Sally

Part 17

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 Erotic Mind Control web site by permission of the author. This story may be downloaded for personal archiving as long as this notice is retained.

“What do you mean, you’re not going to be marrying the colonel!?” Amelia cried. The blonde aristocrat looked up from where she’d be idly sorting through Charlotte’s jewellery.

“Exactly what I said,” the young woman in the stylish outfit standing next to her replied. “I shan’t be marrying the colonel. I thought you’d be pleased. And have you found a better pendant for this dress?”

“I am pleased,” Amelia huffed, still rifling through the jewellery box. “It means that I shall not be deprived of your companionship just yet. Some things will be so much harder once you are married. Or am I. You know what I mean.” A quick glance from Amelia’s eyes to Charlotte’s bed said everything that needed to be said. “And no, I can’t find what I want,” she added, giving up on her search with a disappointed huff. “Your jewellery collection is painfully lacking. I shall have to buy you something. When was this decision made?”

“Oh, about a week ago,” her companion replied airily. “I sent him a letter. So much less messy that way.”

“What!?” Amelia exclaimed. “A week? You might have told me before this! I am simply devastated to have been left out of your confidences for so long!”

“No, don’t stand,” her companion smiled, her hands on Amelia’s shoulders, easing the blonde back into the chair. “You stay right there. She needs to be sitting down. Isn’t that right … Sally?”

Sally simply nodded at her mistress’s question. Except it wasn’t Sally. It was Charlotte. Sally was the one in the fine dress. The one chatting with Amelia with such confidence. Sally. Her servant.

Charlotte had to struggle to remind herself of that.

“There has hardly been a chance for me to tell you,” Sally shrugged, reaching for the hairbrush that lay on the table. “I did want to tell you in person. Did you what me to inform you in a letter?”

“There was the other night,” Amelia grumbled.

What? Charlotte frowned. She had no idea what her friend was talking about. Amelia hadn’t visited her house in the past week. And she hadn’t visited Amelia.

At least, the Honourable Miss Charlotte Rothermere hadn’t called on her friend. Which meant Sally hadn’t seen her. Because Charlotte had been Sally ever since that exchange with her mother. A week? How could it have been a week? Every day she’d meant to make Sally swap back. But somehow it had never happened. Sally would say something, about how there was Evans or Wilson or Clara. About how much easier it was to be fucked as Sally. And Charlotte would agree. Just for one more day. Sometimes she’d protested. But then Sally had sat her in the chair that Amelia was in now. And picked up the brush that she held now. And brushed Charlotte’s hair. And whispered things into her ear. Dark and sinful and wicked things.

It didn’t matter.

She trusted Sally.

Wilson had given her such a good fucking the night before.

But what was this about the other night?

“You were rather distracted,” Sally laughed, her laugh so clear, light and beautiful. Sounding so much like a young lady of quality should sound. “Margaret’s can do that.”

Charlotte simply stared at Sally, speechless. Not that a servant should say anything at a time like this, but still. 

“Yes, well,” Amelia blushed. “I did so want to be fucked.”

The words didn’t make any sense to Charlotte. Or maybe they did, but she didn’t want them to.

“Well, you managed that,” Sally smiled, her hands resting gently on Amelia’s shoulders, her cheek against the blonde’s. “What was it, three cocks?”

“Four!” the blonde insisted proudly. “I sure that I would have managed more if you’d let me out of the room. The sitting room you described sounds so very interesting.”

“I do not think that would have been wise,” Charlotte commented sternly. “It is one thing for me to be there. Your family is more prominent and well, there is Sally. We had to be more discerning in your, …, customers.”

“I suppose,” Amelia huffed.

Charlotte was simply agog. Amelia had, had… Had been at that place. Had. Had.

Whored herself. Like me.

Her mind whirled. When had it been? Sally must have snuck out, when? Had it been a night Charlotte had been with Evans? Or Clara? It can’t have been the night Charlotte had gone to Margaret’s. She’d have seen Sally there. Even as distracted as she was.

God, she loved to be fucked.

“But as diverting as that was,” Amelia declared, her chin proudly in the air. “We were talking about your matrimonial future.”

“We were,” Sally agreed, drawing the brush through those long blonde locks. “But first, I need to do this.”

Stroke after stroke after stroke, so carefully laid, so gently.

