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

Ever More Obsequious 1 The woman who would one day soon be the wife of Lord Richard Hurley, woke up early with a delicious smile on her face. She had a long hot bubble bath, loving the luxury of it then ate a tasty breakfast with her grandmamma out on the balcony, chatting excitedly about ideas for the wedding. Ann felt entirely happy; satisfied in a way she didn't remember ever feeling before, as though not only was life perfect for her now, but it always would be perfect forevermore; for the rest of her days. And why wouldn't it be? She was one of the gentry! She was a young and beautiful woman who was not only entitled to inherit a substantial amount from her "parents" but was now marrying one of the richest men in England! She felt the tiniest twinge of guilt to think of the former owner of this body but only marginally. As she'd realized the day before, that odious creature was nothing but a servant. She owed him nothing and he had rights to nothing. Why, as an employee of her family, she practically owned him anyway. As a dimwitted commoner he had no say in what she chose to do. None at all! Which got her thinking again about the letter that had come that morning. Thinking about it made her lips break into a smirk. She slipped it out of its hiding place and unraveled it to read it again. 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 She almost laughed aloud to look at the awful handwriting as the dirty dog-eared paper. The spelling was atrocious. The grammar was non- existent! As surely as she had gained the impeccable education of a cultured upper class lady, that grubby buffoon had clearly taken the worse end of the deal. She'd seen his dip in literacy before she left Yorkshire but he had become far far worse in the time since. But the most hysterical part of it was the way he'd addressed the note, for he had addressed her as Lady Ann and he had signed it with her old perfectly simulated signature as Burt! Until now she had conjectured about the switch of roles and personalities but she'd had no proof beyond the supposition. Now it was clear to her exactly how far the former lady of the manor had fallen, how deeply she wallowed in the mud of the lower classes. The new Burt's accent had started to change before Ann left Yorkshire. The accent almost dripped off the paper here and undoubtedly the urchin was now mired in her old speech patterns entirely. And he'd addressed her as Lady Ann. He'd signed himself Burt. That was who he thought of himself as now. It was all too flawless. He'd had at least a week now since the original note she'd written would have run out - a week of mucking out the stables and doing hard labour; being told what to do and when to do it. Ann knew that her own persona had shifted, becoming more confident and imperious. Had this new Burt's changed as much? Was he as servile now as she had ever been? Did he rush round saying "yes sir" "no sir," eager to please and desperate to avoid a balling out? It made her wish she was going home, so she could see him, compare herself to him as she was now. But the time wasn't now for that. And besides, "her" parents would be on their way to visit her today. She did want to go back to Griply at some point soon but there was no hurry. No hurry at all. Ann turned the envelope over and saw the comparatively neat handwriting there, then she did laugh out loud. Burt had clearly got somebody else to write it for him for fear the letter wouldn't reach her otherwise. That pea-brained oaf clearly knew exactly how much he'd lost. He knew how stupid and illiterate he was and his desperation was clear. "Well damn him," she sneered. "He can go on feeling desperate, wondering when I'm going to return. And when I finally do go back, he'll find out exactly how long I intend to keep this new body of mine." 2 Burt was feeling befuddled and hot as he tried to concentrate on what Harry was saying, wishing the old man would just let him get on with mucking out the horses. He felt uncomfortable being given instructions he wasn't used to, especially complicated ones. "Right," said Harry, "I'll say it one more time. Are you listening?" He clicked his fingers near Burt's face, making him stop gazing off stupidly and jerk to attention. "You carry this ere step up to the front of the manor 'ouse and wait out of the way so as you don't muck up the place. You get that much?" Burt nodded vigourously. "Stand out the way." "Then when the coach drives up, you step forward and put the step down in front of the door so as the family can get in easily. Then when they're off you bring it back down ere." Burt frowned, mouthing the words"back down ere" soundlessly, then nodded again. "But where's they going?" "That's none of your business,"snapped Harry. "All you've got to worry about is that step. Am I clear?" "But what about er ladyship?" "Lady Ann? You still fixating on er?" Burt pouted slightly but didn't answer. "Well I ain't got nothing to tell you anyhow. As far as I know she might be staying in the capital for good at this rate!" Burt's ears grew hot and something awful stirred in his stomach as dread overcame him again. "Well go on