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****** Please Read This First *******
I know, I know, I usually don’t bother with the disclaimer bits either. Blah, blah, blah, over 18, blah, blah, blah, don’t read if easily offended, blah, blah, blah. But, just this once, please bear with me and read this one.
Firstly, this is chapter two of ten and the story will only make sense if you read it from the start. If you haven’t already done so then I sincerely urge you stop and go to chapter one. It will be better that way, honest.
Secondly, this is a work of fiction and all the characters are completely fictional. In particular, one of the main characters is Princess Charlotte who is, according to chapter one, “about tenth in line for the throne”. Now, in real life, there can only be one person who holds that position but this story is not real life and it’s definitely not about her. Princess Charlotte is not a real person and any resemblance is purely coincidental. Before I get carted off to live out what is left of the rest of my life in the Tower Of London, I want to stress that this story is set in a parallel universe where Britain has a very different Royal family with a very different line of succession.
Secondly, briefly, my heartfelt thanks to all those who have helped so much. Special mention mentions must go, as always, to OneWhoAdores, ‘V’, and MartiniMan for plot advice, and not forgetting my editor, Wizard98x.
Fourthly, once again, I fall neatly between the BDSM and Lesbian Love categories. This story centres on a BDSM club and much of the action has a BDSM theme. However, it’s a bit short on the whips and chains to really be a BDSM story. On the other hand those looking for a lesbian themed story may well end up complaining, as a critic once did, that all my stories seem to feature a D/s relationship. Yes, this one is no exception; it’s a lesbian love story with BDSM overtones. If this is not what you’re looking for stop reading now. That’s kinder than voting one star because it’s not what you were after.
Lastly, this is a story of deception and subterfuge. Most of the characters have at least two names, many three or even four. To help the reader keep track each chapter will start with a dramatis personae. The list for this chapter is:-
*Andrea, a journalist, masquerading as Emma Pearson from Paarl.
*Tamsin, another journalist, masquerading as Emma Pearson’s sub, Susan Ward.
*Angus, Editor of the Daily Sleaze, a London based tabloid newspaper.
*Lady Mary, a lady, club name Voluptua.
*Popsy, her maid and chauffeur, club name Odyne.
*Euthenia, a friend of Lady Mary along with her sub, Calliope.
*Artemis another friend of Lady Mary’s along with her sub Hipperia.
Enjoy the story
“Andrea, Tamsin, my office, now!” Angus’s shout rang across the newsroom. The two women got up from their desks and went over to his office.
“I’ve just had a phone call from Jack Dawson. It seems like Lady Mary has taken the bait. Apparently she was most effusive and absolutely gushing about her new friend, Emma Pearson. Have you had any news from your end?”
“Not yet. I don’t want to seem too pushy. I organised a pay-as-you-go mobile for this story and she’s got the number. I’m waiting for her to call,” Andrea spoke for them both.
“Given how quickly she got in touch with Jack it probably won’t be too long. As soon as she does let me know. I have to be kept in the loop on this one. I want to know everything that goes on, every detail. Anything happens, you report to me. If anything doesn’t happen you report to me. Just make sure I don’t regret giving this one to a couple of greenhorns like you two. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” they chorused, and, with that, they were dismissed. Using the excuse of somewhere quiet to work while Andrea continued studying Emma Pearson’s life they headed up to town and settled in to the Mayfair flat.
As if to prove Angus right they only had to wait until the early afternoon before Andrea’s mobile rang. Andrea answered it and put it in speaker mode so that Tamsin could listen in as well.
“Emma, my dear,” Lady Mary said, “I’ve spoken to some of the girls and they’re literally dying to meet you. I was wondering if you have a free evening sometime soon.”
“My diary’s pretty clear at the moment,” Andrea replied. “What do you suggest?”
“How do you feel about tomorrow? Can you manage that or is it too soon?” Lady Mary couldn’t keep the enthusiasm out of her voice.
“Tomorrow? I’m pretty sure but just let me check,” Andrea paused and rustled a few papers as if she were consulting her diary. “No, that’s fine. I do have an appointment in the afternoon but I’m free all evening.”
“So, why don’t you come and have some diner? Nothing too formal; just you, me and a couple of the girls. Don’t worry about finding your way down here. I’ll send my car to pick you up around sixish, how would that suit?”
