girls had started out with their hands on their skirts and ended up in a deep bow, with one leg bent at the knee, and the other one behind them, with that knee almost touching the floor. Or at least, she thought that was how they ended up, but she had absolutely no idea how they'd gotten there.
Crap, she thought, here goes nothing! "Oui, Maitresse, Par-don me, Maitresse," Tina replied as she took the hem of ridiculously short, umbrella-like skirt with the fingers of each hand, and tried to achieve the final position she recalled.
Unfortunately, sketchy memories, lack of any practical experience, the inflexibility of that now seven-times cursed corset and gravity did her in. When she started to bend her back leg, she could not get any purchase on the hard tile floor with the toe of the rigid high heeled shoe and it began to slip. At the same time, more of her torso became involved in the bow than she'd intended because the corset wouldn't let her bend anywhere except from the waist where the corset-busks ended.
She tried to catch herself, but what little she could do at that particular tipping point just wasn't enough. Gravity won, taking the cross-dressed maid ignominiously down to the floor, face first, at the feet of a very startled La Maitresse.
Fortunately, it was more of a 'slide-down' than a fall-down, and the foam and silicone of her fake boobs cushioned her impact so Tina was unhurt. More than a little embarrassed, but unhurt. Looking to get back to her feet as quickly as she could manage, Tina pulled her knees under her and began to push herself up off the cold floor with her hands. She was surprised at what she saw in the older woman's face and eyes when she'd recovered her feet.
There was real concern there, and something that might even have been fear. Without knowing quite how she knew it, there was no doubt in Tina's mind that Maitresse Solange was mere seconds from ending the scene and thus, ending Tina's chance at the role in tomorrow's play. Tina went with her gut, improvising to head off what she was certain that La Maitresse intended, "Oh la la, je suis tres stupide! My boo-bays, zey weel be noire et bleu!" she whined as she suggestively cupped and massaged their impressive bulk, all the while mentally cursing the infernal shoes.
Tina saw the uncertainty linger in Solange's eyes, and knew she was still considering whether they needed to stop due to possible injuries. "Maitresse," Tina said softly, but firmly, "I am - how you say? - all right. It eeze ne pas necessaire pour moi to summon zee Bard Anglais."
Tina felt rather than saw the older woman give her a rapid but thorough visual examination. "Very well," Solange replied, her voice once again firm and commanding, "I shall address these continuing failures of yours with the housekeeper. Rest assured, missy, you will not rest comfortably for some time to come after she has dealt with you."
Tina's mind was suddenly working at a breakneck pace. She realized that, while she had prevented Solange's ending of the scene, she'd also screwed up and broken character. What had Juana said? The whole point of this exercise was to ensure she wouldn't break cover during the real scene when the pressure was on.
Then she realized something worse. She wasn't and had not yet been in character! Not really! Not the way an actor of her skill and training SHOULD be in character! Hell, she was even thinking of herself as a guy wearing a woman's costume - and for an actor of Tyrone Edward's caliber, that was pretty damned pathetic, wasn't it?
*IDIOT!!* her mind sharply reprimanded, *You are Ma'amselle Tina - la jolie maid francais, not M'seiur Tyrone, le petit actor. Geet your tete out of your cul and into zee role! Vite!*
Just then, a door that Tina had not yet noticed opened, admitting ShaJuana. "Solange?" she called out in a disgusted voice, "What slut did your housekeeper assign to clean my rooms? They're filthy!"
Solange turned back to glare at Tina, who was knew what was coming. "I believe that was you?" she asked, but it really was not a question.
Tina gulped, and then offered, "I weel go now, Maitresse, and clean eet up right away!"
"NO, you will NOT! I called you here to serve, and serve you will. THEN you will go do what you should have already done, and THEN, I will . . . deal with you as you deserve."
"Oui, Madame," was the obsequious reply.
"Can't get good help these days," ShaJuana commiserated as she took the other seat in the room.
"She was probably dallying with that new footman," Maitresse replied as she swept back into her chair. "You know these French whores - just can't keep their mouths shut and their legs together."
"Mais Non, Maitresse!" Tina squeaked, blushing furiously and looking very guilty, "Certainment, I deed not. ."
"SILENCE!" the Maitresse thundered. "I did not ask for any of your sass, girl! Well, we'll deal with THAT problem soon enough, Well, don't just stand there, girl," she snarled back at Tina, "Serve the tea!" and she indicated the tea tray and service on the table between the two chairs.
"Oui, Maitresse," Tina replied as she picked up the unexpectedly heavy silver tea pot. She was a bit surprised to find that the tea was not hot at all. It was barely tepid, in fact, causing her to wonder if she'd already taken too long for this act of the play.
Shrugging mentally, she decided to press on and serve the tea, even if it wasn't hot. She'd seen tea served in the same play she'd watched the girls learn to curtsy. She only hoped that she'd learned that lesson more effectively than she'd not learned to curtsy. "Meelk and shu-gaire, Mistress ShaJuana?" Tina handed the teacup and saucer to the lovely Amazon before turning to the hostess and asking "Et pour vous, Maitresse?"
"Just lemon, girl. And I believe I told you not to speak French. Yet another trespass we will soon expunge. I think five lashes with the birch for every word that is not in English will get to the seat of your problem."
Tina shuddered visibly, but hurried to prepare the tea as ordered. She was just beginning to bow and offer the full cup to the Maitresse when suddenly, something goosed her - right between the cheeks of her bum. Squealing for real, Tina was instantly bolt upright and thrusting her hips forward in a vain attempt to escape the intimate invader. Her sudden movement launched the full cup of tea upwards and directly into her own face.
For several heartbeats, nothing happened. Tina's mind was a blank and she had absolutely no idea what to do next. She just stood there between the two watchful dominatrices, cold tea soaking her face and wig, with her eyes starting to sting slightly from the lemony acidity of the tea.
She could only think of one response.
"Merde!"
"That is the LAST straw! I have had QUITE enough from you, you little strumpet!" Tina found her self spun on heel so that she was facing ShaJuana. A sharp rap between her shoulder blades had her falling over again, face-first, toward the chair. Juana deftly caught her, preventing the disoriented maid from ending up face-down in her leather-clad lap, but then Tina felt her friend's strong grip shift onto her wrists. The next moment, ShaJuana was sitting on Tina's hands, forcing her to bend over at the waist, her bottom protruding behind her, and her stinging eyes and face lodged firmly in Juana's cleavage.
RRRRrrrrriiiiippppppp! The sound made Tina jump, but Juana's weight and strength kept her immobile. A draft across her backside told her that, somehow, her panties had been torn away.
"Well, my goodness, Solange, no wonder she's such a poor maid," and Tina's eyes crossed as something warm gently gripped and fondled her freed erection. "She's not even a maiden."
"So I see," was the catlike drawl from behind her. Another hand gripped her just above the testicles and pulled gently. "Quite a. . .well, an . . . endowment for such a little maid."
"Well, take charge of these, please, ShaJuana," and Tina felt her scrotum transferred between the two women so that ShaJuana held both her cock and balls in hand. "We wouldn't want them in the way of what comes next," and the Maitresse's voice dropped in both volume and pitch, becoming darkly husky and just a little menacing, "That is, unless we decide we want them in the way, later on."
Out of the way? Tina wondered, out of the way of WHAT? Then, a hand skimmed over her bare, taut buttocks and she knew what was coming next. Hadn't Juana warned her? ". . . a spanking's gonna be a 'for certain'. . ."
SpppLAT!
Tina jumped, trying to move her vulnerable derriere out of the line of fire, but discovered that with her hands firmly restrained beneath ShaJuana, she couldn't move all that far. Moreover, when she tried to move, Juana's firm grip immediately reminded that something really important couldn't move with her. Juana hold on her balls didn't REALLY hurt, but her brain screamed that it could — A LOT! So she went very still, prepared to simply endure the spanking she still feared, if that was what it took to protect her genitals.
By the third or fourth swat, however, she had managed to control those conflicting fear reactions sufficiently to realize that the spanking was being delivered with far more bark than bite. La Maitresse was delivering the swats in a rhythmic, regular pattern, but with little real force. There was a little heat, a barely discernable sting, but no real pain. And once she no longer felt threatened by the spanking, her attention returned to what was happening to her sex, which was, she realized, the complete opposite of painful. Her eyes crossed again at the sensations ShaJuana's extremely skilled hands and fingers were teasing out of Tina's body finally registered on the maid's overloaded senses.
And then, the whole situation struck her funny bone. God, it was LUDICROUS! Here she was, on a damned movie set, for crying out loud, with her face stuffed into the boobs of the most beautiful woman she knew. Her very bare ass was hanging out in the wind so that a woman old enough to be her mother could whack at it with some type of spanking paddle. And her BEST friend in the whole world was giving her the handjob of a lifetime. Cripes, take away the overt sex and it was like something out of an old slapstick movie short.
Well, why not? Hadn't Juana called this 'play', and told her to improvise? She was getting slapped, wasn't she? Tina decided that she would add the shtick and start to play, too.
"Ooo ooo, Madame!" she squealed, dancing on toes of her high heels as much as she could without pulling too hard against Juana's hold on her. "Ooo la la, ma pauvre petite derriere!" She tried shifting sideways, and found she'd managed to get enough 'play' in ShaJuana's attachment to the family jewels to take a swat on her left bottom cheek that should have landed on her right. She stamped her feet, squeaked, squealed and in general, threw a hissy fit that would even have embarrassed her diva baby sister, all the while using the most atrocious French accent possible.
That's when she started to sense the urgency building in her core - the erotic tightening of muscle and flesh that signaled rapidly approaching climax. ShaJuana's increasingly delicate and knowing teasing of her sex was incredible, and it had been so damned long since anyone other than Merry Hand and her five sisters had done anything like that with her! It felt so GOOD!
God, she thought, what happens if she did cum?!? What was she going to do? ShaJuana had her, quite literally, by the balls so she wasn't going anywhere, even if she did free her hands. And dammit, she wouldn't want to escape even IF her hands and balls were suddenly free because nothing in her recent experience had felt anything like this wonderful.
Well, it certainly appeared to be inevitable, and just look where her face was. Beautiful woman playing with her sex, and that same beautiful woman's gorgeous breasts just right there at mouth level. Lost in the utter sensuality of the scene and her role in it, Tina reached out her tongue and began licking the warm, humid flesh between ShaJuana's incredible boobs. At one point, when her nose butted up against the line where the ebony amazon's catsuit ended and bare bosom began, Tina felt the leather move, baring even more flesh! Without stopping to think, she curled her tongue under the edge of the leather garment and managed to catch it in her teeth. Her next jump succeeded in completely freeing Juana's left breast from the confines of the too-tight catsuit.
Tina felt, rather than heard, Juana's surprised intake of breath at her sudden wardrobe malfunction. Immediately thereafter, the hand on her penis disappeared, and there was something pushing her face back toward the cavern of Juana's cleavage. Out of her peripheral vision, she saw the red-nailed hand struggling to get the leather bodice back where it belonged, but that was futile. It would take more than one hand to capture all that gorgeous she-flesh and re-imprison it in the 'two-sizes-too-small' bustier-bodice. She felt her captor give a sigh, and then the hand was back on Tina's erection, with a new determination and increased intensity.
For her own part, Tina again had free movement of her face and not surprisingly, found herself up close and personal to a large, dark-chocolate nipple. It was too much for her - she just had to know if it was as tasty as it looked and took a lick. One lick led to another and another, and damned if Juana's nipple wasn't even tastier than she'd thought it would be! Tina couldn't resist just one little nibble.
Well, maybe a couple or three nibbles, along with a sucking caress or two. . .
"Eeeeekkkk!" ShaJuana shrieked and jumped, freeing Tina's hands and pushing the lust-dazed maid-slave back from her chair. Unfortunately for Tina in her current state, that release had been just in time to disrupt her OTHER release - the one Juana had been working so hard to coax out of her.
The spanking also stopped, and Tina heard Solange's voice ask. "What's the matter?"
It was just too much for Tina - the swirling emotions, the suddenly interrupted play and the sheer pleasure of the acting - just overwhelmed her. She started giggling.
Solange, more imperious now, demanded again, "What HAPPENED?"
Juana, who was starting to have suspiciously laugh-like shudders coming through her diaphragm, burst out, "The little bitch BIT me - right on my nip!" and offering the bared globe in her hands, as if presenting it for Solange's inspection.
"NON," Tina managed between giggling gasps, "Eeet was just -tee hee - leetle neebles! Nosing more, I swear!"
ShaJuana and Maitresse looked at each other in disbelief, and then began to giggle themselves.
Finally, the older woman managed to regain control enough to order, "ShaJuana, get that wench out of my sight! Have the housekeeper oversee her cleaning your rooms with a birch rod. I will deal with this disobedient twit later when I have more time to get to the seat of her problems."
Fighting back her own giggles, ShaJuana pushed Tina aside and rose to her heel-augmented height. "Certainly, Solange. I might even do a bit of direct supervision myself, if you take my meaning?" Juana took a moment to correct her maid-induced breast-baring before taking hold of Tina's still erect manhood, and using it as a leash to lead the maid-dressed male out of the room and back into the outer hall.
Once the door closed, ShaJuana's entire demeanor changed. "You all right?" she demanded, searching Tina's laugh-tear streaked face.
"I'm mostly okay, Juana," Tina said softly. "Except now that the adrenalin is wearing off, my eyes are starting to sting again from the lemon in that tea, and it's a little drafty about the bottom without my undies, but other than that, I'm okay. I would like to rinse my eyes out. Is there a bathroom on this floor?"
Juana nodded, and indicated her friend should follow her. "You okay with what went down in there?" she asked as they walked down the hall, unable to suppress the bubbling worry that gurgled up from her belly. This was her best friend, and he'd just been stripped, gently in her opinion, but stripped nonetheless, of what most American males would consider to be their manly pride.
Sensitive to his friend's emotions, Ty reached an arm about the taller woman. "No problems here. Not even as bad as shaking my booty the first time for that director in the mind swap play. I don't figure I'll be working here tomorrow, though. I don't suppose many Mistresses have giggle-fits in the middle of their scenes."
"Well, you just saw two of us have one even if I can't say it's ever happened to me before. I laugh sometimes, but usually when I do, I do it for effect. Having a bitch-goddess laugh at a sub is usually a major mind-fuck for our guys."
Before either could say anything else, a disembodied voice from the ceiling ordered, "ShaJuana, Mr. Edwards? Would you please attend me in my office? Now?"
Ty recognized the voice of the Maitresse Solange. "Guess it's time to face the critic, Juana. You know where this office of hers is?"
" 'Course I do, boy. Come on. 'Leastways we'll get you paid," she said, her voice sad.
Interlude: The Critic's Review
The office was, in comparison to the playroom, rather modest - something that any mid-level business manager who had just earned his or her way out of the cubicles might have been assigned. The furniture was simple - a desk, two visitor chairs and a sofa along one wall. The typical paraphernalia of the corporate world were in their places including a computer, printer, phone and fax. Surprisingly, given that there had not been time to change into more common garb, there were large windows that looked out of the second floor room onto the street, and they cast the room with golden, natural light. For the first time since he'd walked into the third floor playroom, Ty became aware of his dress, and moreover, his lack of covering below the waist.
The sunlight streaming in through the windows made his sensitized eyes sting even more, and they began to tear up again. Sighing, he realized he would not be able to make it through even a short meeting in this condition. "Maitresse Solange? Is there a restroom? I really need to rinse the lemon juice out of my eyes. They're still stinging and the tears are blurring my vision."
"DAMMIT!" Solange snapped, causing Ty to back away.
"Well, if you'll just pay me, I'll leave you to. . ."
"No, no, no," the older woman broke in, clearly upset. "You don't. . .you CAN'T understand. . . " She paused, and then looked to ShaJuana. "Show him to my private washroom, dear, and then come back here. We all need to discuss that. . .experience and we might as well be as comfortable as we can be, given the circumstances."
Having expected to be, at best, paid off and shown the door just as quickly as could be managed, Ty was uncertain what it was the regal dungeon owner felt they needed to discuss. Whatever he'd anticipated when he'd let himself consider what that little stage test might have entailed, he'd been pretty far off the mark. He shouldn't have gone off like he did, but dammit, it had been fun! He hadn't had much fun lately, and none that had called on his acting skills.
Returning to the office, the two friends were motioned to take seats in the visitor chairs facing Solange's desk. She considered him, and quietly marveled at what she saw now as opposed to what she'd seen just a short while earlier. Part of it was that he'd removed the petticoated skirt and replaced it with a towel from her washroom that he'd wrapped about his waist, man-style, to cover his bare backside and genitals. And while he hadn't removed either the corset or the breast inserts, he had taken the opportunity to clean away his tear-ravaged makeup and remove the blond wig. He was now, Solange observed, a man wearing articles of feminine attire, where before, Tina had been very much more than that.
Taking a deep breath, she asked, "Why didn't you safeword when you got the lemon juice in your eyes? I know ShaJuana explained the purpose of that tool to you, and that lemon had to hurt, so why. . .?"
Ty considered the question and tried to remember what had happened when. "Couple of reasons, I guess. First, and I'm being honest here, I really do need the money that Juana indicated I might earn if I got the gig working with you tomorrow. Just before she left me, she told me that if I said 'Shakespeare' during the scene, I wouldn't get the role."
Solange nodded. She'd expected that answer, but thought there was more, and so she waited, and gave him time to continue.
He did. "Then there was the time I fell trying to do that stupid curtsy - I saw the concern on your face - and I was sure, somehow, that you were about to call things off to make sure I hadn't hurt myself in the fall."
"You'd be surprised the damage that can occur when someone who is unused to such shoes falls and bends an ankle or worse," Solange replied. "But you say you saw concern?"
"Yes, Ma'am. That's why I said we didn't need to talk about the English Bard just then. I was pretty sure you wouldn't have continued just then, and well, the fact that you WERE concerned, made me start to trust you. Up to that point, the only person here I trusted at all was Juana, and she wasn't even on stage yet."
"You got all that from just a momentary look," Solange murmured, "And I thought I had more control."
"You're a very good actress, Ma'am," Ty hurried to reassure her, "It's just that I'm a very good actor. One of my strengths as an actor is being able to react to unexpected situations that occur, and read my fellow players, so that I can keep things together and moving forward."