then," snapped Harry."Take the step up and wait for the coach. And get it right you great idiot or there'll be hell to pay!" Burt picked up the step and hurried up the drive to the manor house. No one was visible so he just stood near the front steps, waiting... until he remembered what Harry had said about not mucking up the place. He didn't like being reminded how dirty he was but at a glance down he had to admit that it was true. With all the work he'd been doing down the fields his clothes were filthy. He thought about how primly and perfectly he had always dressed as a woman and flushed in frustration and embarrassment. He felt far more uncomfortable up here near the house than he did at the stables and around Harry and his mates. Down there he had grown used to being a servant and a man; used to being ill-educated and ignorant. Awful though it was to think it, it just seemed normal to him. Up here, so near to where he'd spent the majority of his time as her ladyship, there was all too clear a reminder of the gulf between where he was now and the pampered beauty he used to be. He shuddered to think of his former mother and father seeing him again in this role. He remembered enough to feel mortified by it even now. Though they still felt less like his family and more like his superiors; his employers. He didn't identify with them in the least. They were aloof and far above him. He couldn't imagine having to carry an actual conversation with one of them. They were lords and ladies! What was he? Nothing but a simple farmhand. He scurried off to the side and stood waiting out of sight then, on a second thought, removed his cap, not wanting to show disrespect when his employers emerged. He checked to ensure he wasn't visible from the house, all too aware of how angry people would be if he was lowering the tone of the front-facing vista and then stood as close to attention as he could, eager to show the proper deference the moment the earl showed himself. 3 Half an hour later, Burt was still waiting, questioning now whether he had understood his instructions correctly and kicking himself for being such a dunce. If he'd listened to Harry as he should have then he wouldn't get himself into this state but, idiot that he was, he hadn't been concentrating enough. This was him all over! He cursed his own thick wits. When was he going to learn to pay proper attention when his betters were giving him orders? He was always getting it wrong and being shouted at. He hated getting shouted at but hated more the fact that he knew he deserved it. He had a responsibility to do what he was told. If he didn't do it correctly then his superiors had every right to tell him off. That was his lot in life now that he was a servant. He thought about that for a few minutes, chewing over what that meant then looked back to the incident the night before with the butler and the amulet. He'd had it within his grasp. He'd had the amulet so close that he could reach out and grab it. He should have taken it and scarpered - used it to swap bodies with someone else -someone better than he was now. Anyone would have done - just so he didn't have to be lower than the low anymore. He could have traded lives with one of the indoor servants at the very least! He sighed, imagining how much better his life would be if he was allowed indoors and only had to sweep floors and make beds. He could be happy with that life. Then he grew angry again at himself. He shouldn't be fantasizing about being any kind of servant, even one better off than himself! He was supposed to be the lady of the manor! Even if the very idea of that still felt increasingly absurd. Despite himself he went on imagining the happier life he would have if he could change places with one of the indoor servants. Which one would he choose, he wondered. Obviously he wouldn't want to be one of the women. No. He wasn't queer. He loved being a bloke too much. He couldn't imagine being a namby pamby female. That would be horrible! The butler had the most prestigious position but he was very old and the only other male indoor employee was the footman. He was little more than a boy. But at least he got to work indoors. Burt sighed. None of this mattered. He didn't have the amulet. He'd been ordered to hand it over and he did. He reflected on that, feeling confused and uncomfortable. He knew that he needed that amulet more than anything but he also knew that he had to follow instructions; that was only right. He couldn't go against his betters. They knew what was best. If her ladyship had asked for the amulet to be moved inside it had to be for a good reason. She was so far superior to Burt, he had to trust her judgment. Who was he to question anything that the fancy lady decided? She was quality. He was nothing but a clodhopper. But he went on feeling uncomfortable and unsure of himself, sure somehow that this was all wrong, that he shouldn't be thinking like that. But then, how else should he think? He was a working class man, body and mind. She was a cultured aristocrat. Knowing firsthand how dim and uncultured he was and how much more intelligent she was, there was no doubt in his mind that she was better than him by a