Sally

Part 12

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.

The cab took them through the streets of the city, the fog making a halo around the lights. Charlotte couldn’t sit still, sometimes staring out the window, trying to determine where they were headed. Other times demanding answers from her servant. Sally refused to give her anything, an enigmatic smile on that face that was a mirror of Charlotte’s. They were still in the fashionable parts of London, at least Charlotte thought they were. It didn’t make any sense to her, their clothes out of place with the finely wrought facades of the houses, their elegant, porticoed, entrances somewhere the Honourable Miss Charlotte Rothermere might venture. But not someone dressed as they were.

The cab passed those entrances by, turning a corner before coming to a stop before a darkened laneway. That had to lead to the servant’s entrances.

Oh.

Sally paid the cabdriver as Charlotte regarded the waiting laneway with more than a little trepidation. They had to be headed to one of the houses. Was someone expecting them? Had Sally arranged this? Was someone waiting to, to…

Fuck.

“Come on,” Sally said, grabbing Charlotte’s arm and leading her down the laneway.

Everything was a blur. Everything melting in the heat rising from her centre. Her footsteps were automatic, only Sally’s hand on her arm keeping her moving. As they passed each doorway, Charlotte wondered if this might be the one. She wasn’t sure what she felt, everything topsy-turvy. Anticipation and fear warring within her. She shouldn’t be here. This wasn’t the place for Miss Charlotte Rothermere. Her clothes felt wrong, rough and uncomfortable. But she wasn’t sure why. Maybe because she wasn’t used to clothes like this. Or maybe because she wanted them off. To be naked. With someone.

Someone she’d fuck.

“Put this on,” Sally ordered, Charlotte only just then realising they’d come to a stop. She frowned as she took in the mask her servant held out to her. Solid and white and it would cover at least half her face.

“What? Why?”

“Do you want someone to recognise you?” Sally replied, as if the answer was obvious.

“No. I. But.” Charlotte struggle, trying to make sense of the situation. “They’ll still see you.”

“If they recognise me, we can always say it was Sally,” her servant explained. “But if they see us both, one of us has to be you.”

It still didn’t explain why she needed the mask. Surely if someone was going to fuck her, they’d have to see her face. But she put it on anyway.

She trusted Sally.

Her servant waited until the mask was in place before approaching the nearest door and knocking. Sally stepped back and waited.

“Don’t say a word. Not until I tell you.”

It wasn’t long before the door was opened. By a woman Charlotte didn’t recognise. She was perhaps a decade older than the young woman, her long, brunette hair in pretty ringlets. She was wearing a fine dress, maybe even finer than Charlotte’s own wardrobe held. But there was something about her, more makeup than was fashionable. Maybe even more than was acceptable. The neckline of the dress was almost scandalously low.

“Sally.” The woman’s smile only half-reached eyes that were shuttered and guarded. “Right on time. This her?”

“Yeah,” Sally acknowledged.

“Come in, come in,” the woman’s voice warm and inviting, so unlike those eyes. “We don’t want you getting cold.”

The hallway inside was what Charlotte might have expected, plain but neat, white-washed walls, wooden floor. Just what should be behind the servant’s entrance. It didn’t explain what someone dressed like the woman was doing there.

“This is Margaret,” Sally announced, smiling knowingly. “And this is. Well, we don’t need to say, do we?”

“No,” Margaret’s smile still wasn’t reflected in her eyes. “So, she wants to watch?”

Charlotte’s frown returned at that. She didn’t want to watch. She wanted to be naked, taken, used.

She wanted to be fucked.

“Yes,” Sally confirmed. Charlotte didn’t say a word. Sally had told her not to. “As we discussed. And this is the fee.”

From somewhere, Sally produced two notes. Charlotte’ s frown deepened. The amount was trivial to her, but more than Sally should have had. Where had the money come from? Had Sally taken it from her? For that matter, how had Sally paid for the cab? There was her wage, but the cab would have been too expensive for a servant.

The woman checked the notes before tucking them into the neckline of her dress, the gesture clashing with the garment. “As you say. Though we could have… Eh. She’s class, isn’t she?” Margaret added, her eyes sweeping over Charlotte. The older woman’s gaze held her, assessing her. Stripping her bare.

“So what if she is?” Sally laughed.

