Chapter One of Fifteen – The Invitation

By The Technician

BDSM , Revenge , Slavery

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Evelyn is invited to join a very exclusive club, but she must first be interviewed by the admissions committee and explain why she deserves to be a part of SaM’s very exclusive club. The series begins with her first night at the club and then progresses through the stories she tells the committee to prove she is worthy to become a permanent part of SaM’s Club.

The stories are better understood if you have read the previous chapters, but each chapter stands more or less on its own.

Chapter one is a set up for the series and contains no explicit sex or other fun stuff like that.
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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.

If you are under the age or 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) 2009 by The Technician [email protected].

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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Evelyn Fitzpatrick stopped her car in the entrance to the parking garage and slowly turned the business card in her hand. It was badly stained with coffee and torn nearly in two because she had torn it and thrown it into the trash when she took it out of her purse that night. But the barcode area was relatively clean and she could still read the neat printing beneath the coffee stain. So when the mechanical voice announced, “I’m sorry, this is a private club. If you are a member present your membership card and clearly speak your password,” she held the card up to the screen and said, “Revenge.”

The heavy gate swung inward and the mechanical voice said, “Welcome.”

As Evelyn began to pull forward the voice added, “Please stop at the visitors check-in point on level one for verification.” Ahead in the dim tunnel she could read a sign above the roadway that lit up with a message reading, “This way to level one.” An arrow pointed to the left toward a ramp which descended into the darkness.

“Oh, well,” thought Evelyn, “in for a penny, in for a pound,” and she drove forward. As she followed the signs downward, she thought of the previous week at The Leather Rose when Sam approached her with what she thought was a cheap pickup line.

“Are you ready to move from amateur night to the real thing?” he had said as he handed her a business card with “SaM’s Place” on its face in large, bold lettering. There was no address or phone number on the card, only a bar code beneath the lettering.

“This is a guest pass. I’ve written the address and password on the back. If you want to experience a weekend like you have never before dreamed of, be there next Friday night between eleven and eleven fifteen.”

He stood silently as she ran her gaze up and down his body, obviously evaluating him and finding him lacking. “I run a very exclusive, very private little club,” he said in a very business- like voice. “You have been highly recommended. But this is a one time invitation. Make sure you are on time. Don’t get lost. Don’t be late. Remember, one-time, you will never get this opportunity again.”

He placed the card in her hand and disappeared into the crowd. She left the card on the bar as she stepped away with her drink in her hand, but the bartender called out to her, “Miss Fitzpatrick, you really don’t want to lose this.” He was holding up the card. “Most of the people here would give everything they have for one of these.”

“How much did he pay you to say that!” she thought as she took the card from his hand and pushed it into her small purse. The next morning, as she cleaned out her “club purse” and put things into her business handbag, she tried to tear the card in two. It wouldn’t tear all the way. Evidently it had some sort of metal or thick plastic embedded in the paper. So, she tossed it into the kitchen garbage with the rest of the night’s debris from her purse..

At the office she casually asked one of her secretaries, whom she knew was in a D/s relationship as a top, “Have you ever heard of SaM’s Place?”

“Only in legend,” Marcie replied. “It is supposed to be some super-secret S&M club for the super rich or something like that. The waiters, waitresses, cooks, bartenders, everyone who serves you there are slaves – real slaves, not some pretend slaves on the weekends with nine-to- five jobs during the week. The story is that membership is by invitation only. And once you are in, if you tell anyone about the club, not only are you out, but you disappear… permanently.” She dropped her voice to a whisper on her last word.

She then smiled brightly. “I don’t know if it really exists or not, but I would love to have a chance to find out.” After taking a sip from her coffee cup, she added with a sigh, “It might really exist, but I don’t think I will ever know for sure, I’m not rich enough to qualify, and I doubt that Sam will ever hand me one of his special invitations.” Then she laughed and turned back to her work.

Evelyn laughed along with Marcie, but internally her heart was racing. Just before lunch she made some sort of excuse and returned home before the maid could empty the trash in the kitchen. She rummaged through the garbage, and there beneath the coffee grounds from her morning coffee, she found the special invitation which Sam had given her the night before.

Her mind was suddenly brought back to the present as her car exited the tunnel into a brightly lit parking area. Raised curbing directed her to a small booth at which a uniformed guard sat sleepily watching several surveillance monitors and a small portable television. “Good evening, Miss Fitzpatrick, he said as she stopped at the small security gate. Just park over there next to the wall and enter through the doorway into the elevator lobby. Your pass will open it. Sam is waiting for you.”

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END CHAPTER ONE OF FIFTEEN
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