Sally

Part 14

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 2025 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.

Charlotte woke up. It took her a moment to realise that she was in her own bed. Not Sally’s. Certainly not the one at the… She refused to think the word. It was her bed.

She wondered how she’d managed to sleep a wink.

She could barely remember arriving home, Sally holding her up by her arm. Stumbling on the stairs. Had Sally helped her out of her clothes? Tucked her into bed? It was what a servant should do.

Do I even deserve a servant anymore?

Proper young ladies had servants. Proper young ladies who were innocent and pure.
Everything Charlotte wasn’t.

I’m a w…

She couldn’t even think the word.

Panic rose in her, gripping her chest. How had she done what she’d done? How could she face anyone?

Charlotte thrust her head under her pillow.

“Good morning, miss,” Sally’s cheerful greeting issued from the direction of her door. “How are we this morning?”

Charlotte didn’t know how her servant could sound so innocent. Could look so well, utterly normal, in her servant’s uniform. As if nothing had happened.

Everything had happened.

“You!” Charlotte cried, bolting upright in her bed. “How could you? How could you let me? How could you make me?”

“Make you?” Sally laughed. “Make you? I didn’t make you do a damn thing. You wanted it. You wanted to be fucked. Like a bloody strumpet. And now you are one.”

“No!” Charlotte exclaimed, pulling the bedclothes up around her. “I, I didn’t. I…”

“Enjoyed being fucked. You most certainly did. You loved it. You love getting paid to be fucked.”

“I, I,” Charlotte spluttered, her mind reeling.

“But I do understand,” her servant said sympathetically. “It’s a bit of a shock, the morning after the first time. You need something to calm you down.”

Sally was helping her out of bed, helping her towards her dressing table. Charlotte didn’t stop her.

She trusted Sally.

“You just sit,” Sally smiled. It was a kind smile. And kind words. Just like a servant should be. “I know just what you need. Something to make you feel better. But first we need to do this.”

Charlotte watched as her servant picked up her hairbrush. That was right. Servants brushed their mistress’s hair. Sally brushed her hair. She was sitting at her dressing table with her servant brushing her hair. There was nothing wrong with that.

“What happens when I brush your hair?” Sally asked, the slow gentle tugs of the brush rippling through Charlotte.

“I go down and down and down,” the heiress replied. It was just as it should be.

“Yes, you do,” Sally whispered, one hand gently caressing the side of Charlotte’s head. “And you listen to what I have to say. And believe it. So listen closely.”

Charlotte did.

She blinked. She was sitting at her dressing table. Had Sally…?

Sally had been here. Had brushed her hair. That was right and proper. Sally was her servant. She felt better now. Why had she worried at all? The previous night had been such fun. Maybe she’d tell Amelia about it. Eventually. Whispering it to her friend when they were naked together. A naughty little secret. Amelia would understand. They both wanted to be fucked so much. They’d laugh about it. But not now. Amelia wasn’t here.

Neither was Sally. Where had her servant…?

There was a hesitant knock on her door.

“Come in,” Charlotte called, sounding every bit like the heiress she was.

The door opened, Clara standing there. An air of uncertainty hung around the girl.

“Sally sent me, miss,” Clara declared with a very proper curtsy, even if she didn’t seem to quite know why she was there. “She said to tell you that she brushed my hair, miss. And that’s she’d given me some instructions.”

Clara frowned, as if she was trying to remember what those were and failing.

“Well, come in,” Charlotte ordered, rising from her table. Clara might not know what she was supposed to do, but Charlotte did.

How…?

It didn’t matter, the thought disappearing.

“Sit down,” Charlotte continued, indicating the chair she’d just vacated after Clara had entered the room and closed the door.

“Miss?” the servant’s brow furrowed. Understandably. It was Charlotte’s dressing table. Not somewhere a servant would expect ever to be seated.

“Just do as your told,” Charlotte snapped, the girl scurrying to obey.

“There,” Charlotte declared, much more kindly, once Clara was seated. Quickly she removed Clara’s cap, her hands gently stroking either side of the girl’s head. “Now, you just sit there.”

“Miss?” Clara frowned.

“Eyes front,” Charlotte ordered, picking up the hairbrush. “I need to practice.”

That was right. She did. She needed to practice. Something told her that. Was telling her. Had told her that. It didn’t matter.

It was true.

“It must be so very tiring, being a servant,” Charlotte said, sympathetically, as she began to brush the girl’s hair. “All that running around. It must be so nice just to sit still for a while.”

