Thread: Inside Power Exchange [GypsyRose & Dane Stalling]

There were butterflies in Regan's stomach as she took the costume away and found a place to change. Fortunately, mirrors were usually in ready supply when there was costuming or makeup to be done. The dual glow of the alcohol and desire insulated her from the flutters, because though she might be a bit nervous at what she was getting into, the excitement and anticipation were far stronger. Such was the chemistry between them that there was not even a thought given to the fact that she was alone in a strange and isolated place with someone she'd just met, in the middle of the night, with nobody the wiser that they were here. Her clothes came off quick and easy. She'd learned early the value of wearing things that didn't need a lot of attention to get into and out of when costume changes were in the offing. Granted, that hadn't really been a consideration when she'd chosen what to wear, but she'd at least flirted with the idea that her clothes would be coming off sometime tonight for reasons other than shedding them for bed. The maker of the dress had apparently been of the same mindset. It wasn't a period piece, as it closed by zipper rather than hooks or laces, and the fact that she wasn't wearing a bra wasn't specifically industry approved, but she wasn't planning on telling. It was a good fit, more or less. It was a little snug at the top, pushing her breasts together and up so that her cleavage was pronounced, a contrast against the innocence of the color and the bows, and the waist was a bit loose once she contorted to get it zipped from bottom to top. It looked good on her, she admitted with some satisfaction as she shed her pants and slipped back into her shoes sockless, twisting to see her reflection in the mirror. Then there was the question of her hair. Would it be better down, pulled back, or left flowing over her shoulders. The cut of the dress seemed to beg bareness, and as she didn't want to sacrifice the buzz for something more formal, she found a couple of black chopstick style pins and gathered her hair into a twist in the back and used the pins to secure them in a mix of elegance and informality that seemed to compliment the costume's idea. For jewelry, she had selected a simple black collar, its surface bearing a ribbon-like fabric sheen. It too fit the style, a mix between innocence and invitation. The expression was next, and the last part. Regan stood in front of the mirror, and took a deep breath, letting the line that separated her from this imagined character blur. She was a young woman of the court, and she must catch the eye of the king. Her father ... no, her brother ... had acted foolishly against the king's interest and awaited the king's judgement. He could be forgiven, or he could be banished from court, a disaster for him and for her family. And yet ... that was not the only reason. She had heard stories of the king, and she had felt the heat of his gaze. She cared for her cause, but she also wanted what he had to offer for herself. There was confidence in her demeanor, but not certainty or arrogance. She knew her own appeal but the king was not a man easily swayed. She hoped that she had read his interest aright, but knew that he might well harden his heart rather than his manhood if it pleased him to do so. There was a touch of fear, both for failure, and success, but just a touch. When she thought she had it, she exited the small room and clicked off the lights and went in search of her king. The staging area with the throne was dark, and the dim safety lights of the hall where she was revealed the soft swirl of mist, vapor that caught the faintly yellow glow of the safety lights. Regan almost smiled, but that would have been out of character. Instead, she looked around, and again lost herself in the character in her mind ... nervous, excited, her heartbeat ticking up, her palms dampening, and that unmistakable feel of of her own growing arousal in every nervous step, the skirt swishing softly against bare legs and setting the mist to roiling as she moved into the room with uncertain steps. Your highness? she ventured, as she headed toward the throne. Her voice came out low, husky, with a faint tremble in hiss of the final sound.