1.

Queen Bee was excited and nervous. She'd never done anything like this before, and that was saying a lot. She was the queen of the internet porn stars, notorious for enjoying all kinds of sex with all kinds of people and props. So naturally she'd posed in latex before, and naturally she'd done the BDSM thing - with both men and women, and at both ends of the chain. But she'd always managed to maintain a level of self-control that shone through in even her most submissive poses. Queen Bee just wasn't a sub, no matter how often she might play one. Oh, she wasn't a domme, either, though she liked to think of herself as strong-willed; Bee enjoyed every role she played and took none of it to heart. She was a professional, not a lifestyle adherent.

Normally, Bee controlled every aspect of her photo shoots. Everyone from the photographer to the set designer to the makeup artist was personally chosen by her. But Morgaine (no title necessary) was the fastest-rising domme on the Internet scene, and showcasing a guest star at The Pleasure Hive always brought in lots of fresh eyeballs. Besides, several of Bee's friends and fellow porn stars had already worked with Morgaine, and every one of them raved about the experience. This from hardened professionals who simulated orgasms for a living.

So here was Bee, unmade-up and wearing sweats, being chauffeured alone to the domme's private estate. Bee had been in the business for more than ten years, herself, and she didn't have an estate. She assumed Morgaine was either an heiress or into some deeply illegal activities, or perhaps both. Either way, it wasn't Bee's lookout. She was here to do a photo shoot, have some fun, and build her subscription base.

The mansion rose up at the end of the long, long drive like a cliff face out of some Lovecraftian dreamscape. It was huge, dark, intimidating, utterly cold and cruel. The only spots of color were the blood red velvet drapes that hung closed at almost every window.

The chauffeur handed her off at the front door to a butler no more talkative than she had been. "Follow me, please," was all the butler said before leading Bee deep into the drawing room, where Morgaine awaited her. The butler left silently, and Bee was alone with the woman who would be her domme for the day.

Morgaine stood alone by the mansion's sole open window, tall and stiff-backed, her hands clasped behind her. She turned as Bee approached, revealing a buckled black bustier with a floor-length black latex skirt cut wide in front to showcase her thigh-high boots and thong. Her hair was piled high atop her head in glossy black swirls. But it was her eyes that most caught Bee's attention. They were a gray that was almost silver, and they glittered with the kind of imperiousness Bee could only dream of mustering. Morgaine's pupils were endless wells that invited Bee to drown in them, and offered not one scrap of pity if she did.

Bee struggled to keep her mental footing, then covered the lapse with a dose of cheerful bravado. "Hello, Morgaine," she smiled. "I love what you've done with your home. You really live the lifestyle to the hilt, don't you?"

Morgaine's lip twitched. "It's not a lifestyle; it's who I am. But you'll learn the truth soon enough. Are you ready to submit?"

"What, no tour of the house first?" Bee grinned to be sure Morgaine knew she was joking, but the domme's expression never changed.

"Perhaps afterwards, if you're still interested. Now, are you ready to submit to me?"

Bee pouted prettily. She'd worked with tops before, but never with one quite so cold and businesslike. Bee wondered if Morgaine ever broke character at all. She imagined the domme in sleep, lying stiff and straight on her back with her hands folded primly across her chest. Yep, that was about right.

As for Morgaine's question, Bee sensed deeper levels of meaning beneath the surface, and that gave her pause as much as the woman's attitude. But Bee was here to submit, wasn't she? She'd done it often enough before. And after all, what else could she say? It was her assignment. "Of course," she twinkled. "I'm yours to command, Mistress."

Morgaine seemed barely satisfied. "I'll teach you how to say that properly, soon enough. For now, you will follow sabine to the dressing room, where she will prepare you for the shoot." She gestured, and Bee turned to see a woman standing stiffly in the doorway wearing a white minidress and an over-the-mouth neck corset. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a tight, straight ponytail.

Feeling rebellious, Bee gave her hostess a last saucy look before turning to follow the silent sabine down the hall. Well, she thought, this certainly wasn't an auspicious beginning to the shoot. Her hostess wouldn't talk to her, and her makeup artist couldn't talk to her. Suddenly she missed her own chatty queen of a dresser with an almost physical ache. Relax, she told herself. You can see Gerard again any time you like. This will only take a few hours, and then you can go home, have a drink, relax with Mark.... Thinking of her longtime lover, she smiled to herself. He'd get a kick out of her story of this afternoon, and he'd get an even bigger kick out of the pictures that came from this session. Mark loved to see Bee with other women. They always had their best sex after one of her lesbian shoots.

sabine took her through a long, darkly paneled maze to a dressing room that was surprisingly mundane. She gestured toward a small wardrobe, indicating that Bee should change clothes. Bee wasn't shy by any means, but she did find it odd that sabine stood watching her, standing stiffly at attention, while she took off her sweats and donned the simple white robe provided. Yet strangely enough, she felt as if no one was in the room with her at all. Even dressed as provocatively as sabine was, she was effectively a non-presence.

