A Traitor Among Us

The Prime Mistress clapped her hands together loudly and several more submissives and slaves joined the party. Most were crawling on all fours, but several were walking upright. One young woman was wearing a strange set of criss-crossing leather strips that somehow encased her entire body while at the same time making her look naked. She walked up to Mistress Muanda and handed her the leash which attached to the front of the outfit where many leather strips crossed midway between her breasts and her throat. She then knelt at her Mistress' feet.

"Please proceed to the table for our official photograph," Prime Mistress Dorothy said sharply, "then the slaves will be released to serve."

The forty Masters and Mistresses led at least that number of slaves and submissives into the ball room where a huge table had been set up. The table was lit by several candelabrae placed down its length. Soft lighting from above helped illuminate the area directly around the table, but the area near the walls was dim, almost in darkness.

The Prime Mistress sat at one end. To her immediate right sat Master Jerome and his slave wife karen. She, of course, knelt at his feet. To the Prime Mistress' left sat Master DuWayne and his wife Mistress Muanda. Several slaves knelt at their feet. One- the one in the strange strap outfit- stood stiffly at attention behind her Mistress. Master Frank sat next to Master Jerome. His wife, Mistress Marilyn sat next to him. Their lone slave knelt at her feet. There were whispers among some of the members that Master Frank was subordinate to his Mistress wife, but no one would risk saying anything while he was around. He may not exude a great deal of personal power, but his power with finances was unrivaled and it was not good to piss off someone who could bankrupt you if they so chose.

The rest of the table sat in their order of power. There was no official list which said who sat where, but everyone knew. Usually all it took was a stern look from a Master or Mistress to cause another Master or Mistress to move down. Sometimes a vote of "those above" would settle the dispute. Only rarely would the two Masters or Mistresses resort to tests of power or skill to determine their seating rank.

Once everyone was seated and settled, the official photographer climbed a ladder at the low end of the table and carefully focused a camera mounted on a tall tripod. He directed Master Ronald, who was seated at the lowest chair opposite- but a long ways away from- the Prime Mistress, to turn his chair ninety degrees so his face would be in the picture. He then took a series of images before saying, "That should do it." The slaves and submissives were then dismissed to serve the meal.

After the dinner was complete, and the slaves and submissives had rejoined their Masters, Prime Mistress Dorothy tapped her spoon against an empty glass and said, "I think our first order of business tonight should be the acceptance of a new submissive to our group. I turn things over to Master DuWayne, who is sponsoring her."

Master DuWayne stood and nodded slightly toward the head of the table. "Masters and Mistresses," he said addressing those seated at the table, "I have acquired a new submissive slave and wish her to be enrolled on the slave membership of the Executive Club."

"Any comments or questions?" asked the Prime Mistress.

It was a standard protocol question similar to "Does anyone object to this marriage?" No one expected anyone to ask anything, but Master Arnold, who was not very popular with the other Masters and Mistresses, rose and said, "I have a few questions for Master DuWayne, the primary one being how he, as an African-American, can justify to himself the owning of slaves."

A very tense hush descended upon the table. Several of the Masters and Mistresses of color glared at Master Arnold. Master Duwayne, himself, clenched the edge of the table. His body was almost vibrating as he practically yelled out, "I am not an African-American! I am a Jamaican!" He chuckled slightly and continued strongly and loudly, "No white man freed me and no white blood runs in my veins. My heritage began with the slave revolts of 1760 and came to full fruition in the Christmas slave revolt of 1831."

He and Master Arnold glared at each other across the table for several minutes. Then Master Arnold looked down and said, "Sorry, Master DuWayne, I misspoke."

Master DuWayne smiled broadly and said, "Now that we understand each other, we can be friends."

"But my question still remains," Master Arnold said carefully. "How can a person of your... Jamaican heritage... hold a bevy of sex slaves?"