“Nothing,” Margaret shrugged. “She wouldn’t be the first. And if she wants to do more than watch, she wouldn’t be the first for that either. On either side of the dealings. Anyway, times a-wasting girl. Mister Kent is waiting for you. You know what he wants. Get to it.”

Charlotte couldn’t follow the two women’s conversation, so much she was missing. She couldn’t make out any more as Sally led her into the house, up the sort of stairs that servants would use. They emerged into a hallway that Charlotte thought must lead to bedrooms. From somewhere in the house she could hear the sound of a pianoforte, some lilting, romantic, tune. Despite what the woman had said, heat and hope rose in the young woman. Maybe she was going to get fucked.

“In here,” Sally whispered, Charlotte’s confusion deepening as her servant directed her into a small room that was empty of any furniture beyond a single chair. Which faced one of the walls.

“Sit down,” Charlotte’s servant ordered.

“What?”

“You’ll see.”

Sally didn’t give any more explanation than that, whirling around and leaving, shutting the door behind her.

Charlotte looked around, wondering if there was anything she’d missed. But there was nothing else in the room. Just that chair. Which looked comfortable enough. But she couldn’t work out what she was meant to do. She thought about turning the chair to face the door, but Sally had simply told her to sit down. So she did. Her eyes widened as she noticed two small marks on the wall. She leant forward, gasping as she realised that they were holes, giving her a view on to what had to be the neighbouring room.

Where Sally was already out of her dress.

Charlotte watched as her servant stripped naked. There was something wickedly delicious about watching like this. Sally had to know what Charlotte was doing. But even so. She had watched before, from Sally’s wardrobe. But then there was always the risk of discovery. Here she was safe. And Sally had such a wonderful body, nice perky tits and smooth complexion. Do I look like that? Charlotte wondered. I suppose that I must. Maybe her looks and her body were better than she’d thought. Her hands started to roam over her own body, answering the need that was growing in her, cupping a breast, hiking her skirts up and stroking her thigh. No-one would know. No-one would see.

She didn’t have all that long to admire the servant’s naked form, Sally arraying herself in frilly underwear. Garments so luxurious that they would have done Amelia proud. A firm corset, holding Sally’s waist in so tight and forcing her breasts into mouth-watering half-moons. And over it all went a dress in an outfit as elegant as Margaret’s. And just as daring.

Is she meeting someone? She has to be meeting someone. It was the only rationale Charlotte could find. The room looked like a bedroom for a guest, elegant and well-furnished. But it made no sense. Why did she need to watch her servant get fucked? She’d seen that often enough.

Sally had only just finished her makeup, cheeks blushed and lips rosy, when there was a knock on the door of the servant’s room. Sally hurried to the door, a man entering. Older than Sally. Older than Margaret. Surely this was the man of the house. Was this the Mister Kent that Margaret had mentioned? He was vaguely familiar, in the way that she would recognise anyone of quality. But no more than that. He looked like he’d been out on the town, frock coat still on, top hat in hand.

But who was Margaret then? His wife? Would she actively organise such a liaison for her husband?

“Good evening, sir,” Sally smiled, from where she sat primly on the edge of her bed.

“Good, evening, Emily,” the man replied. That wasn’t her servant’s name.

The man tossed his hat on a nearby chair. “Have you been a good girl?”

“Why yes, sir,” her servant replied innocently, hands clasped in her lap. “I am a very good girl.”

“We shall see. Stand up,” the man ordered.

“Yes sir,” Sally replied submissively, standing up, her eyes downcast as the man strolled around her, his eyes roaming over her body.

“Take off the dress,” he ordered.

“But, but sir!” Sally exclaimed. “I cannot. Such things are not proper.”

“A good girl does what she is told,” the man declared. “So off with it.”

“Yes sir,” Sally replied meekly, removing her dress.

“Hmm. Perhaps you are a good girl,” the man mused as he continued circling Sally. “But a young girl like you needs instruction.”

“Oh sir, whatever do you mean?”

“Would a good girl stand half-naked in front of a man?”

“I, I,” Sally stumbled. “But sir, it is only because you told me to.”

Charlotte frowned even as Sally’s words sparked the need within her, things tightening deep and low. Sally’s manner was so unlike her servant. Yet the effect on the man was undeniable, the hunger spilling from his eyes.

“A good girl would have said no. Perhaps you are another sort of girl entirely. Some wicked tease perhaps. We shall see.”

“Oh Sir!” Sally cried as he pushed her onto the bed. “I do not understand! Whatever can you mean?”

