Sally

Part 7

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.

That night, Charlotte lay in her bed, her hand clasping the handle of the brush. The handle that had been inside her. Something about that had her heart beating so fast. She was alone. She could do whatever she liked. She could put the handle in her mouth. For practice. She was going to be such a good cocksucker. Sally had told her so. That sent a thrill of pride through the heiress.

But sucking at the handle of the brush wasn’t all she could do. She could…

Her hand tightened its grip. She nibbled her lower lip, her heart keeping up that trip hammer beat. Could she do this? She felt so empty. Her cunt, Charlotte making herself think the word, felt so empty. She wanted this. But it felt wicked and wrong.

She was so wet.

Slowly, Charlotte slipped the handle of the brush into her mouth, her tongue swirling around the hard length. She imagined what it would be like to have an actual cock in her mouth, a moan almost escaping her but she kept her lips locked around the handle. Just like Sally had taught her. In and out. It was so good. So wonderful to have something inside her. But it wasn’t enough.

Trembling, the young heiress drew the handle out of her mouth, slowly lowered the hand that held it down her body. Until the brush reached her centre. Her body quivered in need, her hips rising, as she drew the tip of the handle along her length. Just like Sally had. Maybe she could just do this, the touch of the handle at her opening sending wave after wave of raw, hot, bliss spreading through her.

It wasn’t enough. She wanted more. She wanted to be filled, spread, impaled.

Almost without thinking, Charlotte thrust the handle into herself, her hips straining upwards, a moan, unimpeded now, escaping her.

I’m cumming. I’m cumming. It was all she could think as bliss exploded over her, the handle of the brush deep in her cunt. She had something long and hard in her cunt and she was cumming.

“You will need to be on your best behaviour,” Charlotte’s mother declared at breakfast the next morning.

Charlotte wondered what her mother would make of her behaviour of the night before. She doubted her mother would call it ‘best’. Debauched, perhaps, but not best. Or what her mother make of what Charlotte would be doing the night of the dinner. Charlotte would need to do her best. She wanted to be a good fuck. She didn’t really have to wonder what her mother would make of it. She knew. Her mother would be scandalised, horrified at what her daughter intended.

I’ll be getting fucked.

Charlotte glanced down at her lap. At her hands folded in it. Anyone looking at her would see a prim and proper young lady. So well-behaved. Not one whose thoughts were filled with cocks. With cocks thrusting into her cunt. That was intent on getting her cunt, that lay hidden beneath the elegant layers of her clothing, filled, over and over. They wouldn’t know anything about the pulse of need that had her hands twitching.

“Have you decided on your dress?” her mother asked.

“Yes mother,” Charlotte replied.

“Hmm,” her mother looked decidedly suspicious. “I shall want to see it.”

“Sally and Amelia approved.” What did it matter anyway? She wouldn’t be wearing it. Sally would. She’d be wearing Sally’s dress. And then she wouldn’t be wearing anything. And she’d be, she’d be…

She wanted it so much.

“Even so,” her shot back. “It is best to be sure.”

Charlotte nodded again.

“Do pay attention dear. This is important.” Charlotte knew what her mother meant. Not that anything had been said directly. Nothing ever was. But if the dinner went well, things might progress from there and Colonel Heywood might begin to court her. So of course her mother thought that the night was important. Charlotte almost giggled, an image of herself, naked and splayed out on the dinner table, Colonel Heywood and the servants taking their turns at her. Her nipples were so hard and she was wet. Both right then and in her image. Three cocks, one after the other. Had even Sally ever done anything like that?

Would the colonel want her if he knew what she was going to do? Almost certainly not. A gentleman like him would want a perfect young lady. Pure and demure. Not one who moaned as she plunged the handle of her hairbrush into her cunt. Not one who fucked the servants.

“You’re all nervous, aren’t you?” That was Sally, sometime later. “We can’t have that. You need to be me.”

“What do you mean?” Charlotte asked, confused. She was going to be wearing Sally’s dress, pretending to be Sally. It was hardly a surprise that she was anxious. It would be her first time. Her first time getting … Charlotte couldn’t form the word, part of her shying away. No matter how much she wanted it, there was a part of her that was screaming in terror. That didn’t want this. That was telling her that she shouldn’t want this. That was begging her to say no.

Need washed from her centre, drowning that voice.

“You’ve seen what I’m like,” Sally said, a smile playing across her features. Features that so looked like Charlotte’s. “Am I some sort of retiring, fainting little creature?”

