Sally

Part 16

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 froze, staring up at him. He knew who she was. He could ruin her. It was all over. Everything. She could hardly breathe, the enormity pressing in on her.

“You’re her maid,” the colonel whispered, a conspiratorial smile on his lips. “Sally, is it not?”

The weight lifted from Charlotte’s shoulders. She could breathe again. “My name is Emily,” she replied courteously.

“Of course it is,” the colonel allowed, offering his hand as she rose to her feet. Charlotte tried to tell herself that it was just like a ball. A gentleman approaching his partner for the next dance. Offering his hand. Her taking it, accepting. 

It was so easy to believe that, just for a moment.

“I’m going to fuck you so hard.”

Charlotte’s eyes widened . She wasn’t at a ball. She wasn’t being the Honourable Miss Charlotte Rothermere. She was in a whorehouse. Even if it was an expensive, elegant one, with girls in pretty dresses and gentleman in their fine suits and long coats. It was what it was.

She smiled, and giggled nervously, because that was what he wanted, as he led her out of the room and up the stairs. She knew what she had to do.

It was what Sally would do.

She could be Sally.

Has he been here before? she wondered. He wasn’t gawking, unlike some first timers, but at ease, the tension she felt from him having nothing to do with uncertainty. Did he come here, every night after he’d dined with her and her family? Did he think of her? When he fucked the whore he chose? Did those little gestures, those touches, leave him aching in need. Had she done that to him tonight? But had it been her or Sally that had done it to him before?

The colonel paused at the top of the stairs. Nothing obvious. He could have just been admiring the painting that hung there. A scene of the Greek gods. That might have been what he was doing. But Charlotte knew. He needed her to show him which room. A little part of her thrilled as she gave him a subtle nod. He didn’t know which room was hers. Or Sally’s. Or.

It didn’t matter. If he didn’t know which it was, then he hadn’t been there before. With Sally.

He hadn’t fucked Sally.

He’d fuck her first.

And that was all it would be.

Charlotte knew that, even as she let him lead her to the room, laughing lightly, leaning on his arm. Their first time together might perhaps have been their wedding night, her still an innocent. All nerves and blushes. A gentleman and his young, pretty wife. But not now. Would they have gone together? Or would she have slipped away first, undressed, waited in the marriage bed?

That wasn’t how it was now, his hands sliding over her body as he helped her out of her dress. She didn’t need the help. The dress, even as it mimicked those of fine ladies, was designed for her to take it off by herself. But that wasn’t what he wanted, she knew that. He wanted to touch her, runs his hands over side, cup her breasts. Hear her moan.

They weren’t husband and wife.

They were a whore and her customer.

And a whore did what her customer wanted. Let him loosen the cord on her corset to slip his hands underneath, those hands against her belly as he drew her to him, nuzzling into her neck, his hard length pressing into the crack of her arse. God, she wanted him inside her. Would she have wanted that as some naïve newly married girl? Or been too terrified to think?

It didn’t matter. She let him pull her shift higher, up around her hips, so he could fondle her arse, Charlotte revelling in the touch, need scorching through her. Let him pull her corset and that shift off, have her naked as her hands roamed freely. Let him push her on to the bed, waiting as he discarded her clothes.

There were so many things she could have done. Called encouragement to him. Let her hands roam lewdly over her body. But that wasn’t what he wanted. He didn’t have to say anything. She knew. The instincts of a good whore. So she just lay there quietly, waiting. Even so, she couldn’t help licking her lips as his cock came into view. She wanted it, needed it, inside her. It looked good and big. Just what she wanted. But she said nothing.

Even as he climbed on top of her.

“You’re good and ready, aren’t you?” he smiled wickedly, his fingers tracing her length. She was ready. She was so wet. So needy. She wanted him. Wanted him so badly. Wanted that thick, hard cock inside her, impaling her.

“God, you look so like her.”

What went unsaid was that she must know who he was. What did that matter? What could she say? If she told anyone that the colonel had been in a whorehouse, the question would be, how did she know? He knew that Sally couldn’t afford that. Even the merest hint that she might have been in such a place would have her thrown onto the streets. 

He had two fingers inside her now, her hips thrusting rhythmically in response.

“Such an eager little tramp.”

She was, moaning, losing herself in her need, squirming, her body out of control. That moan turned to a whimper as his fingers withdrew. She didn’t have to make that sound. But she knew that was what he wanted. Her eager, needy, wanting him. As he thrust inside her she wrapped her legs around him, wanting all of that delicious length. Her back arching as her hips rose to meet his thrusts. He wanted an eager whore now, not some passive little wife. If she’d never met Sally, would she have been able to give him what he wanted when they were married? Or would he have looked elsewhere? Might he still?

She didn’t care, not now, not impaled on that cock. He took her so many ways. On her back, on her front. Pressed up against the wall.

Using her.

She just wanted to be fucked.

She was spent by the time he left. Yet she knew what she had to do. Pull herself back together. Clean up and dress. A servant would see to the bed. She had to be ready for the next man.

The colonel had, after all, been just one customer.

