This five chapter adventure for W begins when a mysterious painted lady emerges from his lake. This first chapter is primarily setup with the Lady emerging and giving W a message. The sex begins in Chapter Two once judging begins at the Decennial Competition of Masters and Slaves of the Greater East Coast BDSM Association.
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) 2026 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.
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Chapter One - The Lady Emerges
It was a very nice autumn evening and I was sitting on the back deck of my lake house sipping bourbon when the alarm on my phone sounded. That was immediately followed by a loud klaxon and an even louder speaker yelling out, “Intruder in the compound. Intruder in the compound.”
I dove flat on the deck and grabbed the Glock that I keep in a waterproof holster attached under one of the benches next to the wall of the house. I punched a number into my phone and said, “Report!”
David, my current head of security, said in a tense but steady voice, “Single intruder. We didn’t see her until she appeared at the front of the house. She appears to be unarmed and is more or less in a position of surrender but is walking steadily toward the front door.”
I decided to leave how in the hell she managed to bypass several layers of automatic and monitored security for later. The question right now was who is this and why is she walking toward my house.
I walked around the house and came up alongside her. I startled slightly at her nakedness, but weirder things have happened to me over the years. She was walking slowly with her arms held slightly out from her body. Her hands were empty and her fingers were spread to show that she was holding nothing. Her naked body was glistening with water and greasepaint and there were wet footprints leading down to the lake. A boat would have registered in the automatic security scanning of the cameras. So would a person swimming normally through the water. But this naked female had no hair whatsoever on her body. What she did have was a colorful pattern of reds, greens, yellows, and browns drawn in approximately the shape of leaves. My AI image scanners– and apparently the security person monitoring the cameras– looked at the image in the dim light of dusk and saw only leaves floating on the water as she very slowly swam the two or so miles from the other side of the lake. I assume she walked to the lake through the woods from the cross road at the edge of my property.
My security perimeter begins at the lake. There are trail cameras which are checked regularly, but active monitoring in an area with abundant wildlife is prohibitively complex. And there is abundant wildlife since state regulations require that wildlife have unimpeded access to the lake. Besides, in bright daylight she would have been detected. At night, my infra-red and night vision cameras would have detected her automatically. It was only just before sunset that her camouflage would make her invisible until she came out of the water. She really knew what she was doing. You can’t defend against everything, but my security people and I will be having discussions on how to prevent this from ever happening again in the future.
She turned to face me and I immediately said, “Kill the alarms. She’s a friend.” Then I stood in front of her and said, “Come out to the back deck, Natasha.”
“No,” she said firmly. “Inside where drones can’t see me.”
I nodded and opened the front door. She stepped in and I followed. As I entered the house, I pressed a button on my phone and said, “Security level One-A plus. Expect intruders by land or air and especially watch for drones in my airspace.”
I heard the slight whine of the drone canons on the roof of the house and elsewhere spring to life. It is technically illegal to down a drone, but the person who owns it has to press charges. If one of my net canons actually captures a drone and pulls it out of the sky over my house, I really doubt the owner is going to make themselves known to the authorities.
I handed Natasha a towel and invited her to sit at the table. She sat down, took a deep breath and then said flatly, “They took Nicki.”
I was godfather to Boris and Natasha’s twins, Nick and Nicki. They were now eight or nine years old. “Who?” I asked and followed that with, “What do they want?”
“Friends of my fathers,” she answered bitterly. “Or should I say acquaintances from when he was still alive.” Her face suddenly went totally blank, which for her meant extreme anger. “They know what I can do and want me to... eliminate someone.”
“Who?” I asked. I’m not sure I wanted to hear the answer. It had to be someone really important for a bunch of old-style KGB types to try to coerce Natasha into an assassination.
“The President of the United States,” she said slowly. “He used to be active in the scene. In fact he was kinky as hell. Now, either because of his wife or because he became the President, he just likes to watch once in a while.”
