Sally

Part 2

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.

“I’m still not sure about the dress,” Charlotte frowned, fidgeting with the cord that held her robe closed as she examined the garment in question, which was spread on her bed waiting for her.

“Your mother did approve,” Sally reminded her, the girl standing next to her mistress, hands clasped demurely in front of her.

Charlotte had to admit that Sally was right. Her mother had approved. As she’d expected, the very next day after Sally had taken up her position, Eleanor had sent her daughter out shopping again. With Sally. And some very strict orders about what to purchase. Which had, amongst other things, resulted in the dress. It was a very nice dress. A light green, all satin and silk. With delicate embroidery around the neckline and down the front. It was gorgeous. And just right for this evening’s ball.

But it wasn’t what Charlotte normally wore. It was too fancy, too decorative. She never had the courage for anything like that. And the neckline was definitely lower than the rest of her wardrobe. At least it had been until that shopping expedition. There were other purchases that had been made, with similar necklines. It was still well within the bounds of propriety. But it was, well, something that Amelia might wear. Or even her sister Georgiana. Charlotte didn’t like anything that, well, would draw so much attention. The heiress swallowed nervously.

“I think you should wear it,” Sally declared.

Charlotte blinked. Should a servant say something like that? Elsie, her previous lady’s maid, never would have. But a lady’s maid could give advice. It had only been advice, hadn’t it? It wasn’t an order. Sally wouldn’t try ordering her around. She trusted Sally. Didn’t she?

Charlotte frowned. Of course she trusted Sally. She wasn’t sure why, but she did. It wasn’t even a question. She trusted Sally.

She risked a quick glance at her servant. Who looked so like her. Not that anyone in the shops had said anything. Even if one or two of the attendants had given Sally some very suspicious looks. Charlotte wondered if she should say something. But that would take a courage she didn’t feel.

“Let me brush your hair first.”

That wasn’t a question either. It hadn’t been ‘Would you like me to brush your hair?’ or even ‘May I brush your hair, miss, if it pleases you?’ It was stronger than that. Firmer.

But she trusted Sally.

Of course Sally could brush her hair. Something about the idea sounded so nice. Relaxing. Like a gentle blanket, covering her.

Charlotte didn’t say a word. She simply sat in front of her mirror.

She watched as Charlotte, just as silently, picked up the brush, raised it to Charlotte’s head. There was a tension in Charlotte. An expectation. She wasn’t quite sure why. Sally, by now, had brushed her hair so many times. At least once a day. Often more. Such a simple thing. Something every lady’s maid did for her mistress. But something in Charlotte wanted this.

Stroke.

The tension flowed out of Charlotte as the brush ran through her hair. Slowly. Gently.

Stroke.

“You love me brushing your hair.”

It was true. Charlotte did. It felt so good. Every stroke sent a gentle warmth through her body. Like a warm blanket wrapping around her. She could feel it down to her toes. So safe.

So relaxing.

“You feel so relaxed when I brush your hair.”

That was just what Charlotte had been thinking.

Stroke.

“So easy just to sit there and let me brush your hair. So relaxing. So simple.”

Sally paused in her brushing, holding a strand of Charlotte’s hair in her hand. Their eyes met in the mirror.

“And you know what happens when I brush your hair.”

Charlotte knew what to say. “I fall down and down and down,” she replied. Her eyes in the mirror were so wide. That didn’t bother her at all. They had to be wide or she’d fall asleep.

“That’s right,” Sally smiled gently, resuming her brushing. “It feels so good, every stroke pulling you further down. To where there are no thoughts.”

Charlotte didn’t need to reply. That would have required thinking. She was so relaxed. It was so wonderful to have Sally brush her hair. Everything about her was so relaxed and open. All she had to do was sit there and let the brush run through her hair.

“And every time I brush your hair you go further and further down. To where there are no thoughts. To where there is only my voice. You believe my voice. Tell me that. Say ‘I believe what Sally tells me.’ And believe it.”

“I believe what Sally tells me,” Charlotte replied. She didn’t really note what she was saying. She didn’t register how flat her voice was. Or how empty her eyes were. Any of that would have required thought.

“So,” Sally smiled. Just a slight smile. But if Charlotte could have thought she would have noted how pretty that smile made Sally look. “Let’s start with the dress. You want to wear the dress. Tell me that.”

