Thread: Inside Power Exchange [GypsyRose & Dane Stalling]

Regan's eyes widened as her co-star lifted her hand and raised it to his lips, but the smile didn't falter. It was a sweet gesture, and one she hadn't gotten a lot of since coming to the city, since actors usually saved that kind of thing for those a bit higher on the totem pole. It could have been just for show, but there was nobody around to impress, and from the slight sparkle in those dark eyes gazing down at her, Regan thought that the immediate attraction between them was returned. That would be welcome realization at any time, but it was good news for the production as well. Chemistry could be faked well enough -- there were quite a few series that showed just how much people could want to be fooled, and movies as well -- but the real thing was always better. It let the actors and directors focus their attention to other areas that needed it. Her internal temperature raised a few degrees as her mind was flooded by images of what it would be like to act out some of the scenes called for, even though she only had a rough outline to go by. This job suddenly seemed like it might be getting paid to do something you loved even more than usual, and a big improvement over being on camera just so consumers could see that everybody loved Nescafe or ATT. Me too. I hope you're not disappointed. I'm not. Regan had never been much of a one for beating around the bush or all that shy, and what little natural coyness she possessed had mostly been driven out as she worked to break in to a profession that seemed ... probably like most others ... to depend more on accident and luck than drive and talent. Matt's laughter sent a tingle down her spine, and directed her attention to his lips, the flash of teeth, and reminded her to pay attention to what he was saying. Her smile broadened as he confessed that his closest experience to ... this ... was a bachelor party with strippers. Was she wearing leather? she asked with an arch look before letting a chuckle soften it. Together, they moved off away from the safety of the main room. It was easier now that she wasn't alone to let loose the natural curiosity. The decor was tacky, but in a manner that was appealing -- almost like a nudge to indulge the inner child in something that was definitely not associated with coloring books and barbie dolls .... well, that last one, maybe... The colored doors made her smile, but she didn't object at all as Matt led the way. That was, after all, her role, and it seemed she was suited to it at least in this. Wrong genre ... I hope ... Regan answered to his light-hearted quip, meant to reassure them both. At least for her, it worked. The nervousness was gone, replaced by an eager curiosity, and she let out a little bark of a laugh as they entered into the school room. Wow. She took in the decor with wide eyes. There was Mr. Davis -- Biology. I admit to a few indiscretions so he could keep me after class. Regan's laugh was mild but genuine as she wandered through, her fingers grazing the surfaces of desk, paddles, chalk, and an old-fashioned ruler that looked a lot more sturdy than the transparent version that she had used in school. Some capricious spirit led her to pose, briefly, over one of the desks, leaning over so that her ass strained against her pants, outlined by the fabric, almost begging for a smack. Admittedly, a few of her fantasies had taken steps in that direction, but Mr. Davis had never taken the bait, or even seemed to be anything but embarrassingly amused. She grinned at Matt, then straightened, and they left that room for another. This one looked, to her, more like the set of some old Nazi war movie or perhaps a horror movie, and she stepped a little closer to Matt as they entered, almost wishing that she knew him well enough to cling on to his shirt, a belt loop. I hope the water is warm, at least she remarked a little wryly, seeking to see something more in the props. Matt, hosed down, dripping ... well that had some possibilities, she had to admit ... The latex suit had more possibilities. but given her co-star's expression as he pulled his hand away, it had affect him in much the way the initial view of the room had her. Just think Catwoman or Storm, she advised, giving him a friendly poke of her elbow. But yeah, muggy. Let's see what's next. The next door was red, and the interior that was revealed matched the door nicely, with a blood red rug leading to what was obviously the room's centerpiece, an overlarge chair reminiscent of a throne. In front of it was three flat cushions symmetrically placed. The sidepieces were wooden displays that reminded Regan of stocks from old-fashioned movies, holding a variety of props, crops, restraints, harnesses, and coils of thin rope and things Regan was almost afraid to guess at their use. There were also benches along the side, though whether they were meant for participants or voyeurs, Regan could only guess. I wonder how they decide ... who does what, I mean. Do you make reservations, like for a dinner -- though I suppose it makes it easier to come prepared. Regan looked around, feeling a little silly ... though there was certainly something appealing about the sense of theatrics. I suppose it looks different in the daytime, without the people. Can you imagine it, the lights low, strategic, positioned, I'd guess, so that the chair ... the throne, I suppose, is spotlit, the other props more softly lit, with colors. There's a low hum of conversation, the soft clink of ice in the glasses, low laughter, speculation. The benches would be dark, I think ... Regan's voice trailed off, the last few words slightly husky as she attempted to put herself in the mood of the place, to understand it ... Her lightweight sweater seemed suddenly too heavy for the temperature, and she was very aware of Matt's presence in the room. She gave a low chuckle, and drew a deep breath ... bringing herself back to the present.