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

To Be a Man 1 Burt delivered the second of two great metal cylinders filled with milk to the back of the hall and turned to go but stopped when he heard his name. "Burt! I want a word with you." He turned to see Powell, the butler, emerge from the kitchen doorway looking even more stern and unforgiving than he usually did. "Yes sir?" he said, remembering only belatedly a time when this man would have followed his orders to the letter, instead of now, where he was the highest authority in Burt's life shy of the Neville family and the good Lord. "Ow can I be o'service?" "You can march yourself over here with me my lad," said Powell bluntly. "I have a bone to pick with you." He walked straight over to the outside table under the awning where Harry and Burt ate their meals and slapped down a paper, a ruler and a pencil. Burt followed dutifully, increasingly apprehensive of where this was going. The butler turned on him and glared into his sullen face. "I spoke to Lady Ann on the telephone yesterday evening." "Er ladyship?" Burt blinked, unsure, but hoping this meant that she was coming home - that he could have his body back at last; but his heart fell at the next words that came from the butler's lips. "Yes. And she's very very angry with you." "Angry? With me? Er ladyship? Ann?" "What made you think you had the right to address a letter to her directly? Well?" Burt floundered, confused, not knowing what to say or think. What did this mean? What did it mean about her intentions? "Answer me man!" snapped Powell, picking up the ruler and striking Burt hard on the arm with it. "I dunno sir," said Burt quickly. "You don't know? You don't know!" "I'm sorry sir." Burt was flabbergasted that he was in this position., he hadn't imagined for a second that Lady Ann would tell anyone else about the letter he'd sent, let alone tell Powell she was angry about it. "Oh you'll be sorry my lad. You should be ashamed of yourself! You're nothing to her; you do know that, don't you?" Burt swallowed dryly. "Yes sir." "What was the letter about?" "She didn't tell you?" "More lovesick fawning presumably. I should have you flogged or sent packing." "Please sir, no," pleaded Burt. "If you can't be trusted to get on with your work and leave the family in peace then I'll have no choice but to relieve you of your duties." "No. Please sir. Anything but that. Please don't send me away sir," said Burt, hating how obsequious he was being but terrified of being thrown out into the cold with even less than he had now and no way of regaining his old life. "I needs me job sir. I needs it. Please don't send me away sir. I'm sorry. I shouldn't've bothered er ladyship; it was wrong of me. She's better than me. I ain't nothing to er. I shouldn't be wastin er time when I got me chores to be gettin on with." He was breathing rapidly now, his face lowered, feeling awful. Powell just went on glaring at him. "I likes me job sir," murmured Burt, unsure why he was saying it. "I like workin ere and I don't want to go away." "Oh, you like it do you?" This put Burt on the spot and made him feel terribly uncomfortable but again the words just started coming out. "Yes sir. I likes workin with the 'orses an doin odd jobs about the place. I like it at lot." He stood, unnerved by what he was saying, feeling that it was unpleasantly close to being true and not being sure what that meant; not being sure he wanted to know. "Then if you like it so much," snapped Powell, "why do you jeopardise your position here by acting above your station? Hmmm?" Burt hung his head. "I dunno sir." "What?" "I dunno sir. It was wrong o'me. I'm sorry. I shouldn'ta written to er ladyship. She shouldn't afta be bothered by the likes of me; not when she 'as more important things to do." "Well you aren't going to get away with it that easily," said Powell. "Here." He pointed to the pencil and paper. "I want you to sit here and write a hundred times, 'I will not waste Lady Ann's time. I am nothing compared to her.'" Burt looked at the paper then back at Powell. "Eh?" "A hundred times," said the butler. "Sit down now and get to it." Burt did as he was told and picked up the pencil. "I will not waste Lady Ann's time. I am nothing compared to her.' Go on. Hurry up." Burt scrutinised the paper, building an increasingly bad feeling about this and then tried to write. He popped his tongue out the side of his mouth and wrote as carefully as he could but it took him well over a minute to get one line done. I wEEl KnoT wAYsT LADee ANNeS tYM I aM nUfFiNk cOmpAreD tOo Err The butler looked at what he'd done and sighed. "Oh for goodness sake! Stand up!" "Don't you want me to write no more?" asked Burt, doing as he was told. "I don't want to spend the rest of my day supervising an illiterate idiot who can't spell for toffee. You can just say it out loud." "Out loud?" "Two hundred times. Go on." Burt looked back at the butler and realized with quiet dread just what this could mean. If he said that over and over again then the repetition would work on his brain, just as it had before. It would push him further and further on in his transformation when he was already teetering so close to the brink of disaster - so close to losing everything forever. And the specific form of it was terribly