Lady Ann's Greatly Extended Holiday - Chapter Twenty free porn video

Indefinite 1 Burt was relieved it was Sunday. It meant he didn't have to put in a full day's work. He got the morning off to attend church. He'd slept a lot better on his pallet in the hayloft and the aches he'd had from going back to hard labour after a fortnight of growing soft had all but gone. He actually felt fit and strong again and caught himself enjoying it before he reminded himself that he didn't like anything about being a man. He hated every element of it. He wore his Sunday best to the service, though it was hardly cleaner than his normal working clothes. At least the stench was lighter. A brisk brush (with one of the horse grooming brushes) got a lot of the dry dirt off and made them look half way presentable. He sang a couple of hymns tunelessly, not even noticing anymore how bad his voice was, and then the vicar climbed up to the pulpit to deliver the sermon as the congregation settled down to listen. It was almost an exact repeat of the speech he'd heard in Blackpool. The vicar talked at length about how God had chosen the quality to be in charge; how they were given superior bodies and minds with which to make the decisions for the lower orders. Peasants, like Burt, were made from inferior materials. They weren't capable of appreciating the finer things in life. They were created only to serve and to work. The lower classes should be grateful for being provided for by the quality. They should be obedient and hard working, They should never question their superiors. They should live only to serve those whom God had chosen to be their superiors. The upper classes were better than them in every way. They deserved to be waited on and obeyed without hesitation. The lower classes were unworthy of anything but living a life of poverty and hard work and if they worked hard enough - if they did as they were ordered - then they might receive their reward in heaven. Burt sat still, listening to every word as a gentle heat warmed the back of his head and a light buzzing rattled against the interior of his brain, leaving him feeling relaxed and attentive. In both lives he had always believed very much in the word of the Lord and so the vicar's words carried a divine authority of sorts, gently scratching away at the inhibitions he felt in giving in to the urge to follow orders without question, because after all, he had always believed that the lower orders were inferior and needed to be told what to do... and now the fact that he truly was a member of the lower class was inescapable. 2 Lady Ann opened her eyes, rolled over and smiled, remembering the night before with Richard. It was simply the nicest time she'd ever spent with another human being. She enjoyed Richard's company more than she had ever enjoyed another's. It was so delightful to be with him. This has been the holiday of a lifetime and it ewas such a shame that it had to end - that she had to go back to being Burt: a man with absolutely no control over his life. But that gave her pause for thought. Because of course for now she wasn't Burt; she was Lady Ann; and that meant that she still had that control. She had as much control as she wanted! She was one of the gentry! Why, if she decided to she could stay in London for another day, or another. And with that kind of power and control it seemed foolish to rush back. She felt a little guilty at the idea of postponing her return again with poor Burt stuck doing hard labour, but she reminded herself that when he had his body back he'd be only too happy to leave the hard labour to her. She frowned, pursing her lips, thinking it over. Yes. It was foolish to run back when an extra day or two wouldn't matter. There were a million days waiting for her as Burt back in Yorkshire. This was her only chance to enjoy herself as Ann. She still planned to go back of course and trade back, but there was no hurry. She wondered for a moment if she should decide exactly when she was going to go and book her ticket now to lock herself into it... but that seemed silly really. There was no rush. She'd stay for... a while longer and go back when she was good and ready. And in the meantime, that clodhopper Burt could do her work for her. She giggled. The idea of that was far too amusing for words! She reached over to the side of her bed where the damaged copy of Wuthering Heights still lay and picked it up. It suddenly didn't seem such a bad idea to keep reading. She didn't have to be afraid she'd never get the chance to finish. She could just extend her stay until she was done! 3 Burt dumped the fourth sack of coal round by the servant's entrance to Griply Hall and turned to hurry back down to the stables to receive his next orders. Harry