The Program Chapter Four free porn video
29th July 2010
Despite my fears I got a good sleep last night as the bed was far better
then my bed at home. The next morning I got dressed as I had been
trained to do. First the fake breasts in the bra, then the girdle to
give myself Eleanor's body shape. At least I don't have to sleep with it
on. I decided that if I pretended to my mother that I was perfectly
happy then her watch on me would loosen and then maybe I could get the
necklace off and mete out some serious revenge. I selected a pair of
blue trousers this time and a shirt of pale pink silk. I curled up my
nose at it, it looked so...feminine, but since Eleanor was a girly girl
I would have to be so too.
I shaved very well and then came the part I really hated...putting on
lipstick. I really, really wanted to wipe it away as it clung waxily to
my lips but I forced myself to leave it alone. I doubted I would ever
fully get used to the feeling. My new mother came into my bedroom and
looked me up and down and smiled. "You have done well, anyone might
think that you liked being my daughter." She held my wig in her hands
and I scowled as she placed it on my head and adjusted it carefully.
"Perfect." She kissed me on the cheek and handed me my white handbag.
"Your monthly pocket money is inside, two hundred pounds. I bet you
never got that much pocket money in your old life. Don't buy anything
that Eleanor wouldn't buy."
I nodded and spoke and my voice still sounded like a girl. "Mother,
please could I contact my parents one last time to let them know what
has happened to me? I promise that I'll only do it once so they know I'm
still alive."
She shook her head. "No. It would cause me too many problems. Your
parents might show up to rescue you and my husband might find out what
happened and how my real daughter died, and then he would divorce me.
And if my boss at the Defence Ministry was to find out that I dressed a
male Battle Royale contestant up as a girl and passed him off as my
daughter, at the very least I would lose my job, and I enjoy my job. At
the worst I could end up either declared insane and sent to Broadmoor or
more likely, sent to the prison camps on the Shetland Islands for
several years."
I grinned at that thought of my tormenter shovelling manure.
"You are welcome to go out for the day, my daughter always enjoyed
buying stuff and I'm sure you will too. If you're thinking of causing
trouble, don't. Oh, and you might need some foundation, you don't want
any stubble."
I left the house and began walking to the shops, careful to walk just
like Eleanor would. After a while I began to jog and felt my fake
breasts gently bobbing against my body. A police car passed and I had to
force myself not to hail it.
As a survivor of the Program who didn't murder anybody, I knew that I
was an outlaw; and could not count on police protection. I wondered if
I could hail a taxi and drive far from my so-called mother and out of
the tracker's range. Not to my real parents as I would soon be caught,
but over the border to Scotland, to live in the glens like Bonnie Prince
Charlie when he was on the run from the redcoats centuries ago. Poaching
salmon, hiding in the heather...no. First the tracker would give me
away; I would be caught and given severe punishment, maybe even the
death penalty. I touched my necklace and thought of the small explosive
charge in it that was strong enough to blow my neck apart.
And if I did manage to escape capture, what then? I had a couple of
hundred pounds, enough for a taxi ride away and a night or two in a
hotel, and then I'd be sleeping rough. Or I could get food and water
with it, enough for several days, but then I'd certainly be sleeping
rough, unarmed, cut off from my parents and from anybody who could help
me, and there would be plenty of people out there on the mean streets
who would love to beat, rape and kill me and maybe bugger me as well
once they realised my true gender. I looked at my hands and arms and the
amber ring and bangles that I wore. I could pawn it but it would not
keep me in food or shelter for long and I decided that there was no
point in running.
I decided that I might as well enjoy myself with some retail therapy. I
brought myself a silver necklace with a letter E on it, and then decided
to get myself some fruit and save the rest of my money for later, but
when I entered the fruit shop, I stopped in surprise, for dressed in
black as if she had just come from a funeral-my funeral, was my mother.
I opened my mouth to tell her who I was and my necklace gave me the
lightest of shocks as a warning, so I shut it and looked away, wondering
what to do. I suspected that any attempt to identify myself would get me
severely shocked. Also the microphone would give my words away to She
who has ruined my life. I wished I could run into her arms and tell her
who I was but decided to follow her home. Maybe I could slip a note into
the letter-box. Even if they could not help me they would know that I
was alive if not happy.
I got halfway home and then my neck stung as a painful jolt of
electricity shot through it as a warning. I turned and hurried back to
my new house and found my *mother*
Waiting for me with a scowl on her face. "Eleanor, don't lie to me, you
tried to go home and contact your family, the tracker in the necklace
let me know. You will have to be punished."
She took me upstairs and made me undress myself, and put on a vest under
the girdle and fake breasts which started to itch. Not just a small itch
either, but an itch that made me feel that ants were crawling over me
and biting me. I scratched my stomach and my necklace gave me a stinging
shock that nearly made me pass out. My so-called mother grinned at me.
"The vest is coated in itching powder, but it won't cause a rash as long
as you don't scratch. Scratching is very unladylike, so if you try to
scratch at all your necklace will shock you until you stop scratching.
You won't be able to rub up against anything either-if you do that, you
will be shocked. You will wear that vest until you go to sleep tonight.
Put your clothes back on. Perhaps a few hours of itching like crazy will
teach you to do what you are told and stay in your role."
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