dangerous. When her ladyship returned, if he couldn't command her to change them back; if instead he fawned around her, acting every bit her inferior, then she might never agree to make the change. His attention snapped back to the moment when Powell rapped his hand with the end of the ruler. "Do it!" "Please sir, no. Anything but that." "Do it or you will be dismissed from employment." "Please sir. I needs this job; I... I love me job; but I don't want to say that." The butler rapped him even harder. "Do it!" And without any choice, Burt lifted his head miserably and said, "I'll not waste Lady Ann's time. Not no more. I ain't nothing compared to er." Somewhere in the base of his skull a light buzzing started. "Again." "I won't waste Lady Ann's time. She's better'n I am by far. I'm just 'er servant." The buzzing became a warmth and started to spread. "Again." "I won't waste er ladyship's time. I ain't nothin to er but a servant. She's better'n the likes of me and she always will be." The tingling relaxed him, taking away his inhibitions, letting the changes start to tick away unimpeded. . "Again." "I won't say nothin to Lady Ann. She don't wanna talk to someone on my level. She's quality and I ain't nothin but a workin man." 2 To say that Ann was nervous to meet 'her' family was a profound understatement. So much time had gone by now since she'd assumed the role of Lady Ann that with the creaking changes to her mind and memories she thought of them as her blood relatives more now than her former family in Hartlepool, but the fact remained that she still recalled much of her life as Burt and for most of that life, these people had been her employers. The Earl himself had been a terrifying overlord. Despite herself, Ann couldn't help but feel a little nervous to be meeting them now for the first time as a woman. And further than that, these were people who knew the real Ann intimately. Staying with and fooling her grandmamma was one thing. Fooling direct family members was another thing altogether. She waited in the hallway as they climbed from their carriage and approached the front door, Richard on one side of her and Grandmamma on the other, butterflies fluttering away in her stomach. When the door opened the Earl filled the frame, looking sternly in and Ann's heart rose into her throat. He glared from one to the other of them, cold and distinguished, them his expression melted, becoming warm and friendly and he hurried in followed by mama and Hattie. Suddenly Ann was surrounded by laughing happy people and all her worries dissolved. 'Her' father embraced her and 'her' mother kissed her on both cheeks. Even Hattie was pleased to see her and everyone chattered about how happy they were to hear of the engagement. They moved through into the drawing room and Ann basked in the joy all around her, feeling ecstatic to be a fully accepted member of this prestigious family all of a sudden; a family she had envied for so long in her former life. No one seemed to spot any flaw in her fa?ade and as the minutes went on she became more and more confident that they never would. It was all so entirely wonderful. This was her life now: socializing with the well-appointed and well to do - a life of riches and luxury. She shared a private smile with her Richard across the room as everyone went on talking, oblivious. She felt so warm and happy in her breast. It might even have been the happiest day of her life. Ann thought about that, realized that it was indeed true, and settled back into her chair feeling wonderful. 3 Burt felt awful and walked down from the hall, wishing he'd never seen the butler. Having to repeat those lines so many times was only going to make matters worse and he pondered what insidious effect they might have had on him. So much had changed in his character already that any further changes could only be subtle underlinings of what was already there. Or maybe it would be something more profound. He couldn't be sure. He walked past the stable, glad Harry wasn't present. For the moment he couldn't face getting on with his work and just needed time to think, though he felt awfully guilty at doing that. It just wasn't right for him to be shirking on the job. He had a responsibility as a man to do his chores. Thinking this almost made him pause and scurry off to do his laboring but he managed to resist. He'd just have a short break and then go back and work harder. He'd tell Harry he needed to work late to make up for it. That would make it alright, and he'd do double the time he missed now, just to be sure he wasn't taking advantage. His encounter with Powell had left him very much shaken, and not just from fear of the effect it would have when Lady Ann finally returned. The revelation that she had received his letter and wasn't rushing back to swap bodies was shocking to the core. Moreover, she actually sent word to punish him. Could there be any clearer indication that she was planning to stay as she was? Keep her body and leave him in his? Surely that was what it meant. The swap was permanent. He was never going to change back. Never. He stood there on the drive, digesting that fact until his whole body was quivering then a sharp tension rose in his back and shoulders until he almost staggered in dizziness. A sigh bubbled up from his lungs, dagger-sharp