A Traitor Among Us · Part 1

A Traitor Among Us · Part 1 (1/3)
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Dorothy Williams looked slowly around her dining room table before solemnly saying, “I call this special meeting of the Executive Club Steering Board to order.” She then slammed her gavel sharply against the pad which protected the surface of the walnut table. Because of the secrecy of the meeting, her slave, trixie, was safely tucked away in her bedroom in firm isolation bondage. A blindfold covered her eyes. Her ears were blocked with soft wax. To further ensure that she could see or hear nothing, her head was covered with a slave hood with the ear and eye holes firmly zippered shut. And to prevent her from removing any of that, she was face down on the floor with her arms and legs hogtied behind her back.

By day… or at least during working hours… slave trixie was Ms Tricia Malone, administrative assistant to the very successful half of Tucker and Williams Market Advisors. Actually Tricia did most of the market research and for the most part wrote the market advisories which the clients received. Dorothy, however, received most of the credit and all of the commissions on the trades.

There was some talk when Tricia first moved into the same upscale apartment building as Dorothy, but both soon made it clear that Tricia’s apartment was on the “shadow side” of the building with very small windows and no view except the back of the adjacent building. Besides, it was much, much smaller than Dorothy’s lavish apartment with a view of the park and the downtown streets. Dorothy told her friends, “That cheap apartment was available and I didn’t want some riffraff moving in, so I let Tricia know about it. It works out very well for both of us. She no longer needs her car and she can drive me to work each morning in mine.”

What most of their friends and business associates didn’t know was that Tricia’s apartment was actually intended as servant’s quarters when the building was first built. There was an interconnecting doorway which opened from the hallway next to the small bedroom in Tricia’s apartment into Dorothy’s large kitchen. Each evening after work, Ms Tricia Malone would enter her apartment, strip naked and then kneel at that doorway with her forehead pressed firmly against the floor. Eventually, Dorothy– now Mistress Dorothy– would open the door from the kitchen side and say simply, “You may enter.” Slave trixie is an excellent cook, though her Mistress had to teach her most of what she knows.

Weekends were slightly different. On Saturdays, slave trixie was expected to wear a French maid’s outfit– sans panties, of course– while she carefully cleaned her Mistress’ apartment. If there were any imperfections– and there always were– slave trixie would lie over the top of the leather couch while her Mistress used a leather paddle to remind her to be more diligent in her cleaning. At first, slave trixie was hesitant to clean the windows while basically naked from the waist down, but now she doesn’t even notice the glare off the binoculars and cameras from adjacent buildings.

Mistress Dorothy insists the windows always be cleaned at exactly 9:00 am before the sun rises too high in the sky. Of course, that time of day also guarantees that slave trixie is brightly lit while standing next to the window without the sun being so bright that it glares off the glass. On Sunday, her outfits would vary, but not by very much. Sunday was a play day and more often than not, her Sunday outfits were primarily wrist and ankle restraints.

Dorothy was the Prime Mistress of the Executive Club, an old money BDSM club that had been around for many generations. The constitution of the club mandated that the vice-president, called the Master– or Mistress– at Arms, be a Master if the club leader was a Mistress or a Mistress if the club leader was a Master. Jerome Wilson, the Master at Arms had called for this special meeting. He notified the other three board members that a private detective who occasionally did work for him had come to him privately and said that while investigating a totally different matter, he had discovered treachery most foul among high-ranking members of the Executive Club.

Master Jerome looked at the Prime Mistress and the other two members of the board and then said in his gravelly voice, “There is a traitor among us. Someone has betrayed us… or is planning to betray us… by publishing a tell-all book naming names, dates, and events.” He coughed in that irritating way he used to indicate that he was about to say something important. “This book evidently includes very graphic descriptions of some activities which would cost influential members their jobs if everything became public.”

“Who would do such a thing?!” Master Frank Thomas, the club treasurer, said forcefully. His voice was very controlled, but for a CPA to show any emotion at all was quite a surprise. “What can we do about this?” he asked, his voice still strong and firm.

“That would depend,” Master DuWayne Harper said softly. Unlike Master Frank, when Master DuWayne was upset he became more quiet. His wife, Mistress Muanda often told people, “You really don’t want to go against DuWayne if he’s smiling and whispering.”

“Depend on what?” Prime Mistress Dorothy said sharply, but somewhat quietly.

“It would depend on whether or not there is a copy of this manuscript secreted away with a friend or stored somewhere on the cloud as insurance,” Master DuWayne replied. “And whether or not it would be worth violating major laws to prevent people learning about what are possibly relatively minor violations.”

“You’re speaking in riddles again, DuWayne,” Master Frank muttered. “Spell it out.”

“No record of this meeting?!” Master DuWayne said angrily, slapping his hand flat on the table.

“You’re the club recorder,” Master Frank replied. “No one else is taking notes if you aren’t.”

“No recording devices?” Master DuWayne asked. His voice was getting softer and softer.

“All phones out and off,” Prime Mistress Dorothy said and six phones were set on the table after being held up to show that they were indeed off. Master Frank and Prime Mistress Dorothy both carried two phones, one personal and one for business.