There’d be more that night.

She didn’t think about him again until the next morning.

“What am I to do?” she asked, not sure if she was asking herself or Sally.

“About what?’ her servant replied, brush in hand as Charlotte sat before her mirror.

“The colonel.”

“Ah,” Sally replied, saying everything and nothing, as she regarded her mistress’ hair.

“I can’t marry him,” Charlotte declared. “Or can I? He thought it was you. He must have gone straight there. Was that why you were in such a hurry?” Charlotte’s eyes shot wide, as she turned on her servant. “You knew! You knew that he would be there! You wanted me there in time for him!”

“Of course I knew!” Sally laughed. “Margaret told me about him. He goes there most nights after he dines here. I was sure last night would be the same. And you looked in such need of a cock.”

“But I can’t,” Charlotte pleaded. “I just can’t. Not after.”

“What?” Sally radiated scepticism. “You can’t marry him now that you know he frequents a whorehouse? Of course not, how could the pure, innocent Charlotte Rothermere marry such a man? Who goes to places she would never… Oh. Wait. Don’t be such a hypocrite.”

Charlotte avoided her servant’s gaze, her eyes swinging back to the mirror. Did she look pure and innocent? When she was anything but? Perhaps it would be more fitting if smoke poured from her image. Anything like that stubbornly refused to happen.

“I do take your point,” Charlotte allowed. “But. Honestly. I do not think I want to marry him.”

“Why not?” Sally raised one eyebrow.

“Because well.” Charlotte swallowed nervously. “I know what he wants in a wife. Dutiful and simpering and… Don’t ask me how I know. I just do. The way reacts to all those little touches and how I have to hang on his every word. I don’t want that.”

“No,” Sally nodded. “You don’t. He wouldn’t let you have your fun. But would you have wanted it once?”

“I suppose so,” Charlotte allowed. Before Sally. She could see herself as that sort of wife. Bending to her husband’s every whim. And not knowing what he did on those nights he was late home.

“Well, you’ll have to tell your mother.”

“I can’t!” Charlotte cried.

“Well, someone will have to,” Sally declared, stepping back and starting to remove her clothes. “Put these on,” she ordered, throwing her dress and underclothes at Charlotte. “Now give me yours. And watch and learn.”

Charlotte’s heart was in her mouth as Sally led her to the sitting room where Clara had said her mother, Eleanor, could be found. She wanted to grab Sally, drag the servant back to her room. She couldn’t. A servant couldn’t do that. And she was dressed as a servant. She was Sally, Charlotte’s lady’s maid. So she scurried along behind her mistress.

No.

She wouldn’t scurry. Sally wouldn’t do that. Charlotte straightened. Measured her steps. Tried to look assured.

That’s what Sally would do.

She was Sally.

“Mother,” Sally began, her mother’s only acknowledgement a sharp nod from where she sat on the lounge, embroidery in hand. “I want to talk about the colonel.” Not waiting for a reply, Sally took a seat opposite Charlotte’s mother.

Eleanor looked up from her embroidery, a slight smile on her lips. Everything seemed so normal, not a hint of suspicion in Charlotte’s mother’s features. How can she not know? Charlotte wondered. How could Eleanor not know that it wasn’t her daughter seated opposite her, in the fine dress and the perfect hair. It wasn’t Charlotte sitting there, but Sally. Charlotte was standing behind her servant. Yet Eleanor’s eyes barely flicked in her direction, hardly acknowledging her existence at all.

Charlotte’s mind whirled. There was nothing she could say. Even if she protested that she was Charlotte, no-one would believe her. They’d call her mad, some poor servant lost in a wild dream.

She said nothing.

“Yes dear?” Eleanor asked, finally saying something. “I do think last night went rather well. It is time for things to move forward. Perhaps next time you could give some hints that his attentions are more than welcome?”

“No,” Sally replied simply “I think not. I have decided that Colonel Heywood is not the man I will marry.”

“What!?” Her mother cried, her pleased expression suddenly replaced by an angry one, her features purpling. “Are you mad? After everything? Think what you are throwing away!”

“I have,” Sally replied calmly. “At quite some length. And I would think you should control yourself in front of the servants, mother.”

Charlotte couldn’t believe that Sally would say that. She never would. Or maybe she could now, after hearing Sally say it.

“How dare you!?” Eleanor exclaimed, springing to her feet, her embroidery tumbling to the floor, Ida, her maid, leaping up herself to gather it. “Out!” Charlotte’s mother ordered, glaring at Charlotte and Ida and pointing at the door. “This is between my daughter and myself.”

“Oh, do calm down, mother,” Sally laughed. “They can stay. Afterall, whatever is decided they will know.” She shot a quick glance at Charlotte a wicked smile ghosting across her lips. It disappeared as she turned back to Eleanor. “And surely we trust them. Now sit down.”

“I, you,” Eleanor spluttered. “You do not-”

“Sit,” Sally repeated, steel in her voice.

