Royal Flush Ch 01

****** 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 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.

Thirdly, 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 personal maid, Susan Ward.

* Angus, editor of a London based tabloid newspaper nicknamed the Daily Sleaze.

* Lady Mary, a lady.

Enjoy the story.

******

"Andrea, Tamsin, get your pretty little butts in here, now!"

Andrea and Tamsin looked at each other. They were both journalists at a newspaper commonly known by its nickname of the Daily Sleaze and a summons from Angus, their editor in chief was like a call from god, only slightly more important. They got up from their desks and went over to his office.

"Ah, come in girls, take a pew," Angus gestured towards the chairs arranged in front of his desk. "How would you two like to work together on a nice piece of investigative journalism? Something big, really big. Get this right and you'll make the front page, I can promise you that."

"I'm fine with that," Andrea replied, "but why us two? Neither of us are exactly senior staff reporters here."

Tamsin had been wondering the same thing. She was younger and junior to Andrea so she was slower to push herself forward but, just like Andrea, she was wondering why Angus had chosen them from the pool of reporters at his disposal.

"Suffice it to say you wouldn't be my first choice if it weren't for one thing; you're both lezzies," Angus explained with some exasperation.

Both Andrea and Tamsin sighed internally at this. It was true, they were indeed, both 'out' lesbians but, as far as they were concerned, that was all they had in common. The heteros, the breeders around them, seemed to assume that their common sexuality implied much, much more. Both had had to endure the "can we watch" remarks which, whether made in jest or not, they found offensive. They also knew that the adolescent fantasies of some of the junior, and not so junior, staff members featured them as a couple, and that wasn't as flattering as some might suppose.

Because, to tell the truth, Andrea and Tamsin didn't really like each other that much. Andrea thought Tamsin too wimpy, too wet, and too dim whereas Tamsin thought that Andrea was an arrogant bitch who was far too fond of the sound of her own voice. They did, from time to time, bump into each other in the uptown LGBT clubs and pubs but, as they lived on opposite sides of London, their social circles hardly overlapped and, for each, the thought of having an affair with the other was basically ludicrous.

"Sorry, I don't understand, what has my sexuality, or Tamsin's for that matter, got to do with anything?" Andrea asked, slightly testily.

"Because I need the two of you to go undercover, to do an exposé," Angus replied.

"And why us?" Andrea asked again.

"Because it's an exposé of a lezzie spanking club. You know the sort of thing, gimp masks, whips and chains, all the usual stuff," Angus said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Normally I wouldn't dream of giving an assignment like this to a couple of youngsters like you but I can't send any of the boys because they wouldn't get past the front door. It's a club for the girlies and that limits my choices."

"A spanking club? I'm not sure...." Tamsin started.

"And I don't give a flying fuck if you're sure or not. I'm sure and that's all that matters. I know that this story is so red hot, once we publish it on our front page then the Daily Sleaze is going to sell like never before. It's all about selling papers and that's all you need to know, well, unless you want to see exactly what the job market is like for junior reporters in the Internet age."

Tamsin kept quiet. Angus could be quite scary and it was unwise to question his judgement.

"But I still don't get it," Andrea said. "I mean, OK, kinky sex clubs sell papers, I'm not so green that I don't know that, but I hardly see it as a front page splash."

"Because Princess Charlotte goes to this one," Angus replied simply.

"Princess Charlotte, the royal! You're joking! She's about tenth in line for the throne, isn't she?" Tamsin exclaimed.

"Now you're getting it. This club isn't just your normal suburban swingers, boring housewives in black leather basques looking to put a bit of a thrill into their otherwise mundane lives. This one's clientèle are a cut above the normal run of things and, if we get in there and get some photos, we've got the scoop of the century. Forget about grainy telephoto shots of some royal in the pool with her tits out, this one is massive!"

"So, let's see if I've got this straight. Somewhere out there is a kinky sex club whose clientèle are the rich and famous and you want us to infiltrate and get the low-down," Andrea asked.

"Exactly," Angus said with some sarcasm. "I see your degree in journalism wasn't entirely wasted."

"But how do we get in. How do we get past the front door? Knowing that it's happening is all very well but, even if we knew where it was we couldn't just turn up clutching a bottle of Chilean Chardonnay and say 'Hi, we're here for the orgy'," Andrea protested.

"And that," Angus said with a certain amount of smug satisfaction, "is where my contacts come in. Don't ask me how, 'cause I ain't telling, but, if you phone this number," Angus passed a slip of paper across the desk, "and ask to speak to a Lady Mary, you'll find she's expecting a call from an Emma Pearson who has just arrived in England from South Africa having been born and brought up there. Apparently a mutual friend called Lucy advised you to get in touch."

"But I'm Australian," Andrea objected, "and why Emma Pearson?"

