Acting Dominant

by Tigger

©2008

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."

  

Acting Dominant

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.

~-~

  

  

  

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