Many at the table again held their breath, expecting another outburst. But instead, Master DuWayne laughed in that way that only he could and replied, "They aren't all sex slaves, Master Arnold. Some are just... slaves." Then he stood, and his voice changed. He became like a professor lecturing his class. "There are people in every culture," he began, "who are natural slaves... and they are miserable because no one is Mastering them. Yes, even among my people there were those who longed to grovel at the feet of the Masters."

He looked around the room. His voice became deeper than its usual baritone as he pressed his hands against his chest and said, "But there are also those who yearn to feel the power of being a Master." He paused and looked down at the naked young girl at his feet. Her paper-white skin almost glowed against the black of his suit pants.

"This girl," he said, pointing down at her, "wants to be my slave. She wants to do everything I command her to do. She wants to endure my punishments when she falls short of what I expect. But..."

He held up his right hand with the index finger pointing up into the air. "... What is your safe word, slave?" he said harshly.

"Sodacracker, Master" she replied, her forehead pressed firmly against the ground at his feet.

"And what is your escape phrase?" he continued.

Without rising from the ground she squealed out, "Please don't make me say it. NO! Please, no!"

"This is just putting it in the record," he replied softly. "We are not ending our relationship."

With her head still against the ground she said / sang, "John Brown's body lies a-moldering in the grave."

DuWayne laughed loudly and said to all, "You see. She can stop what is going on with just a word. And she is free to leave our arrangement whenever she wants to just by singing a few words. It doesn't take a violent revolt, only words."

He lifted her head slightly. Her face was wet with tears. He asked softly, "But where do you want to be my little pasty one?"

"Naked at your feet," she replied, stifling her sobs and rubbing her forehead against the floor just in front of his shoes.

"She needs to be a slave," he said softly, "and I enjoy being a Master. It's as simple as that."

He then looked around the room and said, "I move that we officially accept pasty one as a submissive slave in the Executive Club."

"So moved," someone shouted. Another voice yelled, "Second." The Prime Mistress quickly said, "All in favor say, 'Aye.'" There was no need to call for the Nay votes. It was unanimous.

Master DuWayne looked down at slave pasty one and said softly, "Now all we have to do is make it official."

Slave pasty one was visibly trembling as she raised her upper body to look at her Master. There was a black leather collar in her hand. She must have been hiding it under her legs. She held it out across her hands which were flat with palms up. Then in a quivering voice she said, "I offer this collar and myself to you and submit to you as my Master... if you will have me."

Master DuWayne let her kneel there trembling for a while. Then he reached down and took the collar from her hands. As he wrapped it around her neck he said, "I accept you as my slave." After he locked the collar in place in the back, he quickly drew back his hand and then slapped her smartly across both ass cheeks. He waited for her yelp to fade away before saying, "And I will guide you and punish you until you become a perfect submissive."

She dropped back to the ground with her forehead pressed firmly against the floor and began blubbering out, "Thank you, Master. Thank you, Master. Thank you, Master."

"Silence!" Master DuWayne said loudly and she stifled her joyful cries. "You are the lowest of the slaves," he said softly, but firmly, "and now it is time for you to show your place in the slave world of this club."

She rose to her feet. The deep black of the shiny leather collar made her flesh look even whiter. She definitely fit the name "pasty one." She took a deep breath before walking over to the punishment horse that was sitting in an open area alongside the table. Two naked slaves, one male, one female, met her there.

"Do you need to be restrained?" one of them asked.

"No," pasty one replied, "but I want you to restrain me so that there is no chance that I will dishonor my Master."

Several Masters and Mistresses at the table nodded at pasty one's choice of words. The two slaves bent pasty one over the curved top of the spanking horse and pushed her forward so that her ass was in the proper position. She held tightly to one of the several handholds on the front legs of the spanking horse to hold herself in place. The two slaves then wrapped wide leather thongs around her wrists and tied them to the handholds. She would still be able to let go, but if she did, the leather would hold her in place. They went to the back side of the horse and used similar leather thongs to hold her legs in place. Again, it would be possible for pasty one to try to raise her legs, but the leather would prevent much movement.

"Are the slaves aware of their new positions?" Prime Mistress Dorothy asked.