"Australian, South African, you all sound the same to us Brits. And why Emma Pearson? Because if they try checking up on you then Emma Pearson has the right background, went to the right schools and that sort of thing. She's an old friend of mine and she's agreed to keep a low profile while we use her name to get in. The story goes that you've just returned to the UK because, well, saying that you can't get on with the new regime will probably work. Anyway you've just arrived in London along with Susan Ward, your companion, partner and personal sex slave. Having got here you're looking to join up with some like-minded persons for hot, sexy fun. Do you think you can manage that?"

"Hang on, hang on, if she's Emma Pearson then that makes me Susan Ward her, what did you call it, companion, partner and personal sex slave? Companion and partner I can live with but personal sex slave, I don't think so," Tamsin had suddenly done the maths.

"Do you think you could pull off being Emma Pearson, complete with South African accent? No? I don't think so either. If you're going to blag your way into this club you two have to pose as a couple and that means one of you had to draw the short straw. Anyway, Andrea's older and far more butch than you are so it only makes sense that way round. I don't know what you're moaning about; it's not as if I'm asking you to do it for real or anything. All you have to do is dress up in the gimp mask, go along to their little parties, click, click, click with the happy snaps and it's all over. I can't see what the problem is."

"Because you're not the one in the gimp mask," Tamsin argued.

"No, I'm the one sitting behind the big desk, the one with the little sign that says 'editor'. You're the very junior reporter who has yet to prove herself. There's only one way to do that and sitting there making petty objections is not it. It's going out and getting the stories and if, sometimes, that means putting on a gimp mask, then that is what you do. If you can't live with that then I would suggest a change in profession because you'll certainly need a change of employer," Angus said firmly. "Now, are there any more objections? No? Then here's a file with everything you need to know about Emma Pearson and I strongly suggest that the two of you start genning up on things right away. I want this one put to bed as soon as possible. Now, have you two finally got it or do I have to explain once again?"

"No, we've got it," the two women chorused.

Shaken, Andrea and Tamsin went back to their desks. There was an awkward silence between them.

"Come on, spit it out," Andrea said at last. "I know you're dying to say something."

"About us, about this job, if you think for one moment that working together like this means that we've become some sort of unit. Just because I've got to become your 'personal sex slave'," Tamsin nearly spat the words, "so as we can get this story, that doesn't mean that there's anything, anything at all between me and you," Tamsin said vehemently.

"Don't worry your scrawny little arse about it," Andrea replied. "I don't fancy you in the slightest, never have, never will. Pretty little femmes are simply not my type. Look, I'm not wild about the arrangement either but we do what we've got to do, get the story and, beyond that, I don't want to know."

"Yeah, well, that's easy for you to say. You're not the one who's going to end up getting her arse whipped," Tamsin said bitterly.

"Who said anything about whipping your arse?"

"BDSM club? Personal sex slave? I may be green but I'm not stupid. I don't care if Angus says that all I'll have to do is wear a gimp mask, we both know perfectly well that it won't stop there, not if we're going to get accepted. One way or another, before we've finished, this is going to end up with me getting my arse whipped. I am not happy about that. Not in the slightest. Can you suggest one single reason why I should be?"

"Because this is our big chance and I'm not going to let you blow it. If we do this right we're going to end up with our names on the story of the decade and if whipping your arse is what it's going to take to get that story then whipping your arse is what we're going to do. What is more, however we feel about each other, when we're undercover we've got to make it look real. Whether you're happy about it or not is neither here nor there, we've got to be one hundred percent convincing or we won't even get past the front door. Anyway, it probably won't be that bad; it's probably more show than actual whipping. You never know, you might even end up being able to boast that you've had your arse whipped by a member of the royal family," Andrea laughed.

"Making it look real is one thing but don't you start enjoying it too much. I know you, Andrea. I know what you're like. Just because I have to play at being some sort of sex slave doesn't mean I have to actually be one, let alone enjoy it, and it doesn't mean you have to enjoy it either. When we're not actually undercover we're equals; I'm your colleague and nothing more. I know we're not exactly the best of friends but let's be professional about this and keep our personalities out of it."

"OK, OK, keep your hair on. Professional it is," Andrea replied. "Now, I don't know that much about all this kinky stuff but, given that, from what little I do know, the submissive side is all about only speaking when you're spoken to and that sort of thing. As such I'm going to be the one doing most of the talking so I guess that means I'd best bone up on the South Africa stuff, and learn everything I can about this Emma Pearson. Angus might think that all we colonials sound the same but I'm not sure this Lady Mary will agree and that means I have to practice getting that accent right as well. All that is going to keep me busy for the rest of the day so, in the meantime, can you find out all you can about exactly what does go down at these things, dress code and so forth?"

"OK," Tamsin said and, as she sighed inside, she realised that, despite what she had just said, Andrea was already taking charge, bossing her about. The fact that Andrea was right didn't make it any easier.