had been do much less abusive since the night before he was determined to work as hard as he could to keep the old man sweet. That meant working quickly and it meant doing the best job he could, ensuring he spoke to Harry with the correct deference. He still resented it terribly but this was his only choice still. He was convinced now that the reason Lady Ann hadn't returned yet was because she had taken ill. It couldn't be a mild illness because she would have been home by now; therefore it had to be something fairly serious which left him very worried. Obviously he didn't want something terrible to happen to her - at least while she was still in his real body. She could die on her own time! As he turned away from the coal sacks he paused because he spotted Lady Harriet on a seat in the gardens. He gazed at her for a minute or two then took a shambling step toward her. He was wary to do so after the balling out she'd given him the other day when he'd propositioned her... and because he knew the gardens were out of bounds for the likes of him, but conversely, he knew that she would have the full story on her sister's whereabouts. And he needed to know when she would be back! He paused, fearfully eyeing the house, worried about the ramifications if the earl saw him crossing the perfect lawn, then took a series of hesitant steps across to where she sat reading in the sunshine. "Er... Beggin yer pardon mi'lady," he said, not even noticing the automatic use of the correct deferential title, "I was wonderin if you as a minute for a quick word." Hattie turned laconically to face him, clearly irritated at the interruption which made Burt sweat a little and clear his throat once, then twice. "Oh. It's you," she said. "You aren't allowed out here." "Er, sorry miss. I was 'opin to ask you when Lady Ann was comin 'ome." "Oh really? I thought you might be here to apologise for your entirely inappropriate behavior the other night." Burt flushed read from neck to hairline. "Aye. I'm sorry miss. That was wrong of me. I shouldn'ta done it. I shoulda known better than to think a proper lady like you would be interested in the likes of me." "Oh don't be so obsequious!" she snapped. "You're always loitering around, doing nothing. That's not why we keep you, is it?" "No miss. I'm sorry miss." Burt hated this - being treated like he was scum beneath his little sister's shoe, but what choice did he have? He couldn't dare talk back to her. "If you've got so little to do that you have time to be bone idle then I'll give you something." "It's alright miss, I have chores to be--" She rose. "Are you talking back to me man?" "No. Sorry miss. No." Burt lowered his head, fearful to meet her glare. "I don't like this seat here. Move it for me."She pointed to the heavy stone bench she'd been seated on. Burt's shoulders sagged. It looked incredibly heavy. "There," she said, pointing. "Move it there." Burt shuffled past her and did his best to lift it, straining under the gargantuan weight. After several minutes of back-breaking labour and with sweat streaming down between his shoulder blades, he managed to get it into position. He stood back up straight and looked back at Hattie. "No," she said. "I think I preferred it where it was. Move it back." Burt hesitated. "Now!" He looked at the stone bench then back at his sis-- at Lady Harriet. He had the awful feeling that she was just doing this to punish him but he had no choice but to follow her orders or risk punishment or dismissal. He shambled forlornly into position and lifted it at one end, dragging it again so that it was back where it had started. The stone corners cut into his fingers and his muscles ached terribly but he went on doing it. He placed it down where she'd commanded then stood back and lowered his head in deference. "No," she said, smiling coldly. I think it was better where you put it."She glared at him right in his eye with such intensity it made him want to cower and said, "Move it back. Quickly!" She was tormenting him and nothing more but he had to do it. He couldn't dare contradict her. And part of him felt it would be wrong to anyway. She was quality. He was a servant. She had every right to tell him what to do. So he bent down once more and hefted the mammoth bench along until she was satisfied such that his entire body was trickling with sweat and every muscle ached. "That'll do I suppose," said Hattie at last, turning her back on him as if he didn't matter. "Run along now and stay off the lawn. You know you aren't allowed out here." "But Lady Harriet," said Burt. I wanted to ask you about--" "Do I have to give you some more commands before you get it through your thick skull that I don't wish to be addressed by you?" She glared at him in open hostility. Burt