"I see. And that's why you didn't safeword, even when your eyes hurt?"
"Well," Ty drawled, and then a florid blush colored his features as he cast a sidelong glance at ShaJuana lounging in the chair next to his. "Umm, well, things happened pretty fast after I got, uh, prodded, and got the face full of lemon-tea."
"That was the plan," Solange told him. "We wanted to see if you could keep things together if you were suddenly out of control."
"Right. Anyway, the next thing I know, I am face down in Juana's . . umm, chest. . ."
ShaJuana went on alert, her eyes suddenly intense and fixed on Ty. "And?" she asked, drawing the word out.
Ty looked down, his face still bright red in embarrassment. "I liked it there," he managed to choke out. "I liked it a lot more than I didn't like my eyes burning. I didn't want to quit. I figured if you really spanked me, and I cried? The tears would wash out the acid quickly enough."
ShaJuana burst out laughing and Solange could only shake her head. "It was never my intent that the spanking should be that intense, Mr. Edwards. Truth to tell, my intent was that you would orgasm to show that this type of play could be both fun and rewarding."
"Kinda figured that out, too, when Juana was so intent on playing with my, ah, that is, Tina's erection."
"Ty-RONE, you made me feel bad. I figured I'd have you off in no time!"
Ty laughed. "Actually, it was all I could do not to shoot, Juana, but it was close for a few seconds there. If you hadn't stopped when you did, well, it would have been all over for me and, ah, all over you."
"Excellent discipline, Mr. Edwards," Solange complimented him, "but why did you need it?"
The laugh he gave was self deprecating. "Like I said, I liked where I was, and figured that would be the end of Juana's hand job. Besides, there was . . ."
"There was WHAT, Ty-RONE?" the ebony goddess demanded, still smarting that he hadn't succumbed to her determined ministrations.
At the confused look from both women, Ty shrugged. "I've read a few Penthouse Letters in my time, so I know what gals like you do to guys dressed up like me who climax without permission."
Howls of feminine laughter answered his admission while he sat there, trying for what small dignity he might still manage. "You thought we'd make you clean up your, ah, semen with your tongue," Solange said, when she'd managed to calm down. "You know, I hadn't even considered that possibility since I knew you weren't really a player."
"I'd have made you do it, Ty-RONE," ShaJuana threatened, still miffed. "I'm right fond of this outfit and I'd be real unhappy having your nasty ol' cum-stains on it."
Smiling when she saw the young man blush furiously at ShaJuana's teasing, Solange asked, "Would you have safeworded in that event, Mr. Edwards?"
She saw that he nearly knee-jerked out his answer, but was pleased when he caught himself and began to consider his response more carefully. Thinks before he speaks, too, she told herself. Doesn't that pose some interesting possibilities?
Finally, he gave a half shrug, and looked her directly in her eyes, which also surprised the regally imposing dominatrix. Most men in her experience, dressed as he was and especially after having just been through what she had done to him, would not have been able to hold her gaze that evenly.
"The honest answer is I really don't know. Right now, or before we'd started? If you had asked me if I'd use that safeword-thing against having to do something like that? The answer would be 'Not only yes, but hell, yes!' Anything to keep from having my nose shoved into that . . . stuff. That's beyond anything I'd considered having to do here, or what I thought I'd be willing to do for you. But you didn't ask me that ahead of time." He paused again, clearly choosing his words for what he had to say next. "In that room, at the time it would have been an issue? When I'd finally managed to get into the character of that role as the cross-dressing male-submissive maid?" He started to say something more, hesitated and then shook his head. "I am just not sure how Tina would have reacted."
"Hmm, interesting how you put that. 'How TINA would have reacted', not 'how I would have reacted.' Being in-role consumes you that totally that you can speak of yourself and Tina as separate persons?" Solange observed softly, "It would seem you are quite an actor, indeed."
"Oh, I can put a big 'Hell-yeah' on that for you, Solange," Juana put in. "When Ty is in a role, I mean REALLY in a role? It's . . . awesome."
And that was awe in the younger woman's voice, Solange thought. "I see."
"I believe that I am good at my art, Ma'am," Ty said, without arrogance or artifice, Solange noted. "You know, Juana, there's something else, too. What would have happened if I'd given that code, and said 'stop this - it's all over.' That's what this safeword-thing means in this context, right?"
When both women nodded, he continued. "That's not natural to me. I mean, you don't get to safeword out of doing something that might be personally embarrassing to you when its called for by the script of a play - you just figure out how to do what the script and the director says you have to do or you go find another line of work. Back there? When we were on stage? It just wouldn't have occurred to me because you can't do that and be an actor. I'd have fought hard not to cum, I think, but not very effectively. Juana's pretty good at . . . ummm. . . what she was doing, so I was pretty limited in my options. And I was 'in character.' Yeah, I'd might have ended up wearing a bunch of my own semen on my face, but I wouldn't have thought to say 'Shakespeare.'"
"I find that quite remarkable, Mr. Edwards. Were you an experienced submissive or even a switch, I'd understand that response, but it is clear you are neither. What were you doing in there? What sustained you when things went so . . . so off?"
Ty grinned. "Like Juana said - I was an actor embracing his character. Before she left me outside the room, she told me this would be improv, that is, improvisational acting, so I went with the flow and improvised. I'm sorry I didn't react as you expected, but I did do the best I could with my limited and admittedly skewed knowledge of your scenes and stuff. Guess I won't be coming back tomorrow," he added finally.
Solange almost told him that he would not be brought back, and then caught herself. He was right, he didn't know enough about the Dominance and Submission scene to react in the ways she'd expected, but he'd done all right for all that. And he SAW things - sensed things during the interplay of people and emotions that surprised her. He had an innate empathy she'd never encountered in a male before, and in very few women. He might be an asset at that. Certainly, few men looked that good when dressed as women - a little more training and with the right costuming, he'd pass almost anywhere she wanted him to pass.
And surprise the hell out of another client or two of hers when she DIDN'T want him to pass. That ability would definitely be an asset to her little business.
Definite possibilities. She'd know tomorrow, after they tried the scene with Juana's client. If he did well then, and things went well? Possibilities might well abound.
Besides, she thought, glancing at the tall girl seated next to the corseted boy, she had other motivations in this regard, didn't she?
"No, I still want you for that scene tomorrow. I think we can set things up nicely so that Billie will have an experience he'll never forget. That is, Mr Edwards, if after our little experience today you think you can handle being in on the other side of the scene."
"I'd like to try, Ma'am," he replied carefully. "The simple fact is I really do need the money, and as long as this isn't illegal, and nobody's getting hurt, I'd like to try."
"Very well, then, we have an agreement. When we're on this floor, Mr. Edwards, you have my leave to call me Solange. Upstairs, I am Maitresse unless I tell you otherwise on a case-by-case basis."
"Yes, Ma' . . .umm, Solange. And please, all me Ty, unless I'm Tina at the time," he said with a mischievous grin.
"Scamp!" she laughed, before looking to ShaJuana. "Dear, if you would, please get this wretch cleaned up and take him to the deli downstairs for lunch - charge it to my account. Then take him home and give him the script for tomorrow. Work out how much you'll let him actually participate and when you will spring his trap on Billie. Be here tomorrow at 9:00 AM to clear everything with me."
"Sure 'nuff, Solange - see you tomorrow," the ebony goddess said as she rose to her feet. "C'mon Ty-RONE! Hope you like good Kosher corned beef!"
They were almost to the door when Solange remembered she'd meant to ask him. "Mr. Edwards? One last question before you leave? Where ever did you learn that movement you THOUGHT was a curtsy?"
That earned a chuckle from the young actor. "I played Cyrano De Bergerac in a college production. The girls all learned to curtsy - like they were at court, or something. Well being a guy, you tend to watch pretty girls doing things like that when you get the chance, but I never actually had to do one myself."
"Cripes, Ty, didn't you ever see the little bob-curtsy all the female servants do in the old black and white movies?" Juana was bubbling with mirth now. "You idiot, you were a servant, not some lady being presented to a queen or king!"
"Oh my God, I knew that!" he muttered. "I played Bunter in "Clouds of Witness" for, hell, three months of summer stock once and the damn maid did just that half a dozen times a night. I'm sorry, I should have done better than that."
"Hey, you were a little distracted at that moment," Juana started to soothe, but she was cut off when the older woman stood, and raised a hand in a clear command for silence.
Ty watched as Solange's face somehow transformed, until it was the austere aristocrat from the upstairs room who faced him. "I see," she said quietly, and then her voice became stern. "Tina, curtsy when you leave my presence."
Caught off guard, Ty goggled. "Huh?"
"I. . . SAID . . . CURTSY, MAID!" Solange was not actually yelling, but the impact was the same.
Tina started to bob a curtsy, but the towel Ty had wrapped about her waist started to fall, and she tried to catch it.
"Leave it!" the Maitresse ordered, and Tina let the towel slip to the floor, leaving her bottom and sex bared once more. "Now, give me your curtsy!"
"Oui, Maitresse," Tina squeaked, and bobbed the little curtsy Ty had seen 'half a dozen times a night for three months."
"Better, but not good enough. You will also practice that under ShaJuana's supervision today so that you can do it per-fect-ly," and she enunciated each syllable as if each were a complete word, "for me tomorrow. Is that clear?"
"Oui, Maitresse," and Tina couldn't stop the reflex to bob another curtsy to this powerful, authoritative woman.
"Is that clear, ShaJuana?" and her gimlet eye focused its power on the tall black woman.
"Clear, Maitresse. She'll be spot-on perfect at it tomorrow. Trust me."
"See to it. Then that concludes our business today. Be off with you both. I have work I must finish before I leave for the day."
And it wasn't only Tina/Ty who breathed a sigh of relief when the door to Solange's office closed behind their departing backs.
Chapter 6: The Scene from Both Sides Now
"OH - MY - GOD! Can you make it any TIGHTER?!?"
Amused, Solange looked into the mirror so she see eye-to-eye with Ty's reflection. "Yes, if you like."
"Heavens, no! Ummm, Are we there, yet?" Ty asked in a softer, less aggressive voice.
Solange came out from behind Ty to give him a thorough once-over, as he dangled from her corseting trapeze, his toes a few inches off the floor. Excellent, she thought smugly. She'd gotten a good two inches more off his waist than ShaJuana had managed. That combined with the high quality faux-breasts she'd glued to his chest, gave him the illusion of a nicely feminine figure without the necessity of a girdle, or the hip and butt padding. Yes, he'd do quite nicely, she thought. "You'll do."
"Then, please, may I get down and get loose? PLEASE?"
"Oh, if you insist." A flick of a switch lowered him until his four-inch high heels were again on the floor, whereupon Solange pulled loose the Velcro strap holding his right wrist, leaving the left one for Ty to undo. "Over here," she ordered, indicating a three-panel, floor-to-ceiling mirror, "Let's have a look at you."
He obeyed, managing the ridiculous heels quite well for someone who'd first worn such things only two days before. Not all of the Solange's selected costuming was visible on the blond reflection. She'd decked him out in a satin garter belt and black, full fashion stockings to go with the black patent leather, open-toed heels. She'd specified the open-toed shoes just to be wicked, because that had given her the excuse to require toe-nail polish - bright RED toe-nail polish. Carefully selected undergarments kept fake and real parts under control, enhancing the illusions of cleavage while assuring a smooth skirt front. A white peasant blouse, also intended to show off cleavage while hiding the arms, and a very short skirt completed the costume. Solange was particularly pleased to see how much bare white leg flesh was exposed above the stocking tops and below the skirt's hem. Perfect.
"Come with me," Solange ordered, and led him up to her surveillance room on the dungeon floor. Inside, they watched Juana beginning to work her client. She already had him bound - face down, laying lengthwise on a coffee table. Both ends of him were dangling - with his knees on the floor on one side of the table and his head hanging over the other.
They had time to talk, Solange thought. Good. "All right, you know the goal of Juana's scene-plan?"
Ty nodded. "She wants him to get all excited about a two Mistress-scene, and then find out that I'm not female. Evidently she is known for, well, using sex toys on her clients' butts, and I'm supposed to spring a real one on him he wasn't planning on."
"Correct, and we want to spring it on him when he's fully erect. Do you know why?"
Ty blushed, the color evident even through the thick layer of foundation Solange had used on him. "Ummm, well. . "
"SPEAK CLEARLY, young man!" Solange commanded sharply.
"As ShaJuana explained it, this fellow is rather, umm, proud of his masculine endowment…"
"You mean he thinks he has a big cock and is smug about it!" Solange interrupted. "Start thinking and talking like the bitch you're supposed to be when you go in there! Part of your job is to tease and then humiliate him verbally! You won't do that using words from your tenth grade health or English classes."
"Right, he's a arrogant sonuvabitch with a big prick who thinks he's cock of the walk. When Juana gives me the sign, I show him mine."
"Exactly."
"Maitresse?" Ty asked, his voice uncertain.
"Yes, Mr. Edwards?"
"Juana called this a mind fuck. What is going to happen in there? After I go in and show him my. . .ummm, dick?"
Solange felt her stomach clench. "We didn't discuss that with you, did we?" she asked, very softly. How could they have forgotten he had no idea what happened in these scenes. "We don't have much time before your entrance. Recall please what you learned yesterday about safewords?"
"Yes, Ma'am. Is that the goal of this? To make him safeword?"
"No. We'd never intentionally do that with a submissive in our keeping. That would mean we'd violated his limits which might harm him and would definitely damage my house's reputation - even if it were unintentional. However, sometimes we do push those limits very hard, and use another safety tool in such cases. Let me explain the concept of a caution word to you. . . "
Tina slipped into the playroom, and called out, "Hey Juana, what's happening?"
The ebony Domina turned to face the door, a huge smile on her face. "Hey, Tina! Oh, nothin' much. Just an asshole male with a big ego who needs some attitude adjustment."
Tina strutted over and stood beside the taller woman, and considered the straining submissive fighting futilely against the cuff and chain restraints that held him tightly against the table. She saw the man's buttocks and thighs were already a pale pink and that something - one of those plug things - was sticking out from between his asscheeks. "Dealing directly with the problem, I see," Tina offered.
"Yeah - fool male thinks that because he has a fairly decent sized cock he's something special. I'm about to show him different! Anything he can do with that thing of his, I can do better, harder and LONGER with MINE!" and she hefted the black strap-on she wore about her loins for Tina to admire.
"Nice one! Sounds like fun," Tina replied. "Mind if I watch?"
"Sure - have a seat, and I'll show you how to unfuck a male's head by fucking his ass!"
"Well, I'll just make myself comfortable and watch the Mistress work her magic," Tina said, as she moved a chair so that it was directly in front of the bound man's dangling head. Once she was seated, she crossed her legs slowly, dangling her shoe no more than an inch from his nose.
Somehow, Juana'd managed to get her strapped-on toy into her client's backside without him screaming, and was now deep stroking him with such force that each in-stroke pushed his nose into the open toe of Tina's dangling shoe. He was groaning in deep pleasure now, and straining against his bonds to meet each stroke half way. Tina saw Juana signal her, and nodded her understanding.
"I don't know, Juana," Tina spoke up, "I don't see how you're going to teach him anything when the little slut is enjoying everything you're doing — I mean, the bitch even has a hard-on!. Why, I think he must misbehave just to have you work his ass over for him. Maybe you need to get something bigger to make your point?"
"Maybe, but we ain't got nothin' bigger on hand to do that."
"It isn't THAT big," Tina retorted. "Hell, you want to use mine?"
"You got one to put the fear of Mistress in this slut?" Juana asked, with a particularly firm stoke.
"Oh, yeah, I do."
"Well, hell, girl, go get it!"
Tina stood up, and unsnapped the back of her gaff. "Don't need to go get anything, darlin' - I always have mine on me," she said as she popped out her semi-erect penis from beneath her skirt. Making sure she was no more than a foot from the man's stunned face, she began to stroke herself to full arousal, using the catsuited perfection of ShaJuana Price's body for 'inspiration.' "Gonna let me have a turn back there, Juana?"
"Why sure, . . . "
"LEMONADE!!" Billie-the-Client yelped, interrupting both women.
Juana gave him a sharp slap on his ass. "You say somethin' , asshole?" she demanded.
"Yes, Mistress, Lemonade - I can't - no, please don't, . . "
"I guess we'll wait a bit for that, Tina."
Tina sat back down heavily, lounging with one leg hanging over the chair's padded arm, splaying her legs wide so that her erection was 'eye-to-eye' with the bound submissive. "That's no fair!" she pouted. "I want to play with him, too! You said I could!"
With the immediate threat of Tina's entry into the fray (and into Billie) allayed - at least momentarily - the highly skilled Juana soon had her client lost in pleasure once again, moaning aloud and begging her to go "Harder, Mistress, please!" Tina merely sat in front of him, keeping herself erect for when he opened his eyes.
"Is it MY turn YET?" she demanded when Juana signaled again.
Juana never got a chance to answer because, evidently, Billie wasn't as out of it as they thought. "Lemonade!" he yelped again, clearly wanting NO part of Tina's larger-than-his-own, very real endowment. This earned Tina a grin and a thumbs-up from Juana.
"Nah, not now. I'm having too much fun myself. Maybe another time, Tina.'
Tina jumped to her feet, her erect penis barely missing the cringing sub's eye as she leaned over him to get into Juana's face. "THAT'S NOT FAIR!" she yelled furiously, "If I can't have my turn, I'm going HOME!" With that, Tina spun on her heels to leave, careful to ensure her cock swiped Billie firmly across the cheek as she turned.
As she sailed out of the room, she heard what sounded remarkably like the sounds Ty made just as surrendered to his climax after a protracted session of hot and heavy sexual stimulation.
She was met outside the door by a smiling Solange. "You did GREAT! You had him really going! He practically moved the table when he came, and it's bolted to the damned floor! Hell, he almost unseated Juana, he came so hard! We're going to be YEARS trying to top that one for him! Come with me and we'll get you out of that corset. Juana will finish up with him in another fifteen minutes or so, and then we can talk about what happened in there."
"I can't believe we forgot to explain caution words to you," Juana muttered for the fourth time since she'd joined them in Solange's little office. "You really thought I was going to try to get him to stop-light us?"
"You said 'code-word' whenever we talked about it, and that's the only code-word I knew about." Ty replied, relaxing in the floor-length bathrobe Solange had provided after getting him out of the corset.