“I want to wear the dress,” Charlotte responded.

“Hmm,” Sally replied doubtfully as she gently drew the brush through her mistress’ hair. “You need to convince me. You need to believe it. Tell me that you want to wear the dress.”

“I want to wear the dress.” There was more life to her voice now, not that Charlotte noticed. Her eyes were still so empty.

“Again.”

“I want to wear the dress.”

Charlotte didn’t know how many times she said it. Or how many times Sally drew the brush through her hair. She was somewhere warm and safe and she believed what Sally said.

“Good,” Sally said eventually, gently drawing her fingers through Charlotte’s long hair. “But not good enough. Tell me that you’ll love wearing the dress. Make me believe it.”

“I’ll love wearing the dress.” Charlotte voice was flat again.

“Tell me again,” Sally ordered, resuming her brushing of her mistress’ hair. Her eyes, unlike Charlotte’s, danced with life. Not that Charlotte noticed.

“I’ll love wearing the dress.”

“Better,” Sally mused, her fingers parting Charlotte’s hair before applying the brush again. “But again.”

Charlotte did as she was told. So many times.

“Enough,” Sally commanded eventually. “Do you want me to tell you why you’ll love wearing the dress?” Charlotte didn’t respond, Sally simply pausing for a moment before continuing. “It is a wonderful dress.” There was something wistful about the servant’s voice. “It suits you so well. All the young men will love looking at you. Well, not just the young men.” The servant laughed and shook her head. “You are so very beautiful. You don’t know it. But you are. You’ll love how they look at you. Let me show you how you’ll feel.”

Deftly, Sally undid the knot in the cord around her mistress’ robe. She leant further forward, one hand just flicking the edge of the robe aside, revealing Charlotte’s leg. Slowly Sally drew a finger up the smooth creamy flesh of her mistress’ inner thigh. “You’ve never been touched like this. Ever. It feels so good. Like a fire waking up inside you.” She smiled thinly, her finger now so high on Charlotte’s thigh, a sharp intake of breath slipping between the lips of the young heiress. “It feels so very, very good. You like how it feels. So very much. And what you feel now is what you will feel when the men at the ball look at you.”

Slowly the servant drew her finger along Charlotte’s thigh again. “Such a wonderful warm feeling. So pressing. So arousing. Your breath will be so short and the need will be so demanding and it will be like the whole world is on fire.”

Sally stroked Charlotte’s thigh again. In the mirror she could see a flush in her mistress cheeks, the rise and fall of her mistress’ chest.

“You’ve never felt like this before, but you want it. You need it. It’s so good to feel like this. So very, very warm. So very, very needy. What else does it do to you?” She pulled the robe further back, exposing her mistress’ breasts, firm and pert. Sally smiled as she saw that Charlotte’s nipples were already hard. “Oh look. So erect. They must they feel like little pebbles. Doesn’t this feel so good?” the servant crooned, gently cupping her mistress’s breasts before slowly drawing her fingernails across the delicate flesh. “There’s that fire inside you. A fire you don’t want to put out.”

Charlotte moaned, such a pretty sound, as Sally took both her mistress’ breasts in her hands. “You’ll love their eyes on you. Imagine what it would be like to have more than their eyes on you. You’ll want to know what it would feel like. Such naughty, naughty thoughts. Your bosom will heave and maybe that delicate little blush will spread all the way down to there and they’ll see that. And that will make you even more aroused. Not that you’ll do anything about it. That wouldn’t be right, would it? It wouldn’t be proper. And anyway, you don’t exactly know what it is you want to do. Such an innocent little thing. But you’ll wonder, just the same. Such a delicious little torment for you.”

All the while, Sally’s hands played over her mistress’s body, her breasts, her thighs, her stomach. Something caught in Charlotte as Sally’s hands approached her centre, her treasure. Then the heiress mewled as those hands were withdrawn.

“Such a naughty little thing,” Sally smiled. “You don’t even know what it is you want. So confusing for you. But you’ll want it so badly. You’ll ache for it. Now, we’d best get you ready,” the servant added, tying her mistress’ robe back up before resuming her brushing of Charlotte’s hair. “It will be such a fun evening.”

