Sally
Part 9

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 must ask you to stop being so inconsistent dear.”

Charlotte looked up from her book to stare nervously at her mother, the pair occupying one of the house’s sitting rooms. Mother and daughter might have been together but there hadn’t been much in the way of conversation. Not that there was anything unusual in that. “Ah, whatever do you mean?”

“Well,” her mother sighed. “Last night. You were not as attentive to the colonel as you have been. I would even say that you were quite withdrawn.”

Charlotte’s heart sank. She had tried so hard. Or at least, she thought she had. Paid attention to what Colonel Heywood said. Laughed at his jokes. What hadn’t she done? There had been no little touches. That would have been too forward. But would Sally have done that?

“Sometimes you are quite charming. And then others…” Her mother left that hanging for a moment. “It was almost as if you weren’t yourself.”

Charlotte’s heart sank even further. Last night was one of the nights when it was her turn to be the one who saw the Colonel. At other times it was Sally. Charlotte knew which times her mother was referring to as not being herself. The times when it was actually her. Was Sally better at being her than she was?

“It is very important that you do not appear inconsistent in your affections,” her mother opined. “A man does not want someone who is less than devoted to him.”

Charlotte simply nodded. She wondered what her mother would call the reason for her ‘inconsistency’. That sometimes when the Colonel called, her daughter was off fucking the servants, her lady’s maid taking her place.

I suppose that does make me less than devoted. Charlotte almost giggled at the thought. But such an exclamation would not be ladylike. She wasn’t even sure what she felt for the colonel. He was nice enough. And having a husband would mean that she would have someone to fuck without indulging in subterfuge. But the thought of tying herself to one man seemed a dreary prospect at best.
“You shall have to try harder,” her mother declared. “Even if at times you feel a little uncertain that is only to be expected. I can see that most of the time you are quite enamoured of him.”

That would be Sally, although Charlotte doubted that her servant felt anything for the Colonel at all.

“Yes mother,” Charlotte responded dutifully.

“I don’t know what she wants,” Charlotte fumed, alone in her room with Sally. “I do try.”

“I am sure that you do,” her servant reassured her. “But what do you want me to do about it?”

“You could meet the colonel every time,” Charlotte suggested slyly.

“And let you have all the fun fucking the servants?” Sally shot back. “I think not.”

“You have all the other nights!” Charlotte cried. “It is not so many,” she added, a wheedling tone to her voice.

“Huh,” Sally scoffed. “If you are to marry him, you really should meet him once or twice. But look at you. Why, such a picture of a refined young lady. In your elegant dress and with your perfect posture. And all you want to do is fuck.”

“Th-that’s not true!” Charlotte protested. “Why, I still read. I was reading this morning.”

“But what would you rather be doing?” Sally grinned, so much contained in her expression. “If you had your choice? If you could do what you wanted? Wouldn’t you rather be on a bed, naked, your legs spread wide. The Honourable Charlotte Rothermere, begging for it like a common harlot.”

“I, I,” Charlotte stumbled. The picture Sally painted was so crude, so demeaning. Would she beg for it? Maybe. Probably. Sally wouldn’t. Sally would demand. Grab a man by his cock and drag him to the bed. Sally would know what to do. As Sally. As Charlotte.
Maybe Sally was better at being both Sally and Charlotte than Charlotte was.

Charlotte didn’t know what to say, even her posture deserting her.

“There, there,” Sally tutted kindly, reaching for the brush. “We can make it better.”

Charlotte knew what she had to do. Silently, she turned and sat in her chair, staring at her image in the mirror, as Sally brushed her hair. As Sally whispered words that flowed into Charlotte’s empty, unresisting mind.

As the thoughts emptied from her head. As gentle stroke after gentle stroke flowed through her. As Sally whispered words into her ear.

“I know what we shall do,” Sally mused. “You’ve seen me be me. But you haven’t seen me be you. The next time I’m the one to entertain the dear colonel, you need to spy on us. It shall be an education for you. Oh, but you much prefer to be off fucking Evans or Wilson. Or whoever, really, don’t you?”

Charlotte simply sat there. But even without a thought in her head a heat rose in her at the mention of the servants.

“Yes, you do,” Sally continued. “Let’s have a little moue of disappointment out of you.”

The sound issued from Charlotte’s lips. Without thought. Without her even knowing why.

“Well, don’t worry.” Sally’s fingers trailed slowly up the inside of Charlotte’s thigh. Charlotte was naked. A thought almost rose in her mind, when had she lost her clothes? It didn’t matter. Charlotte quivered in arousal. Sally’s fingers were doing such wonderful things to her. Things she loved. “You can still have some fun with the servants after the Colonel leaves.”

Something about that seemed so right.“But you still have so much to learn,” her servant whispered to her, Sally’s fingers circling the little nub above Charlotte’s centre. “So listen carefully.”

