A Traitor Among Us · Part 2

A Traitor Among Us · Part 2 (2/3)
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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.

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 like 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.

The guards pushed her into the chair and walked away. Several naked slaves came running up and began binding her legs and feet to the supports and her arms to the wooden arms of the chair. A wide leather belt was pulled around her chest, holding her fast to the back, and another belt of leather was used to hold her head firmly to the tall portion of the back.

“Most of you have never seen this chair,” Master DuWayne said, smiling. “My slaves have, and a few of my former friends have. It is of my own invention.”

He walked over to the chair and pressed down on the board on which painspot’s head was restrained. The whole chair sort of collapsed and rotated so that painspot was now lying on her back with her knees up to her chest and her arms held almost against her shoulders. The seat of the chair had totally dropped away allowing her body to jackknife with her legs pulled obscenely apart. Master DuWayne pressed harder and she continued to rotate so that her back was at about a forty-five degree angle and the board on which her head was secured was touching the ground.

He walked around to the front of the chair and then said, “I’ve always wondered if you had a pink asshole.” He reached forward with his finger and touched her bright pink rosebud. She tried to pull her asscheeks together, but the way the chair was holding her, that was not possible.

“I think ten by hand, ten with leather, and ten with wood should start things off nicely,” Master DuWayne said as he held out his hand above her ass. He struck hard and the imprint of his hand was immediately visible.

“Now, now, painspot,” he said gruffly. “Have you forgotten everything you knew as Prime Mistress Dorothy. A slave counts the spanks for her Master. If you don’t count, I have to start over.”

He again slapped his hand loudly against painspot’s ass. Now there were two handprints in red on her white asscheeks. “One, thank you, Master,” painspot said slowly.

“Ah, you do remember,” he said as he again slapped her ass. “Two, thank you, Master,” she said firmly.

Master DuWayne spanked at a measured rate and slave painspot counted each swat and thanked him each time. When he was done, he slowly rubbed his hand across her bottom. “Oh,” he said, “you seem to have lost a little control of your bladder. You are wet down here.” He gave her one sharp smack and said, “If you weren’t a former Mistress, I might think you were enjoying this.”

Master Frank stepped forward and said, “I will use the leather paddle.” He held out his hand and a naked slavegirl placed a wide leather paddle in it. The paddle was black leather and looked like an oversized ping-pong paddle. He swished it back and forth a couple of times and then said, “You won’t have time to thank me, but I still want you to count. If you can’t keep up with the count I start over.”

He stood slightly to one side of the chair and started spanking. The loud “Thwack!” of the leather hitting skin was followed by a loud yelp. The second swat covered painspot’s attempt to count the first.

“What did I tell you?” Master Frank said sternly. “If you can’t keep up with the count, I start over.”

He then immediately smacked her ass with the paddle. “One!” she shouted as soon as the paddle hit. Then “Two! Three! Four! Five! Six! Seven-Eight-Nine-Ten!”

Master Frank laughed dryly. “I really didn’t think you could keep up, painspot. You will make someone a marvelous slave.”

“That will come later,” Master Jerome said. “Let’s see how well she counts wood.”

He then leaned in close to her head and said in a stage whisper, “I’m going to go very slowly, so you will have time to scream, count, thank me, and ask for another because you are a bad slavegirl. Do you understand that?”

He moved so he could stare down at painspot as she tried to nod her head. Finally she blurted out a tearful, “Yes.”

“Good,” Master Jerome said as he swung the wooden paddle downward at her ass. It hit both asscheeks, but striking from above, the primary force was on the open area between the cheeks. From painspot’s scream, it may have made contact with her cunt or asshole.

“Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God!” painspot screamed, then she got control of herself and said shakily, “One. Thank you, Master. May this bad girl have another like she deserves?”

“Well said,” Master Jerome replied as he moved around behind her, “but you know my name. I want to hear it. And you are not a girl, you are a slavegirl.”

He didn’t wait for a reply but instead swung again with the paddle, this time striking squarely across both asscheeks. The scream wasn’t quite as loud, and there were only two “Oh, Gods” before painspot got control of herself and said, “Two. Thank you, Master Jerome, for punishing this slavegirl. May she have another like she deserves?”

Master Jerome said, “Very good, but you didn’t count the first one properly, so that was one, not two. This will be stroke number two.”

Master Jerome stood slowly swinging the paddle back and forth. Slave painspot was tensing and relaxing her ass trying to anticipate the blow. Her ass was now bright red with purple splotches. The holes drilled into the wooden paddle were already creating darker purple spots that were raised up slightly from the other welts. Her ass tensed and was starting to relax just as Master Jerome swung the paddle with all his strength, striking squarely across both asscheeks.

This time there was a high pitched scream followed by a long series of “Oh, Gods” which dissolved into crying. “The count,” Master Jerome said curtly.

“Two,” slave painspot said. She followed that with the proper “Thank you, Master Jerome, for punishing this slavegirl. May she have another like she deserves?”

Master Jerome never hit quite that hard again, but that meant little to painspot, whose ass was swelling and becoming more and more purple. After the tenth stroke, painspot screamed, got herself under control, then thanked Master Jerome and asked for another. When she realized what she had said, she began blubbering, “No, no. I didn’t mean that. Please don’t give me another.”

“Don’t worry, painspot,” Master Jerome said, “We said ten. You counted ten. And ten it will be.” He brightened and said, “Besides, we are going to take a little intermission here and have some dessert. I’m not sure what we are having, but your dessert involves a little ginger.”

He held out his hand and a naked slavegirl ran up and handed him a carefully carved-ginger root. It was a large one that had been carved in the shape of a buttplug. He stepped up to painspot and pressed the carved root against her pink sphincter.