country mile. He was nothing to that beautiful lady. His opinions were irrelevant next to hers and he was far too thick to be choosing what the two of them should do. She, on the other hand, had right by position to lord it over him. If she wanted him to stay a servant then she had to have good reason for it. And regardless, she was quality. Good reason or not, he still had to do as he was told by her regardless. If Lady Ann didn't want him to have access to the amulet then she was right to do so. And he had no right to question it. At that moment the coach and horses came up the drive and the front door of the house opened. Burt started nervously, gripping the little step tightly in his grubby hands. The earl and duchess emerged along with the footman and butler carrying their baggage. Lady Harriet came afterwards as the coach pulled to a stop and the coachman climbed down. Burt was sure he was meant to do something but stood still, staring gormlessly, unsure of himself. "You!" snapped the butler. "Bring that step over here! Quickly!" Burt jerked into action, hurrying over with the step. "Sorry sir. Sorry m'lord; m'lady. So sorry." He bowed repeatedly, placing the step in front of the carriage door and looking up for a nod of approval. "Well get out of the way then you miserable cur!" snapped the Earl and Burt backed away anxiously, terrified that he might be thrown in the stocks again. He lowered his eyes as the quality ignored him, climbing aboard. He dared not raise his eyes to look at them and clutched his flat cap dourly, flushing red as Lady Harriet came near, to think of his uncouth and inappropriate behaviour round her the other day. He couldn't believe how impertinent he'd been to address her directly. The other servants fussed round securing the baggage as Burt wondered where the family were going, resenting the fact that nobody would tell him, though he begrudgingly accepted that it really wasn't any of his business what those of the quality got up to. They secured everything in place then he and the other servants watched as the coach pulled off. When it was gone, Powell turned to Burt and said, "Well pick up the step then you stupid idiot!" Burt hurried forward to do so, kicking himself for not remembering it. "And don't let me catch you talking directly to the earl again! You should know better than to think he'd want to be sullied with contact from you!" "Yes sir. Sorry sir," groveled Burt. "I'm so sorry. You're right." The butler glared at him. "Well go on then! You dirty fool!" Burt scurried back down toward the stable house with the step in his hands, all too aware of how obsequious he was being and hating it but knowing at the same time that it was expected of him. When he reached the stable he wandered about, wondering where to put the step. There were half a dozen places it could go but he was terrified of choosing the wrong place and incapable of making a decision. What if he put it somewhere and Harry or the Earl saw it and told him off? He didn't know what to do. And then he realised what this meant - that he didn't trust his own judgment anymore. He didn't trust his own ability to make a decision, even about something so trivial. He needed someone to tell him what to do that was clever. He knew that he couldn't be trusted not to get it wrong. So he hunted round until he found Harry and asked the older man what to do, bowing to his greater knowledge, intelligence and experience. "In the stable under the workbench," snapped Harry and Burt backed away sheepishly. "Thank you sir. I'll put it there right away. Sorry for bothering you sir." He rushed into the stable and put it away then stood in the darkness, reflecting for a minute on how he'd been acting, how servile and insecure he had become. This was wrong. It was all so wrong. He was supposed to be one of the quality - not this bumbling obsequious servant. He was meant to be an aristocrat himself! But he wasn't anymore. He wasn't at all. And each day that passed made him act less and less like one and more and more like the idiot peasant he was. More and more like Burt. More and more like himself. 4 "I'm beginning to feel rather like a princess," laughed Ann as she walked slowly around the British Museum with Richard, her wrist hooked into his elbow in a feminine way that she never would have used it in her... darker days back at Griply Hall. "And well you should," chuckled Richard. "When we're married you will be wealthier than most princesses and certainly more at liberty." "Really?" "Well I don't like to blow my own trumpet too loudly but I'm a millionaire many times over." He laughed when he saw her expression. "I own property here in London, in Paris and Madrid and then of course there's the Hurley estate in Shropshire - one of the most sumptuous houses in England." They passed through an arch into the next room. "And if that isn't enough for you, I can promise you a jaunt to Egypt or Rome whenever it might take your fancy." He touched Ann's cheek tenderly, stopping her for a moment. "I want you to feel as though the world is at your fingertips my dear; as though you are the most important lady in the world. Because you are, you know... to me." "Oh