blanched and backed away, lowering his gaze. "No miss. Sorry miss. I shouldn't have disturbed you." "no, you shouldn't," she replied, going back to her novel as he shuffled off awkwardly hating everything that had happened but most of all hating how obsequiously he'd followed her instructions - he own sister! Except she wasn't his sister anymore. She was Lady Harriet, Lady Ann's little sister. He was only Burt Harper, the stable hand. 4 Ann descended the stairs until she saw Gladys crossing the hall, carrying some clothes for washing. "Gladys! Stop where you are." The girl stopped dead and looked up as Ann made her way down the remainder of the stairs and held out a note. "See to it that this note is taken to Lord Hurley immediately." "Yes miss. I'll just take these things to the wash room." "Immediately I said," snapped Ann. "Sorry miss." She hurried off and Ann watched her go, irritated with the girl. She was such an idiotic thing with no breeding. Ann didn't know why she kept her on. But that was the problem with being upper class. They needed the lower classes to fetch and carry for them but that meant they had to put up with their ignorant ways on a daily basis. Ann sighed, folding her arms. Sometimes she wished she could just take all the lower orders out, put them up against a wall and have them shot. The world would be a far more agreeable place without them. 5 In the middle of the afternoon, Harry dropped off to sleep and Burt was able to get five minutes by himself. The old man had spent the whole day giving Burt orders and though he didn't bellow them anymore, there was no doubt in the... in the stable hand's mind that a good shouting at was only seconds away if he didn't do as he was told quick enough. Now that he'd accepted he couldn't do anything about it, he hated to get bawled at and found himself desperate to do anything to avoid it. Being shouted at wasn't just unpleasant in itself; it underscored his new position at the bottom of the pecking order, reminding him over and over again who he was now. And that was the worst of all because he knew that each time he was reminded of it, it worked the magic even more and made it all the more true. All this made Burt determined to follow every order immediately and to the letter so he could avoid it happening. His muddled brain didn't notice that this made him act all the more like Burt anyway. After checking Harry was definitely asleep, Burt slipped up to the hay loft and scrabbled through his things for paper and pencil. He had to find out what was going on with Lady Ann in London and surely she would respond to a letter if he couldn't find out from anybody there in Yorkshire. He found what he was looking for and cleared a space to sit down at his tiny wooden table. He thought for a minute what he wanted to say then started to write, his tongue poking out the edge of his mouth in deep concentration as he tried to force his sluggish brain to form articulate sentences. dEEr lAYdEE anE, iTZ BUrT EErE woTT yOOO dOinne dOun ThERR? wEnn wEElE yOOO BE BaKK EErE? bEggin YOOuR paRdinn bott i wonTs mE bOddEE baKK nOw PlEEEz mi LaDeE iF yur LaDeEship dOnnT mINd THaTT iSS NOUW!!!!! BurT Burt put the pencil down and look at what he'd written, feeling proud of himself, He'd been worried his handwriting and spelling would have gotten worse now he'd spent so long in that body but there didn't seem anything wrong with what he'd put. It was clear enough and his handwriting wasn't bad at all. Surely it was fairly similar to what it had been when he was a right well educated woman. Then he frowned, noticing that he'd signed the note "Burt." Doing so in a letter to Mavis was one thing but identifying himself as that to the real-- to the original Burt didn't seem right. It made him feel ashamed of himself and angry. What would her ladyship think when she saw that he called himself Burt? She'd laugh at him! The thought of that made his shudder. He went to cross it out, but paused before he could, fascinated suddenly by the name; by the handwriting. He glanced across at the little mirror hanging from a nail on the wall, at his face; at the muddled-looking eyes and the moustache, the stubble on his neck and cheeks. Frowning again he went to cross it out once more but stopped himself, feeling confused. He'd addressed the letter to Lady Ann obviously - that only made sense. If he signed it Lady Ann as well then it would look stupid. Her ladyship would think he had become an idiot and he really didn't want that to happen. Maybe he shouldn't have addressed it to "Lady Ann," but that didn't make sense because that was... that was who he was writing to. The was Lady Ann and he... he was Burt. He just felt so confused and frustrated. It was so hard to think things through