“And your special pen, Jerome,” she added firmly.

“It’s already off,” he said as he took it from his pocket. “But so you can be sure… “ He unscrewed the top and removed the batteries and set everything with his phone.

Prime Mistress Dorothy turned to Master DuWayne, smiled and said, “Satisfied?”

“What about slave trixie?” he replied.

“She’s in her bedroom in isolation bondage,” Prime Mistress Dorothy answered. “Now are you satisfied?”

“OK,” Master DuWayne said curtly. Then after a pause, he said in a clipped, firm voice, “The question is, do we arrange for a burglary or electronic incursion to retrieve any computer or hard copies of this book?”

“If necessary,” Master Jerome said flatly, “I could arrange for both a physical and electronic intrusion.” He paused and then said, “But qualified, discreet people would be very expensive. I’m not sure I can bear the total cost by myself.”

“Don’t worry,” Master Frank said. “There are ways… there are always ways.”

“Good to hear,” Master Jerome said with a quick smile, “but I think Master DuWayne has more to say.”

Master DuWayne looked very slowly around the table and then said, “If necessary, do we arrange for an unfortunate accident for the author?” He gave one of his frozen smiles and added, “There are always ways for that also.”

“I don’t believe that will be necessary, Master DuWayne,” Prime Mistress Dorothy said almost sweetly. “This person is obviously a member of this club. They thought they could write this tell-all book anonymously, most likely to make some needed money. They know our power, individually and collectively. They know for certain that the rest of the club, working together, can absolutely ruin them… or worse.”

“Then what do you propose?” asked Master Jerome.

“What is the worst punishment we can give?” the Mistress asked, looking around the table.

“That depends,” Master DuWayne began and everyone glared at him. He smiled and quickly said, “That depends on whether the author is a Master or a slave.”

“They could be a Mistress… or a Ma’am… or a neutral spouse… or even an unattached submissive,” said Master Frank in his normal, measured, boring way of speaking.

“Ever the bean counter,” Master DuWayne muttered, “but the categories are the same. If it’s a slave, the worst that can happen is to be declared slave zero. For a Master… or Mistress, the worst would be to be downgraded to slave category like was done with Master Thomas when he was caught making secret videos of our meetings. He was downgraded for six months to the status of slave. He could have quit, but he decided to accept the punishment, which in addition to the six-month loss of status required that he receive five swats with a leather paddle from each Master or Mistress in the club. At the end of the six-month period he was restored, but everyone still remembers how he broke after about one hundred swats and was crying like a baby and screaming for mercy like a little girl before the two hundredth swat was given. He will never regain the power he once had.”

“But those videos were for his own personal use and we recovered all copies,” Master Jerome said. “This is much more serious.”

“Are you suggesting a permanent downgrade?” asked Prime Mistress Dorothy.

“Yes!” he replied forcefully, almost shouting. “I would go so far as to recommend a permanent downgrade to slave zero.”

The table was quiet for several seconds and then the Prime Mistress asked softly, “Is that a motion?”

“Yes,” he answered, still speaking forcefully as if controlling anger, “I move that the culprit– if this is true– be permanently downgraded to slave zero whether they be Master, Mistress, Ma’am, Sir, slave, submissive, or neutral. They will further have to endure the full punishments the club can decree short of lasting physical harm or death. And if they refuse, the full economic and social weight of this club shall be used to destroy them in this community and pursue them wherever they flee.”

Prime Mistress Dorothy’s eyes were very wide. She was visibly pale, which was a considerable feat considering her normal, rather milky-white complexion. “Don’t you think that is a little severe?” she said softly. Then she added sarcastically, “Why don’t you just add the slave’s multiplier to finish her off? In fact, since Master Thomas endured five swats from each of us, why not make it a five-swat multiplier?”

“So moved,” Master Jerome said tersely, “… everything I first said with the addition of a quintuple slave’s multiplier to finish him… or her… or it off.” He turned toward Master Frank and said flatly, “Did I include every possibility there?”

Master Frank merely swallowed hard and nodded.

Master DuWayne spoke softly. “That is a little open-ended. I would like to specify that the punishments be that this culprit be permanently downgraded to slave zero and branded as such; that they endure Master Jerome’s Chair of Humiliation and my Wheel of Pain; that they be permanently depilated; and finally that they be given as a slave to whichever Master or Mistress can make the best claim on them.

“You’re forgetting the slave’s multiplier times five,” Prime Mistress Dorothy said flatly.

“That was included in the original motion,” Master Frank said. Perspiration was starting to show on his brow.

“I accept your recommendation to my motion,” Master Jerome said flatly. “Since we aren’t really keeping a record, there is no need to repeat it all.”

“Then I second your motion,” Master DuWayne said firmly.

“All in favor?” Prime Mistress Dorothy said crisply.

Four ‘ayes’ echoed in the room.

“Given the importance of this vote,” Prime Minister Dorothy said firmly, “let the record show that the Prime Mistress also voted aye.”