Bee settled herself into the makeup chair and sighed as sabine began brushing out her hair. She considered it as much a part of her sexuality as her breasts or her closely-trimmed pussy. It was always long and wavy, and this month she had dyed it honey blond as a birthday present to Mark, who liked that color best. She snuggled comfortably into the chair, enjoying the smooth, soft manipulations of the brush, wondering if Morgaine took as much pleasure from having sabine do her hair as Bee did. But of course, it wasn't really a fair comparison. With Morgaine, sabine was serving her Mistress; with Bee, she was merely preparing the "sacrifice." And that became even more apparent as the slavegirl straightened Bee's hair and bound it back into a tight, submissive ponytail identical to her own. Bee looked at herself in the mirror and grinned. Slavegirl for a day: been there, done that. No problem.

Next sabine began applying her makeup: pale and slightly pearlized everywhere except Bee's eyelashes, which were lengthened and darkened - the better to highlight her lids lowering in submission. She happened to catch a glimpse of sabine's eyes as the no-woman bent to apply her lipstick, and was surprised at the depth of drowsy heat in them. Perhaps sabine wasn't quite as empty as she seemed. Or perhaps, Bee thought again, she was empty, except for that one undying ember of lust.

But that was a very un-Bee-like thought, and she quickly forgot it.

Next, sabine brought out the manicure tray and selected a set of nail clippers. Bee quickly pulled her hand away. "Oh, no, honey, you don't have to do that. I grew these myself, and they're not too long for gloves. See?" She wiggled her fingers. "Can't you just repaint them?"

The slavegirl's eyes met hers, and for a second that drowsy blue turned to cold, hard silver. "Are you ready to submit to me?" rang Morgaine's voice in Bee's head; and Bee's own voice answered back all too quickly, "Of course." She had submitted, and now she had to abide by Morgaine's will. It was perfectly straightforward. Sighing, Bee stuck her hand out, and in the end sabine trimmed her nails so lightly that Bee wondered why the slavegirl had bothered in the first place.

Next came the polish remover and a fresh coat of dull, flesh-colored paint. Then it was time for the finishing touch. Latex didn't slide easily even over a body as smooth and pampered as Bee's, so there was always lots of baby powder on hand for a shoot like this. Morgaine seemed to have her own special brand. As Bee stepped out of the robe and stood nude in the designated circle, the slavegirl brought out a crystal bowl brimful of a fine, white powder with the same pearly sheen as Bee's makeup. sabine knelt reverently inside the circle, placed the bowl at her charge's feet, and began to massage it into Bee's skin from the toes on up.

Bee closed her eyes, tipped her head back, and drank in the smooth, soft strokes of the slavegirl's hands. She felt like a classic movie damsel in distress, captured by natives, drugged, and prepared for sacrifice to some kind of hideous beast-god. Of course, in a really sexy classic film, the natives would be smearing her with oil, not powder. But the slickness would come, oh yes it would. Bee just had to be dulled first.

sabine's hands reached the top of her thighs and slid inward, lightly tickling her clit. Bee shivered, but her eyes didn't open. There was no need, when she could enjoy herself just as well in the dark. She chuckled huskily when sabine's fingers slid on inside her pussy, spreading the pearly powder everywhere they touched. Bee's muscles convulsed, drawing the slave's fingers in even deeper, slicking them with her honey.

Then the fingers were gone, as quickly as they'd entered. Bee was disappointed, but she understood. sabine was only preparing the sacrifice; her Mistress would be the one to claim it.

For a moment Bee wondered at herself; she'd never really gotten the slave mindset before, but the rationale behind sabine's actions seemed perfectly clear to her now. She smiled and kept her eyes closed as sabine continued the slow climb up her body. Go with the flow, Bee. You might actually learn something today.

The slavegirl's hands cupped her breasts and kneaded them gently; then she pressed her latex-bound mouth against Bee's nipples. Bee cried out in surprised pleasure. She knew she could well be doing the same to Morgaine later on, and as she pictured the scene in her head, her mind flashed white with a sudden burst of clit-slicking slavethink: i give You all that i have left to give, all that You haven't yet taken from me.

Where had that come from? Ohhh, but it had felt so...fucking...good! Unbelievable.

Bee wondered if that was how sabine felt all day long. If so, she could see why subs like her made a lifestyle of it. The Queen of the Pleasure Hive hadn't had a real orgasm during a shoot since her early days in the business, but it suddenly occurred to her that she might have one today if she dug into her role far enough. Maybe she didn't always have to have control. It might actually be fun to give it up for a little while and see what happened. Just as long as she could take it back at the end of the day.

This must be what her friends had experienced when they subbed with Morgaine, Bee realized. No wonder they'd raved about it. Bee couldn't wait to talk to them later and compare notes. But in the meantime, she'd play her role to the hilt and see how far it would take her.

All too soon, the powdering was over. sabine picked up the bowl and p