Master David Tucker, the other half of the Tucker and Williams brokerage, and SlaveMaster for the Executive Club said, "All slaves have been assigned their new numbers. I was told to reserve slave zero for a special purpose, so the new slave is slave one."

"Thank you, Master David," she replied. Then she addressed the slaves, "You will welcome slave pasty one into your slavehood by giving her one smack with the leather paddle, starting with the highest-ranking slave." She paused and then said, "This is not a multiplier, so only slave pasty one will feel the sting of the paddle."

She waited until the slaves were lined up and then said, "Begin."

There are forty Masters and Mistresses in the Executive Club. Some are couples, but some couples have more than one slave. In total, there are fifty-three slaves, not counting pasty one. The first spank, from slave patricia, was squarely across both ass cheeks. Slave pasty one's white skin immediately showed a red welt in the shape of the paddle. Some of the slaves intentionally hit only one asscheek. Not all hit with the same strength. You could tell from the "Thwack!" of the leather striking flesh how hard the blow had been.

Slave pasty one's ass quickly turned from white to pink to red to purple. Somewhere around the forty-fifth smack, pasty one shrieked loudly and let go of the handles. If it had not been for the leather restraints, she would have lifted up and off of the spanking horse. She began wailing immediately, not because she was in pain, but because she felt that she had failed her Master. The slaves who struck after that seemed to put all they had into each blow so that pasty one broke totally and began crying and begging for them to stop. She did not, however, use her safe word.

After the fifty-third- and final- blow was given, Master David said simply, "Release her," and the two slaves who had bound her to the horse released first her legs and then her hands. They helped her off of the spanking horse and set her on her feet, but she could not stand and fell to her hands and knees.

"Come here," Master DuWayne said firmly and she tried to stand, but could not, so she crawled over to where he was sitting at the table. She pressed her face to the floor and through her cries and blubbering wailed, "I failed you, Master. I let go. I didn't want to, but my hands just let go."

"That's OK, pasty one," Master DuWayne said softly. "You are a new slave. You are still weak. I will teach you to be strong and next year we will show how much you have grown."

"Thank you, Master," she blubbered. "I will make you proud next year."

Several Masters and Mistresses smirked at her profession of thanks. They knew how many hours over a spanking horse it was going to take to train pasty one to hold on regardless of what was done to her.

Prime Mistress Dorothy again tapped her spoon against an empty glass and said, "Normally at this time, we would give the various Masters and Mistresses a chance to showcase the training of their slaves. ... And we may still do that, depending on the results of a special investigation by Masters Jerome, Frank, and Duwayne."

She stood and placed both hands on the table. Leaning forward and speaking slowly she continued, "It was reported to the steering board that someone- a high-ranking Master or Mistress- had betrayed our club by preparing to publish a tell-all book of our... exploits. Betraying the trust and confidence of this club is a serious accusation so I appointed those three Masters to look into the matter."

She turned to face the Master at Arms. It looked liked she was smirking as she asked almost derisively, "Master Jerome? Have you anything to report?"

There was a loud noise as all of the doors to the huge ballroom were slammed shut. Standing next to each set of doors were two burly security men dressed in all black. If they had been there before, they had gone unnoticed in the shadows, but now, standing in front of the doors, they were very prominent.

Master Jerome stood and walked to stand alongside the Prime Mistress. Four security men walked with him, two on each side. "Yes, Prime Mistress, I have something to report," he said slowly.

He lifted his hand and pointed it toward something in the darkness behind him. Suddenly a large screen lit up revealing a printed manuscript. He clicked his remote again and the image shifted to a close up of the title page. It said, "The Executive Club - A Tale Of Sadism and Debauchery".

Another click and the image scrolled down to reveal the author's name. The author was "slave painspot."

"Retrieving the manuscript from the publisher was not difficult," Master Jerome began, "because all that had been submitted was a synopsis which no one except Mistress Deanna had seen." He pointed to one of the Mistresses sitting at the table. Master Jerome coughed slightly and then said, "It might have been much more of a problem had this gone to one of the other editors, but by our great fortune, it was submitted during the week that Mistress Deanna was tasked with reviewing new manuscripts."