and too big for his throat, then it came out and his shoulders slumped, his head falling. He dropped to his knees, hands out to the path in front of him. He remained there, breathing laboriously, head hanging almost to the ground. He was going to be Burt forever. Lady Ann had betrayed him. Lady Ann didn't care about him. She wanted him to stay like this. She wanted to make his life a misery. He was never getting out of this. Not ever. He was going to stay who he was for the rest of his life. "And isn't that what you wanted?" He jerked upright, hearing the voice and gaped at the gypsy woman from the fair, leaning against a tree, chewing a piece of grass, watching him. "Eh?" She smiled, gazing at him with those piercing grey eyes of hers. "You look relieved." Burt's brow crinkled. "Wot you doin ere?" "I came to give you this." She withdrew a small bottle from her cloak. "The potion we discussed? I mixed it up for you this morning." "You said... You said it was what I wanted." "Did I?" She smiled. "I don't recall." "You just... How did you know what I was...? Who are you?" "I brought you the potion," she said, walking across to him as he climbed to his feet. She extended her arm, offering it. "The one you wanted." Burt looked at it feeling confused and unsteady. His thoughts were whirling, his bowels roiling with nausea. His head throbbed and the backs of his eyes felt shrunken. "It's what you wanted," said the gypsy. "For your soul and body to match. So that you could be happy." "Happy?" Burt looked her in the eye again. "Yes Burt." And now her smile seemed genuine, not laced with mirth. "Content with who you are. For the first time." The liquid in the bottle was a deep green and flecks of herbs moved slowly within, half concealed by the glassy sheen. Lady Ann had left him like this. She wasn't never coming back. He was going to be Burt for the rest of his life. "Take it," said the gypsy. "Drink it. Let yourself forget your troubles." He looked at the bottle in her open palm. It seemed so easy to take it from her and drink it down. So easy to let go of the tension he'd been feeling these past weeks, the increasing horror of his predicament. He took the bottle in his hand. "That's it Burt. Good man," said the gypsy. She stepped away then stepped away again. "You don't have to drink it now. I can see that you aren't quite ready. But drink it soon. Drink it and let yourself be who you really are. Accept your destiny once and for all. Will you do that for me?" Burt looked up into her mesmerizing eyes, losing himself in them again. So so easy and all his problems would be solved. All he had to do was drink. And then at last, he could be content with who he was. 4 Ann and her new family strolled through Hyde Park, chattering excitedly about the high life she'd been living in London: the plays and concerts she'd seen; the parties; the trip to Brighton. Richard meanwhile walked along behind talking about more serious subjects with the Earl while the ladies did their gossiping. It was lovely to be one of the women, giggling at the romantic tales. Ann smirked to herself at Hattie's obvious jealousy. She had a clear memory from before the change of Hattie making fun of her about having to take the journey. The irony that Ann had enjoyed a wonderful time and had found such a powerful husband was surely not lost on her. "It's such a shame that you didn't come to London Hattie," said Ann. Perhaps you could have found a man too." Hattie scowled darkly. "Though you did go to York for a night," went on Ann. "That must have been almost as good." "Well it was nice to go shopping without your constant haranguing," snipped Hattie. "Now now ladies," said the Countess. "Do play nice together, that's my good girls." She hooked her wrists through each of their arms and smiled benignly. Ann smiled back and Hattie stuck her tongue out at her from out of sight. They wandered on, enjoying the fresh air and sunshine, making plans for the wedding. The Countess "reminded" Ann that she had always wanted to be married in York Minster and she had to agree it was a wonderful idea. She wondered what the original Ann would say when he heard that his girlhood dream had come true... for somebody else! They chatted about what was going on in Yorkshire at Griply Hall. Ann asked polite questions for a while then turned the conversation onto "that odious stablehand." "Him?" sneered Hattie. "He's just as backward and good-for-nothing as he's always been. I don't know why we keep him on." "Well he's very good at simple tasks," replied Ann. "Jobs that don't require any brains." "Or breeding. He's a horror to speak to, stuttering and stammering in his ridiculous bumpkin accent." Hattie and Ann both laughed. "I'm sure I don't know who you're talking about," said the Countess. This made Ann laugh all the more. The older woman must have seen Burt around the place a thousand times and he was so far beneath her notice that she didn't even recall it. Oh, how low the mighty fall! The path met the edge of the long lake and they turned left, walking along its edge. The sun shimmered on the breeze-rippled water, sparkling like thousands of candle flames. The group shifted positions with the Earl taking up position next to Ann's mother while grandmamma grilled Hattie on her prospects. Ann had to smile at