Richard," breathed Ann. "I'm so happy we're together; that I didn't go back to-- that I didn't return to Yorkshire before you got the chance to propose. I think I might have died if I'd gone back and then you'd proposed later." "Whatever do you mean?" "Nothing. Nothing dear. Ignore me. I'm just glad we're together and that I'm going to be your Ann forever." She wanted him to take her in his arms but with other people around she knew he wouldn't. Still, it didn't matter. They would be together soon enough. They would be able to share their entire lives together now. 5 Burt spent well over an hour shoveling up the horse dung into sacks and carrying it out for compost then got a mop and bucket and swabbed down the floor of the stable. While he worked his mind didn't wander; he remained focused only on what he was doing, lacking the brain power to consider other things at the same time. Once he was done mopping the floor he carried down fresh straw for the stalls and hay for the horses to eat and then, when he was finished, he took a short break, sitting on the steps up to his hay barn. It was only then that his mind reflected on what had happened to him so far and what it all meant. He was supposed to be Lady Ann Neville, heir of the Neville family fortune, a cultured lady and distant relative of the king. He had spent his entire life being groomed for a position in high society as a beautiful and delicately mannered woman. But what had become of him? He was nothing but a hard working yokel farmhand now, with a painfully limited intellect. And how had he responded when the earl and his former family had been present earlier? He had been bumbling and obsequious, fawning and desperate to please. But he'd also been nigh on incompetent, he knew that. He had made a mess of even the simplest instructions and gone on to question he own ability to think so completely that he couldn't make the simplest decision without asking for instructions from his betters. He put his head in his hands. How far he had fallen! How low he had become! And he couldn't help it! This was just the natural way he acted and reacted now. He really was just a bungling idiot. He truly was exactly like the original Burt in every way. But no. Surely not. Not completely. He still knew who he was. Deep down inside him he was still Lady Ann. He hadn't absorbed all of the original Burt's memories. He still had some of his own. But that was little comfort. He knew that the difference between him and the former Burt was negligible now. He had the same body and manner; the same job; the same lack of education and intellect. And now he was acting obsequious and servile in front of his betters, just as the original Burt would have. It made him feel panicked and trapped, but there was nowhere to run to get away from it; no way to escape. This was his life: the pathetic life of a commoner. A man. A servant. This was who he was. And it felt like this was who he always would be. The distance between this and his old life was just too great and her ladyship still showed no signs of coming home. Every day he came closer and closer to becoming the original Burt in every single way. Surely the same thing was happening to her - to Lady Ann. Eventually a point would come where they were so totally one another that swapping back might cease to be an option. If the new Lady Ann was taking on his former traits as quickly as he was losing them then she would reach a point where she would never agree to switch back. That point might even have been reached already - thus explaining her absence. When she really became Lady Ann in every way then she would become as cruel and vindictive as he had been and surely would refuse to swap bodies again. And then he truly would be stuck. Burt dreaded her return now if anything. He was convinced she would refuse to swap and he couldn't bear the idea of seeing her and acting every bit the servile country bumpkin. She would lord it over him and he would obsequiously follow her orders without question. He was terrified of that. He couldn't bear to imagine acting that way in front of her, but felt sure now that he wouldn't be able to resist. And part of him knew that this was only right. She was one of the quality. He was just a servant. Obviously he had to follow her commands without daring to hesitate. She was Lady Ann and she always would be. He was only Burt, her humble servant. And he would be until the end of his short and pitiful life. 6 Ann waited patiently while the phone rang, smiling to herself mischievously and thinking again about the letter she'd received from the simpleton Burt. It was just so delightful to think of the former Lady Ann being trapped in that body and brain; forced to act the way she used to. The butler of Griply Hall answered and she identified herself, musing briefly at how afraid she used to be of this old man. "Your parents and sister have set off safely m'lady," said Powell. "I believe they plan to rest this evening in their hotel and meet with you in the morning." "I know all that already," she snapped. "I'm calling on another matter." "Apologies miss. How may I be of service?" "Did you manage to find the amulet in the holiday