Solange smiled ruefully over her tea cup at the two younger people. "Just goes to show what can happen when you assume everyone already knows all the nuances. Normally, the distinction between caution and safe words is learned during a newbie's first or second visit to one of my Mistresses, during the very extensive pre-scene negotiation script I require of them. Since you weren't really a client, I stupidly forgot to put you through that."
"Well, we got what we wanted. Billie plunked down a thousand dollar bonus for that scene before he left. I'm splittin' that fifty-fifty with Ty-RONE, here," ShaJuana said, stretching out her long legs in front of her and pointing her stocking-ed toes. Ty nearly wished he was still wearing the gaff, and hurriedly crossed his legs to hide what was suddenly growing between them.
"So, tell me, Ty. Would you consider taking a position here - at my dungeon - on a more regular basis?" Solange asked quietly.
Caught off-guard by the offer, Ty spun about to stare at the older woman. "Me? Work here? Doing what? More of what we did today? After what almost happened?"
"Ty, any problems or near problems that occurred today were not your fault, and in fact, because you asked the right questions at the right time, they didn't even happen. You did well today, and I believe, you have the potential to do a good deal more, as well. Are you willing to learn more about what we do here? Because that will be the first step so you can make informed decisions. Before you answer, let me caution you - I'm talking about practical experiential learning under the whip-hands of my very skilled, very STRICT Mistresses. Very little of what I anticipate you will need to learn will be even half so gentle as today's or yesterday's play. However, if you are willing, I will offer you a flat salary of twice your monthly rent, plus event fees for those instances you work with a client. You won't be paid the extra fees for scenes that are conducted purely to train you or to prepare you for an event. The extra pay will only occur when you directly assist one of my Mistresses in working with a paying client."
"How much time will I have to be here to earn that? I'd still want to be able to audition for any roles that I think suit my talents."
"I'll want forty hours a week. Unless something comes up, I'll expect you to work Monday through Wednesdays from 8:00 AM to 2:00 PM, and Thursdays and Fridays from 2:00 PM to 8:00 PM. In addition to that, I will expect you to work at least one six-hour shift on either Saturday or Sunday which are usually our busier days. There's a great deal of cleanup and stage setting that needs be done before and after each session, and the Mistresses can use all the help you can give them in that regard. In addition to whatever grunt work I give you to do during those hours, we'll plan your training sessions so that they occur during your normal weekday working hours. You will be available on twenty four hours notice for events. If I need you on short notice, you'll get a bonus if you can make it. We'll start with a two month trial period for both of us to decide if this is working. At the end of that time, we will mutually decide whether we want to continue our relationship. Does that meet with your approval?"
"I guess I'm going to spend a lot of my time here in skirts, heels and girlie underwear, right?"
"Is that going to pose a problem?" Solange was crossing her fingers beneath the desk. "Obviously, you do it very well, and I would like to exploit that capability to both our profit."
"A role is a role, and costumes are costumes. I can handle it."
"Then we have an agreement?"
"Yes, Ma'am. Thank you."
"I believe I told you that you were to call me Solange when we are not in a scene?"
Interlude: It's My Party and They'll Cry If I Want to. . .
Solange had rushed through her post-scene toilette and she was STILL late. She hated being late under any circumstances, but most especially under circumstances such as the present. Tyrone was making a special effort to accommodate her schedule by attending her after his normal workday and without the advanced warning she'd promised to give him. It didn't matter that she was going to pay him time and a half for sitting outside her office - it was the principle of the thing. Tardiness was rude, and she was never rude - at least, never without good reason.
Ty was waiting for her, leaning against the doorjamb of her outer office. Smiling, he came over to her, and much to her amusement, made a great deal out of bending over her hand and making as fine a leg to her as could any courtier of an earlier time. "Told you I could do it," he said, his eyes twinkling as he looked up into her eyes after rising.
"So, as with most social courtesies, it takes more talent and skill to be female?"
"Perhaps, although I'm not sure I'm any more ready to make that particular movement in heels and a corset than I was to do that formal curtsy wearing them."
Solange laughed, and beckoned him into her office, whereupon they got down to business. "I don't see much problem with your Halloween party, Solange. It will be no problem to handle the food and drinks. I'm not sure what to plan for the D/s play entertainments you told me are part of it, but. . ."
"I can think of one I'd like to do," she half muttered, half growled, surprising Tyrone.
"What did you say, Solange?"
Annoyed at herself for being unable to let go of the just completed scene, she sighed. "Nothing, Ty. I'm just out of sorts because I'm a little disappointed with the submissive I was working before I came here. He's why I was late."
Ty nodded. "You said that you knew an entertainment you'd like to do. I assume it is something to do with this fellow?"
Solange sat back in her executive office chair. "Not that I could, but it is a lovely fantasy, nonetheless," she said wistfully.
"Why can't you do it? I thought fantasy come safely to life is what we do here?"
"My, you have been listening," she replied, amused approval in her tone. "But this is my fantasy and I don't see how, under our code of ethics and safety, we could pull it off. I mean, I think he has the same fantasy, but he won't admit to having it."
"Umm, Solange? You need to remember that I really am the 'newbie' that you and all the girls delight in calling me. What are we talking about?"
"This client that I just finished with? He's what you could call an attention slut. He gets off on some fairly intense humiliation play because it makes him the center of attention, only he insists that it can only be done to him in strict privacy. He needs ME because without me his fantasy doesn't work - he can't or rather, won't humiliate himself by himself so someone has to do it to him. Moreover, he trusts me because he knows that I will, if you will pardon the cliche, still respect him after having done the dirty deed."
"Sounds like you're giving him good value and service for his money. So, what's the problem?"
"You make me sound like a damned insurance salesman, Ty! Giving good value and service, indeed!" she flared. Solange knew she was getting agitated, but she didn't care. It was Ty's fault for being so sensitive and for somehow able to pull it out of her. "The problem," she said darkly, "is threefold. First, and foremost, I am NOT a god-damned insurance salesman. This is NOT just a job to me because I don't need a damned job. I do this because I LOVE it and because dominating my partners satisfies something intrinsic to my very nature."
Ty nodded understandingly. "I have sort of figured that out, but how is that a problem here?"
"Smartass - don't think I don't know what you're trying to do, and it won't work! I'm going to stay angry about this for a while! And don't think I won't remember that bit of impertinence when I provide your next lesson!" she threatened, grinning wickedly.
Then she became serious again."Everything I've learned in more than twenty years of playing these head games with the male of the species, and more specifically, everything I've learned about this particular male in the, oh, four years he's been my client, leads me to believe he truly wants to take his play to the next level, to some sort of at least semi-public play situation - like a play party, okay? I mean, when we play together, just the barest hint that I might require something public of him and both his mouth and cock literally drool! There's a saying among women that a hard-on doesn't lie, but every time I so much as think too loudly about involving even ONE other person in one of these humiliation sessions, even another DOMME he KNOWS? Then the sonuvabitch safewords me! So I have to stop, and he learns NOTHING from the experience. He just gets his physical and emotional rocks off and I get NOTHING back for all my efforts! He just sucks me dry emotionally and leaves me exhausted. More than once, I've come within a breath of telling him to find another Mistress."
"If it is that difficult and that draining for you, why haven't you done that? Maybe another woman could get him over that hump, or at least, not care about anything beyond the payoff at the end of the scene."
"Send him to the Mistress equivalent of our insurance salesman, you mean?" Solange tossed her hair angrily and her dark eyes flashed. "Like hell! He's one of mine now!
But in a roundabout way, that brings me to my last point. I am a Mistress, dammit! A skilled and, I hope, caring Domina! Beyond the play and erotic aspects of my craft, my goal in this role is to help the submissives in my care overcome false limits they impose on themselves because they're like children afraid of the dark! So that they see they can be more than they are letting themselves be. That is the most fulfilling aspect of my vocation: helping my submissives grow! Only. . . he . . won't . . .let . . me. HELP his sorry ass!"
She realized she was yelling, and caught herself back. "My apologies, Ty. That outburst was. . .uncalled for."
"No apologies needed for me, Sounds like you're owed a few, though. Feel better for having said it?"
Wearied by the emotional upheaval immediately after the emotionally draining scene, she sighed. "Somewhat."
The young actor reached into his pocket and pulled out a snowy white handkerchief that he offered across to Solange. "Here, wipe your tears and blow your nose. Tell me, does this guy have any wishes that you've not fulfilled to date? Ones you could have done, but just haven't yet? Or is this humiliation gig the only thing he's interested in doing?"
"No, not really. He also likes bondage and corporal sessions, too, so long as there isn't a humiliation aspect to the play. He'd like a scene with several of the girls all ganging up on him at once, but he can't afford that here - at least he can't afford that and get his regular humiliation fix from me! And I'm not giving him a break there because that's the only way I get back ANYTHING for what he takes from me when we scene."
"Hmmm. . . Do you have any parlor games at these parties?"
Solange considered that. "Well, we don't have dunking for apples or anything of that nature. Sometimes, one or two of the Mistresses have their lifestyle subs put on little informal shows, and if we have any new equipment or devices in the dungeon, we might demonstrate them. And many of our regular guests tend to favor rather outre costuming, but other than that, it's a fairly ordinary adult party. Dancing, conversation, buffet snacks - that sort of thing. Later in the evening, a few of the upstairs playrooms might get used, but we monitor that pretty carefully to make sure no one is dominating or submitting while intoxicated or gets into something they aren't equipped to handle."
"So, I could have, say half the upstairs? The third floor, I mean?"
"I don't see why not. What is going on in that cute little head of yours, Tyrone?"
"Well, back home? Dad used to set up a House of Horrors for the neighborhood kids in one of the warehouses at the plant. He'd rig these partitions up - make a maze out of it with all kinds of ghosts and skeletons and stuff. On Halloween night, he'd turn off the lights and let the kids go in, one at a time - the ones who made it to the other side got a dollar, and the fastest one got five dollars. The ones who didn't make it out got candy. Maybe we could stage something like that upstairs . . . "
"Ty, look at the invitation list - counting staff, other local Mistresses and guests, we could have upwards of two hundred guests."
"We wouldn't want everyone to play, so we'd have to have a drawing but rig it so that this guy got one of the chances to go through the maze. Your guy and maybe three or four others," Ty's words were soft, contemplative, as he staged the scene in his mind's eye. "If they make it through in under the time limit, or if they complete their forfeit for failing, they win a scene of their choice. . . Hmmm. . . how do we make them not want to quit after they try for the carrot? We'll need a stick. . . lots of them here. . . "
"TY!!" Solange's voice broke in sharply. "I AM still here, young man, and those are my, uh, sticks you're mumbling about. What type of Cecil B. DeMille extravaganza is stirring up in that head of yours?!?"
Ty grinned rakishly, and Solange felt a catch in her throat. No wonder ShaJuana moons over him, she thought. "Can I think about it a bit and give you a staging plan?" At her reluctant nod, he continued. "And tell me, is there any other player here you'd really like to nudge? If this works, we could probably do two real contests out of the four. More than that and the attendees might see through the setups."
"Well," Solange considered, and an image of another of her favorites came unbidden to Solange's mind, and what she had not yet dared do with and for him. Was this the opportunity she'd been looking for? Could Ty help her pull this off? In just the short time he'd been here, she had seen in him demonstrate a remarkable ability for staging and directing action in a scene. She'd worried that she'd never figure out a way to solve this particular tangle, but maybe. . ."Ty, there is this fellow who visits here on a regular basis, and he hasn't missed one of my parties since he first became a client . . . "
Interlude: Last Minute Costume Adjustments
Solange listened to the phone, a satisfied smile on her face. "Yes, that will do quite satisfactorily." Listening again, she made a quick check of her appointment calendar, and nodded to herself. "Yes, 9:30 will work for me. Very well. Please don't be late as my schedule is quite tight. Thank you for working this in for me. Good day."
She hung up the phone and made a few notes on her calendar. She had just finished when there was a knock on her office door. Checking her wristwatch, she smiled. Punctual as always. "Yes?" she called out. "Come in."
Ty stuck his head in and asked, "You wanted to see me, Solange?"
She nodded and indicated he should take a seat. "You're scheduled to assist Mistress Isolde tomorrow." It wasn't a question. "Are you clear on what she intends to do with her client and what your role will be for the scene?"
"Yes, Ma'am. She's going to be the female executive with a submissive male subordinate. She'll work him over in the near privacy of her office - I've already got that play room set up and she's approved everything - and I'm her nosy secretary who keeps interrupting at inconvenient moments to get things signed, get appointments approved, and so forth. At some point, she'll give me a signal and I will notice his semi-nudity and things will move on from there with Mistress Isolde directing us both."
"She is aware of your limits, I trust?"
"Yes, Ma'am. ShaJuana has been tutoring me on how and when to do that ever since I got my buns scalded by DeeDee. Basically, she can touch me, but he can't, and I won't touch him in any sexual manner or at all below his waist before or after my real gender is revealed to him. Mistress Isolde can spank me, or use the rubber flogger on me, but nothing more serious. I'm still a little gun-shy about whips and crops and the like."
"I think those are fair limits, given your background and current comfort level with what we do here at the dungeon. Ty, you aren't here for the reasons others are. You're here because you have useful skills and an open mind that allows me to make use of those skills in a, shall we say, irregular manner."
That elicited a chuckle from Ty, "I'll tell the world."
"Yes, well the point I'm trying to make here," she said repressively, "Is that both my clients and my ladies are here, doing what we do here, because it fulfills a deep, emotional and physical need for them — top or bottom, Mistress or slave."
"Ummm. . . even ShaJuana?" Ty asked before he could stop himself. He'd always thought she'd gotten into this for the money, to tide her over between acting gigs.
"Even ShaJuana," Solange affirmed. "Tyrone, you've seen Mistress ShaJuana in action here in my dungeon. Do you doubt that she is enjoying herself hugely, regardless of how much work and effort it takes for her to do this thing properly?. Do you truly think she'd be as good as she is if she didn't like dominating males?"
"I take your point," Ty said quietly, promising himself he'd consider that point in much more depth later. "And I'm not like that, I guess." He finished, wondering if that was really true.
"Well, you don't appear to mind doing what we've asked of you all that much, so long as we recognize and stay within your limits. My concern, however, is that you've been essentially thrown into the deep end of the pool with very little in the way of training and experiences. What might or might not be a limit may well change the more you experience and the more you are trained. Your limits will and should evolve, and you need to be aware of them at all times so that you avoid situations that could, even by accident, violate them."
"I understand that it would be bad for the client," Ty observed.
"Having someone break a limit is bad for everyone involved, including the Mistress and especially for the one whose limit is violated. That makes people stop playing this way out of fear, or out of other darker, worse emotions. For those of us who do this because it fulfills something in our basic nature, that's a very great loss. I do not want that happening to you or to anyone who is playing or working with you, so I'm going to require something of you that was not part of our original agreement. You will do it outside your normal weekday hours here. Keep track of the time you spend on this task. I will pay you for the time."
"Okay, what do you want from me, Solange?"
"I would like you to keep a reflective notebook while you are here. As a minimum, I want you to self-analyze what your limits are after each scene in which you participate, whether it is a training session, a client's session, or one you do for your own pleasure should such ever happen."
Ty gave a snort, to which Solange responded with a teasing smile before becoming serious again. "It might happen - there are some lovely, caring women here who would jump at the chance to have their wicked ways with you. Be that as it may, I want you to write down your thoughts and your feelings with regard to your limits in that notebook. I want to discuss your reflections with you on a weekly basis — probably on Fridays, but we'll see how that works out for both of us. I expect you to be brutally honest with yourself in these written reflections, so I won't expect you to show me the notebook, or let me read it. I will, however, expect you to discuss what you have learned about yourself and your limits, as it relates to your work here with me openly and frankly. I cannot help you nor can I protect you if I don't understand what is going on in your head. With my clients, this isn't usually a problem for me, as I understand their basic emotions and motivations. As I said, you are different and I don't want any mistakes that hurt you or damage our relationship. Do you have any problems with that assignment?"
Ty didn't answer immediately, and took the time to consider what she wanted. Then he nodded. "As an actor, I've done that type of writing before. I'm sort of surprised I didn't think of it myself because I've used it to deal with other emotional stuff in the past. As to talking with you about limits and such? Now that I think about it, you're probably the best one for me to talk to about such things. I've talked with ShaJuana some about these things, but it's hard there because sometimes it feels like I'm imposing on our friendship, bringing all my emotional baggage to dump on her."
Solange considered saying something, and decided against it. She'd bide her time for awhile and see what came of her little weekly chats. "I'm glad you feel you can talk about this with me. Now, I have a small, personal problem as regards your scene with Isolde tomorrow."
"Something I can do to help, Solange?"
"Yes. I had to move an appointment to tomorrow morning, so I cannot be here in time to let you into the wardrobe and help you select your costume. I can give you a key to one of the prep rooms, but we'll have to pick out your costume tonight and have it on hand for when you get here tomorrow. . ." she glanced at her computer, and then muttered, "Damn!"
"What's the matter, Solange?"
"All the prep rooms are in use for the rest of today. I can schedule you one for tomorrow morning, but you won't be able to store your costume there tonight. Damn! I'll have to reschedule my appointment. I knew my luck getting in so quickly was too good. I'll have to call my doctor and see what the next available appointment is."
"Um, Solange? If you don't mind me taking the costume home, I'd just need a garment bag for the suit and a rolling suitcase for the wig, shoes, cosmetics and other stuff. I'd look like just another New York yuppie coming or going to the airport. The only part of the costume I have a problem putting on by myself is the waist cincher, and I could get Isolde to help me with the corset when I got here."
Solange looked at her young employee consideringly. "That could work, I suppose. You wouldn't mind taking all that feminine finery home with you and bringing it back in the morning?"
Ty shrugged that off. "Who'd know besides me? Heck, I'll even get another half hour's sleep out of the deal if I don't have to be here in time to spend half an hour going through wardrobe with you before spending my two hours in make-up and costuming. I can be here at 8 AM instead of 7:30 AM, and still have plenty of time to be dressed and ready to help Mistress Isolde with any last minute details."
