Sally

Part 10

Not for those under 18 (or whatever the legal age for this sort of stuff is in your area). If you’re not that old, Boo! Go away now. If you are offended by graphic descriptions of sexual activities, especially non-consensual ones, then don’t read this. All characters and situations are fictional.

Copyright 2024 greyscribbler@yahoo.com

Archived on the Read Only Mind web site by permission of the author. This story may be downloaded for personal archiving as long as this notice is retained.

“Just wait there,” Sally ordered. “And do remember to be quiet.”

Charlotte scowled at her servant. She didn’t want anyone finding her where she lurked behind the Chinese screen in the dining room.

“Are you certain one of the servants won’t notice me?”

“They will not,” Sally reassured her. “And even if they do, they will not ruin the meal by pointing you out. Afterwards you can just tell them you were there in case your mistress needed you.”

They might believe that. Because Charlotte wasn’t dressed as herself. She was dressed as Sally. In one of her maid’s uniforms, the black material of the dress so much coarser than her own garments. It was Sally who was dressed in Charlotte’s finery. A lovely cream dress, soft and rich with embroidery, a feathered headband. Sally looked so right in the clothes. Charlotte wondered if she could have worn them so well herself.

But that was why she was here, to learn. How Sally wore her clothes. How Sally acted. How she spoke. How she treated Colonel Heywood. How Sally was Charlotte. She’s teaching me how to be me. Or maybe a better me. Or…

Charlotte didn’t know. She wished she didn’t have to do this. She was dressed as Sally. She could go find Evans or Wilson and just fuck. That’s what she wanted to do. She didn’t need Charlotte’s finery and manners for that. She hadn’t worn her own clothes since the morning.

When Amelia had arrived.

Her friend was visiting so often these days. And each time, they, well, they…

We fuck. Charlotte’s chest heaved as she remembered, things tightening low inside her. That’s what she and Amelia did when they were alone now. They fucked. Eagerly, wantonly, over and over again. Like she did with Evans and Wilson. Or maybe not quite like. Amelia was her friend. That meant something, didn’t it? Did it make it different?

She came just as hard, either way.

She’d almost crested again, fingering herself, watching as Sally helped Amelia back into her clothes, redid her friend’s hair. Lying there naked, playing with herself, eyes drinking in her friend’s glorious body. Amelia laughing at how brazen Charlotte was. Charlotte telling Amelia all things she’d do to her next time, fingers and tongue and lips, the blonde blushing so prettily. All while Sally attended to her. While Sally brushed Ameilia’s hair. What had Sally said then? Charlotte couldn’t remember, her fingers slowing, thoughts dripping out of her head as arousal dripped down her legs.

It didn’t matter that Sally knew what they did.

They could trust Sally.

And after that, she hadn’t bothered putting on her own clothes. She’d dressed as Sally, while Sally had taken her place for the rest of the day. While she’d been Sally. Was she Sally now, learning how to be Charlotte? Or Charlotte playing at being Sally while learning how to be a better Charlotte?

It didn’t matter. She had to do this. Sally had told her so. And then, afterwards, she’d get fucked. Was it Evans tonight? Or Wilson? She was sure that Sally had told her. Charlotte couldn’t remember. She’d get fucked. That was all that was important.

Charlotte pulled herself from the wonderful thoughts of being filled as people filed into the room. Her father, her mother. The Colonel. Sally. Didn’t any of them realise that it was the servant, not her? Something shifted under Charlotte’s feet as she realised just how fully Sally had taken them in. The familiar benign neglect on her father’s face, the satisfied smile on her mother’s lips. And Sally herself…

She watched as Sally lay delicate fingers on the Colonel’s sleeve. Did he like that? He certainly smiled. But how much did he like it? Did it make him think of what else those fingers could do? Was there a twitch in what lay in his trousers? Just what did his cock look like? What would it feel like if she ever took it in her fingers? What would it feel like inside her, as he fucked her? Was he thinking of that? As the people at the table made polite conversation? As Sally laughed daintily at his jokes?