cottage?" "Yes miss. It has been secreted away safely as per your instructions." "And you've told no one?" "No one at all. It is quite safe. You can rely on my confidence. No one even saw me fetch it." "Good." "Apart from Burt." "What?" Ann's eyes narrowed and she felt a little scratch of alarm. "The stable man m'lady." "I know who he is," she said, her voice cold. "You needn't worry miss. He didn't know what it was that I was carrying. It was well hidden." Ann sighed tensely. "Good. I suppose that will be alright. As long as he had no idea what it was." She paused. "Powell... About Burt..." "Yes m'lady?" "Has he been acting... out of character of late?" The butler considered his response for a moment, perhaps wondering why she would be asking. "Well, as you know he was given two weeks holiday and during that time he did seem rather..." "Yes?" "Rather... bold. More... sure of himself than normal, acting as though he were more important than he was. Old Harry told me he was quite disobedient." "And now?" "Now... Now that he's working again he's back to his old self. Doing his labour without complaint. Following orders. Working hard." "He's cleaning out the stables?" Ann smiled to herself. "Yes. And digging down the fields. Doing general labour; fetching and carrying; cleaning out the pig pen." Ann grinned broadly. "And what about his intelligence? Any change there?" The butler chuckled. "Well that's hard to say m'lady. He was never the sharpest tool in the box." "And what about now?" "Well..." He paused again while Ann waited expectantly. "If anything I'd say he's even stupider than ever. Easily confused; obsequious; eager to please but only worth trusting with the simplest tasks." Ann giggled, covering the mouthpiece with her hand. This was simply too hilarious. She had to see it for herself. "He's not a bad lad," said the butler, covering for the clodhopper somewhat. "He does what he's paid for admirably well. He's a hard-working labourer... just not much more. As long as you don't expect much of him he's perfect for heavy lifting; digging; that sort of thing." Ann was laughing out loud now, doing her best to keep it from the butler, but it was difficult. "May I ask why you're enquiring madam?" Ann quieted herself. "He took it upon himself to write to me here in London." "He did?" "Yes. And I want you to punish him. I don't want him thinking he can correspond with me. He needs to know his place." "Of course m'lady." "Punish him tomorrow. And ensure that the punishment forces him to acknowledge his position most accurately." "Yes miss." "I want him to comprehend in no uncertain terms exactly how low he is compared to me; is that clear?" "Yes miss." "I want him to appreciate exactly how limited his position is and how subservient he should be acting." She smiled, thinking of how repeating who she was had helped to cement the change in herself. Perhaps a similar thing would work with that little fool. "Powell." "Yes m'lady?" "Give him lines to write if his handwriting is up to it. Give him a hundred lines. I want him to write a hundred times exactly how low down his position is; how subservient he should be to his betters. By the time he is finished I want it to be entirely clear in his mind just how wide the gulf is between him and me." 7 Burt wandered down into the village, musing about how recently it was that he would have been driven down in a coach if he'd wanted to. Now he had no choice but to walk. Truth be told though, it wouldn't have felt right driving around in a carriage. They were for posh folks, not paupers like him. It didn't take that long to walk down from the hall and to be honest he'd have felt like a bit of a prat riding down. There were them that had money and them that didn't, and them that had it threw it away on the stupidest things; least that was the way he saw it. Though like the vicar was always saying, the quality were different. They might be cleverer and in charge and all, but they didn't have the stamina of the masses. Most of the gentry would have had their hearts give out if they were faced with the kind of hard work Burt had to do. He chuckled, thinking to himself how much better he was than them in his own little way. Then he grew morose again, thinking about his realization of how trapped he was now and how sure he was that he was never going to change back. And he wasn't a complete idiot. He knew that if he really was going to stay this way for the rest of his days then he just had to get used to it. He had to convince himself again that it was what he wanted. If he could just do that; really make himself think that this was the life he desired then he could just relax and be happy. If he couldn't get back to his old life then he might as well just forget about it and be satisfied with being a man. He sighed. There was still a huge part of him that wanted that with all his heart but the other side of him was constricted by horror that if he did that then he would be saying goodbye to even the slightest chance of regaining his rightful... his former life. When he reached the square he saw a range of stalls had been erected on the common and kicked himself to recall that this was the travelling fair