“What happens when I brush your hair?” It was Sally speaking, but she was dressed as Charlotte. Who was supposed to be brushing Amelia’s hair? Did it matter?

“I go down and down and down,” Charlotte’s friend sighed, her blue eyes so empty as they were fixed on the mirror. On the image of two young ladies, one brushing the other’s hair. Charlotte and Amelia.

Charlotte didn’t say a word. She knew that she shouldn’t.

Sally had brushed her hair before Amelia had arrived.

“Tell me that you trust me.” The words were aimed at Amelia, but Sally shot a glance at Charlotte, a smile on her lips. There was so much in that smile, Charlotte couldn’t understand it all. Wicked and pleased and a secret half-shared.

“I trust you,” Amelia replied. Charlotte could almost hear the thoughts slipping from her friend’s mind as her eyes turned so glassy and empty.

“Say it again,” Sally ordered.

“I trust you,” the blonde repeated, her voice so much emptier than the first time. Like her eyes.

Like her mind.

“Again.” Sally’s eyes weren’t on Amelia, even as her hands expertly brushed the heiress’ hair. They were on Charlotte. 

“I trust you.” Amelia’s voice was so empty. 

“You believe it, don’t you?”

“I trust you,” the blonde repeated mindlessly.

Charlotte knew that her friend did. That it would be the only thing in her mind now. But what did it mean? Who did she trust? Was it Sally? Charlotte? The one who was dressed as Charlotte?

She couldn’t make sense of it.

“I trust you.”

Had Sally prompted Amelia again? Or was her friend simply repeating the words, unable to do anything else, lost in them?

“No, I shan’t marry,” Sally mused, still brushing Amelia’s hair. “Not yet anyway. Not for some time. Neither shall you. But you come into your inheritance soon do, you not? Why, then we shall be able to have such parties. Such wicked, wicked parties. That’s what you want to do. Tell me that.”

“It’s what I want to do,” Amelia replied, her voice so flat and empty. Of course she’d say what Sally told her to. She trusted Sally. “I’ll hold parties.”

“And so many other things. The two of us. Whoever we choose. You do so love to be fucked. Tell me that.”

“I do so love to be fucked,” Amelia responded in that oh-so-empty voice.

“Do not worry,” Sally laughed. “There’ll be no shortage of that. And not just at whatever house you purchase. One in London and a country estate, I think. But so. I heard Margaret say she’d be happy to sell up. Just think what you could do. Not that you’re thinking much now.”

Charlotte almost frowned. Amelia would, would buy Maragaret’s? And then, then. Her mind blanked at a word from Sally. Amelia buying Margaret’s would make things so much easier.

Sally turned back to Amelia, still slowing brushing the blonde’s hair. “And if we do have to marry, for propriety’s sake. Well. I’m sure we could find some eligible young men. Not terribly bright, mind you. But with good cocks. You’d like that wouldn’t you? A husband with a good cock. Long and thick. Tell me that.”

“I’d like a husband with a good cock,” Amelia replied, her voice still so empty. “Long and thick.”

Charlotte blinked. Was that what she wanted? Having someone to fuck her like that would be good. It had to be what Sally meant.

“You do sound so empty,” Sally laughed, still brushing the blonde’s hair. “But you wouldn’t be, with such a cock at hand. You do so like to be fucked. Tell me that.”

“I do so like to be fucked.” There was no hesitation. Not a flicker of thought in the heiress’ blue eyes.

“But I’m your favourite fuck, am I not?” Sally peered at a lock of the blonde hair, holding it up, drawing the brush slowly along its length. “Tell me that. Say ‘Charlotte is my favourite fuck’.”

“Charlotte is my favourite fuck,” Amelia repeated. Something melted in Charlotte. Sally was doing the right thing by her. 

She trusted Sally.

“Again,” her servant commanded.

“Charlotte is my favourite fuck.” Even though her voice was so empty there was a flush to the blonde’s cheeks.

“Let’s try something else,” Sally smiled lightly. “I love fucking Charlotte. Say that.”

“I love fucking Charlotte.” Heat rose in Charlotte. Maybe she’d get to fuck her friend later. Even if she was still pretending to be Sally, it wouldn’t matter. Her body pressing to Amelia’s, lips and fingers and tongues exploring as they entwined.

“I love fucking Charlotte.”

“I love fucking Charlotte.”

