In which...wishing to avoid a dull visit to her grandmother, Lady Ann Neville takes drastic steps; giving her a holiday from herself and getting a little too much information on how the lower orders live.

Chapter One

Lady & Servant

1

England 1908.

It seemed to Burt that his life was always spent with his face pressed against the glass.

He worshipped Lady Ann Neville more than he did god in church, but Burt was only the stable hand at her father's vast estate, Griply Hall. His job was to muck out and groom the horses and perform manual labour around the estate. He was forbidden even from entering the manor house. He scraped an existence in the reflected light from this affluent and powerful family but he could never be one of them.

Still, he had his dreams – dreams that one day she would smile at him and say that - no it was too stupid for words. The distance between them was greater than it was to China. He might as well howl at the moon like a dumb animal. Lady Ann had hardly noticed him while they were growing up. Why would she notice him now? He was dirty and coarse; a big hairy man who couldn’t even talk in a gentile way. She would never consider him as a friend, let alone a husband. He had no money, no education and no prospects. He could barely read or write. He had no proper manners and didn’t know the first thing about how to be a gentleman.

Worst of all was the fact that he knew deep down in his heart that he really wasn’t good enough for her. She was quality. He was a dirty great country bumpkin, not even fit to clean her shoes. He was thick as two short planks – enough people had told him so over the years – and she was a cultured lady, a distant part of the royal family. She could do anything and go anywhere. She had a life of riches and luxury before her. All he had was a drafty old hayloft he paid rent for and two suits of clothes.

Burt hurried away from the window of the manor. He couldn’t see Lady Ann anyway and he might lose his place if he was caught. That would mean a life of destitution or worse: a job in the pit like his uncle, hammering at a coal face hundreds of feet below the ground, barely seeing sunlight and dying young. No. He couldn’t possibly risk his position here. He was little more than a slave but anything was better than being down the mine. He didn’t care about having to work some fourteen hours a day for only a pittance. At least he had a position and at least he was close enough to watch his beautiful Lady Ann from afar.

Burt went back to the stables and took care of the horses and cleaned the stalls. It was mucky smelly work but his strength made it easy. He was tall and very muscular, his shoulders broad and his arms thick. He took extra care of Lady Ann's fine filly, fondly imagining her taking the horse out next day while he stroked her down.

As he went to leave, he spotted a note that the groundkeeper, Harry, had left for him. He sighed, wishing he’d paid more attention in school and squinted at the letters on the scrap of soiled paper, sounding out the words.

“… Burt…” He paused. That word was easy. The rest weren’t quite so simple. “Make… sh… make sure… that the…” He paused again, wishing the older man had simply told him what to do, looked round to see if anyone who could read was in sight, then sighed and went on.

“… pigs are… Make… sure… that the pigs… are… fed and… wartered.”

Burt lowered the note and sighed again. He bet that Harry was already down the Dog & Pony getting the bevies in while he went on slaving! But he had to do as he was told so he went round to the back of the stables where the pig pen was and got to work. By the time he was done he was covered up to his knees and elbows in pig shit but that was nothing new. He only had one set of working clothes so he decided to let it dry on and then brush it clean in the morning. Likely as not he’d end up leaving it. He knew he smelled bad and there was no point in putting on airs like some pansy.

When Burt got up to the hay barn his busty girlfriend Mavis was already there, over from the pub where she lived and worked to play fun and games with him. She was showing off her legs and her cleavage and her smooth round shoulders and Burt felt his cock get suddenly erect. Mavis really enjoyed his virility and it helped him to forget for a moment his hopeless love for Lady Ann.

"Ey up Burt but you are you well endowed! Just like the stallions in the stables!" She giggled and then snorted like a pig, only illustrating how different she was from the refined lady of the manor in her voice, accent and ways.

Burt was pleased with the complement – he did feel proud to be her well hung man – and enjoyed himself as the night wore on, but Mavis was so common and crass – nothing like Lady Ann. He found himself imaging it was that beautiful gentlewoman underneath him instead of this uncouth girl, kissing him as he pumped into her; even loving him!

And he imagined what it would be like if she allowed him to love her back.

2

Next morning in the castle, Lady Ann was seething!

"Father you are impossible! You actually expect me to spend two boring weeks with dull old grandmama in London! There would be nothing to do there! No riding. No balls. Nothing worthwhile at all! She’s an impossible old crone who does nothing but talk down to me and she’s still in mourning for grandpapa!”

The Earl tried to keep calm. "Rail all you want, Ann, but you are going and that's that! I don't think a two week visit with your grandmother an unreasonable duty."

“That’s because you don’t have to go! Please father, it will be torture!”

“I’ve said my piece. I don’t want to have a debate over it.”

“I don’t know why you don’t just go and enjoy it,” said Hattie, Ann’s younger sister, from where she slouched on the chez longue. “I’d love to get away from here and go to London for a fortnight.”

“Oh shut up you stupid girl,” snapped Ann. “You’re only saying that because they won’t make you go.” Hattie smiled to show Ann she was right. “We all know why they aren’t sending you!”

Hattie started to speak.

“And don’t think it’s because you only twenty,” cut in Ann. “It’s not. It’s because you don’t have my interest in the arts. I’m actually being punished for my love of culture! Mother, can’t you talk some sense into him?”

The countess smiled serenely from where she sat perfectly poised on the antique sofa and Ann’s anger turned to a simmer. Her mother had always had a calming effect and never failed in her kindness and gentility. However angry and frustrated Ann could get (which was a lot), the countess was always able to still her tearing thoughts with her gentle love and patience. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to go Ann,” she said. “Grandmama is getting awfully old now and she needs someone near her who will understand her plays and will attend her high teas.”

Feeling like she was coming to a dead end, Ann turned her anger on the earl again. “Damn it all, Father, you don't even like the old fossil! You are being most unreasonable!"

“I’m sorry Ann,” he said. “You are going to London the day after tomorrow first thing and that is final.”

Lady Ann huffed and stormed out of the room, irritated by the tightness of her long skirt which impeded the impact of her exit.

In the corridor, her maid, Gladys, was waiting. “Is everything alright m’lady?”

“Oh get out of my way you ignorant heffer!”

Ann stomped past to her room, ignoring the bewildered butler as she passed him too, becoming increasingly incensed on the way by her restraining garments and high heeled slippers slowed her progress. As soon as she slammed the door, shaking the house, she pulled off her shoes and hurled them at a vase, shattering it; then she snatched at her dress in a fury, trying to free herself. After several minutes of impotent but increasing rage she gave an angry cry and gave up, crashing onto the bed.

Life was so impossible! Constraints were all around her! She was so bored with being a lady! Why, if she’d been a man then her father could never have insisted on anything! She would have far more power than she had now! And anyway, if she wasn’t a lady then grandmamma wouldn’t be demanding she visit – the silly old harridan!

"God! I wish I could just cut loose and be slutty or vulgar!" she said with vehemence. "Being a lady – even being a woman is as confining as my corsets! Life is appallingly unfair! My entire summer is going to be ruined by having to do this! I’d do anything to get out of this ridiculous trip!"

For several minutes she seethed with anger, then she got to her feet and went to the door. “Gladys!” The maid didn’t appear quite quickly enough. “Gladys!” she screeched.

The buxom maid came round the corridor looking harried “Sorry m’lady,” she said in her idiot Yorkshire accent. “What can I do t’help?”

“You can do what you always do,” snapped Ann. “Work half as hard as you should and do shoddy work.” The attractive girl looked crestfallen, which made Ann feel slightly better at least. “Now get yourself in here and pack my things. I’ve been commanded to go to the capital and I will need all of my fanciest clothes.”

“Yes m’lady,” muttered Gladys. “Right away m’lady.”

“Not that I’ll get the chance to wear them!” cried Ann as she strode out, slamming the door behind her.

Thirty seconds later she strode imperiously back in. “I’ve decided to go riding. Perhaps that will cool me off; and for the next two weeks I’ll be forbidden from enjoying the pursuit of it! Help me on with my riding habit!”

“Yes m’lady.” Gladys said as she clumsily rushed to help.

“You idiot girl! Hurry up! You may not have anything better to do with your life but I do!”

“Sorry m’lady. I didn’t mean nowt by it.”

“And keep your mouth shut! Your crass dialect offends my ears. You need to mind your place. You’re far beneath me on the social ladder for a reason. Just get on with your work and then get out of my sight!”

3

At the stables, Harry, the middle-aged groundkeeper, was looking over his record book making some notes, leaning on the edge of a cart. When he saw Ann coming he quickly stood upright and lowered the book, dipping his head in greeting. “Good morning m’lady,” he said.

“Barely,” she snapped. “It’s almost time for luncheon.”

“Can I ‘elp you at all?”

“Well what do you think?”

“Er…” the balding white haired man stuttered.

“This are jodpers I’m wearing aren’t they?”

“Well, yes.”

“Then I want to go riding, don’t I, you twit!”

“Sorry m’lady. Quite right. I’ll ‘ave yer ‘orse brought round.”

“Don’t bother you old fool, just get out of my way and do something useful. We don’t pay you to sit around. We pay you to work!”

“Right you are m’lady.” He leaned back and bellowed. “Burt! Get out ‘ere you great wazock! ‘Er ladyship wants to ride ‘er ‘orse!”

Burt appeared almost instantly from inside, flushing red from neck to ears. He took one look at Lady Ann and said, “Just a minute m’lady. I’ll ‘ave Rosebud out ‘ere right quick and no mistake.”

Ann turned her nose up at him as he disappeared back inside. Burt was dressed as always in his coarse threadbare clothes, striding through the muck without care. He probably didn’t even notice. He spent his whole life in muck, just like one of the pigs in the field.

She was well aware of his hopeless love and worship for her. It amused her but there was no chance on God’s green Earth that she would ever give him what he wanted. A man of his class was infinitely far beneath her; and if it wasn’t for the filth she still wouldn’t let him get close. He was clearly a simpleton with no decorum and little wit. Imagine the dinner conversation with such a dullard! Why, he could hardly discuss the finer points of Shakespeare; the subtleties of Madam Butterfly! Where she’d had an Oxford education, that dimwit probably hadn’t finished even his first year of organized schooling – if he ever even attended any classes!

She had to admit though that there was something attractive about his huge muscular frame and broad shoulders. In her… very darkest fantasies she might wonder how it would feel to be taken up in those hard rough hands, to feel his thick moustache tickling her face as he kissed her… But only in a fantasy.

It was laughable really. The stink alone would negate all possibility of romance. He was nothing but a caveman compared to her and a far cry from the foppish and dull, but well-moneyed suitors who called on her from time to time.

Still it was nice to fantasize occasionally. Though if anything, it illustrated more the limitations of her position. She couldn’t make love with anyone she chose, whenever she chose. She had to remain chaste until such time as a husband was chosen for her. It was oftentimes frustrating.

Even an ignoramus like Burt with less than a farthing to her name was far richer than she’d ever be in terms of personal freedom. An oaf like that had nothing to lose – he had so little already. He could sleep with anyone he chose, act anyway he liked, say whatever came into his head. Why, he could get falling-down drunk every night if he had the monies to do it. Lack of money was the only thing holding him back. If he had that then the sky would be the limit!

Yes, she enjoyed teasing Burt. It was gratifying to have men – especially burly strong men like Burt – so ruled by her. It was the only power and freedom she had, ultimately, in her frustrating cosseted life, where she couldn’t even make a decision as simple as to whether to visit her grandmamma!

Burt bought her filly out and held the rein as she climbed up. “Hold her steady you philistine!” snapped Ann. “Come on you idiot, pip pip!” She sank into place on Rosebud’s back and turned the horse to trot away, putting her back to the muscular young man. Then on an afterthought she looked back and smiled at Burt, toying with him. “Thank you Burt. That was wonderful. You’re so strong and masculine… and sweet. A real treasure. I couldn’t have held him steady myself.”

Burt coloured from the attention, immediately ill at ease and confused, and Ann rode away grinning to herself at how diverting it was to have him and every other man she met so controlled by her whim.

As the dust settled behind her, Burt looked on giddily, then the mood broke as Harry rapped him round the back of the head with his pocketbook. “Stop gorping at what you can’t ‘ave you dozy twonk! She’s quality. She wouldn’t look twice at someone like you. You’re beneath her.” He sighed. “We all are.”

4

Ann came off the lane as soon as she could and set off over the fields. It was wonderful to be riding but going sidesaddle was such a bore and she quickly became irritated! She would have ridden astride if she could. But no - a lady never did anything comfortable! That would be too easy! A lady had to act with decorum at all times! She was sick of the rigid control her life was under, forced to act the lady without a second’s break!

And she wouldn’t even be allowed this simple pleasure in the capital. It made her blood boil to think of how unfair it was that she was being exiled to the dreariest house in Richmond.

She cantered as fast as she dared without sitting astride, heading to her favorite quiet spot by the stream. When she got there she dismounted and took a delicate seat on a grassy verge in the sunshine. She continued to fume about her predicament for several minutes… and then something caught her eye; a gleam at the stream’s bank, just under the water line.

Curious, Ann crept down and saw that it was an amulet about the size of her palm, upon which was a faded engraving in the shape of an angel. She picked it up, turning it in the light, feeling its weight and staring at the odd design. As she did so, queer thoughts came into her mind that weren’t her own.

She saw far off places and people in a rush of images and then obscure feelings rippled through her body and soul as she felt knowledge settle into her brain about what this trinket was and what it could do.

Lady Ann gaped at it incredulously. She had never believed that magic really existed but here in her hand she KNEW was an artifact of incredible power. She believed now in it utterly and somehow it had communicated to her exactly what its strange power was.

It could allow one person to exchange their very identity with another. All she had to do was wear it and embrace another human being and she would take on their body and life as they took on hers.

It was incredible! It was astounding! And it had to be fate!

The possibilities ran through her mind in an instant. With this trinket she could switch places with anyone she chose! It was her way out of this whole tedious trip she was to be forced into! She could trade lives with someone else for the fortnight and send them to London in her place! At the end of the tedious visit she could simply swap back using the same arcane device!

Was it really possible? It seemed unbelievable but she still knew without doubt that it was so.

The real question was who could she become?

Her father? That would be gratifying certainly. The thought of bullying him as she had been bullied was an exciting possibility, but she didn't want to be old and wrinkled and he would return the bullying with interest when she changed back! She shuddered at the thought of that.

For the same reason her mother was out. Though Ann was devoted to the elderly countess she couldn’t rely on her keeping this a secret – especially if she had to suffer through the worst end of the deal – a tedious holiday at Grandmamma’s! No, that was no good.

The third person who sprung to mind was her sister, Hattie, but again that would cause problems. The little sneak knew full well what an awful fright it would be going to visit the old dowager, and she certainly couldn’t be relied upon to follow Ann’s instructions. Even telling her about the amulet would invite disaster.

Ann started to feel frustrated. What had seemed a brilliant idea was quickly turning out to be untenable.

She needed someone who would follow her instructions without fault – do what she ordered them to from beginning to end. She needed someone so under her control or devoted to her that they would not only go through with the preposterous plan but put up with the down sides.

What about her maid? That was an idea… but Ann shook her head crossly. Hardly. The girl was almost as constrained as she was and not nearly as beautiful. Gladys was forever trying to fit into Ann’s cultured household but never able to. And she was going to London as well anyway!

No. Swapping places with her would be the worst of all worlds.

Then suddenly Ann’s lovely blue eyes gleamed. Of course!

Burt!

The clodhopper would do anything she asked and would keep his mouth shut. He was so servile and obsequious he wouldn’t dare to not do exactly what he was told. He had no willpower of his own and his feeble uneducated brain would be incapable of doing anything but what she commanded him to. Why, he barely had the confidence in his own decisions to know when to eat or sleep and he really was moronic. If, in her place, he did something frightful at her grandmother’s then it didn’t matter! It would serve the old harpy right!

Ann's lovely mouth grinned full of mischief.

And Burt had a slutty girlfriend – Mavis; the barmaid in the village – attractive in a vulgar sort of way with prestigious breasts and a crude mouth. A good time was had by both according to Ann's maid who whispered how virile Burt was. Ann got the impression she’d been ridden by him herself in her earlier years.

Ann felt a rise of sexual excitement at the thought of really going through with it. She could have sex without fear of pregnancy or social status. She could ride astride, be vulgar, drink too much – even spit! It was too delightful – what a holiday she would have! It would be the most enjoyable two weeks of her cosseted life!

She thought of her grandmother and her stuffy friends dealing with the new 'Lady' Ann and actually giggled. Then she thought of herself: free and deliciously lower class and having sex whenever she wanted.

Sex as a man would be interesting, certainly. Just the thought of it almost made her faint.

Ann frowned. She was to leave first thing in the morning and it was already afternoon. It didn't give her much time.

She remounted her filly and rode back to Griply Hall as fast as she could.

5

Ann got changed in her bedroom, giggling to herself about how hilarious it was all going to be. She was on fire with excitement, her whole body buzzing at the idea of it! She hadn’t felt this charged up and focused in a long time about anything. Finally! Something to make her relatively dull life interesting!