here at last that he'd heard was coming. There were little tents set up all over and a tiny stage on the back of a wagon where travelling players would be putting on a show. He smiled to think of it, imagining how crass and bawdy it would most likely be. Just his sort of thing. Burt wandered between the tents, giving them a closer look. Most of them were still setting up and he marveled at the gaudy outfits of the gypsies. He couldn't imagine dressing up in such fancy clothes. He was much happier in his dull moth-eaten trousers and shirt. It didn't occur to him that he'd spent the better part of his life wearing fancy dresses and skirts of all colours. His simple mind was far too cluttered with memories of "his" new life, dressed in the dreary men's clothes of a labourer and farmhand. A woman sat on a stool outside one of the set up tents who caught his eye. She had a great mane of knotted white hair and the most piercing grey eyes he'd ever seen. Her clothes were as threadbare as his but she stared at him intently, holding his gaze. He found himself approaching her as she smiled predatorily. "Ow do ma'am," he said, then faltered slightly. "What is it... What is it you do ere?" "A little this, a little that," she said, still fixing him in her gaze. "Some telling of fortunes; some reading of minds." Burt shuffled uncomfortably. "Oh aye? Well that's grand is that, I suppose." "Would you like me to read you?" "My fortune?" "If that is what you desire." Burt shrugged, feeling increasingly unsure of himself and threatened by her strange intensity. "If'n you want I guess." She smiled. "Then come inside. Please." She withdrew backwards into the tent, still focused on him, and vanished in the darkness. Burt hesitated then followed her in. Burt found himself in a shadowy and atmospheric inner chamber with candlelight and other gaudy trappings of the sideshow traveller. The fortune teller was already seated behind a small circular table, smiling up at him and not removing her intense and disconcerting gaze. "Take a seat young man," she said, "and let me look at you." Burt did so feeling terrible conspicuous and actually worried. His last brush with the supernatural had devastated his life. And added to that, although, as Ann, he had not believed in the occult he had a far more prominent memory of "his" childhood as a boy wherein his ma had warned him against messing with this sort of thing. "Mark my words Burt, my boy," she'd said, "nothing good comes of meddling with those gypsy folk." He didn't know quite why he'd come in aside from the mesmerism of the woman's stare. But he was here now. What harm could possibly come of it? "Tell me your name young man," said the gypsy. "Burt." She gave him a little mischievous smile and said, "Alright... Burt, give me your hand." He laid it palm down on the table and she took it in her hands and turned it round, tracing the lines there with a claw-like fingernail. "Hmmm. Yes." She let her eyes half close, the retinas drawing up beneath the lids until they weren't visible. "You're a labourer. Yes." It wasn't a question. Burt murmured in reply. "And you wonder what the future holds. If all your future days will be the same now." He nodded, unsure, though the gypsy couldn't see him do it. "Destiny is a strange thing," whispered the woman. "It can be almost impossible to divert it unless some... powerful force intercedes. And once diverted, that new destiny becomes yours forever, for good or ill." Burt's mouth hung flaccidly open as he simply looked at her, his thoughts sluggishly flopping from one thing to another. "To play at diverting one's destiny is a foolish thing," she said, "and always leads to regret. Only another intervention of great power can change the course of fate back and such intervention is unlikely." She smiled a brittle smile. "A change of destiny is almost always permanent." She fell silent for several moments as Burt forlornly digested what she'd said, confirming all his worst fears, knowing that this meant he was just as trapped as he'd thought he was. He was never going back. She started to release a low humming groan from the back of her throat with her lips parted and Burt just sat and watched her, wondering dully if he should do something in particular. The humming grew in intensity and then lowered, increasing in pitch. Then abruptly, it cut off and the gypsy's eyes flicked fully open so that she was staring right back at him. "There is something very wrong with you... Burt,"she said, "isn't there?" He hesitated then nodded slowly. "Aye. I suppose you ain't wrong there." He felt a tug of embarrassment suddenly that she would expose his secret somehow. He imagined the other blokes down't pub laughing at the fact he used to be a woman if she spread it round. He imagined the Earl and his family laughing at his terrible mistake before they gave him yet more orders for the rest of his life, paying him back for all the times, as Ann, he had been petulant and unreasonable. "It's your soul," she said. "It doesn't fit. Not properly." "My soul?" Burt swallowed. He didn't know how she could possibly know unless she really did possess real talents but she was undoubtedly right. The soul of Lady