Clara simply stared at the mirror. At the image of two young women, one brushing the other’s hair. The image looked so innocent.

“The best thing is for you to just sit there and relax.” Charlotte’s voice was so soft. Like some other voice, that sounded just like hers, had been so soft. Had it said the same words to her? When was that?

Something else that didn’t matter.

“Stroke after stroke. Why you could almost be falling asleep. But you have to keep your eyes open. Do try. I’m sure Sally told you that.”
Clara simply nodded; her eyes fixed on the mirror.

“So tired. So sleepy. Falling down and down with each stroke. But you have to keep your eyes open.”

Stroke.

“Listening to my voice.”

Stroke.

“Falling down and down and down.”

Stroke.

“Hearing only my voice. So pleasant to just sit there. Hearing only my voice. So comfortable. So relaxing. So simple.”

It was so easy to do this. Somehow, Charlotte knew exactly what to do. Had someone told her to do it? Had it happened to her?

It didn’t matter. The words kept coming. As if she’d been told what to say.

“Every stroke pulls you further and further down. Until there are no thoughts in your head.”

Clara’s eyes were so empty. Just vacant orbs. Charlotte could tell that there were no thoughts in her head. The girl didn’t need any thoughts in her head.

“You can trust me.” Charlotte declared. “I’m sure that Sally told you that. And my voice sounds just the same as hers. Or is it that hers sounds like mine? It doesn’t matter, does it? Nothing for you to worry your pretty little head about. I’m sure she told you to trust her voice. And we sound the same, she and I. So you trust my voice. You trust me.”

Charlotte’s fingers were running through Clara’s hair as well as the brush. The girl’s hair felt so good under fingers, fine and delicate and oh so soft. Charlotte smiled, gently, and shook her head. There was something familiar about that. As if she’d seen someone do exactly the same thing. In her mirror. As she sat…

Clara didn’t notice. She simply sat there, empty eyed. Charlotte was still brushing her hair. Over and over. It felt so good. But there were no thoughts in Charlotte’s head.

“Say, ‘I trust Miss Charlotte’,” Charlotte’s voice was amused, almost light. Like someone else’s voice had been. Her lips were so close to Charlotte’s ear. Like someone’s lips had been so close to hers.

“I trust Miss Charlotte,” Clara repeated, her voice flat and empty, as Charlotte stroked her hair again.

“Say it again,” the heiress smiled. “Say it until you mean it.”

“I trust Miss Charlotte.” The girl had to say it. She had to no thoughts. No choice.

“I trust Miss Charlotte.”

In the mirror, the girl’s eyes were so wide, empty, like pools of dark, still water.

Holding nothing.

Like Charlotte’s had been.

“I trust Miss Charlotte.”

“Good,” Charlotte smiled. Somehow, she knew what to ask next. “Now, what instructions did Sally give you?”

“I want to f-fuck Miss Charlotte,” the girl replied, only a little stumble. “I don’t know what that… But I… I’ll do whatever Miss Charlotte says.”

“Not quite there yet, are we?” Charlotte grinned mischievously, the brush still slowly stroking Clara’s hair. “Down and down with each stroke. All those pesky thoughts just disappearing. Vanishing.” For a moment, Charlotte thought she sounded like someone else. Someone that sounded just like her. It didn’t matter. What mattered was what she had to say.

“What do you want to do?” she asked, after who knew how many strokes.

“I want to fuck Miss Charlotte,” the girl replied, her voice as empty as those oh-so-wide eyes.

“Yes, you do,” Charlotte smiled. She definitely wanted to fuck Clara. Why wouldn’t she? The girl was pretty, with her lovely brown eyes and wonderful round face. The girl’s tits, even under her unform, looked bigger than Amelia’s. Heat rose in the heiress, anticipation laced with heady need, as she gazed down at the servant.

“I want to fuck Miss Charlotte.”

“I want to fuck Miss Charlotte.”

“I want to fuck Miss Charlotte.”

“You mean it, don’t you?” Charlotte whispered, twirling a finger in a lock of the girl’s hair. This was wrong, oh so wrong. Twisting the girl like this. Using her. Wicked and sinful and delicious. Oh so, delicious. Something to be savoured. To be nibbled slowly.

“You want me to kiss you,” Charlotte’s lips were so close to Clara’s ear. “A woman’s lips. A woman’s hands. Her fingers. Her caresses. It’s what you want.”