“Luckily, this root is very fresh and already secreting oils so it is self-lubricating,” he said as he pushed the root into her ass. “Unfortunately, those same oils are going to start being a little irritating in a few minutes.” He patted her swollen ass and said, “Enjoy your dessert.”

Slave painspot was screaming even before the naked slaves finished serving the dessert. “Someone put a rag in it,” Master DuWayne said angrily. He got up from his seat and stepped over to where the Prime Mistress had been stripped of her title… and her clothing. He picked up her discarded panties and threw them to one of the slaves. “Here, use this,” he said angrily. A few moments later painspot’s screams had diminished significantly.

After everyone had finished their desserts, Master Jerome– Now technically Prime Master Jerome– stood up and said, “While everyone is enjoying a cup of coffee or a glass of liqueur, I think we should move to our next level of punishment for slave painspot.”

He clapped his hands loudly and said, “Bring out the frame.”

In response, two security men wheeled a large bondage frame up to near the head of the table and lifted it off the cart on which it was moved.

“Bring her,” Master Jerome said forcefully and four security men went over to the Chair of Humiliation and pulled it back up into the sitting position. Then several naked slavegirls quickly unbound slave painspot and attempted to lift her from the chair. She pulled her sodden panties from her mouth and screamed “It burns! It burns!”

She continued to scream and struggled against them until Master Jerome said wearily, “Remove the fig.”

One of the slavegirls reached between painspot’s asscheeks and pulled the ginger root out of her ass. Slave painspot stopped struggling for a moment, but she continued moaning loudly saying, “It still burns! It still burns!”

“Ice her,” Master Jerome said curtly and another slavegirl came running up holding a hunk of ice which had been frozen in the shape of a butt plug. He took the ice butt plug and rammed it into painspot’s ass. That brought another scream, but then her moans became just pained, “Uhhh, uhhh,” as the ice cooled the fire in her anal canal.

Once she was under control, Master Jerome turned to two of the security men and said, “Bind her in the frame… tightly.”

The two men pulled painspot over to the bondage frame and quickly wrapped restraint cuffs around her wrists. Thick ropes, which led through pulleys in the very top corners of the frame, were already attached to the restraints. Each man took one rope and pulled hard, lifting painspot up onto her tiptoes. Then they tied off the ropes to a cleat on the side of the frame.

One of them then knelt down and attached restraint cuffs to painspot’s ankles. These also had thick ropes attached which went through pulleys in the very bottom corners of the frame. Pulling up on the ropes dragged painspot’s legs wide apart and pulled her down, stretching her arms even more tightly. By the time they tied off the lower ropes, painspot was bound extremely tightly in a naked X in the middle of the frame. Her toes were barely touching the ground and the tension in her arms and legs was causing her body to vibrate.

Master Jerome stood in front of her with his hands on his hips. “I was slightly upset with myself for not permanently removing all of your body hair before the spanking,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone, “but you seem to have already taken care of that.”

He reached up and ran his fingers through her long, blond hair. “So,” he said brightly, “all that we really need to take care of is the hair on your head.”

“No, please, no,” she whimpered. “Everyone will be able to see when I go out in public.”

“Everyone can see your pussy is bald,” Master Jerome retorted, “but you cover it when you are out in public.” He laughed slightly and said, “But you… and those who have seen it… still know it is bald. You can wear a wig when you go to work. Master David has said that he will keep you on as a secretary. He might even have your former slave trixie take over your accounts. It seems she is the one who has done most of the work on things for the past many months.”

In response, slave painspot just began crying.

“Shear her!” Master Jerome ordered and a slave girl immediately stepped forward with a battery operated hair cutter. As the long golden locks fell to the floor, painspot sobbed loudly.

When she was totally shorn, Master Jerome commanded curtly, “Make it permanent!”

A slave stepped forward wearing long rubber gloves. “Stay still,” she said quietly, “or this might get in your eyes.” She then carefully smeared a very foul-smelling cream on painspot’s hairless head.

“It burns!” painspot whined and Master Jerome snapped back, “You said that about the fig in your ass. Do you want your panties back in your mouth? Besides, the pain will be gone shortly. It only burns while the hair follicles die.”

The slave in the rubber gloves returned with several towels. After wiping the cream away, she then used a wet towel to clean painspot’s now shiny scalp.

After everything was cleaned up, Master Jerome said, “Now you look like slave zero. I think we need to find you a Master soon. I am sure that everyone here would love to see you on your knees permanently submitting yourself.”

“That won’t be necessary,” a woman’s voice spoke out. Everyone turned to see slave trixie, Dorothy’s former slave, standing slightly behind Master Jerome. She was no longer naked, but was instead wearing a very form-fitting floor length black dress.

“She has already submitted herself to me,” slave trixie said forcefully, “and I claim my place in this club as Mistress Tricia.”

“Can you prove this?” Master Jerome said. His face showed his skepticism. “Can you prove that she knelt at your feet and submitted herself?”

“Yes, I can,” slave trixie said evenly. “And my method of proof will save you the trouble of mounting her on the Wheel of Pain.”

She looked out into the darkness and said, “Carl, bring me my small suitcase and activate the screens.”

A man dressed in the traditional formalwear of an English butler walked up to slave trixie– or was she truly now Mistress Tricia?– and handed her a small suitcase and a remote control. She set the suitcase on the edge of the table where Dorothy had been sitting and pointed the remote up at the wall. A very large monitor screen of some sort lowered from the ceiling and turned on. It showed a blue screen with the words, “No Signal” across it in white.

“Sorry for the messy beginning to this presentation,” Mistress Tricia said softly. “We are improvising.”

A Traitor Among Us · Part 2 (2/3)
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