He began walking slowly around the table. "It had, of course, been submitted electronically and anonymously, but a private investigator friend of mine who specializes in electronic security was hired by a client he will not mention, in fact, I don't think he knows the client's name. In any case, he was hired to retrieve or destroy some files which had been hacked from a backup server."

He pressed his hands together, "It was a ransom for return case and he had an almost unlimited budget, so he was easily able to get the files back. He paid double what the hacker was asking for and explained that money was no problem for the client and the client was willing to spend ten times that amount to exact revenge should any of the information ever be leaked. Pictures of the hacker's wife, girlfriend, brothers, sisters, parents, and fishing buddies made that promise seem so believable that the hacker turned over all of the other files he had stolen from the backup site."

He clicked his remote again, "Among those files was this..." A word processor opened on the screen. The document displayed was the full manuscript for the book. "Apparently, our author thought that putting a copy of her manuscript on a backup site would be an insurance policy. Instead it was one more link leading to her discovery."

The screen now showed the file directory of a computer. "We hired that hacker to do some work for us and he easily backtracked the author to her personal computer where we found this hidden directory." The image zoomed in to an almost grayed-out directory which was titled "PERSONAL."

"The same hidden directory was found on her work computer." The image changed to show the same directory on a different computer. "And on her personal laptop." Again the image showed the grayed-out PERSONAL directory.

"A surreptitious entry to her apartment," Master Jerome said firmly, "uncovered four thumb drives hidden in various places and two large backup disks which mirrored what was on her personal and business computers."

"So who is this person?" Prime Mistress Dorothy said. Her voice was less firm than normal. It almost sounded shaky, and she was obviously perspiring. Her normally very pale skin was ghostly white and reflecting the light in a sheen on her forehead.

Master Jerome stepped back leaving the four security men standing alongside the Prime Mistress.

"It is YOU!" he said angrily. "The arrogance you must have to sit there and call for the results of this investigation knowing it was you. Your hubris in believing that no one could unravel your secrets has undone you. ... and you have decreed your own punishment."

The four security men lifted the Prime Mistress away from her place at the table. As they set her back on her feet, one of the men grasped the shoulders of her dress and pulled outward. The material was strong, but he was stronger. Beneath the dress, Dorothy was wearing a pale pink brassier and a matching, lacy, pale pink pair of panties.

There was a loud click as two combat knives snapped open at the same time. Then while two of the men held her, the other two quickly sliced the straps and back of the brassier and the sides of the panties. They pulled her toward the side of the room, leaving her shoes behind as they again lifted her off the ground.

There was a bright spotlight now illuminating what had been shadows. Dorothy stood between the two guards clad only in pale pink thigh-high nylons which had matched her underwear. One of the guards reached down to remove them, but Master Jerome called out, "No. Leave them for now." He laughed and said, "A partially-clad woman is much more naked and humiliated than one who is totally nude."

"What are you going to do to me?" Dorothy said in a very shaky voice. "I'm innocent. I didn't write that book."

"Ah," said Master DuWayne, "the hubris continues, Prime Mistress, or should I say slave painspot." His voice became very quiet, but everyone was listening to every word. "That was an interesting nom de plume, painspot. Spot... dot... Dorothy... clever, but from this point on you shall be known as slave one or your own chosen name... slave painspot."

"And as we discussed in the steering board," Master Frank said, "should you refuse to accept the punishments set forth by this club, we- individually and collectively- will destroy you and drive you from this community."

Dorothy was crying softly and repeating, "No, no, no."

"I believe," Master Jerome said, "that we called for 'the full punishments the club can decree short of lasting physical harm or death.' Specifically, we talked of the Chair of Humiliation and the Wheel of Pain."

A strange-looking wooden chair was pushed out into the light. In some ways, it resembled an old-fashioned wheelchair, in others it was more like an electric chair. There were wide wooden arms and a wooden plank which went up above her head. There were also two wooden supports for her legs with little shelves on which to set her feet.