Charlotte knew very well what the man was about, one of her hands still under her skirt, reaching so high, the top of her thigh, drifting further, her need crying out. She knew that Sally did too. But the man appeared to be enjoying the act. Was this what her servant had brought her here to see? How to play at being someone you weren’t if that was what your partner wanted?

“Such a little tease,” the man grinned, starting to rid himself of his own clothes. As his half-erect cock came into view, Charlotte shivered, her fingers tracing the length of her opening, swirling around her nub. God, she wanted that cock.

“I, I don’t know what you mean sir,” Sally replied. But she made no effort to move from the bed. She just lay there, propped up on her arms, her feet apart.

It was all the invitation the man needed, climbing on the bed, one hand reaching beneath Sally’s underskirts. “You are a little tease, aren’t you?”

“Sir!?” Sally exclaimed. “What are you doing?” Despite her cries, she made no move to stop him.

“Wet,” the man grinned. “Just like I thought. Not a good girl at all. Just a little strumpet, wanting it.”

“Oh, sir, no,” Sally pleaded. “I, I. You should not be touching me there. I, I am a good girl.”

“Oh yes.” The man was between Sally’s legs now, yanking her drawers down and off and hiking the servant’s underskirts around her hips. “A very good girl.”

Charlotte’s fingers were inside her now, her eyes glued to the scene in front of her. Of an older man ravishing an innocent young thing. As innocent as she’d once been. She knew she could play that game if she had to. She could pretend to be what she was once was, even as two fingers plunged so deep into her. As her other hand mauled her breast. She could do it.

Sally obviously could as well, feebly protesting as the man removed the rest of her clothes. As he took one waiting nipple in his mouth.

“Sir! You shouldn’t. Oh, what is to become of me? I am ruined! Sir! No!”

The man leered down at Sally, the servant lying there, naked and defenceless. That cock was fully erect now, Charlotte able to see it clearly as the man knelt between her servant’s legs.

“No sir, I beg you,” Sally protested. “Not that!”

The man paid no attention to Sally’s pleas, thrusting inside, Sally’s back arching.

“Oh sir, no. It is so big. So hard. Oh, I am a fallen woman now. You have ruined me. Debauched me. What is to become of me?”

The man didn’t reply, thrusting away, hard and deep, Charlotte’s fingers matching his rhythm. She could tell the moment of his release, her own following almost immediately. She sat there, panting, her fingers still so deep inside.

The man had risen, was redressing himself. Sally simply knelt in the middle of the bed, naked. “Please, sir, what am I to do now?”

The man ignored her, simply adjusting his cravat when all else was done, and leaving the room. As the door closed, Sally flopped back on to the bed and laughed, before cleaning herself up and likewise putting her clothes back on. Exiting the room, a moment later she was at the door of the room where Charlotte was, the heiress quickly yanking her hand free.

Not quite quick enough, from the smirk on her servant’s face.

“So,” Charlotte managed, trying to gather some dignity. It was difficult, Sally arraigned in her finery, not a sign of what she’d just been doing, Charlotte dishevelled, skirts still hiked around her thighs. Hastily she tried to fix that at least. “Are we done? Is that what you wanted me to see?”

“That,” Sally smiled knowingly, Charlotte shoving her hand under her leg as Sally’s eyes remained fixed on it. “But not only that. Wait here. I expect that I shan’t be long.”

Charlotte stared in confusion at the door as Sally whirled around, leaving and shutting it behind her. She had no idea what her servant was about.

Her confusion wasn’t helped when, a few minutes later, she heard a sound from the other room. Pressing her eyes to the peepholes she gasped as she saw that Sally had returned. She wasn’t alone. There was another man with her, a gentleman again, by his bearing and clothes. But even older than the first.

Who could he be? It didn’t make any sense to her. If the first was the man of the house, who was this? He didn’t look old enough to be the first’s father.

“Well, girl,” the man said, a Lancashire accent clear. Perhaps not a gentleman then, but some industrialist? “You need to get me going. Not as young as I used to be.”

“Not too old, I hope,” Sally laughed. A knowing laugh, such a contrast to the performance that she’d given with the other man. “Let’s see what we can do.”

Sally fell to her knees, loosening the man’s belt, releasing his braces. Without any further ado, she yanked his trousers and undergarments down. Heat rose in Charlotte as the man’s cock came into view. He was old and it was barely erect at all, but she didn’t care. It was a cock. That was all that mattered.