"Very well, we will do it that way. I believe I even have the necessary luggage here as well. One thing, Mr. Edwards, doing me a personal favor does not absolve you of your professional commitments to me and my organization. As always, I expect your to be undetectable as a cross-dressed male, and I expect you to be there for Mistress Isolde when she is ready to do the final preparations for the scene. Anything less, and you will be disciplined either by a docking of your pay, or a scene of my choice with one of my ladies as we have agreed in the past. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Ma'am. So long as I can safeword the scene, that's fine."
"I will never deny you the use of a safeword, Tyrone. However, in this case, please recall that safewording forfeits the event fee since you are doing the scene to keep that bonus," she reminded him.
"I understand and agree. Do you have time to go to the wardrobe with me now?"
"I have to make a few phone calls first, one of which is to make sure Isolde knows you'll need help with your corsetry tomorrow. Shall I meet you there in say, fifteen minutes?"
"Yes, Ma'am. Is that all for now?"
Solange smiled, and nodded. "Yes, thank you for your time and cooperation in this, Ty. I'll see you in wardrobe."
She watched him leave, and close the door behind him. She waited a few moments to ensure he wasn't going to recall something and come right back, then she picked up her phone. A wicked smile lit her regal features - one that had sent shivers dancing up and down the spine of many a submissive male in her time as a practicing Domina.
Tomorrow was going to be a very interesting day, indeed. Now all she needed to do was ensure that the last of the preparations were in place.
Chapter 7: The Thickening Plot
It was dark by the time Ty finally made his way home from the dungeon, and of course, since he was weighed down with about seventy five pounds of luggage, the elevator was not working. Murphy had always had a lousy sense of humor.
Still, the thought of what he'd be able to do with the two or so hours worth of bonus pay he'd earn playing the bimbo secretary tomorrow kept his spirits high as he lugged his heavy burden up to his apartment. His regular salary covered the necessities of life in the big bad city, so he no longer had to worry about paying the rent, and his diet had improved significantly, as well. He'd even managed to collect a few pieces of clothing that weren't from thrift stores, but New York was still New York and the cost of living sucked. So the extra money here and there for an hour or two of his time, even in skirts, had been a god send. His back rent was paid as were his delinquent union dues. The phone on the floor by his bed had been reconnected (even if it could not be used to call long distance - YET) and he'd even managed to make a dent in the principal on the one credit card he permitted himself.
This bonus, however, would be used to get a cell phone, even if only on the 'buy minutes up front' plan for now. He wanted that cell phone. No, he LUSTED for that cell phone. There was just something about having been deprived of that basic service over the past few months that had screamed 'failure' to him.
Reaching his floor, he opened the door and quickly brought the luggage in. Painful and hard-learned lessons had him closing and locking the door's multiple locks again before even walking across the tiny room to turn on the single lamp he owned. A beer was in order, he thought as he went into his tiny kitchen, as a way of celebrating his return to the world of cell phones. And that was yet another little luxury that his time in Solange's employ had restored to his lifestyle - a cold beer in the evening when he wanted one.
As he passed the rickety excuse for a kitchen table, he saw the application he'd gotten, and started to fill out. Odd how working at the dungeon had planted this idea in his head. Certainly, the program could be seen as an extension of some of the aspects of his new job that he'd found surprisingly fulfilling, but could he actually see that type of work becoming his career? Was there a calling in this for him?
He didn't yet know the answers to those questions, but there was potential there, and the possibility of an opportunity to continue working in the world of theater. Ty sat down and scanned through the nearly-completed paperwork, wincing once again at the part that discussed costs.
He'd need a whole lot of financial aid, and precisely where that money would come from he didn't know. Not from Edwards, Inc., that was for sure. Dad had not been happy with his undergraduate program of studies, but had paid for it because Ty had agreed to minor in business administration - the only student in his dramatic arts department to do so. Dad would NOT be willing to pay for this, but that didn't matter because Ty didn't intend to ask him. If he was going to pursue this, he'd have to find his own way. Who knew - maybe he wasn't too old for student loans, and with that thought, he finished the last few items before signing his name to the document with a flourish worthy of John Hancock.
A surreal sense of accomplishment wafted over Ty as he sat there, staring at the completed and now signed document. He'd have to wait until his next bonus session in order to pay the application fee, but he'd made the decision to go for it. Now, he'd find a way to make it work.
Collecting his beer, he stood up and noticed that he'd left the luggage on the floor, blocking the door. Setting the beer bottle back down, he went over and hoisted the shoulder bag and gripped the handle on the rolling suitcase. When he did, he saw an envelope on the floor where someone had obviously pushed it under his door earlier in the day. He set the luggage aside, away from the door, and then returned to pick up the note. He opened it, and was surprised to see it was from the building super.
Mr. Edwards:
Your annual safety, fire and pest inspection is scheduled for tomorrow morning at 8:30 AM. It should take no more than an hour, but as you know, this is an unannounced inspection to ensure you are complying with the terms of your lease as regards to cleanliness and other maintenance. You or your designated representative must be in the apartment with the inspector and myself during the inspection. Failure to be present will necessitate rescheduling the inspection, and you will be billed $125/hour for the inspector's lost time. A minimum of two hours will be charged, payable with your next rent payment.
If you have any questions, you can reach me at my office number during the hours of 8:00 AM to 5:00 PM.
Jon Smith, Building Superintendent.
Ty couldn't believe it. The guy had to be kidding. Surely he rated more warning than this 'be there tomorrow or else' note? Furious, Ty snatched up his phone and dialed the super's number, which of course, went to voice mail. A quick check of his watch showed that it was almost 7:00 PM, and Ty figured the realty management company didn't pay this guy enough to hang around after hours. Grasping at straws, Ty ran down the stairs to the Super's first floor apartment, only to find no one home.
Returning to his apartment, he called the dungeon hoping for a reprieve on the scene assignment for tomorrow, but neither Isolde nor Solange were there. ShaJuana was just about to leave for the day, but she was still there, so he asked to speak to her.
"Hey, Ty-RONE, what's up?" she asked when she picked up the line.
"Juana, can you cover my apartment tomorrow morning? I've got a session assignment in the morning working with Isolde - doing the role of her sexy secretary - and when I got home tonight there was this notice of an unannounced inspection that I have to be here for tomorrow. The inspection is at 8:30, and the session with Isolde is at ten! I can't get do that and still get there in time to change. The note says I could have a designee here to do stand in for me if I can't be here, but it will cost me more than twice what I'll earn for doing the scene with Isolde if they come here and no one is here."
"Wow, Ty, that's a bitch. I wish I could help, I really do, but I've got a dance audition tomorrow morning. I've got to be on stage and ready to go at 9:00 AM."
"Damn. This blows. I can't afford the penalty, and I can't be here the inspection and make the 10:00 AM scene with Isolde. Unlike you, I need at least two hours to make myself beautiful."
"Nice line, boy, but flattery ain't gonna get you nowhere, this time. I really want that part!"
"As if I'd ask you to give it up!" Ty responded, real heat in his voice.
"Okay, okay, just teasin'. I really do wish I could help, Ty. Want me to ask around, see if any of the girls still here can come by your place and help?"
He thought about it, but, dammit, it just wasn't fair to any of the women still at the dungeon. They were all working the evening shift, so they wouldn't be free until one or two am in the morning. By the time they got home, they'd get less than three hours rest if they were going to be at his place in time to stand in for him with the superintendent. That would just mess up their schedules too much. Unfortunately, this was his problem and he only saw one solution at this point. "No," he replied on a gusty sigh of resignation. "Could you leave a note for Isolde, or maybe call her at home? She lives on Long Island and I can't call her with my phone setup. Suffolk is a long distance call from here."
"Sure, if you want. . . " and Juana's voice trailed away. "Say, Ty? You did say a designee was okay for this deal, right? And that it would be done in an hour, right?"
"Yeah. So?"
"Well, you said you were doing the sexy secretary in a ritzy office bit, right? And that means the outfit should be suitable for street wear. Is it?"
"Pretty much," he affirmed. "It's really tight in places, naturally, and the skirt's a little short, but nothing too far our of the ordinary, Why?"
"Okay, so you could wear it on the street and walk to the dungeon wearing it. Suppose I go get your girl stuff before I go home. I'll drop it off at your place, and tomorrow, you could dress up and be your own designee, only as Tina. Then, you just walk to the dungeon with the rest of the folks heading off to work and be on time for your session with Isolde."
Stunned silence was all Ty could come up with in response to that solution to his problem. It might work, he thought. No client had read him yet, at least, until he'd been unveiled. And he had everything already, right? Then he remembered the cut and size of the suit Solange had selected for him, not to mention the shoes and groaned aloud.
"Ty?" ShaJuana snapped out. "TYRONE? Are you all right? What's the matter?"
"I've already got my stuff for tomorrow here, Juana, 'cause all the prep rooms were in use tonight."
"So? You're good to go, right?"
"No. Two problems. The costume won't fit without the waspie laced up tight, and it laces from the back."
"Okay, I can see that. What's the other problem?"
"The shoes - the ones that go with the outfit are more than four inches tall. I can't walk that far in them - not and then spend two hours in the playroom with them. I'll be lamed."
"Hmmm, 'see your point, Ty. Well, the shoes are no problem, are they? Women wear socks and sneaks over their stockings to walk to work all the time, don't they?"
"I suppose, but the only sneakers I have are practically falling apart. I think folks would notice a secretary in a too-tight dress wearing four year old high tops, don't you?"
"You're right. Okay, I'll bring you over a pair of mine tonight - they should fit you with a thick enough pair of socks. And while I'm there, I'll do up your corset for you."
"But I'll have to wear it all night!" he yelped protest.
"Hey, it's either that, or let Isolde and Solange down, or get one of the girls to come in and help you tomorrow. 'Sides, you don't really need that much taken off your tummy, do you?"
It was the principle of the thing, he told himself. This was his home, such as it was - his castle - and he wanted to be king here, not queen. Still, it was a solution that didn't let anyone down, and didn't cost or lose him any money. Resigned, he surrendered to the inevitable. "Want some dinner while you're here? I have beer and leftover chili-mac?"
Juana laughed. "No thanks, but I'll bring a pizza. We'll just have to lace you up before you overeat."
"Bitch," Ty said laughing. "And that's just one of the things I love about you."
"See you in thirty, Ty-RONE!"
Chapter 8: On the Sidewalks of New York
Ty tried to find a position where he could stand without falling into the bathroom sink, and that also let him see clearly the fine line formed by where his own skin met the faux breast he'd just glued on to his chest. It had been difficult enough doing up Tina's face and getting the blond, French-Twist styled wig on straight using the sorry excuse for a medicine cabinet mirror, but this - this . . .
Words failed him for one of the few times in his life. He needed a shadow-free view of that transition if he wanted to hide it effectively with the makeup intended to hide the difference between real skin and really good fake skin. Except he couldn't twist his neck far enough to see it directly. The only way he could even begin to see the sides of his fake boobs was to use a mirror. At the dungeon, he'd used those marvelous wide-screen, lighted makeup mirrors, but he didn't have anything like that here. All he had was a mirror that was missing a large chunk of its reflective silver backing, that was barely the size of a piece of notebook paper, and that was already slightly above comfortable face height for the inches-challenged actor. While doing Tina's face, he'd solved the height problem by slipping on those instruments of the Inquisition that Solange jokingly referred to as 'shoes', using the extra four and one half inches (he'd measured them!) to get his lips even with a part of the mirror that actually produced a reflection.
Now what he was doing was standing on top of an upside-down, metal waste can and leaning against the wall for support. Once there, he used a flashlight in one hand for extra illumination, and his remaining free hand to brush the masking compound's pigment smoothly over the two surfaces.
All the while trying manfully not to fall off his precarious perch, smashing his head on the toilet flushing tank, thus killing himself. Well, at least he'd thought to take off those damned shoes first. Otherwise, he'd probably already be dead.
And for all his best efforts, 'Tina's' face was merely adequate from what he'd been able to see of the entire presentation in that miserable excuse for a mirror. At least, he hoped it was adequate. As soon as he finished dressing, he'd call the dungeon and see if one of the ladies would give Tina a quick make over once she got to work. Someone was sure to be there by then, and Tina would need it. Actually, Ty was perfectly capable of doing what was needed to be done on his own - he just couldn't do it fast enough for Tina to be on time in the playroom - particularly if that asshole super and his pal the inspector dawdled over their white glove treatment of the place.
There'd be somebody at the dungeon who could help him. There had to be!
With the last bit of cosmetic camouflage done and dried, it was time to finish dressing so he wouldn't have to greet the coming invaders in nothing but Tina's unmentionables. Wouldn't THAT be a bloody thrill!
NOT!
The waist cincher had still been a problem - even after Juana's help the previous evening. Over the course of the night, the waspie, and maybe the laces, too, had stretched so the thing had been able to shift up towards his rib cage. Getting it back down to where it belonged had required a great deal of tugging and some rather inventive contortions on his part. He'd managed, but it had taken time he didn't have and still left his waist not quite as cinched as it had been the night before.
He almost wished he'd accepted ShaJuana's kind offer to come here this morning before she went to her audition. She'd told him she'd be here at six AM to lace him up so he could get a good night's sleep. Besides, Solange didn't like her girls wearing corsetry more than a few hours at a time because the garments tended to constrict internal organs if worn too long or too tightly. Anyway, he'd blown her off. For one thing, as Juana herself had said, Ty didn't need to lose all that many inches so Tina wouldn't have to be laced so tightly that there might be a health risk. More importantly, however, Ty wanted ShaJuana to be bright-eyed and ready for her audition. She wouldn't be either if she had to get out of bed at 5:30 AM to be here just to get hm laced up by 6:00 AM.
He remembered how she'd rebelled at his insistence she stay in bed and go straight to her audition, arguing that it would be no problem for her at all. She was a great friend, he thought, but he had been determined to have his way on this. She needed, no, more than that, she had EARNED this opportunity, and Ty was not going to have her go into this audition at anything less than her absolute best. As her friend, that was more important to him than a few hours discomfort from having to wear a corset overnight.
Now he had to get into costume and into character, but that was actually going to fun for a change. This was the first time since Juana had first shoved him into her shower with that bottle of hair remover that he'd had any degree of artistic control over HIS character. He'd spent a lot of time last evening thinking about just that, too, and had concluded that the very sexy ditz who would serve as Isolde's secretary was all wrong for the walk across town to work. That piece of work would have a car, or at least, would call a cab to get to the dungeon, and neither of those options fit into Ty Edwards' budget just yet. So, he needed a different character for the next few hours.
And he could see her in his mind.
She was a Midwestern girl, new to the big city, starting off a new life and a new job. She was ambitious, ergo her decision to work in New York City instead of back home in Dubuque, but she was still just a little naive, a little too sweet and trusting, and secretly, just a little scared at being out on her own. Think Marlo Thomas in 'That Girl' as a starter, he thought to himself.
He looked at the padded girdle and bra set on his bed, next to the seamed stockings and a plastic bag with the logo of a local discount department store. It would have been so much easier to have had Juana help him slip into one of those all-in-one things last night, lace it up and be done with it all. Unfortunately for him, in his next role Solange already had a mental picture of how 'Sexy Secretary Tina' would dress and had issued him this stuff instead. Evidently, Solange had decided that 'Sexretary Tina' wouldn't give a second thought to running around commando-style, even when dressed in a really short skirt and an open-bottom girdle. 'Dubuque Tina,' however, was not THAT kind of girl! 'Dubuque Tina' was an old fashioned girl-next-door kind of girl. SHE had been brought up by her Momma to be a Lady with a capital 'L'!
Which was why that plastic bag was there on the bed along with the lingerie provided by Solange. While waiting for ShaJuana to arrive last night, he'd run out to the local department store and had checked out the available selections in ladies' undies. One small problem had been that he didn't really know what size panty Tina wore, since such things had always been provided by the dungeon or by Juana. Unfortunately, neither Ty nor Tina had thought to look for the tags. He'd solved that problem by buying three pairs in three different sizes, starting with large. He'd gotten a very funny look from the cashier, but he'd ignored it. Wouldn't be the first time someone had drawn conclusions about him based on his purchase of costume pieces or accessories. That was just part of being an actor.
Ty decided he'd start with the smallest pair of panties, and then move up in size if it became necessary.
At 8:14 by the radio announcer's disgustingly chipper weather report, Dubuque Tina was busily putting the finishing touches on her attire. She was a little concerned because, with the padded girdle, Tina had a figure that just BARELY fit in the skirt. And her voluptuously rounded bottom pulled the darn thing's already short hem up another couple of inches! She HAD to be dangerously close to having the dark, reinforced nylon of her stocking tops peeking out from under her skirt-hem. On her first day as Miss Isolde's secretary, too! Oh, if only every stray calorie didn't run straight to her hips and bottom and take up permanent residence there. If she'd had time for breakfast earlier, she'd be losing it right now!
So it was just as well she'd had to skip breakfast, because she didn't have time for that right now. She still had to get the seams of her stockings straightened out, then get them hooked to the garters of that darned girdle, and manage it all in the 12 minutes she had left before Mr. Edwards' super and his pal the inspector arrived.
Somehow, she managed it, because just as the radio announced the 8:30 morning news, she was slipping on her suit jacket. She'd even gotten the socks and running shoes on without falling on her face or ruining her hose. Amazing, she thought, while hurrying over to her kitchen table so she could knock on the wood.
The radio station's regularly scheduled 8:34 weather report came and went, with no sign of the inspection team.
At 8:38, the local sportscaster was giving a cogent analysis of why neither the Yankees or the Mets were in the World Series this year, and could expect that to occur again next year. There wasn't even the grind of the elevator hoist to herald the arrival of the inspector and superintendent.
At 8:45, her phone rang. "Finally," she snarled as she snapped up the offending instrument. "YES!"
"Hello, is this Mr. Edwards' apartment?" She recognized the voice of the building superintendent.
Tina realized that the superintendent had expected Ty to answer, but instead had gotten her. She took a deep breath to calm herself. "Yes, this is Mr. Edwards' apartment. He had to go to an audition, so he asked me to be here for this inspection thingie you guys sprung on him. Are you calling about that?" she asked.
"Yes, Ma'am. I'm sorry, but the inspector just called to tell me he can't make it today - he has a sick kid who can't go into school so he has to stay home with him. We'll have to reschedule for another day."