Ann Neville resided in this Burt-flesh. It wasn't a surprise that this was causing him intense difficulty and unhappiness. He imagined his soul as a ghostly beautiful feminine figure crammed into his manly body. "Does it look different than it should?" he said. "Does it look like... like someone else?" She stared intently at him and his heart shuddered when she said, "No. Not like someone else. A person's soul will normally be a duplicate of the physical form and yours is for almost identical; but there are slight aberrations that are preventing it from fitting snugly in alignment with your earthly form." Burt frowned. "Aberra...?" "Differences. Your soul looks almost the same as you do but not quite." Burt sat silent and stony-faced, trying to wrap his comprehension around what he was hearing. Ever since this has started he'd told himself that everything would be okay because he still had Lady Ann's soul in his body. Now he knew indubitably that this was no longer the case. His fears were all true. His very soul had transformed along with his body and now was almost the same as the original Burt's. He sat stunned. "I think you know why your soul is out of alignment," said the gypsy. Burt gaped back at her but said nothing. "I think you've been meddling with things that didn't concern you." He lowered his head. "And you should know," she said, glaring at him, "that you will never feel content as long as this misalignment continues. You will only be happy if body and soul match." Burt nodded forlornly. "I know. I've known that for a while now." She brightened. "But there's no need to fret now." She got to her feet. "I know a way to help soothe the difference and bring your spirit in line with your body. A potion; I could make up for you; if you wish it." "A potion?" She nodded briskly. "The ingredients are simple enough. I could mix it for you by this time tomorrow for a small fee." "And then my... my soul would look the same as I do." She smiled kindly for the first time and nodded. "And you need never struggle with your nature again. You could be happy with who you are and accept your destiny once and for all." 8 Lady Ann couldn't have been more delighted as she sat with her arms folded and legs crossed out on the balcony overlooking the park, smoking a cigarette daintily. Her life was quite simply perfect. Not only was she a rich heiress now, she was going to marry into even more money, becoming one of the wealthiest women in all England. She had a handsome fianc? and all the time in the world to languish in her prosperity without having to lift a finger to support herself. She had servants attending her every need here at Grandmamma's, and the number of underlings would only increase in the future! Why at Hurley Castle, Richard's ancestral holdings, there were purported to be well over a hundred staff in all. But all that wasn't the best part of it. The best part was what she'd had confirmed to her by Powell, the butler of Griply Hall: that the former Lady Ann, imperious and petulant harridan that she was, had indeed changed in character every bit as much as she had. What had Powell said? That after a period of acting as though he were more important than he was, he was now "back to his old self."She chuckled to recall it. "Doing his labour without complaint. Following orders. Working hard." The proud mistress who had always thought herself above the common masses had transformed into nothing but a toadying little cur; a blunt instrument fit only for hard labour. And it was hard labour that miserable fool was getting and would go on getting. He would be spending the better part of fourteen hours a day doing the relentless and thankless tasks that would have been her lot in life. Their destinies had been well and truly exchanged, not just their physical forms. The fact that the punishment she'd designed for him to be given for daring to ask for his former body back would further cement the changes only made it better. It was simply too delightful to imagine and Ann was eager to get back to Yorkshire to see it for herself. But that would have to wait. "Her" family were on their way to London to celebrate the news of the engagement and the days ahead would be full of delight. There were plenty of things to hold her here in London. But Burt Harper wasn't going anywhere. He would still be waiting up in Griply however long she delayed, slaving away at his chores and wondering what went wrong with his life. He would still be waiting whether she chose to go back in days, weeks, months or years: living out his new life of endless drudgery. 