How can she sound like that? Confusion whirled in Charlotte. It was her voice. Sally looked like her. Sounded like her. But Charlotte knew that she’d never sounded like that. Never thought that she could. But now she rolled that one word, sit, silently around her mouth. She could. She could sound like that it if she wanted to.

It wasn’t just the word. It was the way Sally held herself. Back so straight. Proud. Hands neatly folded in her lap. Charlotte could taste the calm assurance rolling off her servant.

Sally seemed every bit the young lady. So much more than Charlotte ever had.

“I will not marry the colonel,” Sally continued, politely, but still that cold steel in her voice. “And you shall accept my decision.” Sally’s eyes, so much like Charlotte’s, held her mother, pinning her in place. “Are we in agreement?”

Eleanor simply nodded, squirming in her seat, trying to avoid meeting Sally’s eyes, but failing.

“I shall write him a letter then,” Saly smiled, a picture of a perfect innocence. “Clara can deliver it. Much better that way. So much more civil. Don’t you agree?”

“Yes, dear,” Eleanor smiled, her eyes distant and unfocused. “I, I suppose. Yes. If that is what you want.”

“It is,” Sally declared, rising from her seat and leaning down to kiss Eleanor’s cheek. “Good, morning mother.”

“I do hope you learnt something from that,” Sally smiled after they returned to Charlotte’s room. “You did?” the servant continued after Charlotte nodded in reply. “Good. I was thinking of going out this afternoon, but I do not think this dress will do at all. I think the grey serge skirt will be much better. With the red jacket. Fetch them will you, Sally?”

Charlotte froze. She’d thought they’d change back. But Sally didn’t seem to have that intention at all. She should say something. She could manage that steel she’d heard in Sally’s voice. It was so like her voice.

But this was Sally.

“After solving your little Colonel problem, I do think that I deserve a little relaxation time. Don’t you agree?”

She trusted Sally.

And as innocent as her servant sounded, just the picture of a young lady, there was still that steel in her voice. Just how you would expect a mistress to speak to her servant.

So Charlotte said nothing and did as she was told. She said nothing as she helped Sally dress. Said nothing as they left the house.

Even on their walk, she only spoke when Sally addressed her.

She waited on their return, for Sally to ask for her clothes back. But Sally only said, “I think it’s Evans tonight, is it not?”

Charlotte’s breath caught. She hadn’t known. But now she couldn’t help picturing Evans’ cock. Remembering how it felt inside her. So thick. Like it was splitting her. She wanted it again.

One night wouldn’t hurt. At least, that’s what she told herself.

So she nodded and agreed and even let Sally brush her hair. Even if it felt strange, looking in the mirror, at an image that plainly showed a lady brushing her servant’s hair.

It was what Sally wanted.

Sally was speaking to her, as the servant brushed her hair, the words pouring into Charlotte’s mind.

Charlotte didn’t say anything.

Not to Sally, anyway. Away from Sally, with the other servants, it was so easy to play the part of her maid. Determined, assured. Just deferential enough to those higher up the hierarchy of service.

Everything Sally should be.

And when Evans came to her room, it was her that was in charge. Dragging him inside, almost ripping their clothes off. She needed him, wanted him. Not him. His cock. Any cock. But Evans was so thick. It felt so wonderful, thrusting into her, Charlotte on all fours, one hand gripping the rail at the head of her bed as Evans took her from behind, roughly, Charlotte urging him on.

It was worth one day and one night spent as Sally to be fucked like that.

Of course, it wouldn’t last. That was her intention the next morning, as she headed to her room, Charlotte’s room.

“Sit,” Sally ordered, pointing to the chair. Sally was lying in the bed, Her bed. 

Charlotte did as she was told, as Sally gracefully rose, sauntered over to her. “I’m sure Evans was perfectly wonderful,” her servant whispered, her fingers twirling in Charlotte’s hair. “Didn’t you love it? Didn’t it feel so good? God, the sounds you made. Did your fingers turn white as you gripped that rail?”

How did Sally know? Had she been watching? Had she hidden in the wardrobe, like Charlotte had?

“You just wanted it to go on and on. Getting fucked. You love getting fucked.”

She did. She loved it so much. Even if Charlotte had a hard time thinking about it.

Sally had started brushing her hair.

“Down and down and down,” her servant smiled reassuringly, her hands pausing to rest on Charlotte’s shoulders, her chin on the top of Charlotte’s head. After a moment Sally straightened, resumed her crushing of Charlotte’s hair. “You love getting fucked so much. Totally worth spending a day as me. And it’s Wilson tonight. You love how long his cock is. You can have it. All you have to do is spend another day as Sally. That will be so easy, won’t it? Say, ‘I want to be Sally’.”

“I want to be Sally.” It was so easy to say the words. She was so deep.

“Say it again,” her servant ordered, slowly drawing the brush through Charlotte’s hair.

“I want to be Sally,” the young heiress repeated.

“Sally gets fucked. Sally gets fucked so often. You love being Sally.”

“I love being Sally.”

Of course she could be Sally, Charlotte thought, attending to Sally’s hair. She was going to be fucked.

And it was only for one more day.

(To be continued)