She couldn’t get over how liberating it was going to be not having to mince round being cultivated, sipping delicately from teacups with her legs tightly together. Why, she’d be able to gulp from a pint glass instead! And get drunk! Why, she hadn’t thought of that. She could get absolutely— What did the yokels call it? Squiffy? No. That wasn’t lower class enough. It wasn’t liquored up. Definitely not inebriated… She shook her head. It didn’t matter. She was sure she’d hear all the colourful gauche language in the world soon enough. She laughed to think of it. Imagine! She’d never spoken an uncouth phrase in her life! Once she was Burt she’d be able to enunciate in as gutter a tone as she felt disposed to.

But that line of thinking made her pause for a moment.

Once she was Burt… That was an amply chilling thought. She shuddered. Then told herself not to be silly. She wasn’t going to BECOME Burt. She’d still be herself. She’d just look like him. And it was only for a fortnight. That was all. Nothing could possibly go awry.

Still, she felt chilled for a moment.

But she shook her head and refused to lose her excitement. There were no down sides to this adventure! It was going to be fabulous!

She quickly got out of her riding clothes and contemplated for a moment what she wanted to wear while the swap took place.

She grinned and pulled out one of her most feminine outfits, a long sleeveless dress that showed off all her feminine charms… demurely of course. That was a given in her hideously restrained life! As she put it on she thought about how this would be the last time before her “holiday” that she would be a beautiful lady. She ran her slim fingers down her smooth arms and cupped her lovely face in her palms. What would it feel like to have stubble on her cheeks. She touched the yielding skin on her upper lip. To have a bushy moustache!

Why, surely it would tickle! She frowned good-naturedly. Perhaps that would have to go! She wanted to experience life as a man for a week or two but that was perhaps taking things too far!

Ann fingered her lovely soft hair. Burt had close cropped hair, barely more than fuzz at the sides and back. It was going to be hilarious! The silky material of her dress caressed her beautiful body… but it was still uncomfortable. Ann longed for the freedom of movement men’s clothes were going to give her. Why, she’d be able to climbs trees if she so desired!

She took out some savings she’d secreted long ago from her hiding place and put them in a pouch ready to take with her and went to leave. Just before she did so, she took one last look at her lovely face in the mirror.

She was an elegant beauty.

A trapped and cosseted beauty forced to live the life her overbearing parents chose for her!

Well she was well and truly sick of it! For the next two weeks she’d have no one to tell her what to do! For the next two weeks she’d be a free man!

The Exchange

1

Burt was shoveling dirty hay from the floor of one of the stable stalls when Ann approached him, a mischievous expression on her face.

His sleeves were rolled up past his elbows as he worked. She watched him for several minutes, staring at his rippling muscles; the careless attitude he had in his body language, entirely devoid of decorum. He obviously didn’t care one whit about the way he carried himself or looked with his scruffy clothes and deliciously masculine posture. He was the exact opposite of her. Ann had to be standing or sitting with perfect composure at all times. She couldn’t dare relax for a minute for fear of being thought uncouth. Every single second of her day she had to act the refined lady in case she was reprimanded by her mother. The countess was a gentle compassionate soul but Ann had always felt awful at the whispered scoldings; kind hearted though she knew they were.

To be able to act however she pleased was going to be fantastic!

"Burt I wanted to ask a special favor of you," she cooed, startling him.

Burt stumbled all over himself with eagerness, dropping the fork and flushing again. "Blimey! ‘Ow do m’lady. You freet’ned me to death,” he stammered in his lower class Yorkshire brogue. “Anything you want, your ladyship! I’ll do it!"

Her lovely blue eyes gleamed with amusement and she thought, I wonder how he will like being a female?

"Burt, what I’m about to tell you will sound impossible. But it isn’t; I can assure you of that.” She paused. “It is hard to believe but for the next two weeks I want you to exchange roles… with me. I will be transformed into you and you will be transformed into me."

“I don’t rightly understand.”

“I have a magical necklace,” said Ann, speaking slowly so the dullard could follow. “A real magical necklace. Like you might find in a fairy tale.”

Burt gaped at her.

“It has an enchantment that will allow us to swap places. I will become Burt… and you will become Ann.”

He stared. “But m’ady—”

Lady Ann grimaced impatiently. "Listen you fool!” she snapped. “You’ll do what you are told!” Burt quieted instantly, cowed by her authority and the imperious command in her voice, but she softened her tone and touched his arm, feeling only slight revulsion at his filthy garments. “If you do as I ask and tell no one about it then I will also pay you ten pounds when it is over.”

"Ten pounds?" said Burt. “That’s more than six months’ wages or I’m a monkey’s uncle!”

Ann nodded. “Ten pounds Burt. And all you have to do is come with me now to the holiday cottage and do what I tell you.”

Burt was bewildered, not sure if her ladyship was playing a trick on him or not. He believed it if she told him it was so, but… Was she having a laugh?

Ann started walking away, leading him. "Come with me."

Burt stood for a moment, unsure, then staggered after his beautiful goddess.

2

At the holiday cottage, Ann commanded Burt to wait for her in the main room while she went into the bedroom to put on a dressing gown. When they transformed her womanly clothes would be far too tight for her new manly body.

Her new manly body…

The thought of it made her ripple with anticipation.

She wrapped the dressing gown round her curvaceous form that she’d put there before she fetched Burt. This was it: her last chance to change her mind. By God she was brimming with mirth and excitement. It was going to be such a riot!

In the other room, Burt didn’t know what to do with himself. He was confused by the tale Lady Ann had told him and though he was inclined to believe anything she told him it all seemed too fantastical. Did she really mean for it to work?

Obviously he’d do what she asked of him. It was only right and proper to do as he was told. He’d learned that from his father. There were those of good breeding as were in charge and those who needed telling what to do. He knew which one of those he was and didn’t mind it one whit. If it wasn’t for the good lady and her family he wouldn’t have a livelihood. He owed them everything and God himself had given them the right to tell the lower orders what needed doing. The vicar in church was always saying so.

Ann emerged from the other room wearing the dressing gown she’d just put on and Burt’s heart almost stopped as he saw her beauty attired in this way. The amulet hung from her lovely neck and Burt stared. It was like a dream come true. He almost fainted when she said, "Embrace me Burt."

He didn’t move.

“Do it you idiot! Now!”

Trembling Burt moved forward, opening his arms. He only prayed she wouldn't feel the swelling in his trousers.

Ann felt a sudden lump in her throat as the huge burly man wrapped his muscular arms around her. For a second she wondered one final time if she was doing the right thing but immediately dismissed her fears. Nothing could possibly go wrong. Burt would do anything she commanded. He’d been bred as a bootlicking and submissive servant his whole life. His brain was trained to be servile through and through. His very biology had cultured both ignorance and obsequiousness down through his family line.

And the idea of possessing this potent man’s physical attributes thrilled her more than anything else ever had.

Both felt a tingle run through them as their chests joined to touch the amulet. It was going to work, thought Ann exultingly.

Burt gaped like a fish. Lady Ann's aristocratic, beautiful face was changing - her creamy complexion roughening as fine stubble broke out on her cheeks. On her upper lip long hairs were poking out and growing… thickening! She was getting taller as she stepped away from him, and he— Yes. He was shrinking!

It just wasn’t possible! But it was still happening!

Ann felt her form swelling, her height increasing, her muscles firming, her shoulders broadening. She looked down as her soft slender arms became muscular, as the dainty fingers became thick and callused. She felt the strength flow through her as she flexed them into fists; the muscles hardening. She reached for her hair, only to find that it had already vanished; touching only the bristles of a close-cut man’s hairstyle. Her cheeks had always been soft and smooth. Now they were chiseled and covered in five o’clock shadow. She fingered the thick moustache that had sprouted on her upper lip, recognizing it as a symbol of the manhood she had taken on. She felt overwhelmed by the changes suddenly; momentarily terrified by the completeness of it; then she felt exultant again.

Meanwhile, Burt felt his own muscles softening, his height falling away. He touched hands that were becoming softer and finer to his smooth cheeks. His arms looked so soft and slender, the sleeves of his work shirt hanging off them. There was no hint of muscle definition there at all now; and why would there be? Lady Ann had never had to do manual work of any kind her whole life.

Burt couldn’t believe what was happening to him. He was really changing into her!

He felt the tickle of hair on his slender neck and the push of breasts beneath his tunic. Never in his life had he imagined feeling something like this!

Ann looked at the backs of her hands were thick black hair had sprouted and turned them over to see roughly bitten nails where once had been only manicured ones. She parted the dressing gown, pausing only a moment to worry about – and dismiss any concerns of - decency, and looked at the broad hairy chest she now sported, the hard stomach, the hairy muscular legs. And the penis… the man’s sex organ; something she’d never once seen before in her life and now stood firm and erect before her.

She felt a sense of power to look at it that she’d never never felt before.

She was a man! She was a dominant potent man!

In less than a minute it was over.

A man who looked like Burt stood dressed in Lady Ann's dressing gown and Burt’s own clothes hung on him like a filthy sock on a chicken, his dainty wrists and hands extending from the dirty rough-hewn sleeves. He felt tender breasts rubbing against his scratchy wool shirt making them itch and, involuntarily, his hand went to his crotch. His manhood, the organ that Mavis and the other girls loved so much – the part of him than imbued him with confidence – was gone! He felt faint.

"What ‘appened?" he asked and his hand flew to his throat. His voice was a woman’s voice. “Ee by gum m’lady! What did ye do to me?”

"The Amulet has affected a metamorphosis you ignorant fool!" said Lady Ann in Burt's deep voice. But she didn’t sound like him. She sounded like one of the posh gentlemen that visited the house from time to time; or like one of his mates from the Dog & Pony doing an impression of one of the toffs. "You're making me look ridiculous in your clothes." She shuddered. "Take them off at once!"

“But m’lady—”

"Don't be an imbecile Burt. You now have my body. I look at it every day."

He started to disrobe, his new face flushing. “I ain’t never seen nowt like this before,” grumbled Burt and Ann frowned. Burt looked like her and he had her vocal chords but his dialect was every bit as common and crass as it had ever been. It made her realise that her own speaking voice might need a little dumbing down for her to not be noticed. She wondered if this would cause problems but shrugged it away. At worst they would think that “Lady Ann” was playing an extended joke by imitating the lower orders. They would never imagine “she” was really a bumbling stable hand. And she had always been good at imitating the bumpkin way of speaking. It would be a terrific hoot to try and pass as one of them.

Ann chuckled, vastly amused by the ungainly motions of the “woman” in front of her as Burt finally managed to strip the last of his garments off. She looked critically at what had latterly been her body, seeing it from an objective angle for the first time then she smiled and nodded. Everyone was right. She was certainly the most beautiful woman in the county.

Looking at her naked hips, legs and stomach actually made her feel strange. Pleasant. A sensation grew and spread from her crotch that she quickly sidestepped by gathering up her dress and thrusting it at him.

“Hurry now Burt,” she said. “Don’t procrastinate. Get dressed. Tout suite.”

Burt stared, dazed, at the beautiful garment and then did as he was told, feeling like this had to be a dream. Ann helped to dress him as he grunted and moaned in a most unladylike fashion when she tightened the stays. Lady Ann frowned behind Burt's rough face and gruffly snapped, "For goodness sakes, don't do that again. It is frightfully unladylike!"

Burt nodded weakly. He felt like he was losing his wits. He stood before a mirror dressed like her ladyship, the dress long, his arms and shoulders bare. He stared at the Lady Ann in the glass and when he touched a smooth cheek with an elegant hand, the beautiful woman looking back at him did the same. The silk and satins felt at home on his smooth new body but the sensations were completely unlike anything he had ever felt before. He had really changed into a woman! He had really become Lady Ann!

He turned and saw 'himself' hurriedly dressing, feeling a flush of nerves, his new body trembling before the large male. He suddenly felt very vulnerable, fully aware how much more powerful this big hairy man was next to his new female body.

Ann found the clothes musty and scratchy; stiff from ingrained dirt and far too few washes. It was only now, putting these on that she felt the fact of her transformation close around her. She pulled on the trousers, loving the freedom they gave her legs then pulled the shirt on over her head. For a moment she was washed over by the smell of them – the stink of sweaty hard work and dung and mud. With the odor filling her nostrils she felt an overwhelming claustrophobia and panic. Then she pulled her head through and the clothes fell into place.

Now she was Burt, from his big feet and hairy strong legs to his ribbed torso, muscular arms and shorn head. Now she was really a man! And the woman in front of her REALLY looked like Lady Ann. She knew it was Burt and his posture was inelegant but if a passerby saw them then they would see Lady Ann and Burt Harper, not Burt and Lady Ann.

For several moments they both simply stood, staggered by the completeness of the transformation. Then Ann took the initiative and hurriedly explained what Burt was to do and how he should behave as he nodded submissively.

“Remember Burt. You are now me; Lady Ann Neville; and you must act like it. You must pretend to be the gentlewoman you appear to be. You ought to know how I and the ‘quality’ behave – you’ve been watching me all my life!” She made her voice threatening. The deep timbre added an extra frightening edge when backed by her imperious tone. “If you don’t do it properly then you will get in terrible trouble. Do you understand? If you are found out you will let me down and… and you’ll get a sound thrashing from the earl himself! If you aren’t careful he might even throw you in the stocks!”

She smirked at the terrified expression on the dimwits face. "I'll do me best not to disgrace you, m’lady. I won’t do owt wrong. You’ll see."

Ann cringed at the terrible Yorkshire brogue issuing from her beautiful lips but there was nothing to be done about it now and she was eager to enjoy her newfound freedom.

"Jolly good! Now run along back to the house – it’s almost time for dinner. Your maid will dress you. Tell her that you want the red gown and your mother's diamonds. In your purse I have made up a list of what you should wear at my – your grandmamma's. Study it! Keep your mouth shut and just look bored; you'll get by famously."

Despite himself Burt grinned. It was so strange to hear himself talking like a swell!

Ann hid the amulet under the seats of the couch. There was no sense taking any chances! Burt watched her do it, flabbergasted by the power of the thing to do this incredible transformation to him and still entirely on the back foot, staggering bewildered through the whole experience.

They left the building together, a big brawny man and a slim beautiful woman and paused in the sunset light. “Go on now,” said Ann. “Toodle pip. Be off with you. You don’t want to miss your dinner.”

“It’s a rum do, this, ma’am. The shoe’s on the other foot now and no mistake. I feel right strange in this get up.”

“I’m sure you do ‘Ann.’ But you’ll do as I say and go and take your place as the lady of the manor. Alright?”

“Aye. Ah-reet. I will. I’ll do it for you m’lady.”

“And you’ll be rewarded,” said Ann. “I mean that Burt. I won’t forget this favour I can assure you of that.”

Burt beamed, still hopelessly infatuated with her. Then he steeled himself, looking ridiculous, framing his bumpkin mannish expressions on her soft features. “Ta’ra then m’lady. I’ll see you in’t morning if not before.”

Burt walked in ungainly masculine steps toward the manor house while Ann, in Burt’s manly body, grinned at his departing rear, chuckling to herself at how ludicrous he looked.

Well, what did it matter? It was a hilarious trick she was playing on all of them.

3

After Burt had left in what lately had been her body, Lady Ann grinned in triumph. That would show her father and her grandmamma! She only wished she could be there to see the absolute fool Burt was going to look in her body as he stumbled through high tea with all the old ladies.

She went back into the holiday cottage and picked up the sack of coins and bills she’d secreted earlier from its hiding place behind the sofa. Twenty pounds would be more than enough pin money for 2 weeks. It was well over what Burt normally earned in a year!

Ann strode out of the cottage grinning to herself, flexing the big muscles in her arms. The sense of power was incredible! She looked at her reflection in the window outside, stroking her bushy moustache. There wasn’t a trace of a woman in the expression. She was a man now, through and through.

She’d planned to shave off the moustache as soon as she took Burt’s body – had even hidden the razor she’d stolen from her father’s room in the cottage so she could do it right away – but now that she had it; now she could smooth it down with her big manly fingers she wasn’t sure she wanted to. A proper bushy moustache like this was something a woman could never have. To her it represented everything she’d been unable to do as a lady – the freedom she had now: both socially and physically.

And besides… she thought it rather suited her.

Now, before she went out and experienced the fun of being a man, she had to write herself a note giving ‘Burt’ the fortnight off. Living as Burt wouldn’t be anywhere near as good if she had to do his work! She popped back inside the cottage and looked for pen and ink but there wasn’t any.

“Damn!”

It didn’t matter. There was plenty of time for that. She could do it before she went to sleep.

She went to move away and frowned, pausing as she noticed a slight airiness to her movements; a femininity. A flounciness. Why, that wouldn’t do. It wouldn’t do at all. She shuddered to think of the reaction of the burly yokels if they saw her prancing into the village like a drag queen.

She forced herself to move in a manly way, her shoulders broad, her feet widely spaced, her stride long, practicing it back and forth in the reflection in the glass. That seemed to do the trick. It felt odd and uncomfortable but she was able to maintain it as long as she concentrated. Satisfied, she set off down the lane toward Griply village, careful to monitor her gait and keep it as masculine as she could.