9 Burt nuzzled his face into the tight cleavage of yet another girl, groaning in passion as she giggled, then he came up and forced his tongue into her mouth, gripping her arms tight to her sides in his strong hands. They were at the other side of the common from the Dog & Pony, nestled between two bushes in the long grass and he could hear the racket of the fair being set up over the top of the girls sighs as he pulled at the strings on the front of her dress and snatched it open to reveal her pendulous boobs. He chewed roughly on her nipples, feeling more and more aroused, overcome by the instinctive animal drive to couple and release his seed; loving every second of it and entirely focused on the activity as though nothing else mattered. She squealed in a burst of saucy surprise when he thrust up her skirts and hooked her panties out of the way. "Oh Burt! You're so forward!" "I'm a damn sight more than that luv," he said and pressed the end of his knob up against her minge, feeling the lubrication and slipping in this time without resistance. "But I can't see you complainin." She laughed and he started rocking his pelvis, forward and back, raising his shoulders so he could get a better look at the slag and get access to her boobs again with his big clumsy hands. He smiled broadly, really enjoying himself, loving again this part of his transformation - the part that had never disappointed him and always been more if anything than he ever could have anticipated. Just as before, this act was the absolute culmination of his fantastic masculinity. He felt his manhood in every part of his body without doubt or regret. He reveled in it, knowing at that moment that he wanted it as he wanted nothing else - that he wanted it to go on forever; that he could never give this up: such power and unbridled intent; such strength and indomitability. He wasn't a servant now. He wasn't an imbecile. He wasn't fawning and sycophantic. He sure as damn wasn't some jumped up airy fairy woman thinking she was better than everybody else! He was just a man; just a virile man taking exactly what he wanted without pause or fear. He came, thrusting over and over against the girl's crotch, his entire being pulsing down through his body and out through his engorged cock. Then he flopped down over her, panting, and then ever so slowly, withdrew and slid to the side so that they were both lying on their backs looking up at the starry sky. Burt felt perfectly satisfied and perfectly content. Tawdry and dirty though this carnal act had been, at that moment he wouldn't have wanted to change a thing in his life. He was perfectly content with who and what he was. Then, as he lay there, the other concerns of his life slowly crept back in and in his mind he stood as though looking down at this squalid ugly scene: the tart with her legs splayed; he, a dirty servant, his hairy thighs and penis still exposed where he hadn't even bothered to pull his trousers up: the two of them lying in the bushes at the edge of a field, just two rutting peasants, little better than beasts. He saw the scene as though he were his old self and felt nothing but shame and a vague sense of panicked regret. "I've been with lots o' blokes in me day Burt," said the girl, whose name he didn't know, "but I ain't been with any wot's as strong as you." Normally such a comment would have given him a swell of male pride, but not today, not now that the mood was irreparably lost. He just couldn't stand this steeple chase of different emotions, feeling really happy to be a man one minute and resenting how low he had fallen the next. He just wanted it to end, one way or another. "You know they're building a boxing ring for the fair," said the harlot, "with local men fighting to see who's champion; tryin to prove who's the toughest. I think you should sign up." Burt lifted himself onto his elbows and scanned the common until he saw what she was describing. The workmen were almost finished erecting the structure. It wasn't nothing compared to the big ring he'd seen in Blackpool but it wasn't bad for a country fair. He remembered the fun of watching the matches there and then the fantastic time he'd had afterwards, fighting blokes himself. Then he remembered the beating he'd go from the bouncer at the race course on the day his luck took its awful turn for the worse, the pain of his broken nose. He shrugged. "I don't know. I ain't got nothin to prove." She giggled. "You can prove what I already know. That you're the biggest man around." "Biggest... man?" "Yeah. If you win that boxing tournament then everyone'll know you're the best man around these parts; the biggest, strongest, most masculine man of all. And I'll be able to say I bedded you." She laughed shrilly, covering her mouth with a clutch of his shirt. Burt lay back, looking up into the darkness and pondered that for a while; thinking that his manhood was all he had now really, the only thing he could really be good about. How if he did win then he could really be proud of himself again and not have to feel bad no more. He'd be the envy of all the other blokes. They might be cleverer then wot he was but they'd know they couldn't cross him. And he might even win back Mavis. Then he thought about the gypsy fortune teller; of what she'd said about his destiny being set now and her offer of the potion; the potion that, from the sound of it, would accelerate the transformation of his soul and really make it fit his manly body at last. He wasn't sure if he'd been right to or not but he had asked her to make it up for him. She would give it him tomorrow. Now all he had to do was decide whether he was really prepared to take it. And really prepared to complete his transformation into Burt once and for all. 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