Thread: Inside Power Exchange [GypsyRose & Dane Stalling]

The exploration of the playrooms was proving educational. Matt realized that they were wandering through carefully designed theatrical sets, but ones with solid fourth walls. The actors were also the audience and the line between person and role could blur and shift. What would it mean for an actor to play such a part? Would it be possible to lose himself in the first level of pretense without losing himself in the other, deeper level? If they put a whip in his hand, who would he be? Regan had a way of moving that drew his eye. The philosophical questions receded to the background. She posed a little, playfully, and the effect she had on him was immediate. He put a hand in his pocket, adjusted himself a little, ran his fingers over the tiny combination lock. He felt an urge to touch her, to keep a hand on the small of her back or her hip as they wandered the dark corridor of the club. He wondered what would happen if he took her up on one of her little invitations for a swat or a caress? They were not on set, not in character. Ill only be disappointed if your safe word turns out to be Ow. He could tell she was considering her roles too, the naughty student in the classroom, getting a very personal lesson in anatomy a trapped superheroine or villainess in the glare of the white tile struggling to keep a secret. The dead rubber suit would take on an entirely different meaning with Regan's body stretching it to a gloss. He hoped the documentary producers had considered the possibilities. His contract had included what Donna insisted were standard costuming and nudity enhancements, although it looked like a free for all to Matt. He wondered idly what Regans contract had looked like. The red room. Of course, a setting for corrupt and power-hungry royalty. There was space for a full cast of courtiers if the script demanded it. I wonder how they decide who does what Regan painted a picture with her words, the sounds, the darkness and light, the brewing expectation. How would they know what to do? Id think they would have some sort of agreement about the setup, how much of a story, how much improvisation. With a lot of people, I guess youd have to have some kind of code of conduct- a pecking order or rules of courtesy. It could be simpler than that, though. You could do it with almost no planning at all if it was just two people. There were five light switches on the wall by the door. Matt snapped them off, one by one, until only a spotlight lit the throne. The rest of the room effectively disappeared. Matt felt drawn to the big chair, walked behind it, rested his hand on the back. He felt a sense of power radiate from the seat. The symbol of the seat, a small, logical place in his mind corrected, but he felt it fill him. It had happened before, on the stage sometimes, Matt felt the role fill him, and everything became effortless. He had his audience in the palm of his hand, the words natural and fluent on his tongue. It hadnt ever happened so fast before though, or without preparation. He raised his chin, took a breath and walked to the front of the chair, took off his jacket and flopped it over the back of the throne. He sat slouched, one knee draped over an arm of the chair and felt a monarchs dangerous, careless boredom. He could order an execution just for the entertainment of it. Regans soft white shirt attracted his attention. She stood with her boots just inside the edge of the spotlight. The hot light heated the top of his head, but it shadowed his eyes. He pointed at Regan lazily. Off with her But the Queen of Hearts had always seemed so wasteful. She could keep her beheadings and her croquet. He smiled to himself and looked at Regan with new attention. Off with her shirt, he said, and the command in his voice surprised even him.