4

Ann approached the Dog & Pony with some nervousness but steeled herself. There was no need to worry. As far as anyone in there knew she was just another illiterate peasant; a salt-of-the-earth commoner with crass manners and only a life of hard work and poverty before her. They would have no idea the true identity of the manor-born lady in their midst. She looked just like one of them. As long as she was in Burt’s body she actually was one of them – there were no two ways about it.

Actually that was a scary thought. She imagined for a second what might happen if the amulet went missing and she were really stuck like this for the rest of her days. She shuddered. It didn’t bear thinking about. It was fun to be a man for a short while – to have the freedom she so much deserved – but she was under no illusions. The minute Burt was back from grandmamma’s he’d be back shoveling the horse dung.

When she went inside the pub the noise and stink were overpowering. Even though it was early it seemed like almost all the villagers were already if not tipsy then downright drunk! She squeezed through the crowds with some disgust to be so close to the commoners and placed some coins on the bar. “I’ll have… a pint of… ale if you would be so kind my good man.”

She winced inwardly at the sudden hush and strange looks from the barman and the closest punters at the crisp accent totally counter to the form she now wore.

“Ye wot?” grumbled the barman.

“Er… Some ale. Please.” She did her best to ape the local bumpkin dialect and blushed at how false it sounded. She’d always thought she was rather good at her clodhopper impression but now she was one of them it didn’t sound so good. The barman eyed her suspiciously as he poured her pint. She took it quietly and retired to a corner of the pub to keep out of the way. She was frightened someone might become violent with her. She had never been able to stand the sight of blood – especially her own – and couldn’t stand violence of any sort.

Burt’s girlfriend Mavis was working the pub, carrying three or four pints in each hand by the handles. She wore a frivolously slutty dress that managed to expose her creamy round shoulders, her forearms and a good deal of her cleavage. Part of Ann found the outfit grossly inappropriate… but part of her couldn’t help but be intrigued by it. The odd sensation she’d felt earlier when looking at Burt in her own naked flesh started to return and she became very interested by the question of when she’d be able to spend some time alone with the girl later. After all, sex without consequence had always been part of her plan…

Perhaps sensing her gaze, Mavis came over, grinning lasciviously at the man she thought was her bedmate. “Ahright luv!”

“Er, good evening my dear,” replied Ann, feeling awkward and embarrassed. “You look simply… divine.”

The bawdy girl pouted. “What you talkin’ like a toff fors?”

“Why, I just thought…” Ann felt ridiculous and more heads were turning her way. She couldn’t talk like this here. Now she was surrounded by lower class oikes, she was the one who, ironically, sounded stupid. “I thought it would be… diverting. Fun I mean”

“Well you sound like a mug. Stop it.” She brightened. “I’ve been thinkin’ about you all day luv. And that great big cock o’ yours!” Mavis gave Ann’s crotch a hard squeeze and she felt a bright charge of pleasure there, then the slutty woman threw her head back, exposing her neck and cleavage all the more, and laughed long and hard. Half the people in the pub who’d overheard laughed too.

For a moment Ann was furious at the public exposure but found herself chuckling. What did it matter? It wasn’t her reputation being paraded in front of the punters! After a minute she found herself laughing deeply. Then guffawing louder than she’d ever allowed herself to do in company before. This was what it was all about! She took a deep swig of her beer. “By ecky thump,” she cried loudly, “Don’t tell all the lasses darlin’ or they’ll all want a rogering!”

The whole pub erupted into laughter and Ann laughed too, turning red faced and throwing back the rest of her pint. She slammed the glass down on the table and called after Mavis. “Ere, our lass! Fetch us another one of—”

She paused, perplexed by the sudden change in her voice.

“Er, be a… a darling… and bring me another glass of beer… please.”

The sudden shift back of accent was unnoticed this time by the laughing drunkards around her but Ann settled back a little in her seat, feeling slightly uneasy as Mavis walked back to the bar.

Where in God’s name had that come from? Just for a minute she’d talked exactly the same way as the working men…

5

Burt walked into the castle shaking like a leaf, sure that someone would yell, "What do you think you're doing, impersonating Lady Ann?" But all the staff bowed and deferred to him. It was so strange. Yesterday he had tipped a pint of ale with Albert the footman and now the man was servile! Calling him “My Lady”.

He almost tripped in the skirt going up the stairs and he flushed.

Slowly, he told himself, small steps and slowly.

In Lady Ann's room, Gladys was waiting. She had always been snotty to him, considering him far beneath her in the social scale. Now she was all deference and servility! It was kind of fun. He tried to imitate Lady Ann. "’Urry up girl!"

"Yes, m’lady!"

Gladys hurried to follow his instructions but he was conscious of how poor his accent was.

"The red dress and me ma’s diamonds!"

"At once m’lady!"

Soon he was putting on silk stockings and three petticoats. Burt felt ridiculous, but said nothing. When Gladys tightened his stays he barely kept from grunting. Soon the beautiful red silk gown was on and his lovely hair was done atop his new head in a very aristocratic style. His new, slender fingers fumbled with the diamond necklace and the heavy earrings. He thought they would pull his ears off at first but soon forgot them. Again, he was able, with Gladys's help to paint his face. He stared in the mirror and his goddess, his impossible love, stared out at him.

He couldn’t believe that he was the beautiful Lady Ann! It was impossible! But it was also true! He felt light headed as he absently thanked Gladys and headed downstairs. His high heels almost sent him down them head first. The Earl stared upward from the hallway.

"Have you been drinking, Ann?" he asked.

"No m’lor— Er, no – father," he stammered. “I ain’t ‘ad nowt. I mean. I… haven’t had… none.” Burt spoke as carefully as he could, not realizing that he was making just as many mistakes.

The earl grunted doubtfully, frowning. Carefully Burt descended the rest of the way and trembled as the Earl took 'his daughter’s’ slender arm and led him into dinner.

During the meal. Lady Ann’s family and quests stared with astonishment at him. The guests were amused at her “impersonation” of a Yorkshire yokel, but the earl was not. In the past he had reproved her many times for imitating the dreadful local accent. Now he guessed “Ann” was doing it to punish him for sending her to her grandmother's. Burt ate with the wrong fork and talked with his mouth full.

"How's about some ale instead of this wine?" asked Burt. “I’ve wet me whistle with better slop down’t Dog & Pony.”

"Daughter, enough!” exclaimed the earl. “Stop that ridiculous imitation of the clod hoppers this instant!"

Fearfully Burt grew quiet. That's right, he thought, I got - need to act like Lady Ann. What would she think if I disgraced her? Burt felt tears in her blue eyes.

“I’m terribly sorry father,” he said. “You must think me an absolute heel. It was awfully gauche of me.”

The earl grumped and went back to his eating but Burt sat stunned. He’d done his best to imitate the way he’d heard Lady Ann speak and had done a much better job of it than he’d expected. He said no more, terrified to open his mouth. ‘Lady Ann’s’ silence during the rest of the meal was taken for her typical sulkiness.

Later in the evening, Burt felt terribly embarrassed after going to the bathroom three times in Lady Ann's body. He felt like a peeping tom!

He went to bed that night emotionally exhausted, but slept for the first time on soft satin sheets.

6

Four more pints of ale later and Ann was having a whale of a time. She’d never been more than tipsy before but she was edging towards being really… really rat-arsed now. She was having a wonderful time laughing at the crude jokes of the labourers and pit workers. At first they’d made her feel very uncomfortable but the longer she spent drinking, the more she relaxed into the role of being one of them.

Pretending to be one of them that was.

She found herself laughing hysterically at a dirty joke involving men’s penises! It was appallingly uncouth but also very very funny! She’d never felt such release or had as much fun in one evening! If she had stayed at home she’d have been playing bridge with her mother by now or something equally tedious. She might even have been in bed!

She hadn’t done much talking – mostly just listened to the conversations all around. She was self-conscious of how out of place her well-bred accent was and didn’t want to risk embarrassment. She’d had several tries at talking to people but each time they looked at her as though she were strange.

Jeb, a brawny lad who worked the fields owned by her family but run by a neighbouring farm manager, started railing against what he called “the quality” – her family basically. Ann sat back and chuckled, eager to witness first hand just what the common men thought. “That earl up at the house there – he’s nothing but a great fat bugger!” cried Jeb. “He’s lording it up there over us while we haveta slave away for tuppence! And he’s a right surly old gaffer!”

The crowd roared its approval and Ann found herself applauding. It was great having her father cut up.

“He gives us orders but he couldn’t do what we do. He’d bloody run crying if he ‘ad to do any real work!”

There was more laughter all round. Ann actually cheered. It was wonderful to cut loose and fabulous to make fun of her father in public – a man who had always demanded nothing but respect.

“And as for that stuck-up bint of a daughter of his, Ann” said Jeb. “She’s a scrawny bit of posh fluff is what she is! A right nasty piece of work and no mistake!”

“Hey!” cried Ann before she could stop herself.

“I’ve seen better legs on a table!” cried Jeb.

“E’ya! Shut yer gob!” shouted Ann, leaping to her feet.

There was silence all round her in the pub.

Ann felt everyone’s eyes on her and started to lose her confidence. “Don’t you dare talk about a lady that way! It simply isn’t proper.”

"Oh, sit down Burt!” bellowed Jeb. “We know you’re in love with her!”

Ann saw red and stomped forward. “Get stuffed yer gormless twit or I’ll kick in yer chuffing gonads!”

“You'd let her cut your throat with a smile on your ugly puss yer would!"

In an absolute drunken fury, Ann reached back and punched Jeb hard in the face.

Jeb tumbled back and Ann gaped at the blood that had squirted out of his nose. She looked down at her fist, amazed that she’d done that. She’d never struck someone in all her born days. Why, she detested violence in any form.

But in the instant it had happened, it had felt so… good.

She hadn’t thought about anything in that moment except punching Jeb as hard as she could. It had been incredible.

She’d loved it!

Jeb wiped the blood from his face and grinned. “Right then Burt,” he said. “Looks like ya want a good trouncin’!”

Ann looked back at him as his hands closed into fists feeling suddenly terrified. She had no idea what to do. Then Jeb charged at her and punched her back, as hard as he could in the cheek.

She span round and fell to the floor, feeling the spilt beer and dirt under her fingers. The whole side of her face smarted. It was agony. Then she gritted her teeth and looked back up at him, climbing to her feet. “That’n was for free. The next one’ll see you on yer arse with a broken nose!” she cried.

She threw an uppercut into Jeb’s stomach, then relished the feeling as she cracked her knuckles against the side of his face, grinning as she felt the bone in his nose crack. Jeb delivered a jab to her stomach but she hardly felt it with her strong six pack and in seconds they were rolling round on the floor in the filth and wet, kicking and punching as hard as they could while the crowds cheered and placed bets.

7

As Lady Ann sauntered homeward afterwards he had a real swagger in his—she had a real swagger in her step and a grin on her face. It had been hilarious from start to finish – a real blast. It had been so satisfying to smash her now large fists into the other man’s face and he’d deserved it for what he’d said about Lady—

She paused in the darkened lane and rubbed the centre of her forehead.

What he’d said about Lady Ann. She’d caught herself thinking about herself almost as a different person. As though she wasn’t Lady Ann at all anymore. Which in many ways she supposed she wasn’t.

How odd.

And what else had she thought?

The other man. What a strange thought to occur to her, though it was technically accurate at the moment as well she supposed. She was a man right now.

“I am a man.” She said it aloud, hearing her beer-slurred very male-sounding voice come back at her from the trunks of the trees. “I’m Burt Harper, stable hand and labourer up at the manor house.” She smiled to herself in the darkness; then remembering what had happened to her accent and dialect in the pub, she tried adding a bit more Yorkshire to her accent, choosing her words carefully. Now she was well and truly bladdered the turn of phrase came more naturally. “Me name’s Burt ‘Arper innit. I’m the bloke what looks after all the ‘orses for the toffs up at the ‘all. I work me knackers off shoveling shite up off the floor all chuffing day while those toffee-nosed toe rags reap the benefit!”

She found herself breathing hard, relishing the feeling of playing the part, pretending, just for a minute that she was really Burt; really just a common labourer. A man. A big, brawny muscular man. A lower class working man at the end of a rough night getting pissed with his mates on his way home to have his way with his slapper of a lass.

Feeling increasingly confident, the man strode on into the night.

When she reached the stable she ran up the outside staircase and bashed open the door. Mavis was already in there, her dress discarded, her shoulders and arms bare, her tits almost breaking out of her well-worn corset.

For a moment Ann turned up her nose at the surroundings. She was used to sleeping on a comfortable bed with satin sheets. Here in the hay barn she had only a pallet – a thin straw mattress with a blanket – that had to be cleared away every morning. She’d be sleeping almost on the floor amidst the straw and the dirt. Who knew what manner of rodents scurried round the grain sacks in the night?

But then, here before her was a woman who wasn’t beautiful by any means, but was nothing but sexy, from her bawdy lascivious movements and expressions to the soft skin of her bare legs. Ann felt the throbbing between her— No. He felt the throbbing between his legs. He was a man right now and this was a woman in front of him; a woman who wanted him to take her.

"Fighting again, Burt, ya great wazok! Honestly, men are such boys. A real man would rather be with me!" she kissed him hard on the mouth.

A surprised Ann found himself more of a male than he thought and kissed the woman back. God was a male erection strange but it made him feel powerful; in control in a way he never had before. Mavis giggled and said "At least you have the decency t’be glad to see me!" Her voice was nasal and irritating but Ann didn’t care about that now. Even Mavis’s body odour didn’t matter that much. Mavis stroked his large member and Ann lost it, crushing the curvy girl in his strong arms.

He threw the girl down on the pallet and pulled off his shirt and trousers. His gigantic cock sprung up and out, dazzling him. It was even bigger than it had been that afternoon! He’d never seen a man’s sex organ before that day. Seeing one of this proportion from his new perspective was overwhelming, especially coupled with the sensations it was giving him as he clambered over the prostrate girl.

Ann took hold of the girl’s forearms, pinning her down, and thrust deep into her eager pussy. It was like nothing else on earth!

She screamed out in passion and Ann grunted, thrusting his pelvis over and over again, loving the sense of freedom and power. Never had he imagined feeling this limitless and free.

I’m a man, he thought to himself. He repeated it in his mind over and over again with each pump.

I’m a man!

I’m a man!

I’m a man!

Mavis was gasping with pleasure.

I’m a man!

I’m a man!

I’m a man!

God it was great to be so strong and well hung!

“Call me your big man!” he demanded, his eyes lit up.

“You’re my big man!” screeched Mavis, jerking as he rammed into her over and over again. “You’re my big man!”

Ann closed his eyes, ramming his cock into the sweaty curvaceous woman and suddenly an image came into his mind that almost knocked him from the moment. It wasn’t Mavis he was imagining himself fucking like this. It was herself: Lady Ann! It both puzzled and amused him before the sensations – the animal need to dominate this woman overcame him again and he no longer cared.

In his mind it was Lady Ann underneath him and he was Burt, the stable hand; the labourer. He was pinning Lady Ann down and giving her the rogering of her chuffing life.

This is what I’d do to you if I could, Lady Ann Neville, he thought, letting herself wallow in the fantasy. You gorgeous chuffing stuck up cow! This is how I’d fuck you if I got the chance by gum!

This is how I’d fuck you Lady Ann!

The Note

1

The next morning Ann was startled to wake from a deep and satisfied sleep at the crack of dawn. With no glass in the windows it was freezing and the dawn light shone right in her eyes through the open hayloft entrance. The straw mattress underneath her was little better than sleeping on a board; not like the silk sheets and thick mattress she was used to.

It took her a moment to realise where she was. And who she was. Her head was fuzzy from the previous night’s festivities but it quickly came back to her: the pleasure of drinking and carousing and fighting of all things with her mate Je— with Jeb, the farmer’s boy. She also remembered the animal passion and the thrill of bedding the slutty barkeep’s daughter, grinning broadly to herself as she fingered her bushy moustache with one hand and fondled her half-aroused hairy cock with the other.

It came back to her how she’d fantasized making love with Lady Ann – with herself – but she shook her head ruefully. She’d also gotten a lot of pleasure from telling herself she was really a man.

It was ridiculous really. She put it down to too many jars of— pints of that awful ale and the headiness of suddenly finding herself with the freedom to do anything she desired.

"Best be up and about, Burt," said the smug woman beside him. "Old Harry will be wantin' you in the stables cleanin’ up right after breakfast."

Damn! thought Ann, I should have written that note! Mavis was annoyingly present and there was no chance right now. She’d have to do it later.

Mavis got up and made Ann breakfast on the little stove there dressed only in her corset. To Ann's amazement she ate it all! Three eggs and three huge slices of ham!

“Have we got any bread… luv?” asked Ann, trying again, fairly unsuccessfully now, to imitate the Yorkshire brogue.