Maybe that was all that Sally cared about too, the servant shooting a lascivious grin at the man before she leant forward and kissed that cock. Her fingers followed, tightening around that now visibly stiffening organ. Charlotte’s eyes were glued to every kiss and touch and expert ministration. She was so jealous. Sally had had two cocks. Two! And she hadn’t had any.

Those feelings didn’t stop her hands. Hands that were roaming over here body, one back between her legs, fingers so deep, strumming away, bearing her to another crest. The other at her breast. It was too much, as she watched Sally shed her clothes. As her servant helped the man out of his. Charlotte shot to her feet, discarded her dress. Then she was back in the chair, eyes glued to the holes in the wall as Sally, now clad in just her shift and a last underskirt, led the man to the bed.

“What would you like?” Sally asked.

“Hands and knees girl,” the man replied. “Hands and knees. Just right for a good old-fashioned fucking.”

“Right you are.” Sally hopped on the bed, assuming the position the man had suggested, pulling her underskirt up, revealing her rear, smooth and pale and oh-so-inviting. “Come on then,” Charlotte’s servant urged, wiggling her rear. “I want that cock.”

“Right you are,” the man grinned, lining himself up. He didn’t give Sally what she wanted immediately, instead reaching underneath the servant to fondle her tits. “Aye, they’re a nice pair.” He reached between Sally’s legs, the servant arching her back in response. “Good and ready you are.”

Sally moaned, Charlotte echoing the sound, as the man thrust home. Charlotte’s fingers were so deep, not as deep as that cock would be in Sally, but as deep as she could get them. She rose from her chair, ridding herself of his many of her undergarments as she could without taking her eyes from those holes. From the scene before her. from the fucking Sally was getting.

Her hand clamped around her breast, kneading it. She wished it was her on that bed. Wished it was her the man was thrusting in to. Wished it was her the man emptied himself into, Sally grunting like an animal, thrusting back, her back arched, before collapsing on to the bed. Charlotte’s own crest arrived at the sight.

The man didn’t leave immediately, the pair enjoying a little cuddling and petting before he went on his way. Sally lay there for a moment, a wink directed at Charlotte, before cleaning and redressing again. She left the room, but didn’t appear at Charlotte’s door. The heiress was left alone, basking in the afterglow of her release, slowly stroking her body.

She frowned as Sally reappeared, another man in tow. Another? How? What?

Sally let go of his hand, sauntering into the centre of the room. Charlotte couldn’t understand. How could there be three gentlemen in the house? And Sally was fucking them all?

The man strolled over to Sally, tilting her chin up and kissing her. “Let’s see what you have for me,” he said.

Sally gave a girlish giggle, so out of place for Charlotte’s servant but she made it sound so genuine. She stepped back, fluffing her hair and spinning around. It seemed too much for the man, he lunged forward, grabbing Sally by the shoulders and kissing her, before his lips fell to her neck, Sally’s back arching her head tilting backwards, pressing her body to his, offering herself. Then she pushed him away, twirling a lock of hair coquettishly as she almost innocently swayed her hips back and forth.

“Have you got a present for me?” Sally asked, a voice high and lilting, two fingers raised to her lower lips, her hips still swaying.

The man obviously did, not even bothering to remove Sally’s dress, simply lifting her by the hips, the servant squealing in delight as he dropped her on the bed. Between the two of them Sally’s dress was soon about her hips, the man’s trousers discarded, Sally having to grab one of the bedposts as the man almost pushed her into the bed with the force of his thrusts.

Charlotte’s head was filled with lust and confusion. She so wanted it to be her on that bed. Her getting those cocks. So much. She was naked now. When had that happened? It didn’t matter. She was pawing at her body, one crest melting into another. She barely noticed when the third man left and Sally returned with a fourth. There was only the need and the heat in her body, the sight of those cocks, the desperate, empty feeling that her fingers couldn’t free her from.

The fourth man was leaving now, Charlotte’s chest heaving her from her latest release, two fingers buried in her centre. The man was dressed now, that cock hidden away. He was reaching into his coat, pulling something out. Notes.

“No,” Sally said. “Give it to Margaret. I’ll get my share later.”

The man tucked the notes away as Charlotte sat there, frozen. She understood now.

Sally was a whore.

(To be continued)