“Would you? Oh, that would be perfect. I haven’t got around to buying myself a car yet and your British trains… oh, heavens, I don’t bostancı escort bayan know how you manage,” Andrea replied.
“It’s no problem at all; I wouldn’t dream of having you come down by train. And, if could see your way to bringing that naughty little maid of yours with you, then she can help serve the meal.” Tamsin could hear the lust in Lady Mary’s voice.
“Of course, if you feel she would be useful,” Andrea replied. “I do have one question though, what’s the dress code? As I said, out in SA, these affairs were very informal and we all knew what was expected of us. Let me see, how should I put this… are you inviting Emma Pearson or Miss Emma?”
“Oh, Miss Emma, definitely Miss Emma,” Lady Mary replied. “As for the dress code, well, we do like to make a bit of an effort and, as a guideline, I always feel that leather can be so, umm, stylish, don’t you? If it makes things any easier, you can always get changed when you get here.”
“That’s very kind of you to offer but I don’t think that will be necessary. So, just to confirm, we’ll expect to be picked up around six o’clock tomorrow, is that right?”
“That’s the ticket! I’m so glad you can make it. We’re all longing to meet you. Until tomorrow then, bye!” And, with that, Lady Mary rang off.
“We’re on,” Andrea said triumphantly. “Dinner tomorrow at her place! Whether that includes Princess Charlotte or not we’ll have to see. Exciting, isn’t it?”
Tamsin was somewhat less enthusiastic. She could only guess at what her role as Emma’s maid would involve but being described as ‘naughty’ didn’t bode well. At the very least she would be expected to parade around in that awful outfit but she would be very surprised if that was the full extent of the indignities she would end up suffering. She shuddered at the memory of Lady Mary’s hand groping under her skirt. There would surely be plenty more of that. Meanwhile Andrea was phoning Angus to tell him the good news.
For the rest of the day, and the bulk of the next, they worked together memorising Andrea’s notes on Paarl and, at Andrea’s insistence, they changed in and out of their respective outfits a couple of times so as to get used to wearing them and to stop them looking so new. Tamsin’s feet still hurt where the shoes pinched and putting them on again was difficult but, as Andrea pointed out, as she would have to wear them for the dinner party she would just had to get used to it.
When it came to trying on their clothes, Andrea needed just as much help as Tamsin had needed the previous day. Her long black leather basque was laced at the back and it had to be fastened pretty tightly if Andrea were to really get into role. When the last tug of the laces was done Andrea looked at herself in the mirror and commented “well, it does wonders for the figure but I’m not sure how I’m supposed to breathe in this thing, let alone eat. If Lady Mary is serving anything more than a light salad I’m goosed.” Tamsin bit back the retort that sprung to mind. If the only thing she had to worry about was a tight corset then she would be a lot happier.
Whilst knelt down in front of Andrea so as to help with her stockings and boots, Tamsin noticed that Andrea had shaved herself leaving just a neat ‘landing strip’. Whether she had done this as part of the role or whether this was normal for her, Tamsin could only guess. At least it made Tamsin feel less awkward about having a full Brazilian. She was even getting used to getting dressed and undressed around Andrea, something that had made her blush to her roots only a few days earlier. She would never be completely comfortable with being naked, let alone with the humiliating and degrading outfits she was forced to wear, but Andrea was right, these practice sessions were having a desensitising effect.
And then, with six o’clock drawing near, they got changed for the last time and, more than ever before, they made sure that the details were perfect and that they both knew the agreed plot lines for what to do when the car arrived.
“Nervous?” Andrea asked with a bit of a giggle.
“Aren’t you?” Tamsin asked back.
“Well, yeah. I know you think you have the tough part but I’m the one who’ll get grilled all night about life in Paarl. All you have to do is act the hussy.”
“All! You saw how excited that cow got last time. She couldn’t keep her hands off my backside. And then there was all that crap about ‘sharing’; we both know what that means. She just can’t wait to have her evil way with me. You know she’s gagging to give my backside a damn good thrashing and, what’s more, I’ve got to pretend to enjoy it.”
“Eye on the prize, remember, just keep eye on the prize,” Andrea said but Tamsin wasn’t sure which one of them she was reassuring, probably both.
“Oh, and while we’re on the subject of who has the tough role, let me guess, before we leave, you’re going to make my backside look more ‘authentic’ again,” Tamsin said.