Was he thinking of what it would be like to fuck the pretty young heiress? He had to be. Sally was beautiful, Charlotte allowed that. With her perfect complexion and lovely brunette hair and wonderful eyes that were just wide enough. Do I look like that? She must. She and Sally looked so much alike. But there was a radiance to Sally that Charlotte didn’t think she could match. But Sally had said she could.

She trusted Sally.

So she watched and waited and learnt. Even as the emptiness between her legs ached. Even as she wanted hands on her. Caressing her tits, fondling them. Wanted lips sucking on her nipples. Wanted tongues and fingers and cocks inside her. Wanted to be filled and used and taken. She watched and listened.

Because Sally had told her to.

---

“You’re safe to come out now,” Sally told her, slipping back into the room. “He’s gone.”

Charlotte looked around nervously as she crept from behind the screen, smoothing down the black dress.

Her servant regarded her for a moment. “So, shall we retire to your room and switch clothes?”

“What?” Charlotte cried. She stopped, but no one had seemed to have heard her exclamation. “I don’t bloody think so,” she hissed. “And let you get the fucking? It’s my turn, so don’t try taking it off me.”

“I would not dream of it,” the servant smiled innocently, taking Charlotte’s head in her hands and reaching up to lay a kiss on the heiress’ forehead. “But such a wonderful reaction. Why, you could almost be me. You certainly hardly sounded like yourself. So go have your fun. Later, you can creep back to your room and we will swap then. When you’re all nicely fucked.”

That was what Charlotte wanted. She wanted it so much, her body aching to be taken. Aching to feel that glorious, heavenly rush of pleasure. To drown in it, to be filled.

As fast as she dared, Charlotte hurried to Sally’s room. She wanted to run but she couldn't, couldn’t risk drawing attention to herself. Her eyelids fluttering, her breath short. God, she needed to be fucked.

Finally reaching the maid’s room, Charlotte closed the door, leaning against it, her chest heaving. She’d hardly had a moment when there was knock. Spinning around, she threw the door open, dragging Wilson inside.

That’s right, it’s Wilson tonight. Oh, who cares? As long as she got fucked, what did it matter whose cock it was? Pushing the door shut, Charlotte pulled the servant to her, smashing her lips to his. Through the layers of clothing she could feel his erection. She needed it inside her.

“Let’s get yeh out of these clothes girl,” Wilson grinned.

Charlotte stared at him, for just a moment. “No,” she said. Even in her servant’s clothes there were too many layers. Corset cover and corset and chemise and underskirts and… It would all take too long. She needed it now. Reaching under her skirts Charlotte yanked her drawers off. Then hopped onto the bed, facing away from him, hastily bunching the layers of clothing around her waist.

“Fuck me,” Charlotte demanded. “Just fuck me. Hard.”

“Right yeh are then,” Wilson grinned, slipping off his braces and undoing his belt.

Facing the wall, Charlotte could hardly wait, need flooding her, hot and urgent, obliterating everything else. She needed this. Needed to be filled. She cried out as he entered her, his width splitting her, forcing inside. She was being taken, filled, half-dressed, like some common tart up against a wall in some dim alley. Charlotte didn’t care, grabbing the wrought iron frame at the head of the bed. “Harder. Fucking harder.”

Her head threw back, Charlotte crying out as she felt Wilson’s balls slapping against her with each thrust. Wilson. I don’t even know his first name. I don’t fucking care. He was fucking her and she didn’t even know his full name. 

It didn’t matter. She was being filled and taken and fucked.

It was all she wanted.

---

“So,” Sally asked her the next morning. “Did you learn anything?”

Charlotte smiled. She’d certainly learnt how much fun it was to be fucked while still mostly dressed. Maybe she could do that with Amelia. Have her friend crawl under her skirts and use that wonderful tongue on her. Then switch places, make her way up Amelia’s legs to her friend’s centre, her tongue and fingers exploring the dark, secret places.

“I meant about how to act with the Colonel,” Charlotte’s maid continued drily.