"Oh, I see. You can cancel without notice, but if Ty did, you'd fine him two hundred and fifty dollars?" she demanded primly. "I'm sure he's going to call the management company about this. He deserves a rent credit for this, at the very least!" she lectured into the phone.
A mocking laugh answered her. "Oh, you tell him to go ahead and try, but the penalty to Edwards is in the lease he signed, and there's nothing in there that says the landlord has any similar liabilities. You have a nice day, Ma'am, and say hello to Mr. Edwards for me." Then all she heard was the buzzing of a disconnected phone.
She looked at the clock, and saw that it was 8:49, and uttering a word that would have had her Momma reaching for a soap bar, gathered up her luggage and briefcase to leave.
For some unknown reason, the sign announcing that the elevator was out of commission was gone, and it appeared - miracle of miracles - that it was actually operating. She reached out and tapped the 'down' button with the blood-red nail of her index finger.
The elevator arrived and she stepped in. Like many such conveyances, the inside was mirrored for the benefit of the security camera hidden somewhere in the car - assuming the camera worked which she figured was a very bad assumption. However, the mirrors still served to give Tina her first good look at 'the whole picture.' Mentally, she ticked off the main elements of her presentation for her first day of work with Miss Isolde.
Her hair was okay - the blond French braids were still tight and still looked neat. Her make up would pass, too, but she hoped she could manage a quick trip to the powder room for a touch up before she met with Miss Isolde to start her day.
She looked at her body, and pouted a bit. Her suit was tight - VERY tight, but she didn't look fat - maybe just a little zaftig - her boobs, hips and butt looked in proportion - just a little too big for the suit, that's all. And now that she was working and walking to work every day, she'd shed that five, well, ten pounds in no time.
She checked her legs and was pleased to see that she had managed to get the seams of the stockings straight, and there weren't any runs or ladders. . . okay - check.
Carefully, she lifted her skirt until she could see the darker material of the stockings' tops, and then a little more until she saw the white of the garters from her girdle, and sighed. That was going to be a problem, after all. She had a scant two inches to where the stocking tops became clearly visible and less than another inch before the white of the girdle garters would poke themselves into plain view. Maybe she should go back on put on pantihose, she thought to herself, but no - there just wasn't enough time. Besides, real stockings made her feel, well, more womanly and grown up - just the way a girl starting on her first real job in the big city SHOULD feel. Ditch the pantihose, she told herself sternly.
Tina experimented with her stride, all the while looking at her reflection in the mirrored walls of the elevator. She'd have to be very careful to moderate her stride or she'd be flashing stocking tops and garters to the whole city, she thought. Oh well, it's not all that far to walk, she tried telling herself as an encouragement.
As the elevator doors whooshed open on her building's main floor, she thought, just for an instant, that she might be better off wearing the high heels that were inside the rolling suitcase she pulled behind her. That would, at least, control her stride for her. It would also just about destroy her feet and ankles before she was half way through her first day working for Miss Isolde. She'd just have to remember and be careful not to over-stride. She could do that.
Only the nagging awareness of the potential risk that her skirt might creep up her thighs as she hurried off to work would not go away! She was overtly conscious of her appearance every step she took. She caught herself, on several occasions, stopping to stare at her reflection in storefront windows, making sure those darned stocking tops and garter tabs weren't showing.
It was during one such stop that she caught a reflected glimpse of a tall, African American woman behind her and deep in the part of Tina's mind where Ty was still in control, thought "Juana?" But when she spun about to look, the woman had disappeared - maybe stepping into a store further back up the sidewalk.
Her curiosity aroused, she was about to walk back that way and see who was there, but saw to her horror that it was almost 9:15, and she was only barely halfway to work! Her little window stops, along with her consciously shortened walking stride had cost her time she didn't have to lose! First thing she'd buy with her first paycheck would be a business-appropriate ladies watch. She was a professional now, darnit, and professionals were not late for work or appointments.
She had to get to her new workplace by 9:30, so she considered her options. Her planned route to work was a bit roundabout because she intentionally avoided a street that had always seemed really dirty and unkempt. She didn't want to show up soiled and dusty her first day on the job, but taking that street would cut ten minutes off her walking time. Another look at the clock in the window made up her mind for her. 'You never get a second chance to make a good first impression,' she told herself firmly.
With that, she turned and headed for the 'shortcut'.
The street was not only dirty, it was rough in more ways than one. There were few, if any, pedestrians for her to join, and most of the people on the street seemed to be clustered in small, same-sex groups around someone who was clearly the 'ring-leader'. Her lack of escort and her mode of dress made her stand out all the more. She had never been anywhere like this back home in Dubuque. Anxiety bubbled up in her as she became more and more the center of attention, particularly among the male groups.
Unconsciously, her stride lengthened and sped up, with the consequence that her stocking tops started flashing with each stride, bringing her even more unwanted interest from her audience.
Suddenly, something caught at her arm, bringing her up short and nearly toppling her to the dirty sidewalk. She just caught herself, and spinning about, saw the cause was a man - a teenager really, who had grabbed her by her arm as she'd passed by him.
He was not a credit to his gender. He had long, ill-tended hair, and a face that was marked by insufficient hair to be recognizable as a beard, and the pockmark scars of poorly treated acne. He wore a filthy t-shirt and grubby jeans, under a New York Yankee warmup jacket. The grin he gave her was frightening, and whether it was his breath or body order, the stench he gave off made her want to wretch right there.
"Yo, momma," he said arrogantly, "You be new here. Gotta real nice ass on you. What say you come with me and we'll see what we can do with that fine ass, huh?"
A miasma of swirling, violent emotions nearly overwhelmed Tina - part fear, part humiliation, and the rest pure rage. How DARE this. . . this punk accost her? Without thought, the actor that was Tina slipped into the most threatening role she knew, "Little man," Maitresse Solange said in cold, clear tones, "If you want those fingers back as more than stubs, you would be wise to remove them from my arm now while you can."
"Listen, bitch . . ."
"No, YOU listen," she snapped back, punctuating each syllable with a sharp finger stab to the punk's sternum, "You got ONE thing right, I AM a bitch, with sharp, shiny teeth," The smile that curled her lips showed those teeth, but didn't reach her ice cold eyes. "You don't want me to show you and your friends just how sharp they are. Do you think you're the first pushy little boy who has tried my patience? I know just what to do to render a mere male - less than whole. I've done it before and I LIKE doing it."
For several, infinitely long heartbeats, the two of them simply stared into each other's eyes, and then he broke. Solange-Tina reached over with her free hand, and peeled her attacker's fingers away from her arm. Then she fastidiously smoothed the material, turned her back on him and, with a dismissive shake of her head, continued on her way, once again at the controlled, restrained pace she'd used when she'd first left her building.
What she did not see was the teen recovering enough to start gathering his group for a response, only to have a mountain of a man, wearing a grey pinstriped suit, step between them and Tina's departing figure. He made no overt threat, made no movements that might signal that he had or might use a weapon against them. However, the unspoken message he conveyed was still clearly understood by the leader and his cronies. 'To get to her, you go over or through me.'
They decided they had better things to do at that point, and were all privately relieved when the suit slipped away in the direction that bitch had taken.
Interlude - The Shadow Knows.
8:50 AM found Maitresse Solange just settling into the plush leather seats of her chauffeur-service car for the drive from her home to her place of business. The car had barely moved from the curb when her cell-phone sounded the first bars of the refrain from John Cougar Mellencamp's "Hurts so Good." She collected the sleek unit from her purse and saw that the call was being auto-forwarded to her from her private line at the dungeon.
Snapping it open, she put the phone to her ear and expectantly said, "Yes?" She listened for a moment, and then smiled broadly. "Ah, yes, Mr. Smith, this is she. What can I do for you?"
"Oh, I see. So Mr. Edwards arranged for someone to stay in his apartment to meet your supposed inspector? A young lady, you say? Ah, must be a girl friend. Well, that's too bad as he'll no doubt arrive at work before we'll have had time to set up the decorations for his surprise birthday celebration. What's that? Oh, you say his girlfriend told you he went to an audition? Well, maybe we can salvage the party after all." There was a spate of rapid speech on the other end, causing Solange to grin. "Oh, well I shouldn't worry, Mr. Smith. I'll make sure that both Mr. Edwards and his friend know that this was a ruse on my part so we could surprise him. No, I don't think you need to worry about a call to your employers about the inspection. No, I'm very pleased with your effort, and will have the other fifty dollars delivered to you by messenger this very morning. Thank you for trying to help us surprise Tyrone. Good day to you, Mr. Smith."
Solange settled even more comfortably into the deeply cushioned seat, a self-satisfied smile on her face. So, Ty had taken the challenge and run with it. Tina was now operating on the grandest stage of all - New York City during morning rush hour. How did the song go? 'If I can make it here, I'll make it anywhere. . .'
A beautiful piece of feminine manipulation, she thought to herself. She'd be sure to congratulate ShaJuana on her part in this little enterprise, as well.
She glanced at her watch. She had just enough time to slip into her office and be well out of sight before Tina came sailing in to the dungeon to redo her makeup for the session with Isolde.
At 9:20, Solange was seated in her private office, a freshly brewed cup of tea in her hand, watching the establishment's closed circuit television. She'd installed the system so that any room in the place could be monitored for safety, sanity and consensuality - not to mention security. She was about to select the camera that monitored the entrance foyer when the phone on her private line rang. She picked it up, "Yes?" and then listened. At first, she wasn't sure she had heard what the private security man had to say correctly, so she asked him to repeat it
It was just as bad the second time. "She was WHAT?" Solange blurted, her voice jumping whole octaves. "Accosted on the street? Where? Why?"
"Merciful God in Heaven, Why EVER did she take THAT route?. .oh . . .running late? I wonder why - I have an eye witness report that she left the apartment building in plenty of time to get here. She should have been. . .What about the suit? Oh, I see, and they saw her garters? How?"
The response was terse and to the point, and made Solange wince. "My fault - I didn't think - it was the outfit Isolde and I had selected before I thought of this experience for her. . .I didn't think of how that would work out in public and I should have. Was. . .Was she hurt? Before you could intervene?"
She jumped at the bark of laughter that answered that question, then listened carefully. "You say she handled them? How? Did she break cover and - . . .and . . .she WHAT?!??"
The conversation, such as it was, devolved to the security operative making tight, pithy comments about planning, safety and consent when a submissive was put in such situations, to which a very chastened Solange interspersed with increasingly apologetic "I see's," and "I agree's." It was a masterful chewing out, from a man she knew to be a highly competent, caring and much sought-after Master in his own right. Worse, she knew she deserved every bit of it and more.
"No, you're quite right - this was poorly planned and poorly done on our part, and I'm giving thanks right now that nothing really bad happened to anyone involved."
"No, I don't know what I'm going to do - probably nothing at all until we see if there are repercussions."
"Yes, I know you're there if we need masculine support or assistance, but we'll start out playing it by ear on our own. Very well, then, and thank you for your efforts. I very much appreciate everything you did to keep her safe."
Solange was about to say more when her in-house intercom beeped, and then beeped again. That was the preset danger signal from the front desk - not an intrusion alarm or a crime alarm, but a warning of what the front desk considered to be a significant problem.
"I have to go - something on my in-house link." Solange hung up the phone and opened the two-way circuit to the front desk.
"Solange? Deedee on the front desk. Tina just came in. Something is just not right. Her face was . . .was, well, a little scary! I've never seen her look so, well, hard is the only word I can think of. And she's never talked to me the way she just did before."
"What did she say?"
"She said something like "Good morning, Deirdre, All's well here, I presume?" and just kept going. Didn't wait for me to answer. I've never heard her talk like that, and this is after she called me earlier this morning and all but begged me to help her with her makeup for her session when she got here. It was like she had never said it, somehow. . ."
"Thanks - I'm on it."
Solange turned her attention back to her CCTV station, and began scanning through the rooms on the second floor. She found Tina in the prep room that had been assigned to her use for her final preparations. Tina was seated at the vanity busily creaming away the makeup she'd put on before leaving her apartment. Her movements seemed strange, for some reason, but Solange couldn't quite put her finger on why that might be. In hopes of getting more information, she turned on the hidden microphones that were also installed in every room of the dungeon.
Not able to make out much, if any detail in the fisheye lens of the security camera, Solange switched to the camera installed behind the one-way glass of the makeup mirror and just stared in confusion at what she beheld. There was no apparent emotion on the young face, just a quietly intense focus on the process of applying fresh makeup.
Why wasn't the girl upset? Lord knows, if some jerk had grabbed Solange on the street like that she'd have been upset. Hell, after she'd crushed the little worm into the nearest storm drain, she'd have run off to the privacy of her office and had a minor breakdown. This girl had nearly been - no, not nearly - she HAD been violated, but she wasn't showing a bit of that type of emotion. That, somehow, seemed even worse than a breakdown. At least Solange knew what to DO about a breakdown - equal parts caring, wine and chocolate, with an on-call rape counselor in the wings if needed. She had to know more about what was going on inside that blond head . . .
Solange snatched up her phone and dialed an in-house extension that was answered on the first ring. "Isolde, something went wrong on Tina's walk to work - some low-life scum accosted her on the street. No, she wasn't hurt physically and I had someone following her for protection. No, she's not crying, and that scares the hell out of me. Look, I don't have anything more to tell because I don't know anything more, all right? I need you to go to her and see if you can figure out what she's feeling right now. You have an excuse to go looking for her so get down there and try to look surprised when you see her. Once you're there you can call for help and I'll be able to say I was just arriving at work after coming in from my appointment. No, I don't know if she can work a session or not, but I'm really not concerned about that just at the moment. Okay, Solly, thanks. She's in Prep Room 1, putting on makeup, for goodness sake. Great! Now move it, please."
Still fixated on the screen, Solange called the front desk. "DeeDee, I want ShaJuana in my private office right now! Tell her to take the back way, because I don't want Tina to see her. What do you mean she's not here yet? Oh, I see. Well, then call her on her private cell phone. I need to see her right away - tell her to shag it! Thanks, dear. Yes, I saw it, too, and no, I've not seen Tina behave like this before, either. Thanks. She's one of us now, and we'll take care of her. Right, now I have to go. Find ShaJuana for me!"
ShaJuana burst in, breathing hard from running up the stairs and down the block-long corridor to reach Solange's office. It took a few moments for the tall black beauty to be brought up to speed as they watched the monitor to see Isolde arrive at Tina's Prep Room. Dumbfounded, they could only stare when Tina immediately began ordering the senior Domina around. "This suit is too tight without the corset laced up tight. Well, what are you waiting for? Don't dawdle, Isolde, we haven't the time for that!"
"Where WERE you, Juana? I thought you were going to trail after her, too? Make sure nothing went wrong while she was out on the street?" Solange's tones were accusing.
Juana didn't take her eyes off her friend's image as she answered the older woman. "I lost her about half way here. That skirt really messed her up, Solange. It was just too short and she never got comfortable moving in it. She must have stopped twice every block just to look at her reflection. She even slipped into an alleyway once to pull it down in the back. Anyway, I got too close once and I saw her catch sight of my reflection in one of the windows. I ducked into a café and by the time I thought it was safe to come back out, she was gone. I tried to catch up, but I never even caught sight of her again. How'd she get here so damned fast?"
"She took the short cut through the bad streets, and got grabbed by some punk-bastard," Solange growled, her fury at herself only barely contained.
"Ohmigod," Juana said, suddenly fearful.
"Evidently, she backed him off, somehow. My P.I. thinks she did it with just the power of her voice and the force of her eyes on him. He was very impressed with her innate dominance, although he did step in after she walked away to keep the cowardly shit from jumping her from behind."
In the meantime, Tina was putting her blouse and coat back in order. "Get my shoes out of the suitcase, please, while I see what I can do with this wig." Both watchers were surprised at the continued tone of command in the younger woman's voice. Certainly Isolde wasted no time jumping to obey the snapped out order.
"She just walked away? In that part of town? You're kidding! "
"No, I'm not. God, Juana, it could have been so much worse and it would have been my fault!" Solange's voice started to break.
ShaJuana put a strong arm around the older woman's shoulders and pulled her close as they both continued to watch Isolde try to comfort their friend. "No, it would have been our fault, but mostly mine. It was my idea and I asked you to help set it up. God, now she'll never want to go out and play with me in public. . . and I'm pissed at myself for being so damned selfish that I'd think of something like that before I think of what SHE must be goin' through. DAMMIT! How could I say something that stupid?"
"Language!" Solange corrected automatically. "And I think there's blame enough to go around, dear. I didn't even give her panties."
"She had panties - I saw them."
"She did?"
"Ty bought 'em at a store near his place. Said something about Isolde's Tina was not the right Tina for the sidewalks of New York - or some such thing - so he bought three pairs, 'cause he didn't know what size he wore and couldn't bring himself to ask the saleslady to help measure him."
"You know. . . " ShaJuana said thoughtfully, watching Tina, "I've never seen him, I mean her, like this, but . . . . "
"What?" Solange demanded, putting her nose closer to the monitor in an effort to see what ShaJuana might have noticed. "Is anything wrong?"
"No, nothing wrong," she said, letting the words slide away. "But she's in character right now, and I feel like I ought to know who. . ."
At that moment, Tina issued another command to Isolde, who seemed to almost shrink under the power of this new and unknown Tina. "I. . . I have to go make sure the room is ready, Tina," a quaver in her voice clearly audible over the monitoring system speakers
"Oh, very well, you are dismissed!"
"Thank you, Mis, I mean, Tina," and then Isolde almost ran from the room.
"Well, I'll be dipped," Juana said wonderingly. "Isolde almost called her 'Mistress', and she actually bobbed Tina a curtsy!"
Solange scowled at that. Isolde was HER submissive, and it annoyed her to have the woman react that way to anyone other than herself, and particularly to this untrained newbie.
"I KNOW WHO SHE IS!" ShaJuana blurted out. "She's YOU! Or at least, how I think she SEES you, Solange."
"Whhaaaattt?!? ME? You're joking."
"No, no - look at her. Look at the way she's holding her head - just slightly cocked to one side, and look at that wicked little half smirk! You look just like that when you've pushed somebody into one of your little traps. Ty's in character and she's YOU!"
"What are you talking about?" Solange demanded sternly. "This isn't a show. This is real. That child has been violated and I haven't the slightest inkling what to do for her. . . him, because she isn't reacting at all the way she should be to such an outrage!"