"So, let's meet up at," Andrea glanced at the clock, "four o'clock and we can swap notes."

Tamsin went over to her desk and sat down. She started out by using Google and, inevitably, found herself taken to endless porn sites. However, after refining her search criteria a bit she did discover that there are a number of clubs where people meet for various kinds of kinky sex. From what she could find out, it mostly appeared to be suburban wife swapping with a bit of kink thrown in but then, as someone whose sexual preferences were still considered 'alternative' by many, she was hardly in a position to judge. What was certain was that a member of the royal family wouldn't be seen dead at any of these clubs. The one they were trying to gatecrash must be a far more private affair.

However, there was enough to allow her to put together a feel for what was appropriate. Ironically, here, the porn sites helped. By seeing what the fantasies were she could get an idea of what was expected and, from there, she could find suppliers. Based on what she found there seemed to be two basic trends; it was either leather or latex with not that much of an overlap. By four o'clock she had printed out quite a bit of both options and it was time to discuss them with Andrea.

"So, which way do you want to go?" Tamsin asked once she had shown the printouts to Andrea, "latex or leather?"

Andrea flicked back and forth, studying the options.

"Leather, I reckon we go for leather," she said after a while. "It looks easier to deal with and I rather fancy the thought of you dressed in little more than a few leather straps. Oh, don't look like that, I was only joking. Did you track down any suppliers?" Tamsin passed her another printout. "Hmm, that looks OK. I guess we'll go tomorrow and visit this one; it seems to have the widest range. We've got a pretty decent budget on this story so we can get us both nicely togged up."

"I haven't been exactly idle either," Andrea continued, handing Tamsin a sheaf of papers. "This is everything we need to know about Paarl which, apparently, is where Emma Pearson comes from. Our cover story is that we used to run kennels breeding Rhodesian Ridgebacks but we're not happy with the post apartheid regime and have sold up and moved to England. Currently we're renting accommodation in Mayfair until we get ourselves sorted."

"Mayfair? How the hell will we swing that one? What if they want to check up on us? And what the fuck do I know about breeding dogs?"

"I've sorted the flat out with Angus. We're rather hoping that they will check up on us. The Daily Sleaze has a place just off Grosvenor Square that we can use. It's mainly where they stash surprise witnesses and the like but, as we have the top story at the moment, we get priority and we've got permission to take it over and use it as our address. And it's not just the flat we want them to check. The real Emma Pearson does breed dogs and Angus's contacts will give references if need be. As long as no one actually goes out there looking for the kennels we're covered. It's all in the file Angus gave us." Andrea opened the file to show that it was full of papers and photographs. "While you've been idly surfing the internet looking at porn I've been boning up on Emma Pearson's life. I think we can be pretty sure that they're going to quiz me quite thoroughly, even if it is disguised as small talk. That sort always want to know what school you went to so I've got to be perfect on the ins and outs of Durban Girls College as well. Meanwhile, all you'll have to do is sit there and look pretty so stop making all these petty objections."

"Just sit there and look pretty. I'll bet my bottom dollar that there will be a lot more to it than that," Tamsin retorted.

That's as may be. Now, why don't you test me on my notes on Paarl."

By the end of the day Tamsin was, if not convinced, at least partially mollified. For all that Andrea was an arrogant bitch, she had worked hard, she had thoroughly learned the details of their back story and was as credible as she would ever be. It was agreed that, if the subject of Tamsin's English accent came up, it could be explained away by saying that she had a more humble English background and that they had met when Emma had been in England for Crufts. "But seeing as how you'll basically be keeping your mouth shut that shouldn't be too hard," Andrea commented. "As I said earlier, a 'slave' only speaks when spoken to, and all that."

"God, you're enjoying this, aren't you?" Tamsin said bitterly.

"Might be," Andrea quipped. "Now, are you fully up to speed? It's late and I think we've done enough for today. We'll meet up tomorrow morning at the flat and do what we need to do to make it look like the temporary residence of Emma Pearson and her companion. We'll need to bring in a few clothes, make up and the like, just enough to scatter around as if we lived there. I mean, if we get a home visit, and we're rather assuming that we will, when they want to use the loo then it has to look like we live there; there has to be a couple of toothbrushes in the tooth mug, that sort of thing. While we're at it, we'll want photos. Nothing special but there's no way Emma Pearson would be without her photos of her precious doggy-woggies. Can you see if the photo library has anything suitable and pick up some frames on the way in?"

It was only when she left the building some time later that Tamsin fully realised just how much Andrea, once again, had taken control. Either of them could have gone to the photo library, either of them could have arranged for the prints or bought the frames but, of course, once again it was her that was doing the dirty work.

The next morning signals failure at Clapham junction meant that Tamsin was late and having to stop for frames put her in a foul mood by the time she arrived in Mayfair.

"And what time do you call this," Andrea said as she let her in.

"Sorry, there was engineering work at..." Tamsin started