“Um, no?” Charlotte replied uncertainly. Sally wasn’t. Their features might be so similar, but their expressions were so different, Charlotte nervous and aflutter, Sally so assured. “You’re not?”

“Exactly,” Sally sighed. “I’m not like that. Or how you are just now. What am I like?”

“Uh,” Charlotte didn’t know quite what to say. “Um. Well, it is to say. You’re, um…”

“Well, I’m not like that,” her servant declared sharply. “We can’t have this,” she continued reaching for the brush.

For a moment, Charlotte wondered if there was any difference between her mother and Sally. Both were trying to prepare her for the night. In their own ways, and for different things, but just the same.

It was Sally who was helping her get what she wanted.

Those thoughts disappeared as Sally drew the brush through Charlotte’s hair.

“What do you do when I brush your hair?” Sally asked, the touch of the brush so gentle.

“I go down and down and down,” Charlotte replied, all thought vanishing from her mind, draining away, leaving a space that was so empty, just waiting to be filled.

Like the space between her legs.

Sally nodded, silently applying a few more strokes. Then she spoke. “I know that you’re listening to me. There’s nothing in your head except my words. Sally knows what she wants. Sally is determined. Sally takes what she wants. You can be Sally.”

The words dripped into Charlotte’s mind, filling the empty space. Slipping in, so easily, like a cock would slip into her warm, wet centre. She could almost grasp that thought. It felt so good. So the words slipping into her mind must be good as well. Mindlessly, she echoed them back to her servant.

“Sally knows what she wants.”

“Sally is determined.”

“Sally takes what she wants.

“I can be Sally.”

“And the last one,” Sally said, pausing for a moment before continuing. “Sally wants to be fucked.”

“Sally wants to be fucked,” Charlotte echoed unhesitatingly. How could she hesitate? There was nothing in her head but her servant’s words. Nothing in her body but the aching need. “Sally wants to be fucked.”

“Yes I do,” her servant muttered, pausing for a moment in her brushing. The images in the mirror looked even more alike now, both faces flushed, lips ever so slightly parted, eyes wide. “And so do you.”

“You need to get ready,” her mother ordered, late in the afternoon of the day of the dinner. Charlotte knew that she needed to prepare. She was so aware of her body. Soon, so soon, she’d get what she wanted. Her mother didn’t know what she’d be doing. Didn’t know how her daughter was taking her words. Didn’t know how much her daughter wanted it.

“Yes, mother,” Charlotte replied.

“Don’t be too eager,” her mother advised.

Why not? I want it. I want it so much. The wait had been so long and terrifyingly short. That voice was still there, now and then, telling her that she shouldn’t do this, that she should be good. That proper young ladies didn’t do what she was intending.

The need was too much.

“Are you ready?” Sally asked, a few minutes later, the pair, mistress and servant, standing naked in Charlotte’s room.

But which is which? the heiress wondered.

When they’d entered her room, it had been so clear. Sally had been in her servant’s dress and Charlotte had been in one of hers, elegant and fine, and it would have been plain to anyone who was who. But now they were naked and soon she’d be wearing Sally’s clothes and it was all a muddle and…

It didn’t matter. She was going to get fucked. Maybe that explained why her heart was beating so fast and her legs felt weak and shaky.

Charlotte just nodded. She didn’t really know if she was ready. Didn’t know if she’d ever be ready. She could still say no, refuse. Go to the dinner and be Charlotte.

“Well, put my clothes on,” her servant ordered.

Charlotte did. Even as part of her tried to stop herself, begged her not to, she dressed in the servant’s clothes, knowing what it would mean. As she pulled the slip over her head, fastened her petticoat, each layer following the other, she wondered just how long she’d have them on. What would she feel like as she took them off? With the man’s eyes on her? The man who was going to fuck her.

“Now help me,” Sally ordered. “Remember who you are.”

“Of course I do,” Charlotte replied tartly. There was something about her voice. It was different now, firmer, even if she didn’t quite feel that. She knew what she wanted. “I’m Sally.”

“I trust Miss Charlotte was properly prepared,” Mrs Beetson, the housekeeper asked, beady eyes fixed on Charlotte over a spoonful of soup. Sally didn’t eat in the servant’s hall. Even amongst the servants there was a hierarchy. Sally took her meals in the housekeeper’s room, with Mrs Beetson, and her mother’s maid, Ida. All things Charlotte had had to learn. They might have been above the maids and the footmen, but here Sally was the bottom of the tree.