"Her," ShaJuana corrected without thinking. "That's a 'her' right now, because that's the role Tyrone Edwards is playing. Solange, remember when I told you that when Ty is in character - really in character - it's something awesome?" The other woman nodded, and for the first time in minutes, turned her attention away from the CCTV screen. "What it really is, Solange, is genius - maybe even something more than that. And if I'm right, it isn't really Ty who was violated, and I'm betting, it wasn't the character he started out playing when he left the apartment. Somehow, he shifted roles so that punk tried to attack the person Ty sees when he studies you!"
"I understand what you're saying, but I don't understand what that means here and now. How can it not be Ty who was violated?"
"Look, Solange, it just is because that's the way Ty is. See, there was this play - a whodunit mystery thing, Sherlock Holmes detective story, a murder with too many clues and confusing as hell to watch. Should have folded in less than a week like that turkey when Ty and I first met, but instead, it had a pretty good run. Ty was this gay guy in a same sex relationship whose partner was the murder victim. That play earned this, well, cult following among the local LGBT community around here, even though they originally came to boo Ty 'cause they thought a gay actor should have gotten the role instead. Then, they kept coming because they loved his portrayal, and he wasn't even supposed to be the star. Ty was great in that play, but the point is that every night, after the curtain went down, Ty was still grieving for his character's dead partner because that's how deeply he gets into his role, and how much he FEELS his role. Sometimes, he'd need a few hours to recover from what that role did to him. Unless he had a major reason to shift into another role!"
"So what if you're right?" Solange was dubious, but still interested. "What would it take to get him to shift?"
"Well, I saw him do a shift for an evening show following a matinee a couple of times." ShaJuana told her, "And he usually only got a couple of hours of down time before he had to get ready to go again."
"I still don't see your point, ShaJuana."
"You have to get through to Ty somehow, and get him out of that role."
Solange started to speak, and then stopped herself. "There were fewer hours between the end of one show and the beginning of the next than what he usually needed to, oh I don't know, come back to himself?"
"That's JUST what I mean!" ShaJuana asserted. "Solange, he never missed a curtain or a cue; never gave a flat performance, even when there was only an hour or two between shows, but when there wasn't a show, he could take three, maybe four hours dealing with what the role did to him!"
"Remarkable."
"Yeah. It was kinda spooky at first, if you know what I mean. I thought it was like one of them multiple personality disorder things you hear about on Oprah, but that ain't what it is about Ty. He's just a really, really good actor who can live in his role every show, every time. I used to wish I could give him a few of my inches so he'd have a chance to show the world just how great he really is."
Solange considered Juana's words, trying to reconcile what she saw on the screen with what she knew about Ty, and what she'd just heard. Her eyes became speculative as she tried to decide what to do next. "You say he was always out of the grief-state and ready to start when the curtain went up on the next show?"
"Always." was the uncompromising response.
"I see." Solange became thoughtful as she turned her attention back to the CCTV screen. "So, to recapitulate, what you believe happened is that, when the person that Tina planned to be this morning was attacked, some part of Ty saw that the script had undergone a major, unexpected change, and that he needed a new characterization - ME - to respond to that threat properly?"
"I think that's about the size of it. Like I said, it takes something pretty major to break Ty out if he's really into his role, but having some asshole look like he's gonna rape you on the street would be high on my list of major."
Before Solange could reply, her phone rang. She answered it, started to speak, and thought better of it. "I'm going to put this on speaker. ShaJuana is here and she might be able to help sort this out. I expect you to speak openly, Solly!" she finished in tones that Juana thought sounded remarkably like those they'd just heard from Tina. Solange pressed the intercom button and set the handset back in the receiver. "Can you still hear me, Silly-Solly?"
"Yes, Mistress. Mistress, whoever that person in that room is, she's not someone I've worked with before. If I didn't know that person was Ty and Tina, . . God, Mistress, that girl is so dominant she makes my knees go weak. I wanted to kneel to her in there, and damn near did to help her on with her shoes."
"I see."
"Mistress, I can't do this scene with her today - not like we planned - not with her like that!" Isolde wailed, her tone rife with arousal and frustration. "She's like YOU! If I tried to scene with her right now, with me like this and her like that? Cripes, Mistress, I'll end up getting MY butt smacked, and that just wouldn't be good for my bitch-goddess image. . .even if I did like it."
"Slut," Solange said, the word conveying an affection totally out of keeping with its literal meaning.
"Maybe, but I'm YOUR slut, and I was almost swept away back there. Mistress, I think you better get to her and see what you can do about this."
"On my way. You go and get ready to do this scene solo if I can't help with Tina," she answered and then looked to ShaJuana who was doing her best to stifle a giggle-fit. "And what, may I ask, is so funny about this . . .this debacle?!?"
"It's no wonder that Isolde ended up submitting so quickly, Solange," ShaJuana replied, mirth lighting her face. "Tina was pushing a bunch of buttons you'd already put in place! Solly sees you in Tina, even if you don't!"
"As that may be," Solange said quellingly, but to very little affect. "You stay here. You're not supposed to be here and in her current mood, you might not like the consequences she'd impose for lying to her about your supposed audition."
"I hear that, Solange. Might not be all that good for my bitch-goddess image, either."
"Oh, I quite agree, my dear. Well, what do you say in the theater? Not 'Action,' is it?"
"Nope. That's film work. We do 'Up Curtain!'" Juana replied.
"I see. Well, 'Up Curtain,' and cue La Maitresse, Stage Right, " the older woman replied. Then she sailed toward her door, hoping she understood the actor well enough to do what needed to be done.
"Hey Solange?" ShaJuana called out just before the older woman reached the door. When she turned to look at her tall colleague, Juana gave her a broad grin and a thumbs up sign. "Break a leg, Maitresse."
Interlude - Meeting Yourself Coming and Going
Solange stood outside the prep room, quietly gathering herself. A great deal would depend on what came of the next few moments. It would thoroughly infuriate her if the plans she'd set in progress were derailed because she'd given into the impulse to play this, well, prank wasn't too far off the mark. That having Tina operating in public, en femme and on her own, was something those plans required was a given and something she'd eventually have had to instigate, but this had been done too casually.
Now she'd have to see what price would have to be paid for that impulse.
She knocked on the door, and was surprised at the command, for that is what it surely was, that responded. "Enter!" Wasn't that how she'd commanded Tina-the-maid to enter the room wherein Solange had been waiting to give Ty Edwards his first taste of sexual submission? A little cautiously, she entered.
The face that greeted her was femininely handsome, rather than pretty. Her posture was ram-rod straight, her demeanor direct. Moreover, the girl conveyed an air of aristocratic command that was almost palpable. The look Tina gave Solange as they approached one another was one the older woman had seen in her own mirror uncounted times over her life. In truth, it was one she'd practiced in front of her mirror when she'd first began her avocation as a dominant woman. It was rather disconcerting to have it turned on her.
"Are you all right, Tina?" she asked, by way of starting the conversation.
"Of course," was the positive reply. "Why would I not be?"
"I understand you had an altercation on the street - a friend called to tell me about it. Some young tough grabbed you?"
"No problem, Solange. He was a rodent, and I squashed him."
"I see. Well, then, what do you plan to do now?"
"Now?" For a moment, the aristocratic presentation faltered in confusion. "Why, I'm going to work with Isolde in her scene in, oh," she checked the clock, "about ten minutes."
"I don't think that's possible, dear." Solange said, apprehension coloring her tones. If she was wrong about how to handle this, they could lose Tina and Ty both.
"I beg your pardon. I am here, dressed in the outfit you provided, and fully prepared to do my part in this session."
"No, you're not," Solange contradicted, a sad look on her face as she pointed to the mirror. "Look at the woman in that mirror, dear. Is that the person Isolde needs in this session?"
A frown wrinkled the smooth forehead, and the blond-wigged head bent to one side as Tina complied with Solange's request. "What do you mean?" she finally asked.
"Not to put to fine a point to it, dear, but Isolde expects and needs a bimbo for the maximum effect in this scene. Remember, we discussed this yesterday?"
"Yes. . ," Tina replied, hesitantly, still staring at her reflection. Or had it been Tina who'd answered? Solange wondered if it had been her imagination, or had the timbre in that simple 'yes' been different? Almost more like . . . Tyrone?
"Where are the flirtatious looks, the giggles? You look like you're about to play drill instructor and order him to give you fifty, but that is not your role in this play. Isolde is the Domme in this scene, not you. You were to be the distraction, the eye candy, the cock tease - until the trap was sprung. You were supposed to be non-threatening, at least in comparison to Isolde, and right now, dear, you almost frighten me."
"Really?" And now the tone was definitely Tyrone. The head tilt was gone, as was the half smirk. A frown had replaced both, but it was a very firm frown that still had no hint of the seductive pout Solange hoped would indicate that bimbo-Tina was surfacing.
"Yes, dear," Solange said firmly as she tried to press on. "You are completely out of character for this role, and you will destroy the entire atmosphere of the scene if you go in there as you are now. In fact, I've ordered Isolde to rework the plan and be prepared to go solo."
Tyrone's head snapped around at that. "She can't do that!"
"Dear, she can't do anything else with you in this character mode," and there was steel in Solange's voice. If nothing else, she would make sure that Tina did not detract from the client's experience in her dungeon. "I really think that. . ."
Solange never got a chance to finish that thought as Ty abruptly stood up and held out a hand to stop any further comments. "Give me a minute," he ordered, and stepped away from the mirror, away from Solange, into a place only he could go. His eyes closed as his head sagged until it was impaled on the long-nailed fingers that were aimed at his temples.
Then, seconds later, the frown disappeared and the head came up.
"Well, that's just so totally not going to happen," Tina retorted, in a tone Solange had not heard this day. "You just give me like, a couple of minutes to fix my face, and I'll be ready. I'll totally like, mess with that guy's head - both heads - You'll see! He won't know what hit him," and she giggled, "Until Isolde breaks out her flogger, anyway. Hey, Solange-honey, could you help me with my face? I don't work as fast as you do and I don't want to be TOO late for the party. They might start without me and then I'd have to play catchup!"
Solange was stunned. In mere seconds, the posture had relaxed to a hip-shot stance that had her skirt riding up to expose bare flesh and white garters above the stocking tops. Her eyes softened and her lips seemed to relax, taking on a promise of easy sensuality and easier morals. Even her movements as she creamed away her cosmetics were less precise and more haphazard than they had been but minutes earlier when Solange had watched her on the security camera hidden behind the mirror.
Taking up a pot of foundation, Solange moved in to help Tina with her makeup. Throughout their impromptu make over session, the older Domina tried to break Tina's new characterization and discovered she couldn't. Tina, or perhaps it was Ty, had reacted to being told she wasn't ready to go on stage by shifting into the correct role. She was now the bimbo secretary that Isolde needed and expected. And it wasn't only the overtly 'sex-on-the-hoof' face that she had just painted on the girl - it was much, much more than that.
It was, Solange realized, that the person behind the face had become the role - just as ShaJuana had said she, or rather he, could and would do if presented with a sufficiently important reason.
"Neat! You're the best, Solange. I think I'm ready to paint that guy's balls blue for him, don't you?" She nearly choked on her laughter, but Solange managed a nodding agreement. Tina got to her feet, and gave a quick hip shimmy to check her balance in the skyscraper heels, and then grinned down at her still seated boss. "Great! See you laters, Moms, and thanks for the assist." Tina gave the still off-balance dominatrix a quick air kiss on the cheek and then giddily pranced out of the room.
"Moms? She called me MOMS? OOOOooo, just wait till I get that girl in a training session. She wants to call me Moms, does she?" And then Solange stopped. That was perfect for the role, she realized.
Solange got up and headed for her office. This was one scene she wanted to watch in its entirety. Something told her that Bimbo Tina was going to surprise more than the client today. She'd already surprised Solange.
Chapter 9: Secretary's Day at the Dungeon
Tina hurried (as much as she could in the lovely shoes Solange had given her) up to the playroom that had been designed and decorated to look like the corporate office of a mid-to-high level manager type. She swept in, looking for Isolde, but she wasn't in the secretary's reception area, and the door to the main office was closed. Absently, she glanced at her wrist and pouted when she didn't see a wristwatch. She didn't know what time it was, but it had to be close to the time when Mr. Jefferson was supposed to meet with Miss Isolde.
And they weren't ready!
She knocked on Miss Isolde's door, and received the expected order to "Enter!", so she did. The look she got from Miss Isolde was one of horror. Quickly, Tina closed the door and hurried over to her 'boss.' "What's the matter, Miss Isolde?"
"What are YOU doing here?" the tall, Nordic blonde managed to get out. "Maitresse Solange told me to plan this as a solo when I told her I couldn't work with. . . I mean, when I talked to her earlier."
"Oh, that," Tina scoffed in exaggerated, emotive tones. "That's all fixed. She said I could still come and play. That way, we won't have to change the plan. Won't that be fun?!?"
"Just loads of fun," the Domina replied, apparently unconvinced. "And your role in this plan is?"
"Oh, I'm just gonna come in and flit about whenever you signal for me - chat him up and make him notice me, but not notice anything. . . umm. . unusual about him until you signal me to do that. Then, you can punish me for intruding and he gets a look at my special parts, and you play it by ear from there."
"And you can do that? JUST that?" Tina saw the sexy blonde lick her lips, and noted that there as a bit of a shine on her cheeks - like she was glowing. Heck, she'd have said Isolde was sweating, but then, everybody knew women like her just totally didn't sweat - that would be just TOO outre.
"Well, like for sure! We're gonna just completely screw with his head - the big one, I mean. You know I don't play, well, hands-on-like, with his little head, right?" Isolde managed a hesitant nod. "FAR-OUT! Ummm, you got the squirty thingamie?"
"Squirty Thingamie?" Isolde repeated, completely confused.
"You know, the squirty thingie I'm supposed to have with the man-made spunk it!" Then Tina broke down into a fit of giggles. "Well, I guess I should have said 'fake' spunk, 'cause, like, the real stuff is man-made, too!"
Wide-eyed at this total ditz occupying the same skin as had the Uber-Domme who not fifteen minutes before all but had her rolling on her back like a puppy begging for a tummy-rub, Isolde had to shake her head to get back into her own role. She opened the desk-drawer and pulled out a plastic tube, perhaps two inches long and a half-inch in diameter, that was topped by a plunger and hanging from a fine gold chain like a locket. It was filled with a thick, semitransparent white fluid. She handed it to Tina. "You'll need to keep that close to your body so it is good and warm when we use it."
"Okie-dokey," was the chirped reply. "Ummm, Miss Isolde? I had this teensy idea that I think might be really cool - I just don't know if it would work and since you are totally more experienced than me, maybe you'd tell me why it won't do, 'cause it's like majorly messing around my head and. ."
"ENOUGH, already!" Isolde yelled, closing her eyes tight and pressing her palms to each side of her head as if to keep her skull from exploding. She took a deep breath and opened her eyes to glare at Tina. "WHAT is your idea? Make it quick, Jeffie will be here in a few minutes. He's already waiting in the foyer downstairs."
"Okay, you know how I'm s'posed to squirt this on his back from behind when you give me the signal? Well, I sorta had to wear these panties today, and what if . . . "
When the client finally arrived in the play-room/office suite, Tina was sitting at her desk, legs crossed, a delicate high heel dangling from her extended toe, filing her nails. She didn't acknowledge him, letting him just stand there, in front of her desk, while she finished shaping her thumbnail.
Finally, he cleared his throat, noisily, causing Tina to jump. "Oops, sorry. Big date tonight and he just LOVES my pretty nails," she cooed, flashing the blood-red claws up for his inspection, "Don't you?"
"Don't I . . .What?" he finally managed to choke out.
"Like my pretty nails, silly." Pouting, Tina put her hands together on the desk, as if hiding the nails if he wasn't going to properly appreciate them. At the same time, out of sight of her visitor, she carefully toed the hidden button beneath her desk. As she waited for the response, she flirtatiously made eye contact with the client. "Ooooo," she purred appreciatively as her eyes ran slowly up and down his tall frame, "And what can I do for you, tall, rich and sexy?" she asked as she leaned a bit towards him, a movement that might have meant interest, but was intended to unveil more cleavage.
The man nearly drooled, she thought smugly, as she gave him a quick once over while he dithered in front of her. Six feet one, and one eighty, maybe a bit less, and in the kind of shape that screamed 'health club four times a week.' Brown and brown as the guys on the cop shows would say. She wondered if he'd tell her his hair stylist - it had a nice wave to it. Great suit, too — Brooks Brothers, probably. One of those meterosexuals she'd read about in Cosmo. She arched her brows in query, which didn't do much good since his eyes were fixated too low to notice. She cleared her throat instead.
"Ahem, errr, yes," he finally got out, trying unsuccessfully to clear the clog in his throat. Tina gave him a brilliant smile that seemed not to help him at all. "Ummm, I have an appointment with Ms. Sigurdsen. My name is Jefferson."
Tina flashed him her best vacuous smile, and reached for the keyboard that was in front of her on the desk. Using the nails of her two index fingers, she slowly pecked out a series of key strokes, and then frowned up at her visitor before turning back to the monitor. She typed again, just as slowly, and then turned a worried face up to the power-suited man. "You're late!" she accused as she toed the floor button again. "Ms. Sigurdsen expected you ten minutes ago!"
Suddenly, the intercom on Tina's desk buzzed raucously. Before she could make a move, a clearly angry feminine voice demanded, "Is that idiot, Jefferson, out there yet?!?"
Tina gave a visible shudder before she toggled the intercom switch to answer, "Yes, ma'am, he just arrived."
"Well, tell him to get his slow-moving ass in here right now! I don't have time for any more of his nonsense!"
"Yes, ma'am!" Tina chirped, hopping out of her chair to hustle toward the door behind her desk.
The man blanched, but managed to get out, "but I was here 20 minutes ago - the receptionist wouldn't let me pass."
"Well, you can tell Ms. Sigurdsen that, maybe that will work," Tina said from the door, not sounding at all convinced of that. Jefferson watched in mild horror as the now cowed secretary cautiously opened the door, peaked around it and then announced "Mr. Jefferson is here, Ms Sig. . "
"JEFFERSON! Get in here! NOW! Tina - you get out! NOW!"