that. She herself fell back into step with Richard. They enjoyed the quiet and one another's company, Ann wishing Richard would take her hand as she would have taken Mavis's back in her former life. But he didn't. They stopped as a group and looked out over the water as three swans took flight. "Oh look Richard darling!" cried Ann. "Aren't they beautiful!" He took her hands. "Not as beautiful as you Ann." "Oh Richard," she breathed. "Kiss me." He released her hands, becoming quite restrained and looked to where the Earl and Countess were standing. "It's hardly an appropriate time my dear." He smiled thinly. "We will be able to partake of such... matters after we're married but until then... I feel we should refrain." "Oh... Alright," said Ann, a little taken aback. Richard smiled formally again and walked over to the Earl, pointing to the swans as they came down to land on the water. Ann watched him glumly as Hattie appeared at her shoulder, smirking. "It looks like you've found a passionate man at least Ann," she said quietly. "I expect you'll be overcome with romance... once you're married. If there is any." "Oh do shut up Hattie," snapped Ann. "You can start casting judgment when you find a man for yourself. I think we both know you'll most likely end up an old maid." Hattie's smirk fell off her face. She humphed and walked off, but Ann looked out over the lake with a troubled expression on her face, thinking of the freedom of expression and lust that she'd once enjoyed. Even on their wedding night she couldn't imagine the handsome but still quite formal Richard being quite as forthcoming with his physical desires as she might like. Perhaps there was a downside to being Lady Ann after all... And she was starting to wonder why the original Lady Ann had not acquiesced when Richard had been courting her originally. Perhaps the former Ann had seen something she was only just starting to... ? 5 Harry ordered Burt to saw up a fallen tree after lunch so he walked into the woods east of the hall and got to work, quickly building up a sweat as he started. It was laborious but not too bad once he got going. It was a nice break from his usual labours and being out in the woods made him feel more relaxed. He didn't like Harry shouting at him all the time, even if he usually deserved it. But though he worked hard and continuously, his thoughts never strayed far from the little bottle in his pocket and the potion inside. He knew now that Lady Ann had left him stranded in this body and life and the stress of that was raking through him constantly. He didn't know what to think anymore but he knew he was anxious and unhappy. He couldn't believe that she would do that to him! He had only swapped places with her temporarily! The idea of making that decision intentionally and then finding himself trapped and having no control made his head wring with claustrophobia and panic. How could this have happened to him? How could he have lost everything? Burt stopped sawing, leaning against the tree trunk, trying to catch his breath. His breathing was shallow and rapid. He couldn't quite capture enough air. He was feeling faint. Tension was scratching the inner walls of his stomach and clawing up his throat. Why did he do this?? WHY??? He slumped over the tree, groaning in anxiety and regret, slipping down onto his knees. And then he thought of how relaxed he'd felt these past few days, doing his best to enjoy being who he was. He released a ragged sigh, holding the back of his head. He had been almost happy now that he had accepted his role; understood that he needed instruction; welcomed the orders from his betters. He just couldn't stand feeling like this anymore. He couldn't fight against it. He didn't have the brains for it. Now that her ladyship had chosen not to swap back and the pendant had been removed there was no way he could ever change things. He had to just accept it now. He didn't have any choice. He had to really BECOME Burt one hundred percent. He had to take the potion. He slipped the little bottle out of his pocket and looked at it, the back of his hand resting on his knee. The unknown herbs swirled slowly in the thick dark liquid. What it's other ingredients were was equally mysterious. But did he have any other choice? Surely if he took this now then he could finally be at peace. His soul would feel fully at home in this body at last. But what if he was mistaken? What if it was all a misunderstanding? What if Lady Ann still planned to switch back, or if she changed her mind? Would drinking the potion mean that they couldn't ever swap back? Or that he wouldn't want to if he got the chance? There were so many variables and he couldn't even begin to think it all through with his sluggish brain power! He had to just follow his instinct. And his instinct desired nothing more than a release from this constant stress. He wanted to be happy. And his gut told him that Lady Ann would never want to trade places with a filthy country bumpkin like him. No. The potion was his only option. He had to take it. He had no choice. "Burt!" Harry's voice drifted through the trees from afar. "Burt! Have you finished cutting that wood yet you lazy big idiot?" "Not yet sir!" he called back. "But I will've soon!" "Well hurry it up you chuffin great plonker!" Burt scrambled back his