enough to know what the best thing to do was. Most of all he couldn't bring himself to sign the letter "Lady Ann" because he wasn't Lady Ann, he was Burt. And what if somebody saw that he'd signed that and thought he was some kind of pansy? He wouldn't be able to live that down at the Dog & Pony. Unable to make a decision either way, Burt folded up the letter and put it in its envelope. It would have to stay as it was. He turned the envelope over and wracked his brains for the address. His... Lady Ann's nan lived in London - he knew that much - but he couldn't for the life of him recall her address. He groaned, slapping the side of his head. He was sure he had known at one time but it had completely gone now. Whether that was because he was too stupid to remember or because the Ann memories had been overwritten with Burt ones, he didn't know, but he was scuppered. Without that he couldn't send the letter. And without that, he might never find out when her ladyship was coming home! He had to find it out some other way, but for the life of him, he couldn't work out how to do so. 6 Burt spent the afternoon exercising the horses one by one. As jobs went it was rather more pleasant than the others he'd had to do and he found himself almost enjoying it. He'd always loved being round horses and there was something pleasant about doing this work. Despite being trapped in this position and subject to the whims of others he still found himself believing in the value of an honest day's work for an honest day's pay. He'd fantasized about being a working man and in doing so he'd quietly absorbed a respect for the virtues of it. He now possessed those virtues and part of him secretly felt proud of his hard work. His new salt-of-the-earth perspective had long since pressed him into sneering at the flaccid excesses of the quality in favour of the good honest hard work of the lower masses. It really did give him a sort of contentment to "be a man" with a man's responsibility. Obviously this in no way affected his desperate desire to get back to his old life but it allowed him to resent it less and enjoy the brighter side of it. As long as he was Burt, he wasn't some soft stuck-up cow lounging about thinking the world owed her a living - he was a good honest bloke who worked hard and paid his own way. He exercised Rosebud last and treated her extra carefully, lovingly stoking her shiny coat. He worked her for longer, smiling idly as she ran circles on the end of her rope; but as he put her away in her stall he reflected for a moment on the horse. He knew in his former-- his other life, she had belonged to him but he couldn't make himself see her like that now. The horse obviously didn't belong to him. It was Lady Ann's horse and he wasn't Lady Ann. He was Burt. Which made him question why he treated the horse so carefully... Surely it wasn't because... But he thought about the little sepia portrait photograph of her ladyship that he kissed each morning without thinking about it and felt his cock stir a little in his filthy trousers. He stared into the middle distance, fantasizing again about her ladyship's return. He imagined helping her down off her carriage as was right a proper and then showing her to the stables. He imagined her seeing how well he'd cared for her horse and thanking him... thanking him in a low and intimate voice as she caressed his stubbly cheek with her soft fingertips. Burt sighed, enjoying the fantasy; for the first time not having a strong reaction to its slipping into his brain. He just enjoyed it for what it was and then his mind passed onto other things - clearing away the exercising equipment properly for a start. After he'd finished tidying things up, Burt spotted Lottie, the chamber maid from the manor walking up the track from the direction of the village. He thought about the letter in his back pocket and called out to her. "Ere, Lottie! Wait up luv." He hurried over to her as she stopped and turned. "What does you want Burt 'Arper?" He cleared his throat. "Er, how do. I wus wonderin if ye could 'elp me out with sumfin." "Oh aye," she replied, suspiciously. "What mischief av you got in mind? I ain't got all day to waste talkin to the likes of you. I got beds to make and laundry to do." "I got an... an important letter wot's got to be sent to her ladyship in London," said Burt, "but I ain't got the address." "Oh aye?" "And I was oping you could find it out for me so's I don't 'ave to bother his lordship... wot asked me to send it." Lottie smirked at him. "Do you expect me to believe the earl asked you to post a letter to his daughter... and didn't give you address it ad to go to?" Burt cleared his throat again. "Aye. That's... That's right." "Well then you're a liar Burt 'Arper and then