“How in the hell does he keep that secret?” I almost sputtered.
“By being VERY private about it.” she replied. “He only takes his two closest guards with him and they stay outside. He wears a mask as do all the judges at these special contests. I’m supposed to take him out while he is there. That has a double impact. One it takes him out. And two it really besmirches his name and legacy.”
“Who is behind this?” I asked quickly.
She responded with a nervous laugh. “Names are not important... for now,” she finally said with a smile. But it wasn’t really a smile. Only her lips formed a smile. The rest of her face was as blank as death.
“What can I do to help?” I asked, leaning forward slightly.
“The Decennial Competition of Masters and Slaves of the Greater East Coast BDSM Association is in four months,” she replied. “Seven Sybians have already been contracted to J&J for the type of special modifications which you used to do. After they leave J&J, the shipment will be diverted to the garage in town where Boris is supposed to make an additional modification to one of the units.” She shuddered slightly before continuing “He is supposed to create a trap where a special two shot pistol can be concealed. They will put the pistol in place shortly before the event.”
I took a deep breath. “That will get the pistol past the GECBA security. How do you get the gun?”
“The units are to be prominently numbered on the front and sides,” she said flatly. “I will be riding Sybian number three.” Then her voice hardened as she said, “After I win the competition and am released, I am to retrieve the gun and make the touch.”
“And you want me... and J&J... to do what?” I asked calmly. I didn’t bother to ask how she was sure that she would win the competition. I had seen her in action before and now it was her child who was in danger. She would win the competition.
“Create a second trap in all seven units,” she said even more calmly, “and provide a weapon, preferrably a Glock 17, in the second trap of all units.” She took a deep breath and continued, “Boris can’t do it. The mountain is safe, but the garage is most likely bugged for audio and video and that is where he has to do the modification.”
I looked at her for a long moment and then said, “You expect them to take you out as soon as you shoot, don’t you?” It was more of a statement than a question.
She laughed. It was a dry, humorless laugh I had heard several times from her father when he was alive. Then she spoke, “They know that I can do nothing until Nicki is released. Uncle Aleksandr is supposed to be the go-between. He will tell me when Nicki is safe.” She shrugged and said, “But I will be dead by then.”
I thought for a moment and then said, “The trap spring will be on the side where the leg restraints are attached. Twist counterclockwise and something should open on the top just behind the saddle.” Then I looked her directly in the eyes and said, “Hopefully you will be alive to use it. I will do what I can to clear the field, but I can promise nothing.”
“I know,” she said. Her face was totally blank as she got up and said, “Now I have to go. I can only disappear for so long without arousing suspicion. Their spies are everywhere.”
As I walked her to the door I said softly, but very firmly, “When you do it, make sure it is a double tap to the head only. Remember, to the head only.”
She looked at me a little strangely but then turned and started walking toward the lake. I stood on the front steps of the house and watched her make her way slowly back to the water. The high intensity intruder lights were off. So were most of the normal lights along the dock. Her naked body was just a moving shadow long before she ever got to the lake. Once she was in the water she was no more than a pile of leaves or a log or some tangled debris drifting with the slow currents of the lake. I turned and went back into the house. Tomorrow, Juan and Juanita and I would have a long talk about their modification order from GECBA.
***
I decided to help Juan and Juanita with the special modifications on the Sybians. I knew that they were able to create the traps properly as well as I could, but I wanted to be sure that they would open properly for Natasha.
While we were working, I told Jaun and Juanita the full story of how I met Natasha and how her father had called in some favors to save not only his daughter, but also the entire inner circle of the Society. Natasha’s father was a man of favors. While he was a high ranking official in the KGB, he did many favors for many people in his country and around the world and occasionally he would ask a favor in return. When the KGB became the SVR he continued to do favors. Even after he retired and the SVR became the FSB, he acted as go-between for favors to various people close by and around the world. He used those favors to save my ass when the Monty brothers declared war on me and the Society. Even if I didn’t owe him for that, I would still do everything in my power to save Nicki, and if possible, her mother, Natasha. But somehow, I felt that my actions now were in some way paying him back those favors.