feet, shoved the still corked bottle back in his pocket and got back to work. It wouldn't do to keep Harry waiting and he still had a lot more jobs to do before the end of the day. But he didn't stop thinking about the potion and each time he considered it he came closer to thinking that perhaps taking it would be for the best. 6 Lady Ann and her new family returned to Grandmamma's townhouse, still chattering gaily but Ann herself felt slightly subdued. When they climbed out of the coach, Ann made a little excuse to hang back so that she could have a moment to herself. It was all so engulfing, racing from one intense experience to another. It was only weeks since she'd had no prospects at all and now she was surrounded by loving family and was going to be married to a man! And she would be rich beyond the dreams of the gentry. But there was something wrong; something scraping away at her peace of mind, and she wasn't sure what it was. The coachman dismounted and led the coach through on foot to the rear of the property though the low arch. Ann followed, calmed by the proximity to the horses. The stable hand appeared to help and the two men worked together to unhitch the coach from the horses and set it all ready for when it would be needed again. Unnoticed, Ann watched them work, thinking back to the simple times of her past life and found herself watching the stable hand closely. Though lowborn, he was a fine figure of a man, more... rugged than the distinguished looks of Lord Hurley. He wasn't handsome as such but he certainly possessed a... masculine quality that made him fascinating in his own way. Ann smiled to herself and turned away. These were silly thoughts and it was only because she was... only because she was tired from her walk. That was all. She went to go inside but allowed herself one more glance back at the stable hand and his strong muscular form, visible in silhouette through his shirt as the sun shone through it. 7 When he had finished his work for the day, Burt climbed up to his hayloft feeling a fusion of dread and exhilaration. He had the bottle out and in his hand. Between his shoulder blades and in the bristles of hair round the back of his head he awash with sweat. He clutched the bottle, loosened his fingers then clutched it tight again, over and over, walking straight to the mirror. In the glass he almost didn't recognize himself with his strange charged expression. His eyes were red-rimmed, his skin pale, his moustache starkly visible in contrast. His shirt was moist and clinging, the underarms soaked and stained a pale yellow. He still felt faint and queasy, his heart fluttering and it occurred to him that he was near breaking point, both physically and mentally. If he didn't stop this now then he might shatter somehow inside, becoming hollow and empty. He pulled the stopper from the thin neck of the little bottle and brought it to his nose, sniffing briefly. It was a strong heady scent that intensified his dizziness and blurred his vision, making him think he could see strange floating ghostly images around himself in the reflection. This was a mistake. He knew it was. But what other choice did he have? None. It was this or nothing. He held the bottle poised to his lips and as it touched the damp skin there the strange floating vision grew stronger, more visible. Nervous and shaking, he tipped the bottle back, taking a little of it into his mouth. The taste was a little bitter but powerful. Absorbing. It gave him the immediate compulsion to bolt down the rest, but he didn't. He kept it there on his palate for several long seconds, feeling the taste and the herbs that grazed his tongue. Then he did swallow and his throat contracted. And that was when he saw it. His soul as it was now. A shimmering translucent spectre hovering about him just inches out of synch with his body; almost a mirror image of how he looked now, but not quite. Different. A bad fit. Not feminine; not that; but wrong. He gazed at it, spellbound, watching the tiny fluctuations in its ethereal form. It moved like the long hair of a woman might if underwater, slowly and languidly, holding his attention completely. All he had to do was finish the potion and this soul would change entirely into the male servant's spirit that was meant to inhabit this body. He would become Burt completely finally in body, mind and spirit, a working class servant and nothing more, most likely forever. The part of him that was still Lady Ann was screaming at him to stop but it was such a tiny voice now, compared to huge mass of instinct telling him that following orders was the right thing to do, that he didn't deserve anything more, that he was a dimwitted country bumpkin and he had to accept that - it was only right. He lifted the neck of the bottle to his lips again and started to tilt it back. The liquid touched his tongue, swelling into his mouth, delicious this time; tantalizing. But he stopped, pulling it away, holding it down near his waist, glaring at it. He looked into his reflection again, at the dopey, slack-jawed expression, the muddled eyes. He didn't want this. He didn't want to be a common labourer for the rest of his days! He didn't! But he did! Without a second's further hesitation he knocked back the liquid, holding the bottle at such an angle that it struggled