Is she reading my mind? Charlotte thought, startled. “Um, yes?”

“Well, show me,” Sally instructed with a wave of her hand, like a teacher in deportment with a prize student.

Charlotte smiled, sweet and innocent as she laid her fingers on Sally’s arm, just the way the servant had lain them on the Colonel’s. “I do believe that I did. Did you enjoy the evening? You were so very charming. Why, the poor colonel was quite smitten.”

“Oh very good,” Sally laughed. “The brush of the fingers. Not too hard, but enough to suggest intimacy. And just the right bat of the eyelids, a hint of promise in the eyes. You have learnt a few things, haven’t you?” For a moment, her maid’s expression was unreadable as she shook her head. “And what of the rest of the evening?”

Charlotte gnawed her lower lip, her cheeks blushing.

“Well, I can see that you enjoyed that. But if you have learnt so much, perhaps you could tell me how you will greet the dear Colonel the next time he visits. What would you want to do with him?”

“Well, uh,” Charlotte hesitated, trying to imagine it. She hardly knew the Colonel. When it had been her turn, she’d hardly said a word to him, shy and embarrassed. But she’d watched Sally last night. She’d learnt. “Why, my dear Colonel,” she said, lifting her chin and smiling. “How wonderful to see you again.” Gently she took Sally’s arm. “I hope that you are sitting next to me. I do so look forward to hearing of your days. They are so much more exciting than mine.”

“Bravo!” Sally applauded. “I love the little dip of the chin at the end. Just the right touch of meekness. Your words nothing about yourself, all about him. But what do you really want to do with him?”

“Wh-what do you m-mean?” Charlotte stumbled, suddenly unsure. “We’ll sit at dinner and talk and…”

Hmm. You need to sit down.” Sally’s voice had none of the hesitation of Charlotte’s. “I haven’t done your hair yet.”

That was right. Sally needed to do her hair. Her hair seemed to need doing so often. It was so long, after all. It needed a lot of care. Sally had told her that.

She trusted Sally.

Charlotte sat in front of her mirror. Watched as Sally picked up the brush. Words tried to form on her lips, a part of her not wanting this.

But that was just silly. Sally was her servant. And a lady’s maid brushed her mistress’ hair in the morning. It was right and proper and just what Charlotte needed.

Sally had told her that.

“What do you do when I brush your hair?”

Sally’s voice was so soft and gentle and there couldn’t be anything wrong.

“I go down and down and down.” Charlotte’s voice was so empty.

“That’s right,” her servant reassured her. “And all the thoughts go out of your head. One by one by one.”

They did. Slipping away as the servant brushed her hair. As Charlotte sat there, watching her eyes grow wide and empty until there wasn’t a thought in her head. Until there was just Sally’s voice.

“So what would you want to do with the Colonel?”

Sally was putting the brush down. Sally had been brushing her hair. Charlotte was sure of that. Even if she couldn’t remember it. She hardly ever did. That didn’t matter. If having Sally brush her hair was so relaxing that she didn’t remember it, well, that just proved how much she enjoyed it.

Another things Sally had told her.

Charlotte didn’t worry whether there was anything wrong with those thoughts. She knew they were right. And anyway, Sally had asked her a question.

“I’d want him to fuck me.”

God, she did. Not because it was the Colonel. Oh, he was a fine figure of a man, but even so. But because he could. 
“I’d want him to throw me on the table and lift my dress and just fuck me.”

“Listen to you,” Sally laughed. “Such a proper young lady, wanting to be fucked like a common tart. You’d want that? In front of your family?”

“I,” Charlotte hesitated for a moment. “I don’t care. I just want to be fucked.”

Sally shook her head. “You say you don’t care. But it isn’t going to happen, is it?”

“No.” Charlotte deflated. The image had been so wonderful, heat boiling in her centre, threatening to leak down her thighs. Being herself, in some fine dress, face down on the dining room table, that dress bunched about her waist. The Colonel’s hands on her hips. They were strong hands. She knew that at least. Holding in her place. As he rammed his cock into her again and again.