“Lady Rothermere made it very clear how important this evening is,” Ida declared, just a hint of condescension as she regarded Charlotte.

Charlotte wanted to run from the room. She’d wanted to avoid the meal entirely. Run to Sally’s room and, and… But there was no point. Sally had told her what time to be ready. And if she missed the evening meal it might raise suspicions. So she had to bear with this. Even so, she wanted the meal to end. Except part of her wanted it to go on forever. Maybe she could run, back to her own room.

“Of course,” Charlotte replied to Mrs Beetson’s question, ignoring Ida completely. She had to act like Sally would. Confident. Sally wouldn’t back down, no matter what Mrs Beetson said or how Ida looked at her. So unlike Charlotte.

Don’t they know who I am? These women had known her for years, her whole life. Yet they gave no sign of recognising her deception.

I’m Sally. At least for tonight she was. Tonight she’d be Sally, the lady’s maid. Who prepared her mistress for her dinner. Who ate with the other servants of her rank.

Who got fucked.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Charlotte declared, rising, as Clara the maid cleared away the three women’s dinner. Charlotte’s tone didn’t leave any room for the other women to object.

It was just how Sally would have said it.

“Yes, I suppose,” Mrs Beetson allowed grumpily. “Miss Charlotte may need you for something.”

She won’t, Charlotte thought smugly. She was Charlotte. And Sally knew what she’d be doing. She wouldn’t intrude.

“Think they’re having fun? Up there?” Clara asked her, out in a hallway, empty plates carefully balanced. “It’s all very fine and such. But you have to be so proper.”

“Up to them,” Charlotte shrugged. She didn’t always enjoy the formal dinners. But Sally would be so proper, playing at being her. Not like Charlotte would be. She’d be anything but proper. But she’d be having fun.

Leaving the maid behind, Charlotte headed to Sally’s room, closing the door behind her with a sigh. Finally, finally it was going to happen. Not just yet, there was a little time. For a moment, she hesitated. She didn’t have to do this. She could leave, run to her own room. Hide there. Pull up the covers and hide in her bed. She could stay the Charlotte she’d been. Proper and demure and untouched by a man. A little part of her wanted that, that voice, begging her to go. To not let this happen.

Charlotte felt something, almost like a brush gently playing through her hair.

So much more of her wanted what was going to happen if she stayed. There was an ache in her breasts and the space between her legs was warm and wet. She was trembling with a need that was so much stronger than that faint little voice.

Sally wouldn’t tremble.

That wasn’t what she’d seen, peering from her hiding place in Sally’s wardrobe. As she’d played with her breasts and stroked between her legs. God, I’m so wet.

But she had to do something. She couldn’t just wait. Her hands fumbled with her boots, unlacing, them slipping them off. It still wasn’t enough, her body was crying out, her skin on fire. She slipped out of her dress. Yes, that was better. Waiting in her underthings. Letting him know just how much she wanted this. Eager. Certain. Wanting to be fucked. Needing it.

Charlotte’s heart almost stopped at the subtle knock on the door. A last, terrified, urge to hide swept through her. She pushed it away. This, this was what she wanted. She took a moment to steel herself, to be like Sally. As she reached for the door, she almost laughed. Sally hadn’t told her who it would be. Does it matter? Charlotte decided that it didn’t. Evans, Wilson, some other servant. She didn’t care. As long as he was here to fuck her.

She opened the door. It was Evans, the footman, his eyes going wide as he took in Charlotte’s state of undress. Maybe it was good that it was Evans. His cock was longer than Wilson’s. It would go so deep into her.

“Thinking of starting without me?” the footman grinned, taking in her state of half-undress.

“Hardly,” Charlotte scoffed, pulling him, shutting the door, rising on her toes to push her lips to his. That was how Sally would act.

My first kiss. It was a little thing, with so much to come. But it still had her body singing with need.

“You’re eager tonight,” Evans laughed.

“Am I?” Charlotte shot back, breaking the embrace. “Well, you better keep up with me then.” That was the sort of thing Sally would say. It was so easy to be Sally. So much better than being Charlotte. Sally knew what she wanted, took it. Sally got fucked.

Evans kissed her again, the servant pulling Charlotte to him, roughly and uncaring, his hands around her slim waist. Need shot through Charlotte. She was being touched. Finally, she was being touched.

“God, you look like her.”