Those words would be spilling into Clara’s mind, Charlotte tingling at the thought.

“You want my lips on your breasts. It will be heavenly. You want my fingers between your legs. In your secret, secret places. There’s a heat rising in your body at the thought. A wicked, wanton, heat. So delicious. So delightful. It’s what you want. What you need. It consumes you. Every time you look at me, it’s all you can think about. But not just me. Any pretty girl. You dream about them. Me. Sally, Lady Amelia. Girls. Pretty girls. Kissing them. Kissing them everywhere. Them doing the same to you. Oh, the things they can do with their tongues. You’ll love it so much. Tell me. Tell me what you want.”

“I want to kiss pretty girls.” Clara’s voice was so empty, but there was a flush to her pretty cheeks. “I want them to kiss me all over. On my lips. On my breasts. On my, my…”

“Don’t worry,” Charlotte reassured the vacant-eyed girl. “You’ll learn. Tell me you dream about them.”

“I dream about them,” Clara replied, her voice so empty. “I want them. Sally told me so.”

“Yes, she did,” Charlotte smiled, knowing that she’d have to reward her servant. “You want them so much. You don’t need any nasty men. It’s just girls for you.”

“It’s just girls for me.”

“Such a good girl,” Charlotte cooed, reaching down to gently cup a breast through the servant’s clothes, Clara moaning in return. Sally would have done most of the work with the girl, but her servant had left the finishing touches to her mistress.

“Let’s go over it again.”

They did.

So many times.

“So,” Charlotte smiled. Clara’s eyes were downcast but the heiress could tell they were flicking back and forth, Clara wanting to look at her. She’d spent so long brushing Clara’s hair. Doing what she knew she needed to do.

Why?

For a moment, doubt assailed her What she’d done to the girl was so wrong.

That didn’t matter.

She could fuck Clara now. Charlotte wanted to fuck so much.

"Off with the dress,” Charlotte ordered.

“But… Miss?” Clara spluttered, her cheeks flushed, her hands making nervous little gestures.

“Perhaps I should help,” Charlotte mused, sauntering over to the girl, laying a hand lightly on one shoulder. Clara’s eyes darted to her, but the girl didn’t turn around.

“Yes, I think I shall,” she smiled, undoing first one then another of the buttons at the back of Clara’s dress.

“Miss!” the girl protested, quivering under Charlotte’s touch. “No!”

“You don’t mean that,” Charlotte smiled, her hand finding the girl’s breast again, gently caressing it through the layers of clothing. Heat was burning between her legs, dark and thick and oh so delicious. “I can tell what you want.”

Her hand rose, turned the girl’s face towards her, their lips meeting, a moan issuing from Clara.

“Let me help you out of that dress.”

It wasn’t just the dress of course. A servant didn’t wear what a young lady did, but there was still so much. Corset cover and corset and shift. So many layers. It was like unwrapping a present at Christmas. Layer after layer. Charlotte so eager to find what lay within. But taking her time. Gentle strokes and kisses. Clara was still quivering. But Charlotte knew that it wasn’t hesitation now. She could see the anticipation in the girl’s eyes, the need. Hear it in the moans she drew from the girl’s lips, with light touches, delicate kisses on the girl’s neck. Pulling the shift from the girl’s shoulder to lay kisses on her pale skin.

“Oh, you’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you?” Charlotte smiled wickedly as she pulled Clara’s shift over the girl’s head, the servant standing naked before her.

“D-d-d-do you think so, Miss?” the girl fluttered nervously.

“Oh, I do,” Charlotte replied. She did. But it wouldn’t have mattered. She’d have fucked the girl anyway. But that Clara was pretty made it so much better. “Now come over her here,” she declared, leading the naked servant to her bed. “Lie down. Yes, just like that, on your back. Doesn’t this feel good?”

Charlotte threw off her own shift, just as naked as the servant now, before climbing on after her.

“You are so, very, very pretty,” Charlotte whispered, stretched over the servant, kissing the girl’s lips before slipping down to her neck. “And I know you want this so much. You don’t really know what it is you want. But you want. You trust me, do you not?”

“Yes, Miss,” the girl nodded, a quick, nervous gesture.

“Well, I’m going to show you what you want. What you need. How good it can be.” She slid lower, her tongue swirling around one of Clara’s dark brown nipples, the girl’s back arching as another moan was ripped from her throat.