Mavis laughed "What do you think we are? Quality?"

Ann wasn’t sure how she felt about that comment. This ‘holiday’ had been all about doing what she wanted. She didn’t like the idea of being restrained in a different way than she had been in her real life. Also it made her feel a little insecure that she was no longer ‘quality.’

Before she left to use the outside toilet, Mavis walked lasciviously over to Ann and edged down her trousers. She took the end of Ann’s already throbbing cock in her lips and gave it a quick suck then pulled away.

“That’s so as you remember whose man you are,” she said, slipping away.

Ann watched her go, smiling as she swelled with pride. I’m her man, she thought; then stopped herself.

What an idiotic thing to think! Mavis was gutter trash. Useful for a good rutting and not much else. But Ann did have to admit; she’d enjoyed herself with the lass.

Once she was fully alone, she hunted round until she found paper and ink. It was cheap – nothing like the water stained and scented stationery she was used to – but it would have to do.

She sat down to write the note.

Dere Hary.

She paused, looking at what she’d written. No. That wasn’t right. She crossed it out.

Deer Arrie,

Yoo av to

plees givv burt—

No.

I ordur yoo to

Yooe wil lett Burt av the fourthknite tou 2 weecks off of work an so that ee

She gaped at the paper in amazement and displeasure. No matter how hard she tried, it wasn't her own script that went down on the paper, but rough and untutored words in Burt's own handwriting, such as it was! She couldn’t understand it. It was still her mind in Burt’s body. Why should she no longer be able to write?

But for the life of her she couldn’t recall whether Harry was spelt with or without an “H.” She tried saying it out loud.

“’Arry.” She paused, wondering if that sounded right and said it again, sounding it out as carefully as she could. “’Arry.”

It sounded like it should start with an “A,” but would it then be spelled A-R-R-Y or A-R-Y-E? It completely escaped her and she couldn’t risk writing the wrong thing because Harry would know that the “real” Lady Ann wouldn’t make such a mistake.

“Why, however could this have ‘appened to me,” she murmered. Then it occurred to her that her voice showed more traits of Yorkshire brogue than it had as well. She was dropping some of her H’s. Surely that wasn’t the correct way to speak. Or was it? Suddenly she wasn’t so sure.

She said it again. “However could this have ‘appened to me.” She frowned. Only parts of what she said had the accent. It was most odd. Now it suddenly occurred to her that she was mispronouncing Harry’s name all of a sudden. Perhaps it was spelled with an H after all.

She’d noticed she’d taken on a few masculine mannerisms in her time in Burt’s body – her enjoyment of fighting for example, and how from time to time she found it easier to imitate the common way the clodhoppers had of speaking. She’d assumed that had been part of being a man. It hadn’t occurred to her that she was specifically taking on some of Burt’s ways. She supposed it made sense. Her body had transformed completely into his. Part of that body was the brain. It followed then that she now had Burt’s brain. That was why she’d been able to tap into the part of his mind that determined his language and mode of speech, however inefficiently. And how she’d known how to fight and have sex as a man.

She wondered if she’d know how to groom horses, and whether Burt in her body would know how to apply makeup.

She looked at the rough bumpkin handwriting on the paper in front of her. The part of her brain that had been educated to write beautiful English had obviously transformed along with the rest of her body. She didn’t just have Burt’s body; she had his education as well.

The horror of that struck her for a moment. She really had become Burt in every physical way. She was still herself – her core personality wasn’t influenced and her voice was only slightly affected – but she wondered about the longer term effects if she remained Burt over days and weeks.

She wondered if she shouldn’t just run and get the amulet now and—

“Burt!”

She jerked up. It was Harry – the groundskeeper and Burt’s superior.

“Burt! Get down ‘ere and muck out these horses ye great dozy twonk!”

Ann got to her feet and frowned. How was she going to get out of this?

She could run she supposed but what choice did she have? As far as the world saw her, she was Burt Harper; nothing but a common stable hand. The earl, her father, had every right to flog her if she shirked ‘her’ duties. She couldn’t imagine anything worse than that! Her only option was to do what she was told until she could get up to the house and order Burt, in her body, to do the note instead. Her one hope was that Burt had gained the education that she’d lost – though that was a frightening thought.

“Burt!!” bellowed Harry. “Get down her double quick or I’ll tan yer ruddy ‘ide!”

“Very well,” mumbled Ann sourly, “I’m coming. There’s no need to get agitated about it.” Her accent sounded exactly like it always had now without a trace of colloquialism but she didn’t care.

Outside Harry was waiting with a stern look on his face and his arms folded. “Get in those stalls and shovel the shit you lazy bugger!” he bellowed. “I want all of it cleared in ten minutes!”

Ann gaped back at him. She couldn’t believe how the repellantly man was speaking to her. How dare he? Didn’t he realize who she— But of course he realized exactly who he was talking to: Burt!

“Go on then!” snapped Harry. “Don’t just chuffing stand there like a big ape!”

“I’m really not in the mood for moving… dung this morning Harry,” replied Ann. “I just need to go and speak to… I need to speak to Lady Ann up at t’manor ‘ouse.” She cleared her throat. “Up at the manor house.” She smiled. “Would you mind awfully if I popped her there and came straight back?”

Harry strode toward her and brandished his fist in her face. “”You’ll get to work right now my lad or you’ll really feel my anger!”

Ann blanched, terrified by the vulgar show of force and wishing for a moment that she could regain the same bawdy violent side she’d managed to generate the night before. For now it was non-existent. She might have looked like Burt but she felt exactly like she always had and the ugly threat made her want to weep.

Instead she hurried into the stable and looked round for the shovel. For now she had no other choice. She just had to slip away as soon as she could to get Burt to write the note, and pray that he knew how to! Or have another go herself when she was feeling less sleepy.

She took the shovel into one of the stalls and looked at the steaming pile of horse dung that had been freshly deposited. Wincing to herself she lifted it gingerly on her spade and carried it to the cart outside. Then she went to do the rest, hating the stink and the grime of it.

This hadn’t been what she had in mind for her holiday at all! It occurred to her that visiting her grandmamma might not have been so bad after all!

2

Burt woke up feeling wonderfully rested to the delicious scent of fried bacon. He didn’t remember ever sleeping so well in his life. When he opened his eyes he couldn’t, for a moment, believe where he was. He was lying wrapped in silk sheets in a gigantic four poster bed in an opulently decorated chamber. He sat up, immediately feeling the jiggle of breasts on his chest and the swish of long hair against his neck. That was when it all came back to him: the incredible fact of this astounding favour his darling Lady Ann had asked of him. Looking down as he turned back the covers at his slender arms and long graceful legs was heart-stopping. Burt had longed for so many years to be close to Lady Ann and now he was, in the most shocking way imaginable.

Gladys was in the doorway with a tray of breakfast things, her eyes lowered, waiting. It made Burt giggle to see her look so fawning after all the years of making out she was superior to him. “Beggin’ your pardon m’lady but you’d best be up and about. The coach will be ready shortly to take you down to the railway station.”

Burt waited for her to go on or to tell him what to do but she just waited. He realised that she was waiting for instructions from him! He was the one in charge now!

“Er, right you are Gladys,” he said in his absurdly thick Yorkshire accent. “Give us that grub there. That’ll do me the world of good, will that.”

Gladys placed the tray across Burt’s lap, looking confused and stared openly when Burt said, “Thanks duck.”

Burt polished most of it off, though his appetite wasn’t what it had once been, and then got up. After taking a bath. he dressed for the journey with Gladys’s assistance. With a little help he applied makeup to his now lovely face. He guessed she had a knack for it because it didn’t seem too hard to do.

It confounded Burt why Lady Ann would be so desperate to escape a trip to her nan’s that she would swap her own life of luxury for his life of poverty and hard work, but he’d never really understood the quality.

When he was all ready he stared at himself in the floor length mirror. As a mere stable hand he’d never even been allowed to set foot in the manor house before. He’d never conceived of such luxury as having a mirror as tall as the wall! And he looked beautiful in it!

When Gladys left the room, Burt told her to shut the door. “Don’t come back in for a wee bit luv will ye.”

Gladys looked at her oddly again and closed the door behind her.

Burt looked at the eyes of the woman in front of him and said, “Mornin’. Me name’s—” He stopped then very slowly and carefully said, “Good morning. My name is Lady Ann Neville. I’s the daughta of— I am the daughter of the earl who owns all the land hereabouts.”

He smiled at himself and began again excitedly. “I’m a right posh lass who—” He gritted his teeth and concentrated. “I am a… cultured and… well-brought up young lady who…” Burt grinned to himself, enjoying the daydream for a moment. “Who stands to inherit all of this come time— upon my father’s demise.”

He started to gather up what things he could carry then stopped and opened the door instead, thinking better of it.

“Gladys!”

The maid came running. Burt hid a slight giggle at the misfortune of this girl who certainly deserved a little revenge for her snootiness. “Yes m’lady?”

“Carry these bags downstairs!” She went to pick them up. “Immediately!”

Gladys paused for a split second.

“Move girl! I haven’t got all day!”

Gladys hurried to pick up the bags and carry them all. Burt watched her go with a smirk on his face, then caught himself. That was really strange. As a man, Burt had always been what some might call servile, - what he’d always thought of as helpful. It wasn’t in his character to be spiteful to someone just because he had power over them. Though he hadn’t meant it as spite. He was just having a little joke at her expense. He didn’t mean it.

It didn’t occur to him, as it had to Ann, that his brain had transformed as much as his body had. The part of Burt’s brain that made him placid and helpful and been changed to the part of Lady Ann Neville’s brain that was perhaps just a little spiteful and conniving, even if it had barely affected him… as yet.

Innocent of any change he had undergone, Burt closed the door behind him and walked down to get on the coach.

3

Ann shoveled spadeful after spadeful of dung onto the cart, sweat running down between her brawny shoulder blades, her nose wrinkled in loathing and disgust.

It was easy work – her great strength ensured that – but she’d never had to do anything so loathsome in all her life. Why, she’d never even had to do any work before! Last night on the way home it had been fun to dream about really being a farm labourer but the reality was more like living a nightmare.

If Harry hadn’t been standing watching over her she’d have made a run for it already. She had no compunction about ignoring his orders. He was after all one of her father’s employers. He had a big mouth on him but he effectively worked for her no matter whose body she was in! But he still scared her a little and she didn’t want to force a physical confrontation.

On the other hand, if Burt in her body was really her only hope for getting that note written then she had to get out of there and up to the manor house soon or it would be too late. Burt would be on the train to London and Ann would really find out what it was like to be him: doing manual labour dawn until dusk every day!

Going back inside and out of Harry’s line of sight she quickly discarded the shovel and hurried to the worktop. There were various papers of Harry’s – he used it as an office – and she quickly found what she was looking for: paper and a pencil. She snatched them up and had another try at the note, convinced that if she concentrated hard enough she’d be able to write as well as she ever had.

Arry

Harri

Haree

To hoom it may concern,

Burt wonts 2 weecks olidee und eye wont you too giv him it. He wil gett—

“Burt! What the chuffin’ ‘ell are doing in there? Get out ‘ere and finish shovellin’ this shit!”

Ann stared in horror towards the doorway, terrified Harry would be standing there but he wasn’t. She looked back at the note in a panic, really not sure if it was correct English or not. It looked alright to her but she couldn’t be sure anymore.

She quickly finished and signed it off.

He wil get the tyme of from now on my say so.

Yors cincer sinseerl

Syned

Laydee Ane Nevill

She felt awfully stressed and panicky, emotions she had never experienced before, but at least it was done and she hadn’t needed to enlist that buffoon Burt’s help. That was a Godsend at least. He might have made her look like a real fool.

At that moment Harry stormed into the stable and Ann turned to present him with the note. “Er, I forgot to give you this earlier,” she said. “It’s from ‘er ladyship.”

He snatched the grubby paper off her and squinted at what it said. Ann smiled to herself but she still felt uneasy. She had an awful feeling that her writing wasn’t as good as it should have been and she regretted having to cross words out. That was something she normally wouldn’t have needed to do.

Harry chuckled. Then he guffawed. Then he threw his head back and laughed long and loud as Ann paled.

“Do you really expect me to believe that Lady Ann wrote this yer great twasock?” He slapped Ann hard round the side of her head. “You bloody idiot!” He threw it into the mud on the floor. “Now get out there and do you chuffing work before I brain you!”

Ann trembled, unsure what to do, then remembering who she was she stamped her foot and said, “No!”

“What did you say to me?”

“No,” she said. This servant couldn’t tell her what to do. She was Lady Ann Neville! “I have to go to the manor house and you can’t stop me!”

She ran out of the stable and up the path toward the hall with Harry bellowing behind her. She didn’t care how much he shouted. If she didn’t hurry then she really would be stuck living Burt’s servant life for the next two weeks!

4

When Burt went downstairs he was sent reeling yet again by the pomp and bustle as servants went this way and that, cleaning and organizing. Lady Harriet, the regal Countess, her ma, and the stony-faced earl himself had lined up ready to say goodbye to who they thought was Lady Ann.

Burt gulped and did his best to walk in a feminine way. It didn’t prove easy and the earl looked down his nose as he approached. “I trust you will behave yourself in London Ann,” he said.

Knowing that his crass dialect was going to show him up if he wasn’t careful, Burt just said the word, “Yes.”

“Good. Well be off with you then.” He strode away.

Hattie was next. She smirked and simply said, “Enjoy yourself in London Ann. You’re going to have an absolute scream!”

The smirk dropped off her face when Burt responded, “I’ll do me best yer ladyship” and she walked away looking as perplexed as Gladys had earlier.

When it came the Countess’s turn to wish him goodbye he got the surprise of his life as she took him in her arms and gave him the tenderest embrace he had ever felt. Tears came to his eyes and ran down his dewy cheeks he was so touched by the affection. “You know I love you, don’t you Ann darling,” said the stately woman.

“Of course I do mother dear,” replied Burt, startling himself at how perfectly the line popped out of his mouth. In his life he had never once had so much love and affection leveled at him and it made him feel wonderful. He went outside with a warm heart.

As he descended the steps to the waiting coach, he was startled to see himself; 'Burt;' rush up to him. It was fascinating and odd seeing this big man approach with such discomfort. Lady Ann obviously didn’t enjoy being exposed in front of the coachman, butler, maid and other staff assembled like this. When last she’d seen them she’d been lady of the manor. It must surely have rankled to have to play the part of lowly stable hand in front of them.

For a moment Burt enjoyed the turnabout before he reminded himself that it was his love for Ann that was spurring him on in this odd charade – that she would surely accept his adoration of her when they switched back.

“M’lady,” said Ann grudgingly. “Might I have a word.” Burt noticed that like him, his speech pattern still gave her away as an imposter, despite her clear attempts to overcome it. As a matter of fact, her accent wasn’t too bad.

“Aye,” replied Burt. “Er, yes.”

They huddled for a moment away from the staff and Ann whispered sharply, “Go back in the house and write a note giving me a fortnight off!”

Burt was startled and whispered back. "But I ‘ardly know my letters!"

"Just do it ya daft bint!" Ann hissed.

Obedient Burt pulled away, slightly hurt, and perplexed by Lady Ann continuing to try to ape the local dialect even in private. He went to Gladys and said, “You girl. Fetch me pen and paper immediately!”

Several paces away, Ann watched the exchange, chilled by how well Burt emulated her turn of phrase with the servants. Burt had guessed accurately how uncomfortable she felt standing now in front of her staff, flat cap clutched at her waist, head lowered. It seemed the proper thing to do and so she was doing it but it annoyed her. Why should she have to pretend to be an idiot stable hand? She was the lady of the manor!

Just not at the moment…

Which was why she had to play along; pretend to be who she looked like. Pretend to be this burly illiterate gloit. She was still superior to all of them… in her heart, even if not in reality at this moment.

She wondered then about her theory of the change in her brain. Objectively speaking, was she really their inferior now in the terms she had always believed? Was that a physical fact as long as the swap took place?

It didn’t leave her feeling too good.

Burt went inside and took a seat at an elegant corner table in the yawning hallway, taking up the pen and paper that Gladys presented to him. He felt very nervous. Despite what Ann had said, there was no way he’d be able to write anything legible. As a little boy Burt had learned precious little. He hadn’t been brainy enough to master anything complicated and both he and his teacher had known he would never have any use for writing.

Gladys standing there like a simpering fool didn’t help either. “Oh be off with you girl!” snapped Burt and she scurried away.

He concentrated as hard as he could, throwing his mind back to his classes, and tried his best to write.

My dear Mister Bramshaw,

If you would be so kind I would be most appreciative if you could give Burt a fortnight off from his daily grind and tribulations.

He looked down at what he’d written in wonder. Ann had been right. He really could somehow write as though he’d had years of schooling! And his handwriting was the elegant letters of a cultured woman!

He went on.

He has done excellent work for the past months and (he smiled mischievously) though he has no culture or breeding (he giggled to herself) and limited intelligence, he has done his best to be a gentleman and deserves a well-earned holiday.

