A Traitor Among Us by The_Technician
What would you do if you discovered that someone in your elite BDSM club was about to publish a tell-all book exposing the members? The Executive Club decides that the appropriate thing to do is to punish the author as the entertainment for the Club’s annual dinner. , This story involves severe spanking, electro-punishment, and humiliation. If that is not your cup of tea, pass on this one. But if you like that particular brew, enjoy a nice hot cup of pain and debauchery as the Executive Club punishes the traitor among us.
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WARNING! All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY. Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content. All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life.
All characters involved in sexual activity in this story are over the age of 18. If you are under the age of 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century.
Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included with the article. This story is copyright (c) 2020 by The Technician.
Individual readers may archive and/or print single copies of this story for personal, non-commercial use. Production of multiple copies of this story on paper, disk, or other fixed format is expressly forbidden.
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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 gravely 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 de***********ions 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.”