to leave the bottle, plopping into his mouth in bursts as air pushed up inside to replace what was coming out. The potion filled his mouth, went down his throat in great long gulps. His head swayed, thoughts becoming more and more dazed and dizzy. The herbs swirled round his gullet and shot down toward his stomach. He was doing it. He shouldn't be doing it. But he wanted it so much! He had to do it! He had to do it now! And then it was all gone. And the bottle was empty. It fell from his fingers and shattered on the hard plank floor. Then Burt rocked forward, falling against the workbench hard, head and arms, pressing down to hold him up. He couldn't hold his thoughts. Couldn't see. Couldn't feel anything. His stomach was an acute hole of pain and pleasure. The rest of his body was something thick and heavy that seemed disconnected from that place. He knew nothing for a second, completely unaware of anything, then he flew back upright, gaping at himself in the mirror. The spirit form was still visible, but it was shifting. It was changing and it was too late to do anything about it now. He'd made his choice and the transformation was running ahead, extinguishing the vestiges of his strong will, his angry womanly spirit. It was destroying the part of him that made him Lady Ann. And he felt that death. He felt it as a part of his soul being eradicated and he cried out, slumping to the floor, almost passing out. He lay gasping, bent over, clawing at the floorboards, unable to catch his breath or sense which orientation he was. He fell onto his back then rolled, groaning, pushing himself up with his hands. Then he sprung up and fell once more against the workbench under the mirror. He cried out in pain and determination, lifting his head and shoulders up so he could see himself again. And there he was. The spirit aura didn't look strange anymore. It matched his body. It matched his heart. And as he watched, it sank back inside him, binding silently with his physical form, closing him into this body and brain and life that he'd become trapped in. He closed his eyes, wincing, and when he opened them again, he was Burt. He was Burt, body and soul. And he had done it to himself. He was nothing more than an illiterate ignorant servant with no prospects and no breeding. And he had done it to himself. 8 Night fell across the country, long shadows stretching to consume the land from west to east until all was dark. In London the ongoing celebrations wound down while Ann's family dressed for dinner and the servants went about their business getting ready for it. Ann dressed quickly as she had already had Gladys prepare the dress she was going to be wearing. It was a gorgeous golden dress that left her arms bare. She looked at herself in the mirror, smiling with satisfaction as she applied her makeup, then left her room, pausing on the landing as she realized that no one else would be ready yet. She toyed with going to see Hattie to have a sisterly chat, but she didn't feel like it. Though her Ann memories had gone so far in attaching a real sense of family belonging there was still a gap, and the connections she had so far with 'her' younger sister had been rather biting. Instead, she took a wander through the corridors, hesitating at the foot of the hidden staircase going up to the servant's accommodation, then climbing cautiously up, unsure why she was doing it. To explore perhaps. Yes, just to explore. The upper corridor was silent and dark. The d?cor was much more sullen and dowdy than the opulence on the lower floors. The corridor itself was narrow and airless; an unpleasant place. Ann took several steps down it, wondering what the servant room were like that she passed but afraid to open any of the doors. At the far end was a tiny frosted glass window showing no view of the outside world beyond the hazy silhouette of the next door rooftop. Ann put her hands on the glass, peering through curiously but there really wasn't much to see. Then she turned and the stable hand was standing at the far end of the corridor at the top of the stairs, alarmed at seeing one of the quality in such a place where he would normally be safe to be himself. For several moments the two of them stared at one another, then the stable hand quickly removed his cap and said, "M'lady." Ann gave him a brief and curt smile. "Don't you normally sleep above the stables?" "Er, aye miss. That I do. But I... I came up ere to ave meself a bath." He started toward her, gesturing to the end door, to her right. Ann started moving too, towards him and the top of the stairs and as they came closer toward the middle of the corridor she looked at the inverted triangle of exposed flesh on his chest where he'd already unbuttoned his shirt. A warmth spread through her and a slight giddiness. They were getting closer and closer. The stable hand's face had grown flushed. He was perspiring. The corridor was too narrow for two to pass easily. They could both see that, but they still kept coming. Then the stable hand stopped, putting his back to the wall and Ann came up to him. For a moment they were close enough to kiss and the deep aroma of his hard-working body filled Ann's nostrils. A moisture developed in her crotch. Their eyes met. She glanced down at the fold of fabric on the front of his trousers, at