Thank you kindly,

Lady Ann Neville

Burt stared at the letter in front of him in astonishment, especially at the signature. That was Lady Ann’s personal signature; impossible to copy, especially for a country bumpkin; yet he had written it perfectly without a second thought. In fact, he’d been so wrapped up in what he’d been writing, he’d signed the name without even thinking it. Which was strange.

He shrugged to himself and carried it outside.

5

Minutes earlier, Ann had watched Gladys, her maid, emerge from the manor’s interior, scowling as though she’d just been chastised. This made Ann smile, imagining Burt playing her part well. Being careful to simulate the Yorkshire accent, Ann said, “Ey-up Gladys luv. You look like a bulldog that’s chewing a wasp.” She didn’t know where she’d picked up that simile from but it was certainly apt.

“I dunno what you’re smirking at Burt ‘Arper ye stupid oaf!” snapped Gladys. “She may lord it over me but you’re the lowest of the low round ‘ere! You’re everyone’s whipping boy! You’re not even fit to go inside the house! You’re worth less to the family than those horses I can tell y’ve been mucking out by the stench on ye!”

The other servants laughed and Ann’s face coloured in fury and embarrassment. She may have spent years bossing and bullying Gladys as the lady of the house but as long as she was Burt, the maid really was her superior. She looked round at the chuckling faces of the coachman, butler and housekeeper and realised that she was subservient to all of them at the moment.

It was a queer feeling made up of two parts. Part of her knew that if she snapped back at them they might well flog her where she stood for being impertinent, or send her packing, thus ruining what was meant to be a relaxing break from her normal life.

Another part of her whispered that it was wrong to talk back to them. It wasn’t a conscious series of thoughts making up a decision. It was just a tiny nudge, barely even there that said they were her superiors and it wouldn’t be right to talk out of turn.

These odd conflicting feelings made Ann feel even less comfortable and far more embarrassed. Why couldn’t that chuffing toffee-nosed cow hurry up and get out there with his letter!?

At that moment “Lady Ann” emerged from the house and handed the new Burt his letter. Ann looked forlornly at the handwriting and perfect turn of phrase on the note and at the perfect signature.

She frowned at the little insults to her current station, muttering to herself at the smirk she saw on her former pretty lips. Very funny. But the joke was on Burt of course. It was him that would have to live out the rest of his life in this pathetic existence once the two weeks was up.

“Wait a minute,” whispered Ann, quietly scolding the former stable hand. “You’ll have to do this again. You’ve used a made-up word you idiot!” Burt looked at the note between Ann’s dirty big fingers at where he was pointing. “Here. That isn’t a real word.”

“Tribulations is a real word I can assure you Burt,” said the apparent Lady Ann, just loud enough so that the other servants could hear. “It means a test of one’s endurance.”

There were more chuckles all round and Ann shoved the note in her pocket testily, her face flushing beetroot red and her ears growing hot.

“Now ey up and— be a dear and help me into my coach would you.”

Feeling about ready to punch somebody, Ann stepped forward to help the elegant lady into her coach, taking her hand to steady her as she climbed up onto the step. It was an odd moment that left Ann feeling confused. For the time it took ‘Lady Ann’ to climb into the coach with ‘Burt’ helping, ‘he’ really was the servant and ‘she’ the mistress. Burt had demanded assistance and without thinking, Ann had stepped up to give it, using her man’s strength so that the beautiful aristocratic lady didn’t have to strain herself.

Feeling increasingly perturbed by the whole scene, Ann stepped back, cap in hand, to watch it pull away, growing almost angry at the fact that she’d removed her cap in the first place and still feeling reluctant to put it on while the coach was in sight for fear it might be disrespectful. Which made no sense at all!

She got slapped hard round the back of the head a moment later by the butler. “You know better than that you big ugly lump! You’ve no right to talk directly to the lady. You’re no better than the dirt beneath her slippers! Keep to your own class. Is that clear?”

Ann felt cowed before the pompous older man, even though she knew she could easily best him in a fight.

“Are you deaf boy? I said is that clear?”

“Yes,” snapped Ann.

“Yes what?”

“Yes… sir.”

“Good. Now get out of my sight and take that stink with you!”

Ann backed away as the servants dispersed; all of them laughing at her. She was furious, but reminded herself that none of it mattered now. Now she had her note, for the next two weeks, she wasn’t Burt the stable hand, she was Burt the free man! With enough cash in her pockets to get bladdered every single night!

She took it back to the stable and showed it triumphantly to Harry. The old man grumbled but he had no choice. "The whims of the quality passes all understanding!" he misquoted.

Ann grinned with Burt's lips.

“But she got this part right about you being an idiot.”

The grin dropped from her mouth and she stormed away.

6

Ann climbed up the stairs to the hayloft and found Mavis lying on the hard floor pallet, her legs spread, pleasuring herself. She started when Ann entered but didn’t cover herself up. She didn’t even stop fingering her fanny but she slowed down and gave her a saucy smile. “Ey up Burt. Wot you doin’ back so soon?”

“Ow do,” replied Ann, pleasantly surprised at how she managed to imitate the local dialect without even thinking about it. “Watching you do that is— is class, that is.” Ann floundered for a minute, on the verge of referring to how it made her penis feel, feeling suddenly awkward. Then she decided to say it anyway. What did decorum matter now? “It makes me cock want to explode does that.”

There was no point in fighting the fact that for now she really was a common man inside and out, even if it felt like a dangerous surrender allowing herself to think that. A superstitious part of her was afraid that she might be stuck this way if she REALLY admitted to herself that’s who she was. But she looked down at this half-clad strumpet and the overwhelming sense of manhood she felt made a mockery of restraint.

I really am Burt, she said to herself in the bubbling quiet of her mind. I’m really a horny commoner; a man who wants nothing but sex.

For now, she reminded herself. She couldn’t not add that, even if part of her really wanted to surrender, for the moment at least, to the full experience… Though she felt that if she didn’t fully take on this new part with all her heart then she’d never enjoy the whole masculine experience.

Suddenly, before she could stop herself she rashly thought the words in her head, further cementing her identity in her imagination.

I’m not a sissy woman, she told herself. I’m not that stuck-up Lady Ann. She’s quality. She’s better than the likes of me. I’m nothing but a man – a.. a stupid illiterate labourer about to shag his woman. And I always ‘ave been.

“By eck as like I must say,” said the new Burt, the Yorkshire accent flowing completely naturally now, “I want me some o’ that fanny! Ere, get on ye knees and suck my cock like ye promised.”

Mavis’s eyes lit up as “Burt” flopped out his big engorged member. She put her mouth round it, on her knees in front of him and he made fists with his big dirty hands as the pleasure shot through him. Before he came, he ordered her to get on her hands and knees on the pallet and rammed into her juicy minge from behind.

“Oooh aye,” groaned ‘Burt.’ “That’s reet champion that is. Reet chuffin great luv, Reet chuffin great.”

He reached forward and played with her pendulous breasts as the lazy morning stretched on. At first he’d thought the talented girl smelled awful but soon didn’t notice at all.

This was the life. It really was.

Ups & Downs

1

The real Burt meanwhile, stared out with his new eyes at the disappearing English countryside, an elegant shawl wrapped around his shapely legs. In no time they were at the railway station and he was helped down from the carriage.

It was a marvel to be walking through the milling people. Up until now Burt had only spent time in Griply Hall. Now he was outside in the real world, surrounded by ordinary people; either his equals or betters in his normal life. Now, instead of ignoring him as they normally would have, they stepped back out of his way as he walked as carefully as possible through the station building and onto the platform.

He didn’t have to do anything himself. Gladys fussed with the tickets and carried the baggage with the help of the coach driver. He felt like he was royalty… which he supposed (as a distant relation to King Edward) he actually was!

Standing for a moment on the platform, waiting for the train, he suddenly really saw himself as he was now. To every passerby he was an elegant lady on a trip to the capital. As long as his mouth was shut no one could tell him for the imposter he was. He was a beautiful woman, the breeze caressing the curls of his long hair, his hands neatly clasped at his waist.

Though something felt a little off… like he really wanted something, without knowing what that something was.

When the train arrived, Gladys made sure he was comfortable in a first class carriage then discreetly withdrew to third class. A posh gentleman was across the aisle from Burt. He smiled broadly and said, “Good morning madam.”

Feeling awfully unsure of himself Burt just tipped his head and smiled as demurely as he could in return.

The train pulled out in supreme comfort and as the journey began Burt was served tea in a china cup and cucumber sandwiches. He felt like he was dreaming.

The Yorkshire countryside started to fall away and soon he was being whisked through the outskirts of the Griply estate. It was wondrous to see it from this angle – he’d never been on a railway train before – and to think that he was currently the heiress of all of that land!

How peculiar life could turn out to be!

2

As Ann walked down the lane and cut onto the fields where twenty four hours earlier she had done the same on her horse as a woman she had an odd realization.

That morning she had entirely forgotten to take a bath.

It was probably the first time in her life she hadn’t done it, with Gladys preparing it and her sinking into the lovely warm water. It had been a daily tradition so ingrained that it was second nature. Even without Gladys there to wake her with breakfast she was surprised she hadn’t done it herself.

She wondered if she should walk back and have one now, but she was a good ten minutes out already and it seemed like too much effort. If she smelled bad then people wouldn’t be surprised. They thought she was Burt after all. They would just think that she was smelling like he usually did.

She ruminated on that for a few minutes, wondering if her thinking that was because she was somehow influenced from being in Burt’s body – that she wasn’t too bothered because he wouldn’t have been – but she decided that it wasn’t that. She simply didn’t want to waste time going back now that she was on her way.

It was wonderful to be out striding on these strong male legs. Burt’s body was necessarily far fitter than her own and she felt healthier than she ever had.

She was as careful as she could be to maintain a masculine walk, which felt a bit unwieldy still. She felt like she was alone out in the country but any of the farm hands might spy her and make annoying remarks in front of the men at the pub later if she flounced about like a woman.

After ten minutes of concentrating on making long strides with widely spaced feet and her hands in her pockets she didn’t find it too hard. The body was used to it. Soon she forgot all about it and it only occurred to her again after about half an hour had passed. Ann realised that she was walking like a man without even trying. She’d been so busy chuckling at what horrors Burt was up to in her body that it had entirely slipped her mind to keep it up. She was doing it automatically.

She stopped in the middle of a field and tried for a moment to walk as she normally would, in a ladylike fashion. It felt immediately uncomfortable and false; not even familiar. That was odd. But it didn’t matter. Walking like a man was necessary if she was to continue pulling off her impersonation.

It was great to just go out walking like this. It would have been regarded as odd had she still been a woman. On any normal day she’d have been pressured into sitting on the sofa doing embroidery with her mother and sister. Exploring the countryside for a change was far more diverting.

She passed the stream where she’d found the amulet and smiled to herself, thinking what a profound experience its lucky find had brought her. She was immensely grateful to whatever higher power had chosen to reward her like this.

As she walked she reflected on the clothes she was wearing. They were filthy and threadbare: a shirt, waistcoat and breeches, very tatty and ingrained with dirt. On any other day she’d have been mortified to be seen out in them but now they were just part of her disguise. And what a disguise it was! With her close-shaven hair, big muscular frame and manly stride – and these clothes, she was a dead ringer for Burt. Anyone would think she really was him.

That made her think of the letter she’d tried to write and her theory of the changes in her brain. If the part of her brain that had contained the information on how to write had transformed until it was the same as Burt’s, she wondered if there were other effects she had yet to notice. Was all of her education gone or just that relating to the written word? And was her reading affected too? She hadn’t thought to investigate.

As for her voice, although she found it easier now to say some words with a Yorkshire accent, she still for the most part spoke with good elocution. She had mixed feelings about it. Although it would be handy to be able to fit in with the “other” men more easily, the thought of sounding like a country bumpkin felt ridiculous.

Just imagine talking like that all the time!

3

When she reached Griply village Ann found it profoundly odd to walk around, passing by the ordinary folk. Every other time she’d been in the village, every passerby had stopped to look, nodding in deference, leaving no doubt in anybody’s mind that she was superior to all of them.

Now, nobody turned their head in her direction.

She was just a nobody – one of the common people – not noteworthy in the least. In fact, she noticed that if anything she was even slightly avoided! Mrs Landon, the vicar’s wife wrinkled her nose in disgust when she saw Ann approaching and crossed over the road, studiously pretending she wasn’t there. It left Ann feeling annoyed and just slightly… ashamed? She was angry to be treated that way but she also felt bad to be looked down on at the same time.

Since starting this whole sham it had been a gallop of different intense experiences leaving her a little overwhelmed… but it had surely been the most intense and exciting experience of her life to date. Even this feeling of being looked down on was stimulating in its own way.

Just ahead she saw the coach and driver from the hall and smiled, relieved. She was a lot fitter than she had been as a woman but she couldn’t be bothered to walk all the way back the way she’d come. She approached the coachman who was chatting with the blacksmith, finishing off some business.

“Ey up,” said Ann, happy that she was getting a slightly better handle on the bumpkin turn of phrase.

“Ey up Burt. What you doin’ in’t village when you should be up at t’hall working?”

“I’ve er… I’ve got the fortnight off,” replied Ann, still feeling a little unsettled to be addressed as a man.

“Oh. Good on yer. It’s easy for some. I’ve got to get back to Estate to take the countess and Lady Harriet down t’ut station.”

“I wondered if I might—” Ann cleared her throat. “How’s about giving me a ride back to the hall?”

“Ain’t gonna happen.”

“What?”

“Ain’t gonna happen Burt.”

“I’ll pay you obviously,” replied Ann crossly, reaching into her pocket.

“Keep your money Burt,” said the coachman. “It ain’t about that and you know it. You could give me an hundred pounds and I wouldn’t let you ride in there. It’s not for the likes of you. It’s only for the quality.”

“Quality?”

“If’n the earl saw you inside of there we’d both of us be out of a job.”

“But I have money,” said Ann plaintively, almost petulantly.

“Money don’t change the fact that you’re a working man Burt. That’s all you’ll ever be.”

Ann stormed off without another word, her fists balled by her sides.

What did that idiot know? She didn’t actually feel like riding in the coach now anyway. She’d much rather enjoy the stroll back!

She heard giggling from the other side of the street and looked across to see Mavis and another girl looking her way, twittering between them. Mavis’s shoulders and cleavage were bare and she looked right sexy. The girl she was with was a lot chubbier but Ann found her eyes drawn over and over again to her round cleavage.

As she approached she heard Mavis whisper, “… but you should see the size of ‘is cock. It’s gigantic!”

Ann grinned broadly, feeling suddenly better. “Ey up our lass,” she said, finding again that sometimes lower class colloquialisms just appeared in her mouth – usually when she was most distracted.

“Ahright Burt,” replied Mavis. “I was just tellin’ Ethel ‘ere ‘ow strong and virile you are.”

Ann’s face coloured but she felt proud. It made her feel so powerful and confident to remember how big her erect member had been.

“I’m off t’ut pub to open up for’t evening so you’d better not let ‘er steal you away!” said Mavis. She stuck her tongue in Ann’s mouth and squeezed her crotch, giving her another jet of pleasure and waking the beast, then she walked off laughing over-loudly.

Ann looked at Ethel and sized her up. She was far fatter than Mavis but she created a real stirring in Ann’s trousers in her already throbbing penis.

“Are ye really as big as they say?” asked Ethel bawdily.

“Bigger,” bragged Ann, amazing herself at how lascivious she was prepared to be now.

Ethel looked her up and down then winked. Ann found herself grinning, having a sudden feeling at what that wink was supposed to mean.

“And I bet you got muscles on top of your muscles.”

“I certainly—” Ann cleared her throat. “That I do. I’ve got muscles like you wouldn’t believe.”

Mavis was half way to the pub now and Ann watched her for a minute, briefly considering the morality of this flirtation and discounting it.

It wasn’t her life anyway. She owed no obligation to Mavis. It was Burt who’d promised himself to her. She could do whatever she wanted. And besides, these were the lower orders. It was common knowledge that their emotions were more retarded than those in the upper class. And furthermore, this is what the commoners did all the time anyway. That was the whole point!

She shook her head to herself. None of that mattered. Not when her cock was pulsing in her trousers, telling her exactly what it wanted.

“I like a muscular man,” said Ethel, stroking Ann’s arm.

“And I like a woman who… with tits like yours.”

Ethel giggled. “Oh, you’re right forward you are, ain’t ya?”

“Do you like forward men?” asked Ann, leaning against the wall so that her face came close to Ethel’s.

“They’re the best kind,” replied Ethel. “Especially if they’re as well hung as Mavis reckons.” She stroked Ann’s cock through her trousers with her index finger where Mavis had groped her a minute earlier, making her intentions clear and establishing herself on the other girl’s ‘territory.’ “Do ya wanna slip back ‘ere and let me get a closer look?”

“Aye,” said Ann, her accent thickening by the second. “That I do. That I do and no mistake.”

Both she and Ann watched until Mavis was out of sight inside the Dog & Pony then they slipped down a side alley and Ann pinned the chubby woman against the wall, kissing her, shoving her tongue into the woman’s mouth.