“Err…,” Andrea paused. It had been one thing to do it on the spur of the ümraniye escort moment with Tamsin gagged and Lady Mary waiting on the doorstep. To do it in cold blood was harder. “It does help with the illusion. Remember Lady Mary’s reaction when she saw the wheals. I’m pretty sure that it was seeing them that convinced her that we were for real. We do need the same sort of reaction tonight.”
“Well, if you’re going to do it then let’s get it over with. Come on, you know you want to.” Tamsin went to the end of the bed, leant forward and grasped the footboard.
“I don’t want to, well, not exactly,” Andrea protested. “It’s just that… well… just think of it as part of the disguise.”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake, stop making excuses and get on with it. At least this way I’m braced for it and, from the way that cow was looking me over the other day, I’m sure I’m in for far worse before the night is over,” Tamsin said with some resentment.
“I know it seems unfair but…”
“Oh, just bloody do it, will you, before I change my mind.”
Andrea took the crop off the wall and, before Tamsin really had time to react, lifted the back of Tamsin’s skirt laid six stripes across her buttocks.
“Jesus!” Tamsin called out. For a long moment she just gripped the footboard of the bed, her white knuckles and the grimace on her face clearly showing the pain she was fighting. “That really fucking hurts, you know.” She let go of the footboard and rubbed at her backside before turning to Andrea. “I don’t care how hard it is to pretend that you’re Emma Pearson from Paarl, you should be grateful you’re not the ‘slave’ in this little game. Keeping an eye on the prize is a damn sight easier for some than others. Still, I guess I’m stuck with it now.”
“Ooh, temper, temper,” Andrea thought but wisely didn’t say.
Ten minutes later they were sat together in the lounge, both in costume and, so as to be ready to answer the door, Tamsin was even gagged, collared and wearing the linked cuffs. Andrea turned on the TV to pass the time as they waited for the car to arrive. It was it was only a few minutes past six and the early evening news had just started when the front door bell rang. Andrea glanced at Tamsin, mouthed ‘here we go’ and motioned with her head that she should get up from the sofa where she was sitting and go and answer the door. As Tamsin tottered out of the lounge Andrea called out after her softly, “eye on the prize, remember, eye on the prize.”
Tamsin checked through the spyhole in the door and, there on the doorstep, was a woman dressed in a light grey chauffeur’s outfit which made her look a little like a sixties air hostess. This had to be Popsy. For a moment Tamsin’s nerves overcame her. She really didn’t want to do this but then, she had no choice, did she? Telling herself, once again, to ‘keep my eye on the prize,” she opened the door and gestured the waiting chauffeur into the hallway. Popsy was slight, blonde and quite pretty. As with Lady Mary, she was no longer in the first flush of youth, but she still carried an air of sweetness. They were still checking each other out when Andrea appeared at the lounge door. Popsy curtseyed to her.
“Ah, You must be Lady Mary’s chauffeur,” Andrea said brightly. “Popsy, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Ma’am. I have the car waiting outside.”
“Where outside? I hope I don’t have too far to walk.”
“I’m parked right outside the front door, Ma’am. As close as I could get.”
“Very well, we don’t want to keep Lady Mary waiting. I’ll just be a few moments. Wait here.” Andrea went back into the lounge, switched off the TV and returned carrying her handbag. While she did so Tamsin, following their prearranged script, went to the cupboard next to the front door and fetched out Andrea’s knee length trench coat so as to be able to help her on with it.
“Lead on,” she said to Popsy and, with a jolt, Tamsin realised that, when Andrea had talked about wearing the trench coat and how Tamsin would help her into it, that was all they had discussed. There was no such covering for her and she would have to go out in public wearing just the maid’s costume. The ridiculously short skirt, along with the gag, the cuffs and the collar, were hardly subtle and barely legal. It had been bad enough flouncing around in the flat. Once out on the street the slightest breath of wind, or awkward pose and she’d be in danger of getting arrested. Once again she found herself trapped; she had to go along with this or the game was up. Praying that both the lobby and lift would be deserted she followed Andrea and Popsy out of the flat.
Lady Mary’s Bentley was, indeed, parked within twenty yards of the front entrance and, once they were out of the door, Tamsin was thankful that she had only a short distance to walk. She glanced nervously up and down the mews. Even this quiet corner of Mayfair was busy enough at this time of day and all she could do was pray that no one would come close enough to make out the details of how she was dressed. Popsy, in her role as chauffeur, escort kartal opened the rear door for Andrea and ushered her inside. Tamsin was about to follow when Popsy told her, rather haughtily, that, as ‘staff’, she was to travel in the front seat.