---

“But how am I to observe you?” Charlotte shook her head. “It’s not as if I’ll have a wardrobe to hide within.” That had worked so well. She smiled, remembering the times she’d hidden in Sally’s wardrobe, watching her maid with the other servants, her hands playing at her own body. She didn’t need to do that now, even if she did, when alone. She could take her place on Sally’s bed. Enoy the thrill of being fucked. But those thoughts, pleasant as they were, didn’t help. There were no convenient wardrobes in the dining room or the sitting rooms.

“There are screens and other places.”

“Seriously?” Charlotte cried in response to her servant’s suggestion. “Surely someone would notice.”

“The upper class,” Sally smiled thinly. “Are terribly unobservant. Look at how your parents pass off our similarity. What is it your mother said the other day? ‘Oh yes, there is a faint resemblance’. You will be able to hide quite securely behind the Chinese screen in the dining room. Trust me, no-one will not notice you.”

“I suppose,” Charlotte allowed doubtfully. “But even so.”

“You need to learn.”

That was true, Charlotte allowed. She had to learn. She knew that. She didn’t know how, but she knew that she had so much to learn. And Sally did seem so much better at, well, everything. Being Sally, being Charlotte.

Well, not quite everything. Charlotte allowed herself a little smile. There was one thing she did that Sally didn’t do. “What time is Amelia arriving?”

“In an hour, Miss,” Sally replied, with a little bobbed curtsey. Which had hardly any air of sarcasm about it at all. “Enough time for me to do your hair.”

Charlotte frowned. Hadn’t Sally already done her hair? It didn’t matter.

She so loved it when Sally did her hair.

And she had so much to learn.

---

“I simply must tell you the latest gossip,” Amelia declared, when the two friends were alone. “Beatrice has made a complete fool of herself.”

Beatrice was another of their acquaintances, the daughter of an earl. Charlotte didn’t care about the other girl right then.
“Are you sure that’s what you want to do?” she smiled, circling around behind her friend, an arm about Amelia’s waist, pulling her friend to her.

“I, uh, well, that is,” Amelia stumbled, so unlike her normally assured self. Probably because Charlotte’s other hand had found her chest. Charlotte found her friend’s uncertainty endearing. Even through the layers of clothing, she was sure that she could feel the effect she was having on Amelia, the two little nubs on the blonde’s chest tight and hard under all those layers.

She’d have those clothes off soon. They were in her room. Near her bed. They were alone.

Of course they were alone. There was no-one else there. Certainly Sally wasn’t there. Sally hadn’t stayed once Amelia had arrived. Hadn’t directed Amelia to Charlotte’s chair. Hadn’t brushed Amelia’s hair as Charlotte watched, thoughts emptying out of head.

Sally wasn’t here now, whispering ideas into Charlotte’s ear. Wasn’t telling her how much she wanted to do this. Wasn’t telling her to take this slowly, to tease and frustrate her friend. It was Charlotte’s idea alone to brush her hand so gently over Amelia’s chest. To lay gentle kisses on her friend’s delicate neck.

“You don’t want to tell me about Beatrice,” Charlotte whispered. Certainly Sally wasn’t telling her to say that. Sally wasn’t there. “There are so many other things you want to tell me. What you’d like me to do to you. Or perhaps I shall tell you?”
Sally certainly didn’t tell her to say that. How could she? When she wasn’t there.

Charlotte’s hands were on her friend hips, Amelia quivering at her touch.

“I shall remove your clothes. One piece at a time. So very, very slowly.”

Of course those words were her idea. Whose else could they be?

“And you’ll let me. You’ll want it. Let’s start with the dress.”

Somehow, Charlotte was able to loosen the ties on Amelia’s dress. Certainly, no-one weas telling her how. Her friend simply stood there, a moan escaping the blonde’s sweet lips as Charlotte pulled the dress over her friend’s head.

“No,” Charlotte declared as Amelia tried to run around to face her. “I’m going start here,” she continued, laying a kiss on her friend’s upper arm. “Then here,” she moved to Amelia’s forearm. She took her friend’s hand, kissing each finger in turn. That was her idea. It couldn’t be anyone else’s. “I’m going to kiss every last part of you.”

That was rewarded with another moan from her friend, the sound reverberating through Charlotte, sparking her own need. She spun Amelia around, their lips meeting.

“You want this, don’t you?’ Charlotte smiled. No-one else had prompted her question. No-one else was there. No-one was there, instructing her, guiding her, whispering in her ear. It was just her and Amelia. It was her idea to cup her friend’s breast, to gently squeeze. “You want this so much.”

Amelia’s eyelids fluttered as she breathed “Yes.” There was no-one at Amelia’s ear, prompting her reply.

Charlotte kissed her friend’s fingers again, gently sucking each fingertip. Again her idea, only hers. No-one was telling her what to do.

No-one told her to slip behind her friend, slowly run her hands over Amelia’s thighs as her chin rested on her friend’s shoulder, as she nuzzled into the blonde’s glorious locks. As she kissed her friend’s neck.