Charlotte simply stared at her friend as Amelia repeated those words over and over and over. Heat burnt in her core, need slippery and wet. She wanted her friend. Wanted to taste her. Wanted to devour her.

“One more thing,” Sally whispered, leaning in close to the wonderful curve of Amelia’s ear as her smile turned conspiratorial. “I love Charlotte. Say that. Say that until you believe it. Say that until it’s true. Say it until your heart belongs to Charlotte.”

“I love Charlotte.”

“I love Charlotte.”

“I love Charlotte.”

Charlotte didn’t know how long later her friend fell silent. It didn’t matter. Amelia had stopped saying the words.

Which meant they were true.

Amelia loved her. Only her. Did she love Amelia? Amelia was her friend, but… Something rolled in her mind. Had it been words that Sally had poured into her ear? It didn’t matter. Of course she loved Amelia.

“Oh, very good,” Sally smiled. “What fun we’ll have. The parties whispered about. The scurrilous rumours about what happens at the estate. Never quite open enough to be a scandal but just enough of a knowing smile to those who ask to leave them wondering. And then we’ll laugh. You did say your life’s companion should make you laugh.”

Charlotte almost frowned again. What did Sally mean? It wouldn’t be Sally and Amelia. It would her and her friend.

“Now over to the bed, dear heart,” Sally was still smiling. Such a wicked smile, that promised everything dark and delicious. “Naked, of course. You can play with yourself. I want you good and wet. And your nipples good and hard. I do so love seeing them hard for me. You can wake up a little, but don’t worry about anything Sally and I have to say to each other.”

“Yes.” Amelia managed, taking a deep breath as she rose from the chair, her hands already at her clothes. “Yes, of course. God, I love you. I want to fuck you.”

“Of course you do,” Sally laughed, as she kissed Amelia’s cheek.

Charlotte’s frown deepened. Something wasn’t right. Amelia loved her, not Sally. It should be her that was fucking Amelia.

“Now then,” Sally mused, her head tilted to one side as she regarded Charlotte. “You. You are all so distracted, are you not? So delightfully aroused. Your fingers are tingling and your mouth is just a little dry and you can feel it in, well… I’m sure you know. I know that you do. Perhaps I should summon Clara? Oh, yes,” Sally waved her hand idly. “You can speak now.”

Words that had been trapped in Charlotte’s throat spilled forth. “What? Why? Amelia is my friend. I should, should…”

“Fuck her?” Sally filled in, clearly amused. “Should you?” She actually looked as if she was considering the question. “Hmm. No. I think I will give her a much better ride.”

Charlotte glared at her servant. “I think not! We are swapping back! This instant!”

Another thoughtful look passed over Sally’s features. Those features that mirrored Charlotte. Not just thoughtful, but almost as if she was remembering something. “Shall we? No, I think not. I think I shall stay as you.”

“What!?” Charlotte exclaimed. “How dare you! We shall change now!”

Sally simply answered that with “No.”

“W-what?” Charlotte spluttered. “Wh-when?”

“When are we changing back?” Sally smiled. “I think I shall stay as Charlotte. Let us be honest about this. I am much better at being Charlotte than you are. I am much better at the part of a young lady. The sighs and the gestures and all that.” She batted her eyelids for emphasis. “I am much better at commanding the servants. I am much better at handling your mother. And I’m much better at fucking Amelia. Oh, and I wear your clothes better than you do. If someone saw us, just who would they think would be Miss Charlotte Rothermere?”

Charlotte stared at her servant. Much as she hated it, she knew the truth of Sally’s words.

“I don’t care!” she stormed. “I am Charlotte! You are the servant.”

“Am I?” Sally laughed, twirling on the spot. “Am I? Who would believe that? Seeing us, who would believe you?”

Charlotte froze, eyes wide. Sally looked like her, was better at being her. If Sally did try taking her place, what could she do? She’d look like a mad servant, insisting she was the daughter of the house. While Sally just stood there, calm and assured. So much better at being Charlotte. It would be obvious which was which. She’d be trapped.