the erection he quickly covered with his cap, then she looked back into his eyes. Then she was past and she was moving toward the head of the stairs. Behind her, the stable hand stood watching her retreat, his strong masculine body dowsed now with sweat. When she reached the top of the stairs, Ann paused, wanting to glance back at him. But she didn't. She walked down the staircase in measured steps. Only when she was out of sight from both upper and lower landings did she stop and close her eyes, letting out a slow breath, placing her hands against her soft cheeks. What had happened up there had been entirely wrong. She knew that. Entirely wrong. But it hadn't been her fault. She couldn't have known she would see him up there. She walked the rest of the way down, trying not to dwell on the fact that she might not have known she would see him, but she had hoped... 9 In the centre of Griply Common was the scrappy boxing ring that Burt and one of his slags had watched being erected. It was surrounded by people from all over Griply and from all the neighbouring villages. It had drawn a huge crowd and there was a palpable buzz in the air as the excitement rose and fell with each match. It wasn't a conventional boxing match. It was more a series of fist fights and a lot of shouting. Few rules, plenty of liquor and a lot of broken noses; but also a lot of fun. Whoever won the first fight stayed on as the champion until he was knocked down. Whoever knocked him down became the new champion. It was as simple as that. Bets were laid and money was made. The current champion was Donnie Beagle - a pit worker from the neighbouring village of Garton. He'd managed to knock down three men so far and strode now around the ring, grinning, as callers cried out for another opponent. Everyone had seen him fight though and no one wanted to risk it. "Cam on, ye bunch of wusses! Cam and try ye luck!" bellowed Donnie, shaking his fists at the audience. "Oo thinks ee can ave me, eh? Show me a real man!" Burt climbed into the ring, a smirk on his face. "Oo's this then eh?" cried Donnie out to the crowd. "Oo thinks ee's tough enough to take on the champion? Wot's 'is name, eh?" Burt smacked him hard under the chin, sending him stumbling back. Donnie, shook his head, snarled and charged across the ring. Burt sidestepped, raising his arms like a toreador and Donnie flew past, impacting with the ropes. Glowering with impotent rage, Donnie turned and threw first one punch then another at Burt. Burt twisted, then twisted back the other way, avoiding both, then hammered his fist into the side of the other man's head, bringing him down hard. "Me name's Burt," he said. The crowd roared in pleasure and Burt slowly undid his tatty waistcoat, hanging it on one of the corner poles. He slipped his shirt up over his head and did the same, then he turned to the crowd and shouted, "Who's next!?" 10 The fourth person Burt faced in the ring was the vicar with chuckles all round from the people watching. He was wearing a loose shirt with his sleeves rolled up and he frolicked gamely round the ring, demonstrating his rapid footwork and balance, rolling his fists in front of him, ready for action. Burt watched calmly as he took a proffered pint of bitter from the landlord of the Dog & Pony and slowly knocked it back. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and glanced into the crowd. Mrs. Landon, the vicar's wife was scowling up at him from close to the front. He chuckled to think of the time she'd caught him shagging that bint Ethel in the alleyway. She was surely thinking of that too because her face coloured with simmering fury. "Alright then lad," called the vicar. "Let's have you." Burt grinned broadly and played with him awhile, giving him a chance. The older man was wiry and pretty strong. But he was no Burt. When the crowd started calling for blood, Burt gave him a quick jab and put him down. The vicar lay on his back like a dying bug, puffing his cheeks then Burt helped him up and patted him on the back. "Not bad vicar. You almost ad me there." "Er thank you. Thank you," replied the vicar, climbing down with Burt's assistance, while in the crowd, Mrs. Landon was no longer glaring. She looked disarmed if anything, and possibly a little... No. Surely not. But Burt had seen that look on many a lady in his time. He shook his head to himself and smiled ruefully then held his fists high to a great cheer of the crowd. He'd never felt like this. So special. So loved. So desired. It was magical to be such a powerful man, to feel that strength pulsing through his limbs; know that nothing could take him down. He loved being a man. He loved it! Then he caught Jeb's eye in the crowd. "Come on there Jeb!" he called. "Let's see if you can take on the champ! Or are ye chicken?" Jeb gave a wry grin, holding his hands up to say no but the crowd started calling his name and making chicken noises. He shook his head and got playful jeers until, as though a hook had been slipped in his belt and the rope it was attached to was pulling, he started moving toward the ring. Burt helped him up and shook his hand. "Ahright our Jeb. Let's see what kind of man ye are." "I'm a bigger man than you Burt Arper and you knows it." "Aye. Well, we'll see." The crowd started chanting Burt's name and the dance began, except