“What next?” Charlotte smiled. “Perhaps your underskirt? There are so many layers. So many things to discover. Or perhaps your corset cover? So many things to lose. So many places to touch you.” Charlotte had no idea where the words were coming from. They had to be hers. There was no-one else there. “An underskirt I think,” she added, her hands slowly reaching for the knot, just a gentle, teasing brush over Amelia’s centre on the way. Again her idea. It had to be her idea.

Amelia moaned again as the garment fell to the floor.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Charlotte chided as her friend made to turn around. “You’ll let me do whatever I want. You want it. You need it. You need it so badly, you little tart.” Part of her recoiled at the demeaning reference to her friend. Part of her thrilled at it. Amelia didn’t protest, simply standing there, quivering. There definitely wasn’t anyone else whispering in the blonde’s ear. Telling her much she wanted this, needed it, loved anything Charlotte did to her.

The underskirt gone, Charlotte ran her hands over Amelia thighs again. Slowly, oh so slowly, revelling in the touch, the little sounds she pulled from her friend.

“Now the corset cover, I think.” They were her thoughts. They had to be. No-one was putting them there. “Just stand there and raise your arms while I take it off. Oh, I can see how much you are blushing. You want this so much. Not a word.” Charlotte reached around and gently placed a finger on her friend’s lips “You don’t need to say anything.” The finger dropped, to trace the top edge of her friend’s corset, across the delicate skin of her breasts. “God, you have such wonderful tits.”

Amelia quivered, a noise of frustration escaping her lips.

“Don’t worry,” Charlotte crooned in her friend’s ear, her hands roaming over Amelia’s body. Soon, so soon.” She nibbled her friend’s ear as her hands played over Amelia’s chest. For some reason she shot a wicked smile across the room. She had no idea why. There was no-one there. No-one watching. But she did, smiling over her friend’s shoulder as she played at her friend’s tits, almost as if they had an audience.

Slowly, she undid the drawstring on the last of her friend’s underskirts, let the garment fall to the floor. Then, smiling at that non-existent audience, she pulled up her friend’s chemise, let her hand disappear underneath it, found the opening in her friend’s drawers. Teased, just once, at the treasure hidden there. “Oh, you are so wet. So eager for it. Such a needy little tart.” She withdrew the hand, slowly placed the finger that had traced her friend’s length in her mouth and sucked, all the time her eyes fixed on that spot across the room. “Take off your drawers.” She watched, hungrily, as Amelia did what she was told, hand underneath the chemise, slipping the undergarment down, dropping it on the floor.

Charlotte pulled her friend towards the bed, made her stand there as Charlotte stripped herself down to corset and chemise, matching the blonde. Amelia’s wide-eyed gaze was fixed on Charlotte, her hands slowly clenching and unclenching with pent up need.

“On the bed,” Charlotte laughed at last, a gentle slap on her friend’s arse as Amelia clambered on. “No, don’t lie down. Sit up. Kneeling, Face the foot of the bed.” The words were hers. So the ideas must be hers. Even if she had no idea where they were coming from. It didn’t matter. It was what she had to say.

Charlotte knelt behind her friend, undoing the laces on Amelia’s corset so one hand could reach underneath. She sucked in a breath as her hand found her friend’s breast, as she squeezed, feeling just how hard Amelia’s nipple was, her friend’s head tilting back to rest against Charlotte’s shoulder, a delicate moan escaping the blonde’s throat.

Charlotte’s other hand was slowly, oh slowly, pulling Amelia’s chemise up her friend’s leg, Charlotte’s fingertips brushed over the delicate flesh, revelling in the touch. Her smile, dark and wicked, was still fixed on the point across the room. Her idea. Of course it was her idea, even though it made no sense, There was no-one else there, just the two of them. So who else’s idea could it be?
It was her idea to stop. To speak. “Spread your legs, you little slut. Give them a good view.”

Wordlessly, Amelia obliged, her knees shifting wider as she knelt there. Charlotte’s hand had pulled the chemise so high now that if there had been someone across the room nothing would have stopped them seeing Amelia’s centre. It would have been totally on display. As Charlotte caressed her friend’s chest. As Charlotte’s finger slowly traced the line of friend’s womanhood. Up, and down, up and down. Slowly. So slowly. Over and over, Amelia moaning and squirming in her embrace. Charlotte’s smile so dark and wicked as she pulled Amelia’s corset off, as she drew down the neck of her friend’s chemise until a pale breast sprang free, her hands playing her friend’s body, like a fine instrument.

Her ideas, only hers. There was no-one there, no-one else whispering to Amelia, telling the blonde how much she loved this, how much she loved being displayed, being used. How much it excited her, how much she needed it.

Certainly there was no-one there to whisper to Charlotte, in a voice that sounded so like hers, “Very good. Now have your fun.”
Charlotte needed no prompting. What prompting did she need? The last of her and Amelia’s garments were soon discarded, the room filled with cries and moans as the two friends lost themselves in their passion as they took everything their bodies had to give each other.

Nobody’s idea but theirs.

(To be continued)