---

“Are you alright?” Amelia asked, some hours later.

“Y-yes,” Charlotte lied. She didn’t know what she was. But it certainly wasn’t alright. She felt like she wanted to jump out of her skin. It had been getting worse and worse all night. She was anxious and her hands were shaking. Maybe she could have claimed she was ill. She certainly felt warm enough.

She wasn’t ill.

Or at least, not in any way she’d ever been ill. Her nipples were so tight and her breasts ached and something wonderful pulsed between her thighs.

It was worse, or maybe better, every time a man looked at her. That made her feel so good. Her chest would heave, her breath was so short and something alive coursed through her. She wanted something, wanted it so much. Although it made her feel so embarrassed. She never liked attention. Well, not before tonight. It made her blush. She was blushing tonight. Just how far down was her blush spreading? Was it reaching the neckline of her dress? That was so far. Something about that made Charlotte feel even warmer.

It was so much worse, or again, perhaps better, whenever a man touched her. Not that there was anything untoward about how they touched her. It was only, of course, when she danced. But when her partner held her hand it was like the whole world narrowed down to that touch. The feeling shot through her body to pool in her centre.

And when a man had an arm around her waist, Charlotte felt as if she was going to melt.

It didn’t matter what the age of the man was. Young, old. It was all the same. She wanted them looking at her. Needed it.

She didn’t understand it.

“I’m not sure you are alright,” Amelia observed tartly. “You’ve hardly looked at me all night. You haven’t even told me how good my dress is.”

“It’s lovely,” Charlotte replied, not looking at her friend. A young man across the room was looking at her. A delicious tide swept through her, settling somewhere she really didn’t want to think about.

“You know you’re turning into a terrible flirt,” Amelia grumbled. “You’re blushing and smiling and batting your eyelids at them. It’s not like you at all.”

Charlotte could admit that. She didn’t feel like herself. Was she flirting? She didn’t know. She wasn’t sure she knew how. Although maybe she did, if Amelia was correct. It didn’t matter.

She liked how the men looked at her.

“I believe I have the pleasure of this dance.”

“Oh, ah,” Charlotte swallowed nervously. It was a man. He was so close to her. And he was looking at her. “Colonel Heywood,” she managed, glancing at her dance card. “Yes.”

Charlotte could barely speak as the officer took her hand and led her to the dance floor. She glanced at him, then looked away, shyly. He’d been looking at her. Did he like what he saw? Had he been looking at the neckline of her dress? Something about that sent another shot of warmth through the young heiress. She didn’t really know him, not very well. He was older than her brother. Not as old as her father. Maybe mid-thirties. He did seem fit; he was a military man. And a little distinguished. It didn’t really matter. He was a man. He was looking at her. He was touching her. She almost remembered something about being touched.

Her heart was racing as his arm settled around her waist. She could barely breathe as the music began. She wanted more, something deep inside her demanding it, needing it. Her dress felt so tight, especially across her bust and something in her just wanted.

She had no idea what.

She could barely think as the dance ended and the Colonel bowed to her in a very dignified fashion.

She only just managed to curtsey in return.

“He’d marry you if he could,” Amelia chortled as Charlotte returned to her friend.

“What?” Charlotte couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “What do you mean?”

“Well, he comes from a decent family, but he is a younger son. Could do with your money. And the age difference isn’t too much.”

The colonel was almost twice her age, but such things were far from unknown.

“Oh, is that it?” Amelia grinned. “Looking for a match? Ready to leave me for married bliss?”

“No!” Charlotte insisted, hardly knowing what to say. “I’m not.” The idea was preposterous. Charlotte was sure that she wasn’t ready to be married. Not yet. Her father had mentioned it, once or twice. But she’d never seriously considered it. Young men did get some of her attention. Just a little. No more than was proper. At least, not before tonight. And really, she had no idea what marriage entailed. She knew there was such a thing as, umm, relations, between men and women. When they were married. But she only had a very vague idea what that entailed.

That couldn’t have anything to do with how she felt. Although, when a man’s eyes were upon her, she felt so wonderful and warm and her breath caught and her nipples tightened even more. Something roiled, deep in her centre and she wanted to push her thighs together. Just to do something about the tension coursing through her.