some." The colour drained from his face. "It's obvious what really appened is he gave you the address and then you forgot it; dunce that you are." Burt grinned sheepishly with relief. "Er, that's exactly right is that Lottie. You've found me out. I ain't got the brain wot God gave me and no mistake." He chuckled but he felt like he was betraying himself saying that and for a second the little tingle at the back of his skull distracted him. "Alright then Burt," said Lottie. "Come up to the 'ouse and I'll get it for you." "Er, on the sly though, right?" said Burt. "I don't want... I don't want the earl finding out I'm such an idiot." Lottie winked. "Oh your secret's safe with me Burt 'Arper but don't be too surprised if I tell you he's probably already well aware of the limit to your intelligence." Burt chuckled again feeling sick to his stomach. 7 Burt followed Lottie up to Griply Manor and he loitered outside while she went in, only noticing after a few minutes of waiting that it hadn't even crossed his mind to go inside. The knowledge that he was forbidden from doing so had become instinctual. Just another depressing reminder of how settled into his role he was now. He remembered what it was like striding around the manor imperiously, shouting orders at the servants and seeing them jump to respond and he sighed. He did miss that, even if part of him hated the kind of stuck up toff who would treat working folk like that. While he waited, he took the letter out of his pocket and opened it out, scanning the text on the dirty dog-eared paper, not sure anymore whether the handwriting was a good as all that. In fact the more he looked at it, the more he felt that it was the awful illiterate scrawl of an idiot country bumpkin. He frowned again to look at the way he'd addressed the letter to Lady Ann and signed it Burt. It still made him feel awkward and confused; unsure of himself. But how else should he have written it? Right now she was Lady Ann and he was Burt. He'd been forced to accept that over and over. There was absolutely no denying it. Writing the opposite would just be absurd. And he certainly couldn't bring himself to write the letter out again differently. It had been hard enough to do it the first time. But the thing that really clinched it was the fear that the letter might fall into the wrong hands. What if he signed it Lady Ann in that awful handwriting and somebody else read it? It would expose the whole situation and what then??? He might be thrown into a straitjacket in the loony bin! He might never escape! And then he would never be able to persuade her ladyship to swap back - not with him a wanted man. She'd laugh in his face! He shuddered. No. he had to leave it as it was. And besides, deciding to do that actually made him feel relief. Battling against his identity was stressful and wearing. He was tired of doing it. Really tired! He just wanted to go along with it, accept that he really was Burt for now. Doing otherwise just made him feel worse. "I am Burt 'Arper," he murmured to himself. "I am Burt 'Arper." Then Lottie returned and gave him a little smile. "Eh up Burt. I's got the address. You ready to writ it down if I say it out to ye?" Burt shook his head and squinted, thinking about his terrible handwriting. "You couldn't write it out for me could ye?" he said, handing her the envelope. "You'll be better at writing than me. I ain't got no proper schooling and I can't write for toffee." "Can't write! Gah blimey!" exclaimed Lottie. "You really are a dunce Burt 'Arper! You really are a waste of space!" Burt frowned, feeling insulted and grumpy but there was no denying it. When he'd still been Lady Ann he'd known without question that Burt was nothing but an ignorant uncouth moron, and now that was unquestionably who he'd become. If there was any difference between his IQ and the original Burt's it was negligible to say the least. He was little cleverer than a house- trained monkey and rather than being angry at this and fighting against it he was now only accepting it with a dull abject sullenness. But it didn't matter now. None of that did. He could go on becoming more and more like the real Burt now - it didn't matter. The letter was going to go off. And when Lady Ann got it she'd jump right on the next train and rush back to swap bodies and lives again. Surely she would! 