Ethel fumbled with the buttons on Ann’s trousers and Ann suddenly felt an overwhelming imperative to have this girl as roughly as she could.

She snatched up the woman’s skirts, raising them high enough to show her legs as her own trousers dropped down around her ankles, exposing her hairy buttocks and legs. She had no underwear herslef. And why would she? She was only a common man now – common as muck!

She lifted Ethel up, pressing her against the wall as she rammed her erect cock into the girl. Ethel gave out an almighty cry of pleasure and Ann grinned, loving it. “Ooo Burt,” groaned the girl. “Mavis was right. You are big. Right chuffing big!”

Ann beamed with pride, ramming her cock up over and over into the girl’s minge, muzzling her chubby neck and sloppily kissing her pillowy cleavage. It made her feel so masculine; so in control and it intensified the sensation greatly to feel her moustache tickling the girl’s skin and pressing against her face as they snogged.

She rammed over and over again, feeling the intensity of the sensations spread out from the centre of her body, feeling abandoned and lewd as she never had before.

Then movement in the corner of her eye distracted her for a second and she saw Mrs Landon glance into the alley as she passed on her way back to the vicarage. There was Ann, latterly the lady of the manor, now standing with bare legs and bottom in broad daylight ramming her cock up into a slut’s fanny as though she had no shame!

Mrs Landon tutted and hurried on but Ann just grinned. She really didn’t have any shame. She didn’t care one whit about that. She was having far too grand a time thrusting over and over again into this slag’s juicy vagina as she grunted and moaned against the wall.

She was a man now and she was doing what it was a man’s right to do!

4

Ann’s walk home to Griply Hall was a very pleasant one. All she could think of was how fantastic it had been having her way with that vulgar peasant. What made it even more hilarious and “dirty” was that she wasn’t even sure of the slutty girl’s name. It began with an E – she was sure of that – but it could have been Ethel or Edith or Edna. She really didn’t care! She’d had her wicked way – used the strumpet and then chucked her aside.

This was exactly what being a man was all about!

She thought of the vicar’s wife, seeing her like that and actually got another erection! The idea of it being so shameless and vulgar added to the pleasure of it no end!

Why this was one of the best days of her life!

As she walked back up the drive she saw the coach waiting to ferry her mother and sister down to the station. They were going into York to shop for a couple of days and it looked like they were almost ready to go.

The countess was in the doorway, speaking to the housekeeper while Hattie stood looking bored.

Ann suddenly felt a little jealous. The trip to York had been the original reason she’d resented having to go to Grandmamma’s. She’d been dying to go shopping in the shambles and buy some new dresses and had resented not being allowed to go. Now, even though she was remaining in Yorkshire they were still going without her. However much spending money she’d slipped away with she still couldn’t hope to ride with her mother and sister and spend the trip with them. For now she was just a burly man – a servant and nothing more.

Hattie climbed into the coach as Ann approached. Her mother was finishing off her conversation with the housekeeper and preparing to follow her. As the countess descended the steps, Ann said, “Afternoon moth—um… your ladyship.” Her voice sounded manly and a little curled by the bumpkin accent and, embarrassed, Ann tried to straighten it out. “Are you off to go shopping in York?”

Her mother looked at her and said nothing.

“That’s a right nice get-up you’re in,” went on Ann. “Er, I mean, a lovely outfit.”

“You, boy,” said the Countess, pointing at her as though she hadn’t spoken. “Make yourself useful and carry these bags.”

Ann looked at the baggage on the step and back at her mother.

“Chop chop boy,” said the countess. “I haven’t got all day.” She walked imperiously past Ann, not even offering a please or thank you, much less making eye contact and Ann felt crestfallen. She was devoted to her mother but all the warmth and kindness had vanished from her voice and manner – the kindness that Ann had always relied upon.

She watched her mother climb into the coach with the driver’s help and realised she was going to get told off at any second for dawdling – holiday or not. If she had still been a woman she’d have shouted at any servant this slow already.

She hurried to the steps and lifted the bags, scurrying back with them to the coach where she hefted them into position on the back while the driver tied them in place. Inside the coach her mother and sister chattered away excitedly about the purchases they were going to make.

As the coach pulled away Ann was still standing there forlornly. She watched it until it was out of sight, cap once again in hand then trudged down toward the stable.

5

When he reached the station in London, Burt was surprised to see Gladys suddenly appear looking servile. The maid arranged for a porter to carry the bulk of the luggage and led him out to the street. There Gladys hailed a horse drawn cab and helped Burt into it.

Burt was whisked in this carriage through the bustling capital and he gaped out the window at the sights he never imagined in his life seeing in the flesh. After a while they pulled up outside an elegant townhouse – her ladyship’s nan’s house.

Poshly dressed servants emerged and bowed, helping Burt down from the carriage and once again it was reinforced that he was the quality now. He was the elegant lady.

It was getting dark and the evening was chilly on his soft skin as he was led inside.

There in the hallway stood Lady Ann’s nanna, a tall slender elderly lady dressed entirely in black and looking more than a little forbidding.

“Good evening Ann.”

“How do Nan,” said Burt, “Are ye’right?” He winced at the sound of his common-sounding voice and turn of phrase but it was too late. He’d already said it.

“Am I what?” asked Nanna. “And what, pray tell, did you call me?”

“Are ye… How’re ye—” Burt blushed, panicking slightly and feeling like a total dullard.

“You must be tired from your journey,” said Nanna crisply, frankly terrifying Burt as she frowned at him. He’d never met a woman quite like this. She seemed awful and he fully understood now why Lady Ann would have done anything to avoid seeing her. “Perhaps it would be better for all concerned if you were to retire. Immediately.”

“Right you are,” said Burt in broad Yorkshire, wishing he’d just kept his mouth shut. He was so nervous it was making it much harder to control his speech.

Nanna stared at him coldly then turned her back on him without another word, leaving him to be led upstairs by the servants.

It looked like this was going to be an awfully long two weeks.

6

Ann was having a fantastic time!

After the previous night’s escapades at the Dog & Pony she’d been excited to get back down there to have another go. Her accent still let her down (try as she might she simply couldn’t properly imitate the local clodhoppers), but she’d discovered a great way to make it so they didn’t care.

She had walked in and dropped a pile of coins on the bar, loudly announcing that she was going to buy drinks for everyone!

When they realised she wasn’t joking there had been cheers all round. Men were patting her on the back and chattering excitedly with her, grinning and laughing. It was great! It made her feel like one of the lads.

And after her experiences earlier with the coachman and her mother it was nice to be appreciated…

These bawdy men might have been simpletons but they knew enough to be grateful for free beer. Ann had never had many friends growing up. To suddenly be surrounded by so many happy people all thinking she was great was almost overwhelming emotionally. Tears actually came to her eyes it made her so happy. They really treated her like she was one of them. One of the men.

She knocked back her first pint then bought another round for everyone. That raised the celebration even more.

“What’s this in aid of Burt?” asked the Butcher. “And where did you get all this brass?”

“Lady Ann,” she replied. “She gave me a wodge of cash to thank me for a job well done… And I wanted to celebrate with me— with my… mates.”

“Well good on yer!” The butcher clapped her on the back, raising his glass. “And good on Lady Ann.” He raised his voice so that everyone could join in on the toast. “She may be a spiteful bitch from time to time…”

Ann started to open her mouth but got jostled by a laughing pit worker from behind and lost the moment.

“… but she’s paid for an almighty piss up! And for that we’re grateful! Lady Ann!”

“Lady Ann!” cried everyone in the pub.

Ann looked round at them feeling momentarily bewildered, then she raised her own glass and cried, “Lady Ann!”

She knocked that pint back and slammed it down on the bar then shouted, “Barkeep! Another round if you please!”

And everyone cheered.

7

Burt was shown up to his beautiful bedroom and after fussing round for a few minutes settling him in, Gladys disappeared to the servant’s quarters.

Burt just stood there in awe of his new surroundings.

He was in a total whirl. What had began only as half favour and half command from his precious Lady Ann had become a fantastic trip through opulence and wealth. Just imagine! Him – Burt – coming to the capital city and staying on holiday in a big mansion like this! Never once in a million years would he have expected that!

And Lady Ann had chosen not to come here – to take on his body and life instead back at Griply! It barely made sense to him.

He thought back to leaving the manor house: being helped onto the coach by the new Burt with all the servants in attendance. He’d never felt so important and esteemed.

And despite his adoration for Lady Ann, he had found it funny that she had had to help him. He actually giggled to recall ‘Burt’ telling her off for making up the word “tribulations” and ending up looking like a complete dunce in front of the people she used to command.

Burt felt guilty laughing at her beloved Ann’s expense and stopped herself, then let herself giggle away. It was Ann’s choice that she’d taken on the roll of a servant. If she acted like an idiot then she deserved to feel the fool.

He was oblivious to the subtle but important shift that had just occurred in his and the Lady Ann’s relationship but it was there. Up until then, Burt had adored her from afar as an almost mythical being, a dazzling beauty to worship and fawn over. Suddenly he saw Ann as just a person – still someone he was devoted to, but just another human being. An equal.

Or, for now, even an inferior. It was entirely subconscious.

And it wasn’t hard to do. Burt had spent his life resenting the way he was looked down on by his betters, while at the same time knowing they were his superiors. Now that he was in the role of the lady of the manor it was just such a natural perception to have that “she” was better than the “lower orders.” That was simply how everybody acted. It made it true. Ann had helped her submissively into the coach. For now ‘he’ was a servant.

“By ecky thump,” said Burt, “this is a right rum do.”

He frowned crossly, touching his slender neck in the mirror with long delicate fingers and a soft hand. He was enjoying all this luxury but felt he was letting Ann down terribly by talking like a yokel half the time. True, he’d been able to imitate the posh way the swells had of talking some of the time but he still lapsed into his typical Yorkshire brogue more often than not. He had to try harder. He tried saying it again, maintaining as feminine a pose as possible at the same time.

“Goodness gracious me. This is an awfully perplexing situation.”

The beautiful woman smiled back at him. That was much better.

“I Am Who I Am”

1

Lady Ann woke up feeling extremely grumpy.

She’d just had what had to have been the worst night’s sleep of her life. She’d staggered home pissed in the early hours of the morning, vomiting several times on the way home and then had to make her bed up when she got back to the hay barn above the stable. As a mere stable hand, Burt wasn’t given proper lodging. Now she was living his life she literally had to roll out his thin straw mattress every night and put it away in the morning. It was hardly worth the effort. She could feel the joins between the floorboards through the flimsy thing!

She’d tossed and turned for the rest of the night feeling cold, uncomfortable and queasy. Try as she might, at three o’clock in the morning, feeling like death warmed up, she’d been unable to block the draft coming in from outside in numerous places. And it was spring! Imagine how much colder it would be for the real Burt when the weather really took a turn for the worse come autumn. She thanked God she’d be back in her own warm bed long before that.

In the end she’d barely slept a wink all night and felt exhausted now – and awfully dehydrated. Like common drinking men since beer was invented, Ann vowed not to drink as much ever again!

After feeling filthy the day before she was determined to have a bath now. She actually called out Gladys’s name before she remembered she was on her own now. It was a shame Mavis hadn’t spent the night. She might have drawn a bath for her if ordered to. These servant types were all the same. Talk to them imperiously and they’d jump to it whoever you looked like.

That was her theory anyway.

Feeling increasingly irritable, Ann hunted round for the bathroom, realising quickly that there wasn’t one. Eventually she found what amounted to a bath tub hanging off a nail on the wall. It was far from the beautiful porcelain bath on dainty legs that she was used to. This was just a rusty old metal tub, barely big enough for a person.

Grumbling to herself she got it down and tried to think what came next. Gladys usually took care of everything while she was still fast asleep. She decided eventually to fill it using water from the kettle. But before she could do that she had to light the stove! Worse: there’s wasn’t any firewood to hand!

She almost gave up then and there but decided she was determined to maintain her standards. Just because she was in Burt’s body didn’t mean she couldn’t be every bit as clean and well tailored as she’s always been.

Muttering to herself she but on her boots and went out into the wood behind the stable to gather firewood, feeling all the aches of her rough night as she did so. Eventually she was ready and after cursing in a most unladylike fashion for over half an hour she got the fire lit.

Then she had to go and get water for the kettle!

This turned out to be from an open barrel outside at the back of the building! There were leaves floating on the surface and more at the bottom of the barrel but there was nowhere else to get it so she had to fill it up and tromp back upstairs.

She heated the water up then poured it into the bath with a satisfying cloud of steam as she smiled for the first time that day out of relief.

But the water barely covered the bottom of the bath!

Stamping her feet in fury, Ann went back outside and down to the barrel again and refilled the kettle. She heated it again and poured that into the tub. It barely had any effect. So she did it again. And again. And again!

When she’d filled the kettle eight times she decided that the amount of water she had would have to do. Feeling the draft from the cracks in the hay door she stripped down naked and climbed in.

The water barely covered her buttocks! And it was only lukewarm; it had taken so long to fill it! And it was so small her hairy knees were up in front of her face!

After spending a furious thirty seconds making a half-hearted attempt to clean herself, Ann clambered out of the bath and kicked it over in a fury, spilling the water all over the floor and her mattress. Just about ready to kill somebody she climbed back into her dirty clothes from the day before and sat shivering in front of the stove, regretting the entire attempt to wash herself and telling herself that being clean was highly overrated.

2

In London, Burt sank into the warm water of his bath feeling every bit the pampered woman that he looked like.

Gladys poured even more piping hot water in then tactfully withdrew as he languished in the huge bathtub – one of the most beautiful things he’d ever seen! He was able to stretch out in it and it gave him the first real view of his naked female body.

He looked so beautiful and dainty. The skin on his arms and legs was so soft and smooth. He turned his tiny hands back and forth, marveling at how small they were, how soft the skin. His own man’s hands were big and callused, the fingernails bitten short but still able somehow to trap dirt. His nails now were shiny ovals, perfectly manicured and dazzlingly pretty.

It was so wonderful to slide down into the warm water and let it close round his chest and shoulders. He had always hated baths and getting clean. Now though he saw it in an entirely different light. It felt wonderful to gently cleanse his new body, running his delicate fingers along his smooth arms and legs.

He would have thought he would hate being a woman but now that he had gotten over the initial shock it was actually nice to feel so smooth and soft – and obviously it was fantastic to be so rich all of a sudden!

This really was the life!

3

Ann felt wonderful! This was why she’d made the body switch; right here!

She was galloping across the estate faster than she’d ever done before with the wind full in her face. And she was riding astride! Never had she been brave enough to spur Rosebud to such speeds and to jump the low hedges with such abandon.

Partly it was because she was riding properly for the first time in ages – like a man. Part of it was that she was a lot less timid and fearful now… more manly for want of a better word. Apart from that it was because she was a lot tougher now. If she fell off she would probably be fine in her big burly muscular body. And if she injured herself – well it wasn’t her body that was getting injured, was it?

She laughed to think of that servile bumpkin Burt dutifully taking his body back covered in scrapes and bruises and probably thanking her for it – the bootlicking cur!

It was hilarious how obsequious that little fool had always been; fawning and servile; when he could have really been enjoying life like she was! That was the difference between them though. It was her soul in this body now and that meant it had all her drive and self confidence; her willpower and her intelligence.

Once she’d had a really good ride she turned Rosebud back and set off for home happily, allowing the tired horse to go down to a trot as she went back up the drive. She dismounted in front of the stable and left Rosebud standing there as she started to wander off.

“Burt!”

Ann stopped and looked round. Harry was emerging from the stable a look of absolute fury on his whiskery face.

“What the hell do you think you’ve been doing my lad?”

“Riding,” she replied. “What does it look like?”

“And you think you can just do that whenever you damn well please; is that it?”

Ann shrugged. “Why not?”

“I’ll tell you why not you ignorant sod! Because they don’t belong to you! They belong to the earl and his family!”

“Well I can do whatever—”

“You’ll do whatever I chuffing say! I can’t believe you had the gall to take Lady Ann’s filly out! You’re barely fit to groom that horse – let alone ride it!”

“Now wait a minute—”

“Were you planning on leaving it out – saddle and all?” shouted Harry. “Well? Speak up you little turd!”

Ann couldn’t believe that Harry was speaking to her like this. It was entirely unconscionable! It was intimidating, and normally Ann might have been cowed by it as she had been the day before, but now she had the best of both worlds. She had her breeding as a lady of the manor and all the superiority that came with it and she had her newly endowed manly confidence. “As a matter of fact I was planning to leave it,” she said pompously, entirely disrupting the flow of Harry’s anger. “In case you hadn’t noticed, Lady Ann gave me two week’s off. You saw the note yourself. During that time I’ll do whatever I want!”

“You’ll unsaddle that horse and get in there and shovel the shit up as punishment for taking her out is what you’ll do!” cried Harry.

“No. I don’t think I will,” snapped Ann. “I’m on holiday and as long as I am you can do it your bloody self!”