this time they were evenly matched. Jeb and Burt had already gone a round or two int'pub and it had never really been resolved. The smacked one another time and again, dodging back and maneuvering round the ring. Both men knew the other's methods and Jeb was a bit faster. He kept hitting Burt hard in the stomach, over and over again, but Burt's muscular stomach could take it. He barely felt it, he was so focused. He punched Jeb in the cheek, turning his head in a shower of sweat, then when the farm hand came back round with a hard right, Burt cracked him in the nose. Jeb staggered, teetered, stepped forward, threw a wide blow then collapsed. The crowd roared its approval and Burt knocked back another pint, meeting eyes with Mavis in the sea of faces. She had a troubled expression and Burt's eyes flicked to the man beside her: the bad-un who'd had her in the alleyway the day Burt had been thrown in the stocks. Burt's eyes narrowed and he crooked his finger at the runt, beckoning him up, grinning at him as forebodingly as he could. The weedy man trembled then lowered his gaze, glanced at Mavis, then hurried away through the crowd. Burt gave Mavis a wink and turned his back on her, raising his arms high. Cheers came from all around him as the callers shouted for more opponents, but though half a dozen more climbed up onto the platform, the young stable hand remained unbeaten. He put each one down with a mixture of stolid endurance, strength and sheer bloody-mindedness. And it felt great. Really great to be a man. 11 When Burt climbed down from the boxing ring at the end of the evening he felt really bloody marvelous. It was one of the best nights of his life. He'd taken a few licks, especially as he got tireder toward the end of the evening, but he'd given out worse than he'd gotten. It really was a grand night. Men were patting him on the back and shaking his hand. Women were whispering to one another then giggling if he looked in their direction. He strode through the crowd proudly and slowly, really drinking up the atmosphere. He even got paid for it - winning the cash prize - enough to keep him in beers for a month! Well worth the bruises. Though he'd learned enough not to buy drinks on the house this time. Those bastards down't Dog & Pony hadn't returned one of them after he'd run out of cash before. Mavis was waiting for him on the edge of the crowd, her dress pulled down as far as she dared (very far) to show her cleavage. She gave Burt a leer and said, "Hey darlin. You didn't arf look fine up there. I was thinkin I'd like to get a bite of that when you was finished." "Oh aye?" said Burt calmly. "Aye. How's about coming back tut pub to have a few bevies and then slippin upstairs for a night o passion." Burt looked at her then shrugged his shoulders. "Nah. I've got better fings to do wi'me time. Sorry luv. You'll ave to find someone's willin to pay your prices. I don't need whores no more. Never did." Mavis's face went bright read and she started to build up a head of steam but he ignored her and wandered on, leaving her to come to a boil by herself. He found a quiet spot out of the way and leaned against a wall, watching the dispersing people, his lips just slightly curling into a smile. He thought about the potion, still slowly digesting in his stomach, working on his body and mind and closed his eyes for a moment. He'd made the right choice. He was sure of that. He wasn't Lady Ann no more, not in the slightest. He was a man. He was Burt Harper. And he was finally happy. He opened his eyes and a woman was standing a few yards away in the shadows. "Hello," she said. He didn't recognize the voice but it seemed vaguely familiar. It wasn't Mavis or one of the women from up at the hall. Her face was deep in shadow. "Ello," replied Burt. "You were very impressive in the boxing ring." Her voice was timid but better formed than the kind of slags he usually palled around with - almost refined like. "Very impressive." "Oh aye? Did you think so?" "Well I thought it was all quite vulgar at first," she said, "but when you knocked down my husband I was... quite taken aback." "Your usband?" "The vicar." She stepped forward into the slanting moonlight and he saw her face at last. Mrs. Landon - the vicar's wife. The posh bird who was always looking down on him. "Well were you now?" said Burt, stepping forward. Mrs. Landon was breathing a little heavily, her chest rising and falling and he smiled at her obvious attraction. He knew enough to spot the signs, even in an older woman like her, someone who usually thought she was so far above him. "Yes. And I've... I've seen you with different women." "Givin them a seeing to?" "Yes." "And you were wonderin..." She looked up at his face expectantly, only inches away from hers. "If you could ave some too?" he said. She nodded, trembling and looking worriedly behind her. They were concealed by the shadows, well out of the way. No one would notice them. She didn't have anything to worry about. Burt took her hand. "Well come this way," he whispered, leading her further away from the ebbing frivolities under the trees, thinking to himself that life could certainly be surprising, but it didn't get much better. 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 And please do leave a review. It makes such a difference!