“But I do have to admit,” Sally mused, idly trailing her fingers along the edge of Charlotte’s dressing table, “that you have come a long way. Would the old Charlotte have argued with me so forcefully? You don’t have to answer that. We both know the answer. You have so much more backbone now. You are better than you were, are you not? More assertive. More refined. I just happen to be better. And you do so love to fuck. Why, aren’t you just like I was when we met? So assured, so confident. So ready to fuck. Not a bad Sally. Not a bad Sally at all. I think you’ll do. I know that you will. But you’ll be better, given time. At so many things.”

Charlotte’s head whirled. This couldn’t be happening. Sally couldn’t be taking her place. Her eyes drifted to her bed, where Amelia lay. He friend showed no awareness of the conversation, her hands playing over her naked, gorgeous, body. “Amelia? You must know which of us is which!”

Didn’t Amelia love her? Isn’t that what Sally had made her say?

“Oh don’t worry about dear Amelia,” Sally laughed, drifting over to the bed and seating herself daintily beside the blonde. She tilted Amelia’s chin up, planting a kiss on the naked girl’s lips, the heiress moaning in response as her hands reached for Sally. “I shall take very good care of her.”

Charlotte simply stared, afraid that if she took one step, she’d find that the world wasn’t there and that she’d fall through the floor.

“But you’re not quite ready yet,” Sally smiled, rising from the bed. Amelia’s hands returning to pleasuring her own body. “Come and sit down.” She patted the back of the chair.

Charlotte didn’t want to. It was the last thing she wanted to do. But even now, she trusted Sally. One foot planted itself in front of the other. Until she found herself in the chair.

Sally reached for the brush.
“What do you do when I brush your hair?” Sally asked innocently.

“I go down and down and down,” Charlotte replied. She couldn’t stop herself, her eyes fixed on her image in the mirror as her thoughts vanished.

“I really do think it is for the best.”

Charlotte blinked. It took her a moment to realise that she was in her mother’s sitting room. She was dressed as a servant, as Sally, wearing a grey dress. She was standing behind Sally. 
Who was dressed as her, something white, lacy and beautiful. Sally was talking to her mother.

How had she got here? She couldn’t remember. She must have followed Sally.

She trusted Sally.

“Oh,” Sally smiled her voice so light and elegant and everything a young lady should be.

I can do that. I sound like her. I can.

Charlotte said nothing.

“Before I forget,” Sally continued, so at ease in her dress, Charlotte’s dress, in the chair, in front of Charlotte’s mother. “Amelia will be coming into her inheritance soon.”

“That’s nice, dear,” Charlotte’s mother, Eleanor, replied, something distant, almost dream-like, to her voice.

“She’ll be buying some properties,” Sally said. “I’ll be helping her choose. They will be simply wonderful. I’ll be spending quite some time there. You won’t mind, will you?”

“No, dear,” Eleanor replied, her eyes as empty as her voice. 

“Good,” Sally smiled. “Oh, and she’ll be investing as well. One firm is very interesting. We’ll be very involved in that. There might even be some opportunities for you there. Some of its clients do prefer a more mature touch. You’d be willing to help out, would you not?”

“Of course, dear,” Eleanor smiled. “I’d be happy to. Whatever you need.”

Charlotte’s mind whirled. Sally couldn’t mean what she thought her servant did. She couldn’t be referring to Margaret’s. Couldn’t mean that her mother would-

“I knew you’d be reasonable,” Sally laughed, the sound splintering charlotte’s thoughts. “But then it’s only fair, after I brushed your hair so carefully.”

“Yes dear.”

“But back to Sally,” Sally smiled. “I do think it is the right thing. She has been such a dear, but I think it is too confusing having her around. So she simply has to go. She has agreed.”

Charlotte’s eyes shot wide. Sally couldn’t be serious. If Sally was fired, that was her. She’d be thrown into the street.

Sally simply glanced at her, Charlotte’s thoughts drifting away.

She trusted Sally.

“And we shall of course give her some very good references,” Sally smiled. 

Eleanor blinked, almost as if waking up. “Yes, Yes, of course, I’ll-”

“No need to worry yourself over that,” Sally said reassuringly, Eleanor’s eyes clouding over again. “I’ve already written them. Sally?”

Charlotte realised that she was holding paper and pen and ink. Was that all she would take from her family home? From her life? A few pieces of paper?

She handed them to Sally. Automatically. As if she’d been told that was what she’d do.

“You can sign this one,” Sally said to Eleanor, handing her one of the pieces of paper and then pen. “Yes, just like that. Like I told you to. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of the rest. Now come along Sally.”