I’ve also done favors for a lot of people over my lifetime. My friends– and my godchild– were in danger and it was time to collect on a few of those favors. I also know things about some very important people. I have always been very discreet with that knowledge and never before used it as leverage in any way, but, with Niki’s life on the line, I would, if necessary, now put those cards on the table to get what I needed. Beyond favors given or received, there are the people who are extremely loyal to me because I have been extremely loyal to them for many years. We do not owe each other favors, but they would help me as I would help them because it is the honorable thing to do. Juan and Juanita are only two of such people.
I couldn’t make open contact with Boris and Natasha. I couldn’t even make any inquiries about the kidnaping. But I could pull a few strings behind the scenes at the Greater East Coast BDSM Association as they finalized their plans for their once a decade competition. I was still a semi-active member of GECBA and an emeritus board member of that organization. As such, I had some suggestions for the catering for the munch and even had a benefactor– me– who would pay the cost of a higher class catering firm for the meal. I was always surprised through the years that despite the generally high level of wealth in this organization, the food for their events often bordered on “rubber chicken.”
With such a prominent person acting as judge, I also had a suggestion for added security. And finally, I had a suggestion for one of the judges... me. That wouldn’t be out of character and it wouldn’t be an excessive demand. A lot of my enjoyment these days comes from watching the younger people do what I once did. As that old country song says, “I ain’t as good as I once was, but I’m as good once as I ever was.”
I knew that the overall security at the event was going to be extremely tight even without their secret guest. With the fallout from the Epstein debacle, all forms of BDSM relationships were suspect in the public’s eye. Trying to explain that the clubs– especially those under the Society’s or Mansion Club’s oversight– are extremely careful to enforce the voluntary servitude aspects of the Master-slave or Dominant-submissive relationship is a lost cause to those who feel that such voluntary relationships cannot exist.
The reality is that a Masterful person can channel their power and/or need for power into business, politics, sports, or even music. But an innate submissive, without a compassionate Master, is going to seek satisfaction and release by submissively entering into one abusive relationship after another until they are finally destroyed. A true Master knows the delicate balance of providing the needed pain, restriction, and strict guidance while at the same time not permanently harming the submissive physically or mentally. Most Masters actually love their submissives. Some even marry them. It is very difficult to explain that sort of relationship to someone who is outside “the scene.” But I am preaching to the choir so I will shut up about it.
In light of the turmoil over the entire Epstein affair, however, I couldn’t imagine why a powerful public figure would risk possible exposure at such an event. But throughout history, hubris has been the great weakness of all powerful people. It has been the downfall of emperors and kings... and presidents. Hopefully I could move to prevent it being the downfall of a nation.
The day of the contest/munch finally arrived. Perhaps I shouldn’t say finally. The four months since Natasha rose from the water like a modern day Lady of the Lake have flown past. A thousand details had to be coordinated in secret. And that was only the things I was doing. Who knows how many secret details Boris and Natasha were putting into place, not to mention Uncle Aleksandr acting back in the motherland.
Normally a munch, even for such a large organization as GECBA is a rather informal gathering. During a short meal, there are a few demonstrations from whipmasters or masters showing off their skills. Sometimes there are demonstrations of new equipment from manufacturers such as me, or now J&J. But that is usually a short program time and then everyone heads for the multitude of special rooms designated for special interests. It is almost like a very kinky family picnic.
But Masters and Mistresses tend to have masterful egos that clash and clash and clash until something would finally blow up if there were not a safety valve to vent off that pressure. That safety valve is the every ten year Decennial Competition of Masters and Slaves of the Greater East Coast BDSM Association.