I can’t. Charlotte didn’t want to think about it. It wasn’t proper.

She didn’t have to think about it, not as her next dance partner approached. Her thoughts simply dissolved in the wonderful warm feelings of his eyes upon her.

---

“Did miss enjoy the dance?” Sally asked politely, after Charlotte had returned home.

Charlotte didn’t reply. She was sitting in front of her mirror, her servant slowly drawing the brush through her hair.

It felt almost as good as the men at the ball looking at her had.

Not that Charlotte was thinking about that.

“I’m sure you did,” Sally mused, answering her own question. “It made you feel all warm and runny and wanting.”

Charlotte didn’t say a word. She couldn’t. Sally was brushing her hair and she didn’t have a thought in her head.

“But you didn’t know why, you poor thing,” Sally continued, gently brushing her mistress’ hair. “You need to know.”

Sally ceased her brushing, undid Charlotte’s robe. “You need to know what it is you want.” Slowly, the servant trailed her fingers up her mistress’ thigh. “You need to know what will make you feel even better. Why there is this delicious need, so warm, so hot, deep inside you.”

Charlotte mewled as Sally’s hand reached the top of her thigh, edged closer to her centre. “There’s something you need, so badly, and you need to know what it is. Let’s start, shall we?”

Sally took one of Charlotte’s hands from where they lay limply by the heiress’ side and guided it to the girl’s centre. Even with her mind so empty, Charlotte gasped as her hand, under Sally’s guidance, reached that place between her legs. “Doesn’t that feel so good? “ Sally smiled, her mouth so close to Charlotte’s ear, her hand guiding Charlotte’s in its attentions. “You’ve never done this before. Never dared. But it feels so good.”

A shudder shot through the heiress’ body as Sally guided Charlottes hand along the line of her opening.

“So good. So wonderful. Needing it so much. Slowly, slowly, perhaps just a little fingernail.”

Charlotte mewled, Sally’s smile thin and satisfied.

“Something awakening, deep inside. A need, hot and wet.”

The servant moved her mistress’ hand again, slowly and firmly, just like she brushed Charlotte’s hair.

“You must be so wet now. So needy. Let’s try something else.”

Without stopping her guidance of Charlotte’s hand, Sally took her mistress’ other hand, placed it on the heiress’ breast.

“Doesn’t that feel so good? Hands on places they’ve never been before. You need to learn just what you like. I can teach you that. Maybe a little firmer on the breast? Just a little pinch on the nipple?”

Charlotte moaned.

“Oh, you do like that. You like it so, so much. Wanting this attention. needing it. Desire coursing through you. What else do you need? I know. You trust me.”

Charlotte did. Even without thinking, she knew that. She trusted Sally. Sally was showing her how to feel so good.

“Let’s move your hand a little higher,” Sally mused, moving the hand that was playing at Charlotte’ centre until it was just above the heiress’ slit. “And press the palm down.”

Charlotte moaned, her hips jerking, bliss radiating out from the contact with her hand.

“Just a little more and…”

A shuddering sigh escaped Charlotte’s lips as she came for the very first time.

“Aren’t you such a good girl,” Sally smiled thinly. “I’ll show you so many ways to enjoy your body. But that will do for now. You know what to do now. You’ll do it to yourself. Do it so often. Maybe every night, tucked up in your bed, you’ll use those hands, just as I’ve shown you. You’ll remember the men looking at you. But it won’t be enough. You’ll want more. You’ll need more. You won’t know what it is. I’ll show you. Soon. Won’t it be so much fun finding out?”

Later, in bed, in the dark, Charlotte found her hands wandering. She didn’t know why. She gasped as one hand trailed up her thigh. Remembered the way she had felt as the men looked at her. The way she felt now. The gasp turned to a moan as her other hand slipped inside her nightwear, found a breast. Moaned again as her fingers grasped a nipple that was so tight. Her first hand had reached her centre now. A centre that was so wet, her fingers trailing along her opening. She needed something. Needed it so badly. Maybe, maybe if she pushed her palm down just there.

Charlotte’s back arched as body exploded, molten bliss flooding her.

Sometime later, as she settled under the blanket, so warm and snug, her body still thrumming in delight, Charlotte knew that she’d be doing that again.

It had felt too good not to.

(To be continued)