8 As the sun set over the roofs of London, the beautiful woman who knew herself now as Lady Ann snuggled into the shoulder of her handsome Lord Hurley as the open-topped buggy they were riding in continued its leisurely tour of the streets. Since she'd decided to postpone her return to Yorkshire for an indefinite amount of time she'd felt a release of the pressure that had been grinding away at her. For now she didn't allow herself to feel guilty about not going back - after all, why on earth should she feel guilty!? It was only a shortish delay. That dirty little man would still be waiting for her no matter how long she took. Any delay would be character-building if anything. She giggled to think about it - the original high and mighty Lady Ann reduced to a bootlicking cur having to work as a labourer from dawn until dusk. If that didn't give the fool a proper appreciation of how the other half lived then nothing would! And perhaps that would make her kinder to her staff when she got her real... her original body back. In fact Ann was doing a public service extending this transformation if anything, teaching good manners to the former lady of the manor! She should be getting a medal! It was a rationalization... but a good one; and one that helped her balance any whisper of guilt that might threaten. But to be perfectly honest it was actually quite difficult to think about it as being a problem. That she was really Lady Ann now wasn't in any doubt which meant that he was really Burt now. In that sense everything was normal and right with the world. There was no urgent need to do anything. In a very potent way, the individual shoveling horse faeces up in Yorkshire really wasn't Lady Ann in any way, shape or form. But it did make her smile to think of "Burt" slaving away up there, cleaning out the pig pen and toting sacks of grain up and down the fields. It was delightful to think on the fact that if she'd gone back when she was meant to it would have been her there right now, doing that labour instead of enjoying the riches of her handsome suitor. And this was much better. Ann placed her hand on Richard's leg, smiling smugly but she sighed a little as she felt him stiffen at the open display of affection and withdrew her fingers. Lord Hurley was rich and handsome but he wasn't the most open man she'd ever met in terms of his emotions. She hated to pick holes in his wonderful persona but she did wish he was a little freer with his affections... 9 As Burt loped slowly down the lane toward Griply village to get a pint at the end of another long a grueling day as a working man his mind wandered back to the trip to Blackpool and seeing his... his uncle. It had been so nice to chew the cud with a fellow working man who didn't look down on him. He missed the old man and wished he could visit again. That was impossible though. It would take weeks, maybe months, of scrimping and saving on the wages he received to save up for the train fair alone and surely (please God) he would be long back in his own body by then. Instead he satisfied himself with just reminiscing. He remembered the times, as a little boy, when Uncle Brian had come to visit their cramped little house in Hartlepool. It gave him a rosy feeling to recall being hefted up onto the brawny man's shoulders, giggling as he was tossed over the rough-hewn kitchen table into his old da's arms. He missed his old dad and no mistake. He wished he could go back to those days when he was just a little boy and-- No! Wait! These were just more Burt memories! They weren't his! Well... they were his... at the moment... because he was Burt, but... no. He suddenly wasn't sure what his train of thought had been. He just knew he didn't want to lose himself in this Burt persona. He had to remember that it wasn't real! He walked along, stewing to himself resentfully but couldn't help his mind slipping back onto the "memories" of his childhood as a little boy. He couldn't help it. He was so angry and het up about his day-to-day reality, thinking about happier times; even if they belonged to someone else; was the only real escape he had! And if it made him happier, he grumbled to himself, surely that was all that mattered! He shoved his hands in his pockets testily, angry at himself for not wanting to give in to being Burt as much as being angry at the situation himself. After a few minutes he snapped "Bloody 'ell! What does it matter!" and he allowed himself to wallow once more in the memories. As long as he had them he might as well enjoy them. He didn't have anything else going for him! And in such an obtuse and unforgiving world he really needed to feel some shred of happiness. The love and affection he'd "known" as a child was something to cling onto and that imperative made him cling all the more tightly, trying his hardest not to keep telling himself they weren't really his memories. He was Burt. He really was Burt now. And that meant that they were his memories. For more of my stories, check out: http://transformation- stories.blogspot.co.uk/ For updates on releases, follow me on Twitter @emmafinnuk And read my transformation novels on Amazon of Kobo by searching for Emma Finn