For that event, a sumptuous meal is eaten with no displays, just normal table conversations. Then a series of contests are set forth in which judges decide who is the best whipmaster, the best ponygirl/ponyboi trainer, the best administer of punishment, and then finally, the most loyal slave. That last category is decided by having the slave endure something that they would only endure out of loyalty to their master. Those categories change from decade to decade, but that is the proposed lineup for this year.
The identity of the judges is hept secret. That prevents shaping your presentation to the known interests of the judge. It also prevents reprisals in case there are hard feelings about the judging. And lastly, it allows certain high level members of “normal society” to be present in secret for these erotic contests.
I arrived slightly early in a special, chauffeur-driven, armored SUV that had picked me up in the secure loading area of one of the local hotels. I got out in a secure area and was ushered into a small room with a nice table and meal setup and a video link to the main hall. A very polite young woman dressed in a black suit with a gray shirt informed me that shortly before contest time all of the judges would be ushered into the venue. She also handed me what looked like an old-fashioned black, woman’s hat with a rather long veil hanging down completely around it.
“That is an optical barrier,” she said sweetly. “Put it in place when we come to get you and do not lift it at all until you are back here in this green room.”
I chuckled and said, “Yes Ma’am.” The young woman startled slightly at being called Ma’am, but recovered nicely, smiled, and said, “If you need anything, just press the button on the table.” I nodded and smiled and she left the room making sure that the door locked behind her.
The meal definitely wasn’t rubber chicken. My only disappointment was that the dessert wasn’t quite as fresh as it should have been. I knew that out in the main room, the Crème brûlée would be carmelized just before bringing it out to the tables. But I was in a special room that the servers set up before my arrival. I finished my salad and then ate my prime rib smothered in mushrooms in silence wishing that I was out in the main room where things would be brought to the table in proper courses. I guess that is the definition of a first world problem.
I ate in silence, watching the monitor showing a crowd of several hundred being rapidly served and then eating their meals. When it was time for dessert, the servers rushed out with trays of Crème brûlée still steaming from the ovens and, of course, the torch which carmelized the sugar which coated the top of the rich, creamy, pudding. Following them were servers who were moving slightly slower. They carried trays of alternate desserts for those who couldn’t handle milk or perhaps gluten. It was nice to watch a high-quality catering service at work.
Then came the knock on the door and a voice asked, “Are you veiled?”
I answered, “Yes,” and she opened the door.
Four other judges were stepping into the hallway as I exited the room. Most, like me, were wearing black tie formal wear. One, who was walking rather stiffly, was wearing a blue suit with a red tie. As I saw him my first thought was, “Why didn’t you just wear a target on your chest?”
As we were being seated at the judge’s table, the friendly woman with the gray shirt said politely, “Please sign into the computer in front of you. Your user name is ‘Judge1' or whatever number is on your computer. The password is ‘GECBA’.” She spoke the password as a weird sounding word and then spelled it out, “G-E-C-B-A.”
I was number two. The clumsy gentleman in the blue suit was number three, which put him in the middle. As soon as we were all signed in, GrandMaster Karl Davidson stepped out into the large circular area which had been kept clear of tables. “Welcome to the Decennial Competition of Masters and Slaves of the Greater East Coast BDSM Association.”
Mild applause responded to his welcome and he continued, “Our program tonight includes four contests. The first is the best whipmaster. The second is the best pony trainer. The third is the best at punishment. And then we we will conclude with the seven slaves on seven Sybians contest.” He chuckled slightly either at the alliteration of seven slaves on seven Sybians or the fact that it sounded like the very old movie title, “Seven Brides for Seven Brothers.” It was probably the alliteration. Only really old retired guys like me would remember that movie.
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
END OF CHAPTER ONE
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
The true rulers of this world, the credit card companies, have made it almost impossible to sell books with true BDSM themes. Erotic publishers will soon be a thing of the past. So I have pulled all of my books from the one publisher that I had left, and have decided to share them with my on-line followers.