Tina only just barely got her head out of the way as the man literally ran into the office. Fighting a smile, she closed the door and hurried back to her seat. The digital video camera in the inner office was already up on her computer screen so all she had to do was open the window, turn on the speakers, and sit back here in the wings while she waited for her cues.
Isolde was dressed in a severely cut dress suit of unrelieved black. She'd accessorized with a brightly striped regimental tie that matched her scarlet lip-gloss, black-framed glasses and five-inch black pumps. As Jefferson scurried up to her desk, she was irritably smacking a rolled up sheaf of paper held in one hand against the palm of the other. It made, Tina thought, a rather impressive sound. Jefferson evidently thought so, since he winced at each smack.
"Do you know what this is?" Isolde demanded, offering him a close look at the still rolled up papers as she rose to her feet. In her ice-pick heels, the blond dominatrix stood almost three inches taller than the man - an advantage she used most effectively as she rounded the desk so she could stare down into his eyes.
"Um, no, I don't!"
"THAT'S 'NO, MS. SIGURDSEN,' Jefferson!"
"n. . NO, Ms. Sigurdsen," was the half-mumbled reply.
Isolde grabbed his chin and snapped his head back up to face hers, so that their noses were all but touching. "It is that sorry excuse for a monthly report you just sent in. Not only did you fail to make your quota of sales - AGAIN - but you falsified your report so that I wouldn't CATCH it! WHAT HAVE YOU TO SAY BEFORE I FIRE YOUR LYING, USELESS ASS??!"
"I'm sorry, Ms. Sigurdsen," he whined, wringing his hands, "REALLY, I am. And I really need this job."
"I need someone who can DO your damned job!"
"I can do it, Ms. Sigurdsen, really I can. Just give me a chance."
"I've given you a chance - several chances, and THIS," she snarled, all but spitting her fury into his face, "Is what I get!"
"Just once more, I can do it - you'll see! I'll do anything you say - however you say! Just one more chance, please."
Isolde stood up and stepped back, a thoughtful finger at her lips which then curled into a thoroughly frightening smile. "Anything, eh? However I say? All right. Perhaps what you need is motivation. DROP YOUR PANTS!" she snapped.
"Huh, what? My pants?"
"You heard me, asshole. I want your ass bare and your hands flat on my desk in ten seconds or you can leave by way of payroll for your last check! 10. . . . 9 . . . 8. . ."
By six, his belt was undone, by two, his pants and shorts were at his ankles and his hands hit the desktop just as Isolde reached "Zero."
She kicked his legs apart until his pants were taut about his ankles. With her elbow resting on his bent over shoulder, she hissed out, "If you so much as twitch those hands, I will call security and tell them you are a flasher, got it?"
"Yes, Ms. Sigurdsen!" he yelped.
"I think I'd prefer you call me 'Mistress' just now, Jeffie. Got that?"
"Yes, Ms. Sig, I mean, Mistress."
"Better - not good, mind you, but better. Now, I want you to find out what happens to bad little boys who lie!" With that, the stern-faced blonde smacked the paper-roll against 'Jeffie's' bare buttocks. She reversed into a backstroke, only to have the rolled up 'report' buckle in her hand. "Look at that," she snapped, sticking the wad of paper under his nose, "it's not even good enough for this!"
Tina watched as Isolde began to spank her sub by hand, building up in both frequency and intensity, until both buttocks were noticeably redder in color and he was starting to whimper or cry out with each stroke of Isolde's hand.
Tina almost missed it, she was so engrossed in the harsh eroticism of the scene, but she did catch the second beckoning motion that was her first cue. She hurried over to the door, knocked twice and began to open the door. "Ms. Sigurdsen?" she called out.
Jefferson, upon hearing the new voice, stood straight up, glanced about and saw his chance. He plopped his burning bum down the office chair that faced Isolde's desk, and faced away from the door so that only his head and shoulders would be visible from that vantage.
"I told you not to disturb me, girl," Isolde said ominously. "What is it?"
"It's the president, Ms. Sigurdsen," Tina said in a very small voice. "He wants to know if you still need that meeting to discuss personnel actions? He has a few minutes right now?"
Isolde seemed to consider that, and then scowled down at the man in her guest chair. "Tell him I'm still working on my plan. Ask him if he could find a few moments for me after lunch?"
"Yes, Ma'am," Tina replied quickly, and started to leave.
"Tina? Only come back if the answer is no. Now, do not disturb me again."
"Yes, Ma'am. No, ma'am."
Tina closed the door and rushed back to her ringside seat. This was fun! More than that, it was exciting being part of Isolde's game.
Isolde turned ice-cold blue eyes on her subordinate. "Didn't I tell you to STAY WHERE I PUT YOU?" she yelled, grabbing the lobe of his ear using the nails of her thumb and forefinger and pulling him to his feet. "It seems you can't do something even so simple as that! Do you want to lose this job, Mr. Jefferson?"
"No, Ms. Sigurdsen! I really need the job."
"That's 'No, Mistress,' fool. Okay, you get ONE. . . .LAST. . . CHANCE! Screw up, and you're gone - Got it?" He nodded, and winced as the motion made the blonde's sharp nails dig deeper into the flesh of his ear. "I didn't hear you, Mister Jefferson. I asked if you 'Got it?'."
"Yes, Mistress, I got it."
"All right, then, since you can't seem to stay put, I'll help you. First, I want you to strip - down to the skin. RIGHT NOW!"
With great haste, Jefferson began getting out of his clothing as quickly as he could, given that his trousers and boxers had him nearly falling over. "No wonder you can't do anything correctly, Jefferson! Evidently your Mother didn't educate you properly. Fold those garments neatly and be quick about it or you're not going to be able to sit easily for DAYS!"
Isolde was berating him for effect, now, Tina realized, and evidently the guy liked it on some level. He was fully erect by the time he'd managed to fold the last of his clothes to Isolde's demanding standards. He was directed to a coffee table against the wall between inner and outer office spaces, requiring Tina to switch cameras in order to continue to follow the action. It was a very heavily built design with leather cushioning along the edges of the upper table. Isolde and Tina had specially repositioned it just before they'd called down to reception to let Jefferson into the dungeon. As it was, anyone entering the room would have to get all the way in, and look around the open door in order to see the table, or as Isolde had put it, anyone attached TO the table.
From a hidden wall locker, Isolde removed four leather cuffs which she attached to her sub just above each elbow and knee. She positioned him so he was laying over the top of the table with his chest and stomach on the flat surface. Then she attached turnbuckles to between the D-rings on the cuffs, so that the right knee was connected to the right elbow and the left elbow to the left knee beneath the table. Isolde used an odd-looking hand tool to tighten the turnbuckles, carefully pulling the knees and the elbows together. By the time she was finished, perhaps half a foot separated elbow from knee, and his thighs and upper arms were hugging the underside of the table top. Only his toes and fingertips could touch the floor, and then only to little benefit. Finally, she added two bungee cords, attached to the turnbuckles on one end and to two of the table legs, so that the cords pulled the bound limbs outward, forcibly spreading the hapless victim's legs. Stretched out to his limit, his position provided the lovely Mistress easy access to both his dangling genitals and his ass. He could, with a great deal of strain and effort, pull his limbs back together to protect his precious parts, but the unrelenting force of the bungee cords would ultimately win out, sooner or later.
"Hell, Jefferson, you call that a penis?" Isolde demanded from behind her straining submissive, using a long, thin leather crop to poke at his still rigid manhood. He instantly lurched in an effort to close his legs protectively. He managed to do it, but bare seconds later; the bungees began their inevitable contraction, leaving him once more open to and helpless against whatever his Mistress had in mind for him.
"Now, we'll get on with that learning experience you weren't man enough to take standing still, Jeffie," Isolde said. "Try not to yell too much. Tina is SUCH a gossip, and believe me, you'll have every girl in the office, from the typing pool to the boardroom talking about your cute little ass and your tiny little dick. Maybe even some of the boys. Now THERE'S an idea! Want me to find you a boyfriend, Jeffie? Maybe a tough Dom to help you keep you on track?" With that, she lashed out, flicking the crop across his tautly stretched bottom, earning a squeal, but leaving no mark.
Tina marveled at the control Isolde demonstrated with that implement. She knew, from her experience with DeeDee, that such a crop could leave welts, and had done on her own bottom, that lasted a couple of days. Miss Isolde was GOOD!
Suddenly, she stopped, and strode over to her desk. She buzzed the intercom. Tina answered immediately, "Yes, Ms. Sigurdsen?"
"Bring me a bottle of cold water, please."
Tina was in the room in about two minutes, and as planned, stopped just out of the line of sight to the bound man. "Mr. Jefferson, do you want some water?"
He took a minute to realize that Isolde wasn't going to answer and that he had to. "Umm, no, Miss, thank you all the same. I'm . . . fine, here. . . just as I am."
Isolde closed the door and walked over to the chair that fronted the table/spanking bench. Sitting down, she began to sip from the bottle, her eyes watching him watch her. She saw it in his eyes the instant he caught her "Basic Instinct" moment. Languidly, she toed off one of her heels and put the ball of one stockinged foot up under his nose, forcing his head up so he was looking at her face and not her crotch. "You aren't, by any chance, looking up my skirt, are you?" she asked, in a perfectly reasonable tone of voice, before slipping her foot down to give him a little upward kick under the chin. "And don't lie, Jeffie," she ordered as she resumed wiping his face with the bottom of her foot. "Or you won't be able to sit until sometime next week!"
"Umm, Yesth, Mistresth," he said, sounding as if his head were stuffed - which it was - only with Isolde' s toes.
"Well, you must like looking," she observed as she reached out the crop to swat gently at the crimson head of his erection, "otherwise you wouldn't be so hard." She reached over and ruffled his still groomed hair. "Good boy." She rose from the chair and stripped off her skirt, tossing it negligently so that it fell over his head, effectively blinding him in any direction except straight ahead. He could hear her rummaging around behind him, but could see nothing. "I think that bit of truth deserves a reward, Jeffie," There was the ominous and unmistakable snapping sound of a pair of latex gloves being donned, and Tina saw the sub go rigid.
Tina was becoming more and more engrossed in the scene, watching as the tall blonde dominatrice used something from a tube to lubricate her hands. She reached down to the crack of her client's buttocks, and let him try to close up. He almost managed it this time, but not quite. Moments later she was carefully rubbing the gooey substance up and down his crease. "Yes, since that pee-pee of yours is never going to do any girl any good, I think we'll just give you a little practice so you're ready for those boys, instead." A shriek of dismay signaled her penetration of him. "Ooooo, you like that, do you - feel how you're gripping and massaging my finger, Jeffie. Oh, you're going to be SUCH a popular little ass-slut! I can tell."
Removing her finger, she cautiously probed him again, while watching the reaction of his erection. Tina could see it starting to flex in time to Isolde's stroking finger. The tall blond removed her finger and picked up a long, thin dildo. "I think you're ready for this, Jeffie, and if you're not, well, you will be. Now hold still!" She gave him a jab with tip of the sex-toy, and he went mad. He pulled, he pushed, he danced, he wiggled - anything to make the slightest movement so she couldn't line the toy up to penetrate him. She slapped him hard on the ass, "Stop that and stay still, you naughty boy!"
She could have gotten it in, Tina realized, without any trouble. He simply couldn't move that much, but that wasn't in the plan. Isolde had told Tina to expect Jefferson would respond like this - fighting the consummation he actually devoutly desired. Well, that just wasn't in the cards today, she thought smugly, as she saw the signal for her final cue. Isolde strode to the desk and pressed the intercom call button. "Tina, get your ass in here - I need you now!"
Tina hurried in, and closed the door behind her. "Yes, Mistress?" she asked, in the role now of submissive instead of the ditzy secretary.
"Get over here," Isolde snapped. "I need some help here!"
Tina turned and saw the flesh and blood version of the man she'd seen on screen. "Oh, Mistress, are we going to play with him?"
"No, you silly slut. I'm trying to train him! Look at that miserable excuse for a dick - he needs to learn to be the fuckee, because he sure as hell isn't going to be the fucker."
"Oh, that sounds like fun! What do I get to do??"
"Come over here and hold his head tight between your thighs, then bend over him and hold his ass apart! I can't get him to stop wiggling!"
Tina did as ordered, being sure to use the reinforced tops of her stockings to give his ears a bit of a rub, before settling down to do as she had been ordered. Tina had to give the guy credit - he kept fighting, despite orders and threats to the contrary, he didn't keep still. She figured he'd have a bruise or two or three tomorrow, around his anus, as Isolde kept 'missing' her target with the hard plastic sex-toy.
"Oooohhh, Mistress Isolde, all his wiggling is, like, making me just totally wet between my legs," she cooed, and gave another shimmy and ear-rub to Isolde's willing victim.
"Everything makes you wet between the legs, slut," Isolde retorted, "And I'm getting tired of this nonsense. You said you'd do what I told you to do, Jeffie, and you haven't! So I guess you're lying to me again. What did I tell you would happen if you lied to me?"
"You said I wouldn't sit for a week," came the muffled voice from under Tina's skirt.
"Close enough! Tina? Jeffie here is about to get whipped for his failures - maybe that will make him move enough to really get you off, slut."
"Oh, but Mistress. The company president is here today, and I don't think your office is soundproofed on the wall to his office. I mean, well Jeffie's kinda cute in a girly-sort of way, but he just doesn't look, you know, really tough to me. I bet he just, like, majorly screams, you know? Louder than me, even."
"Hadn't thought of that, slut. Yeah, I think a baby-dick like him is going to scream. Well, it's too bad, but I guess I'll just have to gag him. You say he got you wet, slut?"
"Oh, yes, Mistress, my panties are just dripping! OOOOOooohhhhhhhhhh!" Tina groaned, suddenly squirming vigorously on Jefferson's head to fake an orgasm.
"Are they? Well, Jeffie, I guess you get a choice. I have this lovely ring gag, but if you'd prefer, we can use Slut's wet panties. and a lovely leather strap to hold it in."
"Panties, please Mistress."
At Isolde's nod, Tina hopped off her perch and sat on the seat the dominatrice had recently vacated. Palming the 'squirty thingie', she reached under her skirt and drenched them and herself with fake semen. She lifted her bottom off the chair, making sure Jefferson had a clear view of her crotch, and pulled off the dripping panties, and showing off her own very hard erection. "See, Mistress," she sighed, holding the panties out so that they dripped onto the top of the restrained man's head.
Jefferson took one look at Tina's hard-on, felt the warm thick liquid dripping on him and put two and two together. "YELLOW!" he bellowed. Isolde shot Tina a knowing smirk from behind her sub.
"I think we'll go with the ring gag, after all. He doesn't deserve to have your juices, slut. He hasn't earned them."
The gag was quickly installed. Tina thought he looked like a hooked largemouth bass, and giggled, earning another smirk from the dominatrice.
This cropping was much more in line with what Tina had experienced under Mistress Deirdre. As per plan, Tina stood in front of Jefferson, her penis swinging about freely and, to her surprise, still hard. She hadn't planned on this being sexy, but it had been. She giggled again at the situation, finding the man's predicament and her role in creating it more than a little humorous.
The cropping slowly subsided, leaving the restrained man sweaty, shaking, and still hard as a rock. Isolde set aside her crop and picked the dildo back up. She teased him with it now, her free hand gripping and releasing his cock.
"Did I tell you, Jeffie, that Tina's dick will fit through the ring gag just fine? Would you like to try," she asked, her voice offering both dark menace and promise. He shook his head wildly, a sound like "OOOOOOHHHHH" issuing forth from him due to the gag making it difficult for him to make the 'n' sound and say 'no'.
"Well, you aren't fighting anymore," she said thoughtfully as she stroked his erection more quickly, "But you don't seem to be really relaxed about this - maybe you'd rather Slut do you?"
"Oh, Mistress, Can I?" Tina squealed, prancing around behind him.
Isolde changed from the hard plastic cock to a soft, lifelike silicone toy and puts that to his ass, "Okay, slut, that's right, and I've already lubed him up. Just take a deep breath, and. . .".
Two things happened nearly simultaneously. Isolde's stroking pushed him over the edge and he came with a roar of "AAAEeehhhhh-OOOOHHH!!" — which both women recognized as a ring-gagged Yellow-code. Smiling with satisfaction, Isolde removed the sex-toy, and gentled her strokes, soothingly pulling the last dregs of orgasmic release from him.
Tina stamped her foot at that. "Well, darn it, Miss Isolde, Like, can't I still do it? I, like, totally want to do that cute little butt!"
Jefferson began snapping the fingers of both hands in a repeated two-beat rhythm — which Isolde had told Tina was his gagged yellow code. Well, she thought, at least we heard 'Yellow' correctly.
"Maybe next time, slut," the dominatrice replied, as she stood up behind her sweating, submissive. "That is, if you've been good and he's been naughty." Then Isolde winked at Tina, and motioned her to slip out of the room. It was time for scene aftercare, and that was the responsibility of the Mistress in charge of the scene.
Still so aroused that her erection tented the front of her short skirt, Tina sat at 'her' desk watching the end-game between Mistress and slave on the screen of her computer.
Isolde, again fully clad in her skirt, had ordered her submissive to dress. Now she stood before him, leaning her bottom against the front of her desk, arms crossed beneath her substantial bosom. Her sub, still recovering from the scene's intense emotional and physical outpouring, sat - rather uncomfortably, Tina noticed - in the office guest chair. "You came without permission, Mr. Jefferson," Isolde said, her voice much like that a teacher disappointed at having to award her pet student a grade of D-minus. "You know the rules, and yet you didn't even ask for permission. Care to explain why?"
"No excuse, Mistress," he replied. "I was distracted by your secretary and was not paying attention."
"Exactly, and what are the consequences of such behavior, Mr. Jefferson?"
"I have to select a punishment card and comply with the card, or cease being allowed to attend you."
"Correct. I see that you at least KNOW the rules, even if you do not seem to be capable of following them consistently. Are you willing to accept the luck of the draw, Mr Jefferson?"
"Yes, Mistress, I am."
Isolde picked up a deck of what might have been ordinary playing cards from the desk, fanned them between her two hands, and offered the fanned deck to Jefferson. He selected one and immediately looked at it. Grimacing, he offered it to Isolde. She read it, and smiled. "Which do you select, Mr. Jefferson? At least one week locked in a male chastity device which may only be removed by me during a session, or two months of forced abstinence from my presence and dungeon?"