She strode away proudly, turning her back on the ignorant man, head held high. He couldn’t tell her what to do! All it required was the proper commanding attitude and she was every bit in control as she ever was.

She really did enjoy being Burt! And she was a much better Burt than he had ever been!

4

Over brunch at the Duchess’s pristine home in the city, Burt was finding out that it wasn’t easy being a cultured woman. It wasn’t easy at all!

"Honestly Ann,” snapped the old lady. “Don't slurp your tea! You have been too long in the country and around your father.”

“Soz nan. You ain’t wrong.”

“And your accent!” she exclaimed. “You sound as if you have associating for far too long with the men from the stable!” Burt had to smile at that. “Don’t smirk girl! I’m telling you that you sound like an urchin with no breeding whatsoever! Don’t you have any shame?”

Burt looked forlornly down at his plate.

“Well? Answer me Ann! Do you want to talk like a lady or don’t you?”

“Er, well I can’t say as it’d be a bad thing.”

“Goodness gracious me! What I would have to work with! I’ve never met a lady who has gone so much to seed! You sound worse than your servant, and she has no breeding at all!”

Burt felt utterly ashamed of himself. He was letting Lady Ann down entirely by his pathetic attempt to pretend to be her.

“I see I am going to have to re-school you," said the Duchess. “There is simply nothing else for it.”

Burt gaped at her.

“I will take you while I have you young lady and mould you into the gentlewoman you should be. I will teach you to stand, sit and speak like a proper lady should, until you do it without thinking. You may not be a lady now but in two weeks time when you leave here you will be a cultured upper class woman from your head to your toes!”

5

Ann sat on her favourite clump of soft grass at the bank of her stream, there again where she’d found the magical amulet. She half expected to see something else at the water’s edge but there wasn’t anything.

She felt very very happy – more at peace than she’d felt in ages. Apart from the bath incident she was really enjoying being Burt for a change from her normal life. It was a most diverting holiday. She wouldn’t want to remain as Burt – not even a tiny part of her wanted that. Being Burt with money in her pockets and two weeks off work was one thing – when she had made the decision to become him. It would be another matter entirely actually being stuck like that – having to work while everybody and their uncle ordered her about.

No thank you.

But it was nice to pretend to be Burt. If anything it was annoying not to be able to do it perfectly. She wished she could do the voice more successfully. She found herself talking like she always had more often than not which really ruined the effect of living the Burt life to the full.

She actually wanted to pretend to be Burt for real. She remembered how much pleasure she’d had doing just that on her first night and wondered if there was a relationship between her telling herself she was really Burt and being able to talk like him.

She was planning to go out drinking again that night – and maybe see some more of Mavis. It would be much better if she could master the bumpkin accent a bit better. And also she felt she was missing out on an opportunity here if she wasn’t careful. How many people got to take a holiday this immersive – a holiday from her entire being and life. Ann was dressed in Burt’s body as she might dress in a suit of clothes, but she hadn’t become Burt. She hadn’t really taken on the whole experience at all.

And that was a real waste.

This was her only chance to fully experience life as a man and as a commoner – a member of the lower class who didn’t have to worry about pretensions and politeness but could do and take exactly what he wanted at any time.

When she was back in her own body, as a woman, she wouldn’t be able to do any of these things again. She would have missed her chance.

Sitting there on the bank, she felt like she was trying to persuade herself it wasn’t a bad idea. But it wasn’t! She was in Burt’s body for two more weeks. That was a given. Until Burt in her body returned there was absolutely no way she could change back. While she was stuck like that she should enjoy it in every way – really become Burt and live his life.

So recalling how it had worked the night before last she closed her eyes and thought, I’m Burt Harper. I’m a man. I’m a stable hand at Griply Hall, working for the Neville family.

She opened her eyes, not sure if it had had any effect. She didn’t feel too different.

I am who I am. I’m a big hairy man. I’m a servant. I’ve worked for the Neville’s my whole life. I’m nothing to them. I’m just a lowly servant. Not even that. I’m a farmhand; the lowest of the low.

She felt her penis swell suddenly and she shifted, altering her position so that her feet were more widely spaced, her pose more slovenly.

She tried saying a few phrases and smiled when she realised how much clearer her Yorkshire accent was.

“I’m Burt ‘Arper. I’m a workin’ man oop at hall. I’m not one of the Neville’s. I’m not Lady Ann. She’s a right posh lady… I’m… I’m barely fit to groom ‘er horse – let alone ride it. I could never be a woman. That’s impossible. I’m a man and I always ‘ave been. Me name’s Burt.”

She leant back against the grass, hands behind her head, feeling wonderful – incredibly relaxed and happy. She could feel the effect of this affirmation in her brain, ticking away as a slight warmth and dizziness. It felt soothing and peaceful to say it and keep saying it.

He was Burt. He was a man. He was a lower class working man who mucked out the stables and did manual labour.

Nothing more.

6

The forcible old woman started teaching Burt how to be a lady immediately.

He was told how to sit, how to eat properly, how to walk elegantly; what subjects were appropriate for dinner conversation. His new grandmother winced after every Yorkshire word

and not so gently corrected 'her granddaughter!' His head was awhirl with all this new information as he tried desperately to assimilate it – both to keep the duchess happy and to meet his side of the bargain with the real Lady Ann.

It made Burt feel like a fool trying to walk, speak and move like a woman but part of him enjoyed someone taking such an interest in improving him and making him into a better person. More and more he started to enjoy the exercise of being the best woman he could be. After admiring the quality for so long it was fantastic to pretend he was one him— or as it was, herself!

This process went on for the better part of the day as he tried his hardest to talk gentile, but it was a hopeless case. He just couldn’t lose his accent and he couldn’t stop dropping in Yorkshire colloquialisms.

“What you have to understand Ann dear,” said the duchess, is that acting and speaking like a lady has to come second. Before you can do that you have to decide that you want to be a lady.”

Burt looked back at her. Could he do that – really pretend that he wanted to be a gentlewoman?

“Once you have made that decision you have to visualize yourself as a cultured and refined lady. Stand in front of the mirror and tell yourself that’s who you are if you must but find a way to change your self-image. Only then will you stop being such an awful country bumpkin and start acting like the lady you should be.”

7

Ann walked into the Dog & Pony feeling entirely different to the way she had two nights earlier just after she’d changed. No longer did her body feel uncomfortable. She didn’t have to concentrate on moving in a masculine way. She walked with an easy masculinity that gave her a wonderful confidence.

She stroked her moustache, loving the feel of it and liking the way it complemented her manhood. Reiterating who she was now had really made a difference – as had the decision to let herself really be Burt, to wallow in the manhood in a way she had restrained herself from doing before.

“Ey oop Burt!” said the barkeep.

“Ahreet kid,” she replied. “Ow do?”

“Ah, can’t complain. You ‘ere with more brass to chuck about tonight?”

“Aye, I might be at that,” replied Ann, reveling in her improved accent. She hadn’t made one slip up yet. Telling herself she was Burt had really let his vocal patterns overtake her. “There’s some beer in ‘ere wi’ my name on I’ll tell you that much. Start linin’ em up. I want to get me some jars in afore it gets dark and get right trollied up this ev’nin!”

The barkeep raised his voice over the din. “Burt’s buying again lads! Come’n get ‘em!”

There were cheers all round and Ann grinned as she got slapped on the back some more.

They started telling saucy stories and she started laughing along with them. And the bawdier the stories got, the louder Ann laughed, hammering her fist down on the bar. And the Yorkshire accent continued to flow. If anything it got even richer as the evening went on.

At about ten o’clock, when she was well and truly bladdered once again it occurred to Ann in a moment of quiet that she’d not slipped on talking like a yokel once since that afternoon. She could talk like a working man freely now as much as she wanted.

“Ah’ve nivver seen the like o’this,” she said to nobody in general, pursuing the fantasy. “I’m a bloke now through and through.” She necked her pint and gave a deep chuckle. “I’m a salt of the earth workin’ man and no mistake. I’m Burt ‘Arper and that’s who I’ll be for the rest of me days.”

8

Exhausted from his long day of lessons, Burt allowed Gladys to help him prepare for bed and then, after the maid excused herself, spent the next few minutes rubbing cream into his smooth arms.

It felt really nice to be in such opulent surroundings and to be living the life of a swell – even if he wasn’t really one of them. Even doing something like this – pampering his new body – felt right. He had never taken care of himself before but it was a good feeling to be doing it – however silly it was to be doing women’s things.

But it made him think about what Ann’s nanna had said. He needed to think of himself as a woman if he was going to act like one. He still wasn’t sure he really wanted to act like a lady but he had given his word to Lady Ann that he would do his best.

With this in mind he went and stood in front of a looking glass and stared into his beautiful eyes, looking up and down at the beautiful woman he now was.

“Well I guess for now,” he said, “I am who I am.” He decided to tell himself who he now was, so he could set it in his mind – so he could really think of himself as a lady.

“I am Lady Ann Neville. I’m a beautiful well-bred woman and I always have been. I am the eldest daughter of the Earl Neville and have lived in the manor since I was a little girl.”

It felt odd to say that but it also seemed to help make her feel more comfortable; more at ease in that body.

“I’m Lady Ann Neville. My parents are the earl and countess. My sister’s name is Harriet… Hattie. I’m the eldest daughter. I’m a cultured and refined lady.”

The more he said it, the easier it became and he found it easier too to speak in a more refined way.

“I am a perfectly well spoken woman; and why wouldn’t I be? I have been brought up in the upper classes. I’m a lady of royal blood.

“I’m Lady Ann Neville and I always have been.”

Feeling at Home

1

Ann gasped as she was knocked from a deep sleep by a bucket of water being thrown in her face.

She floundered about on her straw mattress, gasping and spluttering as she tried to catch her breath. It was freezing and horrible and half of it had gone down her throat. She’d never been woken up in such an awful way in her life!

Harry, the groundkeeper, was standing over where she lay, laughing at the way she spluttered.

“What the chuffing ‘eck is goin’ on?” groaned Ann. “I was fast asleep.” This time she didn’t even notice that her clodhopper accent was perfect.

“That’s for talking back to me yesterday Burt,” said Harry. “And you deserve more like a good whipping so you’d best be glad of it.”

“Eh?”

“Now get your bony ass out of that bed and get downstairs and muck out those ‘orses!”

Ann didn’t move straight away, trying to clear her muggy hangover so Harry put his boot against her shoulder and knocked her off the mattress.

“Come on bucko! Up you get! There’s work to be done and shit needing shoveling!”

“But I’m on ‘oliday,” said Ann. ”I’s got a note from ‘er ladyship.”

“That was before you stole her ‘orse and took it out for a joyride! I might not be able to go against her note to put you back to work for the fortnight but I can sure as hellfire punish you for doing that!”

Ann gaped up at the burly older man in horror. “But my note…”

“Don’t mean nothing if I says so! Now get up!”

Ann got to her feet. “I ain’t doing nothing,” she snapped back, “and you can’t make me as long as I’ve got my note from Lady Ann.”

“Oh I can’t, can I?” Harry grinned, rolling up his sleeves. “Well I can go and talk to his lordship, the earl, can’t I?”

Ann blanched.

“How would you feel if the earl knew you’d taken one of his horses out without a by your leave, eh? I think you might find a note written by that stuck up daughter of his’d get you exactly nowhere.”

“You wouldn’t,” said Ann.

“Oh I would Burt me bucko! I’d do that quicker than you could say Jack Robinson.” He grinned, folding his arms. “The earl’d be down ‘ere in less than a minute to clap you in irons and pack you off to jail. Or worse!”

“No!” said Ann, truly terrified of that happening. “I’m sorry. I’ll do it. Just don’t tell the earl please!”

Harry chuckled. “Come on then boyo. There’s a right big pile of shit waiting for you. I want it sacked up for compost in ‘arf an hour!”

2

Burt dressed in yet another new outfit of elegant clothes while Gladys obsequiously helped, then applied his own make-up, for the first time without any help.

He looked at himself in the mirror, really allowing himself to take in what he was seeing: the woman’s hair, eyes, skin, lips, cheeks, earrings, neck, arms, shoulders, breasts, clothes.

He gave himself a little smile then recalled what he had done the night before and said, “I’m Lady Ann Neville. I was born into the upper class and have been brought up to be a well bred and well spoken young woman. I am refined and intelligent and I plan to spend the day with my grandmamma. First we shall go to church, then the two of us have a luncheon engagement. Later we might return home to enjoy dinner and a quiet evening.”

He continued to smile at himself then quietly got up and went down to breakfast.

3

Ann filled shovel after shovel with horse shit, tipping it into the top of an open sack.

While she did it she grumbled to herself but not loudly enough so that Harry could hear. She daren’t risk him calling her father down to deal with her. It was one thing for Lady Ann to give a stable boy the fortnight off. It was another thing entirely for the earl himself to get involved.

He was an incredibly strict taskmaster. If he heard of her stealing a horse then the absolute best that could happen to her would be an ending of her holiday and a fortnight spent tending the horses and doing manual labour around the estate. Far more likely was that she would get a whipping or be locked in the stocks overnight. Elsewhere in the country the stocks were barely used anymore but she knew how much her father liked them and she couldn’t think of a fate worse than being the subject of his wrath while she was in this body.

He might throw her out into the cold without a place to stay or even have the police cart her off to prison. It was impossible to predict how the old toff might react.

Which was why she was shoveling horse shit up off the stable floor. Again. And saying nothing about it.

The day before she’d been telling herself she really was Burt and having a lot of fun as a result. But this was other side of that. As long as she was Burt she couldn’t just take out her ladyship’s— She couldn’t just take her horse out whenever she pleased. Because there were consequences for the likes of her.

For the likes of her.

Ann reflected on that, pausing with a spade full of dung.

Although she’d enjoyed pretending, was she really one of the lower orders now? Was she really nothing more than a servant; a manual labourer?

She shook her head. No. She still had her mind. She was Burt in looks and voice but she was still Lady Ann on the inside in all the ways that mattered.

Unfortunately, being Burt on the outside right now meant that she had to pay the price for what she’d done…

“Burt!”

She jerked round. Harry was in the stable doorway with his fists on his hips. “Stop dawdling you stupid great wazzock and get back to work!”

Ann rushed, trying to put the horse shit into the open sack but the top kept flopping over. In the end she had to hold it open with one hand while tipping the dung in with the other. She tried not to get the dung on her but it was almost impossible. In the end she stopped caring, just shoveling away, not worrying if the crap got on her hand. She could wash later.

Finally she got the sack full and hefted it up against her chest. Holding it there she walked round to the back of the stable where the sacks of dung were stored.

But half way round she tripped on a rock and stumbled forward. The sack split and all the horse dung smeared down her shirt and down her trousers.

“Oh for chuff’s sake!” cried Ann.

But Harry just laughed at her. “Go and get the shovel,” he said, “and start over from scratch you clumsy idiot!”

4

Burt sat demurely beside his new grandmamma in church, listening intently to the sermon.

He had always been God fearing and it made him comfortable to be here in these surroundings – even if they were far posher than he was used to. St Paul’s Cathedral was a step up from Griply chapel and no mistake.

It was funny to be here in church in the body of a gentile lady, all dressed up in her Sunday best; a lady of the manor and heiress to a Yorkshire estate.

All his life, Burt had attended church services where the vicar waxed on about the gap between the classes. He’d been told a thousand times about God’s intentions when it came to the upper and lower classes.

The basic principle was this:

The upper classes had been chosen, by God, to be in charge. They were physically and mentally superior and had that God-given right to rule.

The lower orders, by contrast, were inferior to their betters. It was their place to work from dawn til dusk to get things done while the quality watched over them and kept them safe. The lower classes couldn’t manage without the upper classes. The lower classes were less important and generally less human than were the upper classes.

Which brought some interesting thoughts to mind.

Because of course, Burt now was part of the upper class. He was in the body of an upper class woman. He was Lady Ann now. So surely that meant that he had joined that ruling class, even though it was temporary. For the next two weeks he was one of them – one of the elite.

And by extension, his darling Ann, her ladyship… she was one of the lower orders. If he had become Ann then she must have become Burt. He was upper class and she was lower class.

He went on musing while the bible reading began.

That meant then, surely, that she was… inferior to him at the moment. He had become one of the God chosen rulers. She had become one of the ruled – one of the workers.

It was funny to think of her that way – and these were only harmless ruminations; but still… The image of his Lady Ann looking like a common stable boy was rather amusing. Burt pictured her, accurately as it turned out, shoveling horse dung up off the floor dressed in his tatty old clothes and giggled to himself, covering his mouth with a silk handkerchief.

It was so funny to think of her as a lower class working man!

5

Ann lifted her dirty trousers in front of her in the hayloft and sighed at how filthy they were.

The sodden horse manure had left stains all down the front of the thighs and onto the lower legs. And that was just the trousers. Her arms were dirty too and her hands and fingers were ingrained with it.

It occurred to her that she was standing with bare hairy legs and buttocks, her penis flopping in the breeze, thinking how to go about doing her own laundry.