“Charlotte doesn’t get fucked like that, does she?” Sally pointed out.

“No,” Charlotte repeated, the sinking feeling in her stomach growing.

“Charlotte’s life is dull and boring and she doesn’t get fucked like that.”

Charlotte wanted to protest. She had a good life, didn’t she? So much better than so many people. Better than the servants or the tradespeople she saw in the street or…

“I have my books and my friends and-”

“Amelia I will grant you,” Sally replied, cutting her off. “But other than that? Isn’t it the same old thing, over and over? Boring dinners and boring social events and your mother always so disappointed in you.”

“No she isn’t!” Charlotte protested. “She.” But then she realised that everything her mother was pleased about was something Sally had done.

“Who gets fucked?” her servant demanded.

“Sally,” Charlotte admitted, swallowing nervously.

“Who doesn’t?”

“Charlotte. But there’s Amelia-”

“Is that enough?” Sally demanded, cutting off Charlotte’s protest. “And so what if she fucks you? You think she wouldn’t fuck me?”

"She’s, she’s my friend!” Charlotte struggled, confused.

“Oh, is that all she is?” her servant laughed. “Miss Charlotte’s ‘friend’? Quite the romantic friendship, isn’t it? Charlotte and Amelia are so intimate, are they not? But I think she’d fuck me just as eagerly, given the chance.”

“She, she wouldn’t,” Charlotte protested feebly. “She’s my, my friend. She’s-”

Sally picked up the brush again. “Your little sapphic lover? Just for you? Don’t be such a boring prude. Why should she fuck just one person? You don’t.”

Charlotte wanted to argue. But the brush was drifting through her hair and her thoughts were leaking away again.

“What do you do?” Sally smiled smugly.

“I go down and down and down.”

“Yes, you do,” Sally mused, drawing the brush so slowly through Charlotte’s hair. “And all those silly little thoughts just drift away, don’t they? Until there’s only my voice. You trust me, don’t you?”

“Yes.” Charlotte’s voice was so empty again. Just like her mind.

“Well, here’s some new thoughts for you. Amelia should fuck Sally. Say that. Say ‘Amelia should fuck Sally.’”

“Amelia should fuck Sally.”

“Say it again,” Sally’s voice was so alive, insistent and demanding. So unlike Charlotte’s “Say it until you believe it.”

“Amelia should fuck Sally.” Charlotte said it. Over and over and over. In that empty voice. The words fell into the empty blank pool of her mind. And then she stopped. Because she believed it.

“Here’s something else for you to say until you believe it. I want Amelia to fuck Sally.”

“I want Amelia to fuck Sally.” And those words joined the first. Not thoughts. She had no thoughts. They were deeper than thoughts. Needs. Reasons. Part of her.

“And another,” Sally smiled. It wasn’t a thin smile. If Charlotte could have thought about there was something almost wistful about it. “I’ll help Amelia fuck Sally.”

“I’ll help Amelia fuck Sally.” The words fell from Charlotte’s lips as they burrowed not her mind. She didn’t know what they meant. How could she? She had no thoughts. But the words were there. They were part of her now.

Eventually she fell silent again.

Charlotte blinked, sitting in front of her mirror.

“What should Amelia do?” Sally whispered into her ear, so softly.

“Amelia should fuck Sally,” Charlotte responded. She didn’t know where the idea had come from. It didn’t matter. She wanted it. Needed it. Amelia had to fuck Sally. She could just imagine it. Amelia’s hands exploring her servant’s body, her fingers disappearing between Sally’s legs, her tongue swirling. Arousal rose in her, her breath short. She wanted it, she wanted it so much, the need hot and bright. “I want Amelia to fuck Sally. I’ll help Amelia fuck Sally.”

“Yes, you will,” her servant replied, that wistful smile on her lips again as she drew the brush through her mistress’ hair, sending Charlotte back down to that blank dark place. “Let me tell you how.”

(To be continued)