"I will take the chastity," he said, with a small smile on his face.
That tall dominatrice moved behind the desk and retrieved a small box from one of the drawers. This she handed it to her submissive. "Then go into the powder room and put this on. I will affix my personalized plastic lock to it before you leave. Remember, if there is an emergency that requires you to cut off the lock to remove the device, I expect to be called as soon as possible to be given the particulars."
Tina couldn't help staring at the man's crotch when he stopped by her desk to thank her for her participation and to leave a sealed envelope with her. He saw her staring, and blushed to the roots of his restyled hairline, which made her giggle. Maybe he looked a little less flat in front, but she couldn't really tell. He left, and shortly thereafter, Isolde came out.
"That was like, totally COOL," Tina gushed, "I mean, like just frosty!"
"It went well," Isolde agreed, leaning a shapely hip on the corner of Tina's desk. "We messed with his head, and he will not be quite so complacent about his trips into my little play-world. He's not all that strange a combination. He's almost bi-curious in that he really loves anal play, but at the same time, he's not able to make the leap to accepting that pleasure from anyone but a female. I find a lot of hetero guys are like that once they get their bottoms broken in by a woman who knows what she's doing. They just can't accept the final step in real life, even if it excites the hell out of them when they dream their deepest darkest fantasies."
"Well, you were just the ult in there. I'm just, like, SO impressed."
"Hey, tone down the Val-speak, girl. He's gone!" Isolde laughed. "I accept that you're not going to jump my bones and blister my butt for me, okay?"
Tina giggled at that, and then relaxed. "Okay. But let me know if you change your mind about your butt. I mean, anything to help, y'know?"
Interlude - Reflections: Some Don't Like it Hot
Solange turned off the playback of the security video recording and sat back in her chair. She hadn't realized until that moment that she'd literally been on the 'edge of her seat' as she'd watched the recorded scene.
Just as she had each of the other four times she'd watched it in its entirety. From one perspective, she was forced to conclude that the experiment had not been a success, and yet, it had gone much the way she'd expected.
The lack of success had not been because either participant had failed to give their best. Heavens, she mused, Deirdre had been at the top of her game, using every trick in her considerable repertoire to reach into her partner and pull him into that timeless time and placeless place called 'sub-space'. The bottom in the scene had tried, too. That was clear from the visual and audio evidence.
It may well turn out to have been an error on her part, she thought, but she'd wanted to know how Tyrone Edwards, not any of his 'Tina-characterizations,' would react when bottoming in a scene. What clearly had been an error, and only time would tell how major an error, had been Solange's choice of the type of scene and her choice of the Mistress who had orchestrated the 'experience' for Ty.
Tyrone had, indeed, tried very hard. He'd 'submitted' willingly and had endured every implement, every stroke. He had gone beyond her expectations, clearly trying to find in the experience what he'd been told others found in this type of scene. Too far, she told herself, because he'd finally had to give DeeDee the red light stop-the-scene safe code. The genital restraint DeeDee habitually used in major corporal sessions, primarily to protect his privates from any missed blows, had slipped. The device had become painfully tight about his scrotum and testicles, which was potentially dangerous. Deirdre had correctly ended the scene immediately, freed her partner and signaled for the on-site nurse. Fortunately no real physical harm had been done to the actor/trainee, but the potential damage this could cause to Solange's long-term plans might be considerable.
Well, now she knew for certain what she'd already suspected before watching the recording one last time. Not once during the entire scene had he become fully erect. He'd nearly made it right at the very beginning, when he'd first seen DeeDee enter the playroom in all her fully leathered glory. Of course, that wasn't surprising, Solange admitted. The perky little cheerleader-cum-whip mistress could pull wood from a dead man when she really dressed for effect, and she had done just that. Solange wondered what Tyrone's reaction would be if he learned just how much extra they'd charge one of their regular clients for such a scene?
Shocked disbelief, probably.
A knock on her door roused her from her ruminations. A glance at her computer monitor told her that, as usual, he was right on time. "Come in, Ty," she called, and smiled as he let himself into her office. She indicated his usual chair opposite her desk, then noticed how carefully he settled his body down and resisted the urge to sigh. "Still so sore as that?" she asked.
The young man winced, and then smiled wryly. "I'm okay once I'm stationary, and I'm okay once I've been moving awhile, but In between? I hurt . . . a lot."
"You waited too long to call an end to it, Ty. I told you that there would be no salary penalty for using your safe code."
He shrugged, and the thoughtless movement cost him. "I know you and DeeDee told me that there are a lot of guys out there who get off on her stuff - that corporal and whip play? I guess I sort of kept waiting for that 'flying thing' to happen. It didn't. I'll tell you up front, that since this is our weekly reflection on limits meeting? No way am I one of those guys that get off on this! I'd say that, from now on? Whipping and heavy stuff like that is a limit for me, I won't hesitate to safeword if I so much as even SEE that long, what did DeeDee call it? Oh, yeah — that single tail thing."
"I would agree with your assessment of heavy corporal play being a hard limit for you," Solange agreed carefully. "In my after-scene discussions with her, Deirdre indicated that at no time during the actual scene were you in the least aroused."
'Well," Ty demurred shyly, "Maybe a little when I first saw her, and during the hand and light paddle spanking. She's good at that, if not as good as you are."
"Yessss," Solange replied, stretching the word out, "You did seem to enjoy the spanking I gave you the other day. As I recall, Tina made a rather large mess all over my gown in that training session. And nary a finger touched her private parts, either."
Ty frowned in thought, "Yeah, but that was different."
Solange nodded. "Agreed, but what MADE the experiences so different?"
Ty opened his journal, and scanned a couple of pages filled with his handwriting. "Part of it, I think, was intent, and another part was the intensity."
"I think I understand the bit about intensity. Explain what you mean by intent."
"You intended to arouse me, Solange," the young man said confidently. "You may not have provided much in the way of direct stimulation to my cock, but it felt like you were looking for, I don't know, a connection between my very warm ass and my erection. Once you found it, you started teasing at that connection instead of just swatting me; playing around the 'magic spot', drawing the whole thing out. That was pretty obvious, even in my then sensory-overloaded condition."
"I'll have to work on not being so obvious about such things," she murmured, but her eyes twinkled in obvious amusement at his observations.
Encouraged by her acceptance, Ty continued, "Another thing, I think? Once you found it, and you were sure you'd found it? Look, I don't know how I know this, but I'm positive you could have gotten me off that way anytime you wanted, and you DID want to, just not quite then. That's what I mean by intent. All that role-playing in our scene? The stern school mistress, the naughty little school girl and all that? Just window dressing for the main plot of your scene — your intent was to make me cum from that spanking. And I didn't even mind the sore fanny afterwards, either."
"Hmmm, yes. That odd, almost-female empathy of yours at work again, I see. Well, you're correct. I DO rather enjoy getting my toys to soil themselves by methods such as that, when pain so clearly becomes pleasure. However, suppose I were to tell you that, by my orders, that was precisely the same 'intent' that Deirdre had for her training session with you? She was to find the right tool and the means to push you into sub-space, and then beat an orgasm out of you."
"I didn't experience anything like that," he replied earnestly, wincing again as he instinctively shifted his position forward in his seat to make the point. "I mean, I really like Deedee, and I know she likes me, so I knew she didn't go into that scene to really hurt me, okay? And I accept that there are guys who come here just so she can have at them. It's the other part I don't get, particularly after spending a not-very-pleasant couple of hours in her keeping. WHY do they do it, or rather, PAY her do that to them? It freakin' hurts! Hell, it STILL hurts! I just don't get it."
"Obviously. Ty, there are essentially two reasons a person submits him or herself to a session with someone like Deirdre. The first reason is the one you tried to achieve, but evidently find yourself constitutionally unable to do — that is — find physical pleasure from the pain, to the point of climax and release. And before you ask, let me assure you that, on any number of occasions, I have witnessed DeeDee accomplish just that, with only the use of her corporal implements and skills. When she decides to combine the 'thud' with verbal and physical teasing, or better yet, a penis flogger, she can be devastating on the senses and psyche of someone who is in sub-space. I've seen clients simply pass out from the force of the orgasm she pulls out of them."
"Oh, I believe you, Solange, I just don't believe that would ever be me! I don't think I heard any teasing or felt anything but the strikes because I was too busy trying to control myself." The older woman nodded her understanding. "You said there were TWO reasons?"
"Actually, three, now that I think about it. You did it because I told you to do it as part of your on-the-job training. Others do it to, I guess to prove something is the best description I can give you. Most often, that type of submissive, for it almost always is a submissive, accepts such a scene to prove themselves to their dominant partner. Like a knight in shining armor fighting a trial of some type to the honor of his or her lady fair."
"And getting beat all to hell doing it!" Ty blurted. "Sorry."
Solange shook her head. "No need to apologize, for there's some truth in that. There are people within the BDSM community for whom the 'S' for Sadism part is very much integral to their sexual make up. So long as their play is safe, sane and consensual, and does not go too near the edge, we accommodate them here at my dungeon. DeeDee has the skill to take a submissive right up to that edge, yet no further. Many experienced players know they are not nearly so accomplished, and so they come here for Deirdre to work with their submissive while the Sadist/Dominant partner assists or simply watches from the sidelines. I'm told that knowing they are the reason their submissive accepts the scene is almost as good as doing it themselves," She shook her head. "But, truth to tell? I don't get that part, either."
"Like doing it to them yourself a whole lot more, eh?" Ty asked, grinning.
"That's not what I meant, although again, you are correct. No, that level of play — the intensity as you called it - that doesn't work for me. I want my subs going into places they wouldn't willingly go without me pressing them to go, but it is their heads I really want to mess with, not their bodies. I want their emotions, not their endurance."
"I think, that if I was connecting with someone, a domme, who was really, really into that kind of stuff? Who needed that type of tribute? It would fall into the category of irreconcilable differences. I mean, I can see enduring pain for a goal, or against a real measurable challenge. You know, like training for a marathon, or one of those Iron Man things — that would hurt, but in the end, you'd have accomplished something. You'd have won. I'm not sure I could say the same about passively taking a beating to make my Lady Fair feel good. Seems kind of, I don't know, transitory, and would have to be done again and again. No, not for me!"
"Well explained. You know, I never thought of ordering a submissive to train for a marathon before." Solange's voice went dreamy as the image of herself on a bicycle, following a running man dressed only in shorts and road shoes with her favorite paddle carried conspicuously in the bike's basket. "Lovely idea," she said, and then brought herself back. "So, what do we say we've learned about you as a player in my little world, Tyrone?"
"I'm not going to be playing with DeeDee again, that's for sure!"
Solange laughed. "Yes, I think we've established that you are not a masochist. And I think, not a sadist either. Neither am I. Many of my Mistresses are not. Being a Dominant is not synonymous with being a sadist, nor is being a submissive mean one is a masochist."
"But you and ShaJuana both use whips in your scenes — I've seen you — heck, I've FELT you!"
"True enough, but using them on our subbies' hides is not the focus of what either of us do in our scenes. Look, let's take ShaJuana as an example since I'm far too modest to brag about myself. . ." She smiled at Ty's snort of laughter.
"What are the primary aspects of Mistress ShaJuana Price's bag of tricks as a Domina? First and foremost, our Juana is a cock-tease of the highest order. She's absolutely gorgeous, knows it and knows how to use her gifts to drive men helplessly into lust. She thoroughly enjoys getting a client mad with desire only to deny them any form of release again and again throughout the scene. Unfortunately for her clients, she is also an accomplished bondage Mistress, so there's not much they can do about her cock-teasing ways or their ever growing frustration. Sometimes she combines that with sensory deprivation, such as blindfolds and earplugs, or she'll use a steady patter of verbal teasing and abuse to key the client up even further. She also loves humiliation play with a client who gets off being forced to be the center of attention, supposedly against his will, and she's superb at forced femme play."
"No kidding!" Ty laughed. "Never would have guessed that!"
"Scamp," Solange smiled affectionately. "And, while ShaJuana does use a whip or some other corporal punishment implement in most of her scenes, it is usually no more than a prop — or maybe a badge of office - something that says, 'I'm the Domme here, buster, so you'd better behave.' Of course, she will give her subs a fanny slap or two, maybe swat their butts with a crop or paddle — we all do that at some point or another — but it is never severe or particularly intense. Usually, it is nothing more than a 'wake-up' or a stinger. Something to get the submissive's attention back on her program and to remind him who is in charge."
"I see. Well, Juana told me that she had to do all the scenes as a submissive. . "
"We prefer the term 'bottom' for a Mistress or a Mistress in training," Solange interrupted, and then apologized. "Sorry. Please continue with your question."
"Okay, she got everything done to her in her training, I guess that since I safeworded with DeeDee, I won't be working as a TV Domme or male Dom here very often?
"Would you still want to, Ty?" She asked, carefully.
The look on his face was telling, she thought. "I, ah, well — umm, don't you have any woman clients?"
"Some, although most are looking for a Mistress who will 'force' them to explore their bi-curiosity. A TV Mistress, or even a dominant male, you say?" She allowed some time to pass as she looked to be considering that. "You've already served as a TV submissive in some scenes and as attendant in others. After your admittedly unpleasant experience with Deirdre, do you think you would be able to bottom for a client, that is, to a female client?"
The answer was immediate. "Only to a female, Solange, and only if it did not require any of the heavy stuff that DeeDee does."
"I see. May I ask why you're looking to broaden your scope, as it were? Are you becoming enamored of our lifestyle here?"
The face that looked back to her was open, earnest and still very, very young. She would have to remember that fact, she told herself.
"Partly. The acting is fun and challenging, and of course, unlike anything I've ever done before. The staging and the props — well, I'm using my training for that here even if I am way off-off-off Broadway. I've come to terms with the fact that I'm not going to get to play Broadway — not as a leading man, anyway, and there are already a lot of good character actors out there competing for the same roles I might be suited to play. Here at your dungeon? I get to be the star, or at least, be first supporting actor or actress, and I get to see lots of pretty girls in very sexy outfits. But the biggest reason I'm thinking about something like that is I'm considering going back to school and I kinda need the money.
"School? Doing what?"
A livid blush colored the young man's face, so Solange knew this was important — very important — to him. "Ummm, could I keep it a secret, at least until I know if. . .if it is possible? I'm enough of a theater rat to want to avoid jinxing myself."
Solange smiled. "Oh, all right. But I think you sell yourself short as being just a character actor, but you know the world of theater better than I, I'm sure."
"Well, thanks. Do you think it is possible there might be something in the idea — the me as the duty male/TV player for the house, that is?"
She waited again, looking pensive. "There might be some profit to be had in that. But you'll have to be able to work independently — without one of my ladies as the Domme-in-charge. Now that I think about it, there are some of the female clients I believe might consider a 'Mistress', but who would not want a 'real' woman in there with them. Your, ah, male attributes would make you acceptable to them, even if you will look better in a short skirt, hose and heels than they will. Yes, I think there might interest, but it will mean advertizing your true gender to those who might consider such a service. In addition, there is a great deal to learn about safety, first aid and, believe or not, customer relations when you are the only person in the playroom with a client. "
"I knew that when I asked, Solange. It's okay. So I'll need more training. I can do it," Ty observed, lightly.
"Indeed you can and will, young man, for there are a couple of experiences you will need to face before you can take up such duties.," Solange said smartly, "And, I think, a final exam, as well."
"A what?"
"A final exam, my dear, to prove you are ready to be in charge of a client's submission and their pleasure," the smile she gave the young actor was one of her best - feline, predatory and a lot frightening. "And now that I think of it, I do believe that I have just the opportunity for Mistress Antinea to pass her final exam and then win her spurs. . . "
End Part I
To Be Continued...
Comments
acting dominant
this one is not as serious as some you have done, but it is the most fun one you have written. I love this one. Thanks for the post.
Dang Tigger!
I went into this not quite knowing what to expect. To say i was pleasantly surprised is a grandiose understatement ;). This felt a bit (heck, a lot) like Spider Robinson's great Lady Sally Callahan stories, if he didn't have to tone them down for a more general audience (this coming from me, who adores Spider's work, is high praise indeed). I look forward to the next installment with a worm on my tongue, as Robin Williams once said.
Hugs,
Diana
Moongoddess at large.
Amazing.
I read this story several years ago and drew certain conclusions about it at that time. Re-reading it today, my former conclusions were completely cast aside and I have a completely different view of some things I always thought were just too... wrong.
I've never understood the need to be dominated. I know a couple of people who seem to want that, but I think I have too much of an ego to be able to surrender it to someone else.
Perhaps this is a failing in me, I don't know. What I DO know, now, is I am beginning to understand more, the need to "let go" and allow someone else to "be in charge."
I've always resented having to submit to a boss at a job, always had a problem with authority figures. It's not that I think I'm any better than they are, but rather that when I do a job, I know how to do it, or I don't attempt it. So when a boss tries to micromanage everything I do and MAKE me do a job their way, it frustrates me and causes me to just "do" the job instead of doing it enthusiastically and well.
Whoops. I hadn't intended this to be an impromptu psychological examination. Sorry.
Very well written and with great characterizations, as I would expect from you. I'm looking forward to the coming chapter(s)
Thank you for sharing your talent with us.
Soft fuzzy huggles,
Catherine Linda Michel
As a T-woman, I do have a Y chromosome... it's just in cursive, pink script.
Acting Dominant
This was a great story. The only issue I had was that I'm used to shorter 'chapters', but that's probably because stupid li'l me started reading it at 2am. Thank the gods for insomnia, yes?
If you don't stand for something you'll fall for anything.
Had me from giddy-up
Great story, Tigger! I didn't know that I had that in me.
Joani
Love the pictures
Have read this story more then once before. It is always great. Loved the pictures you used. Will we see one of Solange?
Rami
RAMI
That took me 3 days of picture sifting
to come across those that fit both characters. I have to look at facial features that fit and expression of attitude. Finding a model is hard, finding one with multiple pictures you can use is even harder.
Sephrena
This is one of a handful of
This is one of a handful of stories I have on my DS for reading as I go about town, on the bus or just waiting for something like when I'm in the Grocery store. It's a story I read over and over and I have to say that some of my own stories are modeled on this.
As I said in my PM to you, I love your writing, just haven't delved into the stories you have written much, but working on it.