“Don’t tell me that!” Charlotte snapped. It was obvious who he meant. She didn’t want to think about that. She wasn’t Charlotte, the proper young lady. Charlotte wouldn’t be about to fuck a servant. Sally the lady’s maid did that. She wanted to be Sally. Sally, the servant, who was going to be fucked.

That voice was back. Telling her that she still had time to tell Evans to stop. Still had time to run. Her heart was beating so fast. She didn’t have to do this. Couldn’t do this. It was too much, too wrong.

It didn’t matter. She wanted this. Her body was crying out in need and between her legs was so wet and she was so empty, wanting to be filled. Charlotte licked her lips, her eyes roaming over Evan’s body. She felt wild and lascivious and free. Free as she’d never been before.

“Do you think little miss Charlotte would ever do this?” she snapped, shaking her hair loose and shooting him a lustful glance. “Or this?’ she added cupping her tits where they still lay in her corset.

“Nah,” Evans grinned. “Not a cold little thing like her.”

See? The little voice tried, weak and faint. You’re not her. You don’t have to be her.

But I want to be fucked, Charlotte shot back.

“Well, if I’m not cold,” Charlotte laughed, helping Evans out of his jacket. “Let’s see what you’re like.”

Charlotte loosened the lacing on her corset, so different to her own, tied at the front so the wearer could undo it. Evans embraced her again, her body singing at the contact even through the layers of clothing they both still wore. His hands found her breasts, mauling them roughly through her corset and what lay beneath that. She didn’t care how hard he pawed at her. My breasts. He’s touching my breasts! Her nipples were so hard, her heart beating so fast as a moan escaped her lips. My tits, she corrected herself. His hands are on my tits.

Through the red haze in her mind there was still an urge to leave, an image of her running to her room, a little voice begging her not to do this.

Laughing, Charlotte threw her corset away, spun around to face Evans. She was wearing so little now, just one thin layer of cloth between his hands and her breasts, her head tilted back as he pawed at them, raw, hot, need flowing through her, pooling at her centre. She wanted this.

She didn’t want this, couldn’t want this.

Shut up! Charlotte told the voice. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. That’s what Sally would say. She didn’t want the voice. Didn’t want its doubts, its distractions. All she wanted was Evans’ hands on her, his lips on her neck, his skin against hers.

He stepped back, pulling at his boot. Laughing again, Charlotte pushed him on to the bed, pulling his boots off, then his trousers as well.

He’s on the bed. You’re between him on the door. Run! Run!

The voice wouldn’t go away. Charlotte paused. Not to listen to the voice. But to imagine a brush running through her hair and a voice that sounded so much like her voice telling her how much wanted this.

She pulled the last of her clothes off. She was naked. Naked in front of a man. And he wasn’t her husband, he wasn’t even of her class. And it didn’t matter. She just wanted to be fucked. She was Sally the lady’s maid and she was going to get fucked.

“God, you’re fucking gorgeous.”

That was what she needed to hear. Not some stupid little voice in her head. Some voice that pretended to be know what was right and proper.

Evans had lost the rest of his clothes now. And there it was. His cock. Already erect. The cock that would oh-so-soon be so deep inside her. It was just as she remembered, long and hard. Hard for her.

Charlotte jumped on the bed, pulled him to her, her body singing as their skin touched. Two of his fingers were between her legs. A man was touching her. There. She was going to get fucked it.

“You’re ready for it, ain’t you?” Evans smirked. He probably thought she was eager for him. It wouldn’t have mattered who it was. As long as they had a cock to fuck her, Charlotte knew she’d be so wet.

Evans hauled himself over her. Charlotte’s heart almost stopped. That voice was still crying faintly, telling her no. But even if she’d wanted to now, she couldn’t stop it. She was underneath him. And Evans was bigger and stronger than her. Even if she said no now, he could still take her. Thrust his cock into her.

He did. Charlotte crying out as he did just that, as for the first time in her life a cock entered her, her back arching. She was so full, so gloriously, wonderfully full. That voice could go to hell. Nothing could be better than this. Or maybe it could, as Evans pulled out and thrust back int her again. This was it, she was getting fucked. For the first time. She really wasn’t a virgin now.

“Fuck me!” Charlotte cried. “Fuck me hard!”

Her legs were spread so wide, her knees bent. Evans was pounding into her. So deep. Deeper than the brush had gone. Deeper than she’d imagined anything could.

She was getting fucked and she was cumming and cumming and cumming.

Charlotte knew that it was only the first time.

(To be continued)