Getting into the car while retaining any modesty was quit a feat and, once in, Tamsin’s shackled wrists prevented her reaching behind and pulling down what little there was of her skirt. This meant that it rode up behind her and she was left sitting with her bare buttocks against the leather of the seats. At least it was smooth and cool and helped towards soothing the stripes left by the crop. She did up her seat belt and settled back for the ride.
At first, as Popsy drove the Bentley through the streets of London, the three woman just sat in silence. Tamsin, of course, was gagged and, Andrea’s role, based on what they had seen of Lady Mary, was one of haughty superiority and not the sort to waste time idly chatting with the chauffeur. After a while the silence became oppressive and all three were grateful when Andrea suggested that Popsy should turn the radio on. From then on the three of them sat listening to Radio Four’s Six O’clock news; dull stuff but much better than silence. Tamsin, sat in the front seat, was well aware of the way the ostentatious car stood out and, when they were stuck in traffic, she felt as if the whole world were watching. Once, waiting for traffic lights on their way through Knightsbridge, she saw, out of the corner of her eye, someone pointing at her. All she could do was squirm in embarrassment as the blood rushed to her face. However, even with the London traffic, it wasn’t long before they were on the motorway and, shortly after that, making their way through the lanes of Surrey. They were somewhere south of Godalming when Popsy, using her mobile in hands free mode, made a call and announced, ‘We’ll be there in five minutes, M’Lady’. Tamsin felt her pulse quicken. Whatever it was that she was to be put through was just around the corner.
Cootbourne House, when they arrived, was surrounded by a high brick wall protecting both it and the grounds from being seen from the road. As they approached the gate Popsy reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a remote control. She clicked the relevant button and the it swung back revealing the drive and the large Georgian house at the end of it.
“How the other half lives,” Tamsin thought to herself. As someone who had grown up in the back streets of Streatham in South London she had strong feelings about the distribution of wealth and now this opulence provided yet another reason to despise Lady Mary. The thought of using a front page exposé in the Daily Sleaze as a way of bringing Lady Mary’s over privileged world crashing to the ground with was suddenly a lot more appealing. If she had to suffer a smacked bottom along the way, well, she’d keep her eye on the prize and grin and bear it.
The Bentley swept to a halt in front of the house where Lady Mary, alerted by Popsy’s phone call, was standing at the front door waiting for them. As soon as the car stopped Lady Mary came down the steps towards them. She was dressed in a white garment that Andrea and Tamsin were later to discover was called a peplos. The loosely draped folds of cloth were fastened by a gold coloured belt and the effect made her look a bit like a Greek goddess. For a moment, Tamsin wondered if Andrea had got the dress code wrong but there were hints of black leather underneath and she clearly remembered Lady Mary saying that leather was stylish. Popsy told Tamsin to wait where she was before getting out of the car and going round to open the door for Andrea.
“Emma, darling, how simply super to see you. Come on in, come on in. The girls are just dying to meet you.” And, with that, Andrea was led into the house. Popsy got back into the car and drove round to the yard at the back of the house where she parked up. But, before getting out of the car, she looked across at Tamsin, her face full of concern.
“You don’t need to look so scared,” she said gently. “We’re all quite friendly, here. Come on in and meet the gang, well, the downstairs half, anyway.”
Tamsin hadn’t realised that she was looking scared but, well, she wasn’t surprised. After all, this was it; this was the entrance to the lion’s den. Still, Popsy’s friendly smile was welcoming and did much to put her at her ease.
They both got out of the car and, as they walked towards the house, Tamsin looked around the yard. One side was stabling and two horses could be seen safely tucked away in their stalls. The other side was outhouses. All in all it was an impressive building and, to Tamsin’s mind, far too big for just Lady Mary and Popsy. They went through the back door and into the kitchen. Over by the stove were two women, both wearing little more than cook’s aprons, who were working together, fussing over something in a saucepan.
“Hi, ladies,” Popsy called out. “Meet the new girl in town.”
“Hi there, I’m Calliope,” one of the women turned and came over, “and the one completely ruining the gravy is Hipperia.” Hipperia looked up from the stove and waved her spatula in welcome. “Come on in. If your boss is here then it will be time for more drinks. Come on up with me and help serve.”
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