“There is no record of this meeting,” Master DuWayne said with one of his very cold smiles. Then after a pause he added, “… but we will all remember that the vote was unanimous. And we will all remember exactly what we decided.”

“There is one other thing we need to consider,” Master Jerome said slowly. “This book could be very lucrative for some publishing house as well as for the author.”

“And?…” Master DuWayne said after Master Jerome paused.

“And it could definitely affect the stock prices of perhaps some major publishers or bookstores,” Master Jerome continued. “Hell, it could even affect Amazon.”

“And?…” Master DuWayne repeated.

“And if a stock broker knew of this book in advance or knew that it was being withdrawn,” Prime Mistress Dorothy said with a smile, “they would have insider information that could intentionally or unintentionally be used to influence what her clients traded in the market.”

“Exactly!” said Master Jerome.

“So what you are so hesitant to say, my dear Master at Arms,” she said, smiling and looking directly at Master Jerome, “is that I need to be kept out of the loop on this.”

“That would be best,” Master Jerome replied smoothly. “Then if there is any market response afterwards, there is nothing to tie you to…… whatever.”

Prime Mistress Dorothy smiled again, this time at all of them, and said, “Let the unkept record show that I hereby appoint Masters Frank, Jerome, and DuWayne as an investigative committee to find out all details of this betrayal. A full report will be made at our annual Anniversary Dinner, and the traitor, whomever he or she is, shall be punished as our entertainment for the evening. That gives you one month to ferret out the betrayer.”

“I guess that ends our meeting,” Master Frank said.

Prime Mistress Dorothy rapped her gavel lightly and said, “Meeting adjourned. See you at the Anniversary Dinner.”

Masters Jerome, Frank, and DuWayne rose from the table together and walked to the door. As they were going down in the elevator together, Master Jerome said quietly. “There is another reason that we had to keep the Prime Mistress out of this.”

“What’s that?” Frank asked.

“The traitor,” Master Jerome responded “is a Mistress.”

Chateau Robespierre is an extremely lavish estate secluded far out in the country in the center of a large parcel of land. Despite having been there for well over a century, few in town knew the chateau was there. And those few who knew it was there had no idea who owned it, only that it was a very rich and very secretive family. The chateau building, itself, was very secure with two separate perimeter fences surrounding it in addition to barred windows, heavy doors, guard dogs and an in-house security force.

To say the least, it was very upscale from where the club would normally hold their yearly party. Everyone in the Executive Club was well-to-do, but few in the group could afford the upkeep on such a place as this. Most years the club’s budget wouldn’t even allow renting it for the weekend because of the cost. But it had become available for this special weekend at a very reasonable rate. Actually the word Master Frank used was “cheap.”

A few days after the special meeting, a friend in real estate contacted him and asked if he knew anyone who might be interested in renting the chateau for a weekend. The owner wanted to “try a test run or two before going full rental to strangers.” Frank knew that it would be perfect for this year’s special needs. And he was never one to turn down a bargain.

It was always a little difficult to find the right setting for the Executive Club Anniversary Dinners. One reason was that it was not just a dinner–it was a whole weekend. But the most important reason was that sometimes the Anniversary Dinner weekends get a little noisy and if there are nearby neighbors, they tend to call the police when they hear screams. Frank knew that this year might get even noisier than usual and was already searching for a new venue when Chateau Robespierre just dropped in his lap. The real estate agent who showed it to him seemed a little taken aback when Frank said in his calm, CPA tones, “You could scream your bloody head off out here and no one would hear you.” He signed the rental agreement immediately. The chateau would be perfect for the Anniversary Dinner.

New members are welcomed into the Executive Club at the Anniversary Dinner. For a Master or Mistress who is welcomed to the club, the primary noise is cheers or applause. But submissives are also officially welcomed at the Anniversary Dinner and the sound of one hand clapping… against a firm buttocks… is often accompanied by screams of pain or passion… or both.

This year’s party would be noisier… a lot noisier. A Mistress was going to be permanently downgraded to slave zero and subjected to severe punishments. Normally a slave can work her way up from slave zero, but this Mistress would be slave zero forever or at least as long as she is a threat to the Executive Club.

Normally a new submissive automatically becomes slave zero. Each year at the Anniversary Dinner, all of the submissives are rated and re-graded. Usually the more experienced ones move up the pecking order. And, of course, those who have not performed as well as they should are moved down. If there is no new submissive being accepted at the party, then the lowest-ranking slave becomes slave zero. This year that lowest-ranking slave will become slave two. The new submissive will be slave one. And, of course, the downgraded Mistress will become slave zero.

Prime Mistress Dorothy called the meeting to order at exactly nine pm Friday night. It wasn’t actually an official meeting, and people had been gathering since seven, but her announcement meant that things were becoming “official.” Several wives who had been standing around with a cocktail in hand stopped, removed their dresses, and knelt at the feet of their Master. Several husbands did likewise, but a man is never able to whip off his clothing quite as gracefully as a woman.

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 was 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 ballroom 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 choose.

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-mouldering 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

A Traitor Among Us · Part 1 (1/3)
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