Charlotte managed one last look back at her mother, Eleanor still sitting there, a blank look on her face. A small part of her wondered if she’d ever see her mother again. There was an ache in her chest.

There was another ache as Sally led her to where Amelia waited for them.

“So she is leaving now?” Amelia asked. Her eyes were clear and bright, nothing like Eleanor’s. 

But there was nothing in them for Charlotte either. The flush in the blonde’s cheeks weren’t from Charlotte either.

“Yes. I do think it is for the best. Don’t you, Sally?”

“Yes,” Charlotte replied. She wanted to scream. Wanted to refuse. But she couldn’t. She had to do what Sally said.

She trusted Sally.

“Don’t forget your suitcase,” Sally smiled. “I do hope you have packed everything.”

Charlotte blinked, just noticing the suitcase near Amelia, yellow and slightly battered. There was something familiar about it.

“Pick it up,” Sally ordered as Charlotte simply stood there. “And off you go. Oh, and don’t forget your hat.” Sally smiled as she placed a broad-brimmed hat, modest and just right for a servant, on Charlotte’s head. 

She was at least allowed to leave through the front door, not the servant’s entrance. The door she’d come through so many times. As Charlotte. As the daughter of the family. In her fine dresses.

Behind her she could hear Sally and Amelia whispering to each other. Heard Amelia laugh.

She wasn’t Charlotte now. She was Sally.

She turned and walked, the suitcase heavy in her hand.

She didn’t know where she was walking. Somehow her feet seemed to know. Or maybe they just wanted to take her away. Around her were the sounds of the city, people passing her, horses and carts and omnibuses and the od new automobile on the streets.

She didn’t take it in. Couldn’t. Everything was a blur, everything was shifting. Even the sky and the clouds twisting and turning.

She came to a stop. Charlotte didn’t know why. It was a street corner. She put the suitcase down next to her. Smoothed down her grey dress, the dress so right for a servant. A hand went to the collar of the dress, the hint of decoration there. Nothing special, crochet, not lace, just right for a girl of modest means.

She was Sally.

She drifted.

After a time awareness returned to her.

There was a carriage approaching, sumptuous, a family crest on its door. A blonde-haired figure was half leaning out of it before disappearing back inside.

The coach pulled to a stop, the blonde-haired girl leaping from it, skirts billowing around her, followed much more sedately by a dark-haired girl. Both girls were obviously young ladies of quality, their dresses so much more elegant than Charlotte’s.

“You!” the blonde cried. “You there!”

Charlotte turned in their direction.

“Oh,” the blonde exclaimed. “I say.”

“Yes, miss?” Charlotte replied demurely. It was how a servant should respond to someone so much above her.

The blonde whispered something to her companion that Charlotte couldn’t catch.

“What’s your name, girl?” the blonde demanded.

“Sally, miss,” Charlotte replied, bobbing her head. “Sally Price.”

“And, Sally,” the blonde grinned, something twinkling in her eyes. “Do you have an occupation?”

“Yes, miss,” Charlotte answered. “I am a lady’s maid.” That was what she was, now.

The pair whispered some more before the blonde turned back to Charlotte. “Do you currently have a situation?”

“No, miss,” Charlotte responded.

“Well, Sally,” the blonde’s grin grew wider. “My friend here finds herself in need of a lady’s maid. I assume you have suitable references.”

“Yes, miss,” Charlotte informed her. She did. Sally had given her those.

The brunette dragged her companion aside, the pair sharing a hurried conversation that Charlotte couldn’t overhear.

She knew that she didn’t need to.

“Well then,” the blonde grinned after brushing off her companion. “Sally, this is the Honourable Miss Charlotte Rothermere. And she would like to offer you a situation as her lady’s maid. I am sure that she shall give you her address. When do you want her?” That last was addressed to her brunette companion, Charlotte.

Charlotte regarded the brunette. Miss Charlotte Rothermere. Her. As she was. On that day that she and Amelia had first met Sally. It was that day.

The blonde, Amelia, didn’t give her friend a chance to reply. “Ah! I know. You may begin this afternoon, after I and my friend return from our shopping.”

Charlotte, or Sally, or Charlotte to be, it didn’t matter, simply nodded. It was all so very clear to her now.

She was Sally.

She knew exactly what she had to do.

(The End)