Charlotte was trailing delicate fingers up the inside of Clara’s thigh. “You want this so badly. No-one’s ever touched you like this. Made you feel like this. You never realised how good this could be. It’s as if you’ve been asleep your whole life and you’re only now just waking up.”

She was kissing those thighs now, her lips burning against the smooth flesh, her own need roaring. She risked a quick flick of her lips along the length of the girl’s opening, savouring the taste and the squeak it drew from the servant.

“You liked that, did you not?” Charlotte laughed, not pausing for a response. “You want more. Did Sally do this? Or this?” Her tongue flicked around the girl’s erect nub before dipping inside.

“No-no Miss,” the girl managed between heaving breaths. “Oh God, more, please.”

“I’m your first then,” Charlotte smiled. “Lucky me. Don’t worry, we’ll take it oh, so, slow,” her words interspersed with more delicate licks along the length of the girl’s lower lips, Clara squirming and bucking underneath her. The servant spasmed as her first crest overtook her cries wordless.

“There’s more where that came from,” Charlotte promised, pulling herself back up so that she could look into the girl’s eyes, so that she could slip her fingers into that wet, welcoming space. “But first we need to.” She paused as she met resistance. “Ah yes. Don’t worry. This will hurt, just a little bit. But after, everything will just be wonderful.” She stared into the girl’s eyes, Clara’s locked on hers, her fingers thrusting in and out. Charlotte thrust, harder, something thicker joining the fluids that had been lubricating her fingers, Clara crying out.

“There, there,” Charlotte reassured the servant. “Nothing you’ll miss. And now it feels so good, doesn’t it? I’ll show you a little more. Maybe you can cry my name this time, yes? And then you can return the favour.”

The girl proved a quick and eager learner, Charlotte moaning in turn as the servant’s tongue thrust between her legs. They’d both crested more times than she could be bothered counting.

“God, yes,” the heiress cried, thrusting her hips into the servant’s face. She was sitting on the edge of her bed, one hand gripping a bed post, Clara kneeling on the floor as she eagerly lapped at her mistress’s centre. “Yes, God, yes. Oh, oh, oh-”

“Well, isn’t that a delightful picture?” Sally smirked, an eep of alarm escaping from Clara as Charlotte clamped her thighs around the girl’s head.

“What?” Charlotte spluttered. “What? Get out!”

“Why should I?” Sally shot back, daintily arranging herself on the chair of Charlotte’s dressing table. “This is too good to miss. Please, don’t let me stop you.”

Charlotte glared at her servant. Who does she…? But she couldn’t hold the thought, Clara’s tongue starting up again. And why should it matter anyway? Her eyes fixed on Sally, hand still gripping the bed post, as she thrust her hips at the girl, her other hand on the back of Clara’s head, guiding her deeper. Her crest soon overcame her, Charlotte’s head flinging back.

“She seems to have taken to her lessons rather well,” Sally mused, her voice sounding so refined.

Do I sound like that? Charlotte wondered, suddenly unsure. She was sitting naked on her bed, the tongue of one of the maidservants of the house still deep in her centre. I, I…

“You trust me,” Sally declared. Charlotte wasn’t sure whether the servant was talking to her or Clara or both of them. “There’s nothing wrong. You enjoyed this too much for there to be anything wrong.”

Of course there was nothing wrong. How could there be anything wrong. She was fucking, her hand still on the back of Clara’s head as the girl worked her to another peak.

“You love fucking. You want to fuck so much.”

She did. It was just the truth. How could there be anything wrong as another crest swept over her body, the world shattering into glittering pieces.

“Well, if she’s that good,” Sally smirked, hiking her dress and underskirts up before settling back in the chair. “I should try her out, shouldn’t I. Over here, girl,” she ordered, a snap of her fingers getting Clara’s attention as Sally pointed to her centre.

Clara didn’t even bother standing up, crawling over to the other servant, her eyes vacant of everything but burning lust.

“I do hope that you are good,” Sally laughed. “Well, actually I know that you are. So very, very good. So, when you’re done, I shall return the favour. I do want to know what you taste like. Well, remember really. You’d like to watch that, wouldn’t you, Miss?”

Charlotte would. She was already watching as Clara dove between Sally’s legs, as the other servant, the one who looked so much like her, arched her back, her hand on Clara’s head. Charlotte lay back on her bed, one hand idly stroking between her legs as her other roamed over her naked body.

Of course she’d want to watch the two servants fuck. It wasn’t as good as actually fucking. But it was good.

And she was sure that she’d get another turn with Clara.

(To be continued)