“It caps owt, this does,” she said. “Only a man’d stand ‘ere three sheets to the wind, his todger hangin’ out an’ covered in shite.”

She found an old bit of rag that wasn’t much cleaner than her trousers and wet it with water from the kettle, then she dabbed at the shit on her trousers, doing as much to rub it in as to wipe it off. She did the same to her shirt, swiping half-heartedly at it with her nose crinkled. It was barely done properly but it’d have to do. She didn’t have all day to waste and she was getting cold sitting there in her birthday suit.

She sniffed her fingers and winced at the stink, eyeing the horseshit trapped under her fingernails. Really she needed a bath; her and her clothes, but after the debacle the morning before that was the last thing she wanted to waste time doing.

She settled in the end for using the dirty cloth to wipe her hands with, then she put her clothes back on and threw the cloth down on her bedspread, absently chewing her fingernail.

6

After church, Burt and the duchess had lunch with a pair of very dull old ladies.

The conversation was dreary but it gave Burt the opportunity to test his skills at emulating Lady Ann in public. It was feeling a little less strange being a woman in front of other people now. He guessed he was getting used to it. Telling himself he was really Ann had helped immensely. He made a note to keep doing it regularly.

Despite feeling more at ease in his body and in polite company, Burt was still feeling increasingly skittish for some other reason he couldn’t put his finger on. Then Grandmamma hit the nail on the head.

“Oh do stop fidgeting Ann. If you want a cigarette then just take one. You’ve been eyeing mine for long enough now.”

Surprised, Burt took one of the offered cigarettes. He had never smoked in his life but he did remember now seeing her ladyship partake of it from time to time. He supposed that as he had her body now he had her likes and dislikes as well – her cravings and her addictions.

He placed the long feminine cigarette between his lips and accepted the light offered by Grandmamma’s manservant, drawing in a long breath and immediately feeling a relief of the tension he had been feeling.

He held the cigarette between two long slim fingers and blew out the smoke in a stream before taking another satisfying drag.

“Is that what the doctor ordered Ann dear?” asked the duchess.

“Indeed it is Grandmamma,” replied Burt. “This is precisely what I needed. Thank you so very much.”

7

Ann was not happy as she stomped her way down to the village.

She’d had a simply awful morning so far, what with being woken up by a pail of water, shoveling horse shite and then having to clean her own clothes. She was sick of hanging around the hall and being treated like a servant – even when she had the time off and the money to be something better!

And she was sick of having to walk to the village too! She didn’t see why she couldn’t take the coach or one of the horses down there. She was the earl’s daughter, whatever she might look like!

It crossed her mind to tell everyone that was who she was even, so that they’d start giving her the respect she deserved. But of course no one would believe her – especially without Burt in her body to corroborate it. Maybe she should have done that in the first place: explained what she was doing to her family and staff and then sent Burt off in her body while she lounged round the manor as a man, accepted by all in her rightful role while also being able to get up to mannish activities.

Except that would never have worked out. She knew that. She couldn’t tell anyone about the amulet for fear that they would steal it. And how awful would that be – being stuck as Burt for the rest of her life!?

No. She just had to find a way to go back to enjoying herself and she already had the perfect plan.

It had been niggling away at her that she’d missed out on the shopping trip to York with her mother and sister, but there was no reason she couldn’t go on her own! She had more than enough money to pay for the train and for food and lodgings when she was there.

She stopped at the Dog & Pony on the way to the railway station to let Mavis know she was going.

She wasn’t around and neither was her father but the strumpet’s brothers were leaning on the bar, wasting the day away.

“Ow do,” said Ann. “Is Mavis in?”

“No one is,” replied Eddie, the eldest.

“Right. Well do us a favour and give ‘er a message willya.”

Eddie sneered. “Write her a note. I ain’t your social secretary.” His brother, Will, chuckled. “There’s pencil and paper over there. Help yerself.”

Grumbling to herself, Ann took up the stationery and started to write.

 

Deer

She wracked her brains for a minute then said, “Do you know ‘ow to spell Mavis?”

The brothers blanked her entirely, not even responding but smiling a little at their own unhelpfulness.

Deer Mayvic

… wrote Ann…

I iss gowin two yawke this afterrn today.

She frowned, becoming increasingly frustrated by her inability to write properly. If anything it seemed even more difficult now than it had been before.

I weel de bak twomor tooumorr Mundee.

She scrabbled up the note in anger and threw it on the floor then relented and picked it back up, smoothing it out. It would have to do.

She signed it:

Burt

… and set off for the station.

But when she got there she found she had a three hour wait because it was Sunday service.

When the train finally turned up Ann was in a foul mood. This got even worse when she was pointed in the direction of third class.

“But I c’n pay for first class!” she whined.

“First class isn’t for labourers and thugs,” said the train guard. “You’re going to have to sit back there with the rest of the rabble.”

“No,” said Ann. “I’s got the money! I should ruddy well be able to sit where I like!”

“Is there a problem here?”

A tall man in a suit and coat had just appeared with dark hair and a moustache. He was well dressed and obviously one of the quality and was gripping a cane as though he might at any moment strike her with it.

“No problem,” said the guard. “This… person is refusing to use the third class carriage.”

“Oh is he now?” asked the man and Ann suddenly recognized him.

“Ere, I know you don’t I?” she said.

“What?”

“Aye. That’s right. You’ve been up at Griply seein’ me… Seein me ladyship, Ann… as a suitor.”

“That’s right,” said the man, who Ann remembered now was called Richard. He’d been a bit too smarmy for her but he was very rich and a great sportsman; a boxing champion as she recalled. She suddenly felt very embarrassed standing here in front of him dressed as a working class yob.

“Look,” said Richard. “What’s your name?”

It was on the tip of her tongue to say ‘Ann,’ but she managed to restrain herself. Instead, feeling humiliated she said “Burt” instead.

“And what do you do Burt?”

“I…” She didn’t want to say it. Saying it to herself was one thing. Admitting it to a man she knew, who had previously been pursuing her hand in marriage, was something far far worse. “I work up at the ‘all; mucking out the stables and such. Shovelling shite; carryin’ stuff; that sort of thing.”

“So you’re a manual labourer? Is that so?”

Ann cleared her throat. “Aye. I suppose.”

“Well Burt,” said Richard crisply, “Have you ever heard of a manual labourer whose job description is shite shoveller sitting at the front of the train in first class?”

Feeling cowed, Ann shook her head.

“Wouldn’t you say that that kind of man would be better suited to sitting in third class?”

“But I got money to pay—!”

“Look I’m sorry my good man,” said Richard, stepping closer so that he was face to face and eye to eye with her, his expression hardening. “I don’t think you understand. I’ve tried appealing to your better nature as a gentleman but now I see that you clearly don’t have any breeding at all.”

Ann flushed with embarrassment as every passerby on the station platform stopped to listen in.

“If you don’t go and get into third class where you belong then I’ll give you a bloody good thrashing,” snapped Richard, brandishing his cane threateningly. “Is that clear?”

Ann nodded, unable to reply because her throat had tightened up.

“I said is that clear?”

“Yes,” said Ann.

“Yes what, you ignorant oaf!”

“Yes… sir.”

Richard glared at her. “Well go on then boy. Be off with you!”

She turned to go, feeling utterly humiliated and he gave her a sharp crack on the buttocks to speed her up. Everyone on the platform laughed. The men and women in the train windows laughed and so did Richard and the guard.

With her eyes hot and her face steaming, Ann struggled into the crowded third class carriage, squeezing into a grossly overcrowded bench seat between some squealing urchins and some other men.

All of them were smirking at the dressing down that Richard had given her and she hunkered into her seat, glaring angrily at the shoes of the man opposite.

8

Burt had really taken to smoking, and as another activity that Lady Ann had done before and he hadn’t, it made him feel even more feminine while he was doing it.

He stood at the back door of the duchess’s house, enjoying the sunshine on his face and having yet another day of luxurious living without having to work. Since he’d been a lad he’d always had to work most every day of the week – even Sundays. Now, as Lady Ann, his entire life involved simply lounging about and doing nothing more than chat.

Yes, his new grandmamma drilled him every chance she got with better practice on being a lady but he still enjoyed that to some extent. And it certainly beat mucking out the horses!

There was a stable hand here, working in the yard, oiling the leather of the saddles, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Burt watched him working for a while as he enjoyed his cigarette then sauntered over.

“Afternoon,” he said.

“Oh. Sorry m’lady,” said the stable hand. “I didn’t see you there.”

“No matter. I was just seeing what you was doing.” Burt’s voice had slipped naturally back into his Yorkshire accent but he didn’t particularly notice.

“Just oiling these down,” said the stable hand. “It’s not too bad. Should be finished soon.”

“People don’t appreciate how much ‘ard work it is what you do, I bet,” said Burt.

The stable hand looked at him oddly. “No. They don’t at that.”

“You should get more thanks,” said Burt. “You’re doing a grand job out ‘ere.”

“Er, thank you m’lady. And if I might say ma’am, it’s nice to meet a member of the upper classes who isn’t so… so stuck up as some of them round here.”

Burt froze, feeling suddenly bad, like he’d let himself down.

He’d been standing here talking with this stable hand like he was still just like him. And he’d been talking broad Yorkshire at the same time – doing the opposite of what he was meant to.

He’d let himself down and he’d let grandmamma down. Worst of all he’d let Lady Ann herself down.

“I have to go,” he murmured and hurried back inside.

9

By the time she reached the city of York, Ann was feeling a whole lot better.

It was great to be able to walk the familiar streets looking up at the beautiful old buildings. She let herself drift, enjoying the freedom of being able to explore the big city as she pleased without fear, eventually working her way through to the Shambles, the famous narrow shopping streets with their quaint timbre framed buildings.

It was here that she usually came to buy pretty dresses designed by the best seamstresses in the north. Looking down at her muscular body and grubby clothes she couldn’t help chuckling at how inappropriate it would be now to go in for a fitting.

Feeling slightly disappointed she walked on, gravitating toward the theatre district. There was a delightful restaurant there that she went to on every trip to the city with her family before taking in a play. Indeed, as she approached, she spied her mother and sister already inside, seated at their usual table, chattering happily while drinking from china teacups.

She felt a little left out that she couldn’t join them, but she could imagine their reaction if “Burt the stable hand” strolled in and took a seat beside them stinking of horse shit. Still, that didn’t stop her going in and having a nice meal.

What did stop her was the doorman: an overdressed bloke in top hat and tails who sneered menacingly when she tried to walk past him. “We don’t want any trouble friend,” he said.

Ann considered giving him some anyway but she caught another look at her mother through the glass. The last thing she wanted was for the duchess to see her shouting at, or brawling with, this idiot just to get into a restaurant. She would die of shame if that happened.

Instead she scowled and shoved her hands in her pockets, walking off.

When she got to the theatre it was the same story as it had been on the train. They didn’t care how much money she had. She wasn’t allowed to sit on the posh seats she was used to. She had to join the rabble in the stalls where they were crammed in on bare wooden benches, far further away from the stage than she’d ever sat. The uncouth peasants just chattered and shouted anyway. She didn’t know why they were even there. To cap it all she saw her mother and sister take box seats as the play started.

She tried to ignore the racket from the heathens around her. The play was Shakespeare, which she’d always loved. But whether it was the shuffling around her, the discomfort of the seats, or the low quality of the performance, Ann found this particular production tedious.

“There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,” said one of the actors, “than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”

“Ye don’t know the half of it and then some,” muttered Ann.

As the first act went on she found it slow and boring, the dialogue over wordy and hard to follow. In the end, bored and frustrated, she got up and left.

What did she care anyway? She hadn’t been that bothered to see it. The toffs could keep their dull ruddy plays to themselves!

10

In London, as he prepared for another good night’s sleep between silk sheets, Burt looked at himself in the mirror once more, saying the words, “I’m Lady Ann Neville. I’m a cultured and intelligent young woman – an upper class lady and daughter of the earl Neville.”

He’d been doing this whenever he got the chance and had found that it made it much easier to slip into his temporary role. The trouble was that he kept contradicting himself in his mind; part of himself reminding him that he was really Burt. That was the problem. It was all well and good telling himself he was Ann but he still felt connected to his life as a man.

Still feeling guilty for how he’d talked with the stable hand and knowing he had to do well for fear of letting his darling Ann down, Burt tried a different tack to cement that side of things and distance himself from the Burt persona.

“I’m not Burt and I never have been,” he said. “He’s just a big oafish labourer who doesn’t deserve to even look at me. He’s a pathetic commoner who’s plainly besotted with me. Like that would ever happen. I’d sooner marry a monkey than get close enough to that smelly man to let him kiss me.”

He felt guilty saying these things but they really helped him to blot out the lingering clumsiness of action and voice that had come from his old life. Each time he said it he found his accent becoming more in line with Lady Ann’s and less like idiotic bumpkin talk. He went through his reaffirmation several more times before going to sleep, reminding himself not only that he was Lady Ann, but that Burt Harper was someone entirely different – someone who deserved nothing but scorn and disgust.

11

After starting to hate the looks of scorn she got from the stuck up toffs in that end of town, Ann ended up walking until she saw more men dressed like she was. The buildings were shabbier, the streets dirtier, but she found herself feeling more at home without the withering stares. The men here didn’t disrespect her. If anything she got friendly nods and the odd leering smile from the women.

These weren’t snobs like those snooty toffee-nosed prigs she’d seen at the restaurant and in the posh end of town. These were just good honest working men you could trust – salt of the earth blokes who’d never do you harm.

There was some right lively tunes coming from a sleazy looking music hall on the corner and Ann went inside, buying herself a beer and taking a seat near the front.

The show was bloody hilarious – really bawdy like – with some rib-tickling comic sketches and silly dance routines. Every so often they broke it up with a song. It was nothing like that pretentious crap at the big theatre. These were songs you could sing along with and feel like you were joining in!

At the interval, Ann had another couple of pints and bought a round or two in for the blokes she got chatting to at the bar. They had a right laugh joking about what kind of knickers the leading lady was wearing and what it’d be like depriving them of her!

Then it was back in for the second half and more hilarity. Ann was three sheets to the wind by this time and laughed louder than anyone else in the hall, throwing her head back and applauding. She had a whale of a time!

Afterwards she went for more drinks at the pub across the road, chatting to the cast of the show and buying jars for all. That made her very popular and several of the lady dancers flirted with her.

After an hour or so, when she was really getting off her head, she managed to persuade one of the dancers to go out back with her. She was a skinny little thing dressed in little more than a sheath of glitzy fabric and Ann felt a pounding in her crotch to have her way with the girl.

With the girl snorting and giggling piggishly, Ann pushed her into the outside toilet and made her bend over, her hands on the opposite wall, the toilet bowl beneath her. Ann undid her trousers, letting them fall down round her ankles again and grunted as she forced her erect cock into the girl’s soggy minge from behind, just like an animal would do it.

Bleary-eyed drunk, Ann pumped into the girl, whacking her pelvis against her buttocks as the girl screeched with pleasure. Ann roared with passion too and they ended up climaxing together, Ann hammering her over and over again from behind until they were both gasping.

She staggered back inside, leaving the girl to recover and set her clothes right, alone out in the cold. By the time the girl came back in, Ann was already chatting up her friend and twenty minutes later took her out to the gents as well to give her a right good seeing to.

Later she found herself in on a conversation between two dock workers. They were going on about the rising problems of inflation and income tax but Ann found her mind wandering. They just kept discussing different figures and calculating the amount of earnings they’d lose because of it. Then they went on to talk about politics and the differing policies of the prime minister and the head of the opposition.

Pissed out of her skull, Ann knocked the one bloke’s beer over, just so she could see the look on his face, then pointed at him laughing as he got angrier.

Next thing she knew she was wrestling with him on the floor of the pub until she got him in a head lock and pounded him in the face until he begged to be let go.

She staggered out of the place laughing to herself.

There had been a few shit things through the day but once she’d found somewhere she felt comfortable, she’d had a great time of it!

From Head to Toe

1

Anne woke up with a stretch and a yawn. The hotel she’d slept in was the best she could find in the scummier end of the city of York. It was a bit shabby but the bed was fifty times more comfortable than her pallet back at Griply manor and there were no gaps in the walls and window. It was probably the best night’s sleep she’d had since becoming Burt.

Since becoming Burt…

Ann tossed the covers back. She’d slept naked and she looked down the length of her muscular male body; at the hair on her chest and stomach and legs and at her thick masculine cock nestled in its pubic hair.

She took it in her callused hand and gently massaged it as she thought back to night before – taking those two slappers into the toilets behind the pub and shagging them hard from behind, one after the other. The more she thought about it, the more aroused she became and the more relaxed.

I love being a man, she thought to herself. I love being Burt.

Her penis was huge now, the big vein along its lower length pressing outwards as it engorged itself on blood.

She thought about the hilarious show she’d seen and the drinks with her new mates and even the fight she’d ended up getting into. And all the time she stroked her cock, running her big hairy hand up and down the shaft.

“I am Burt,” she said, caressing her knackers with the stubby fingers of her other hand. “I’m Burt ‘Arper, the stable hand at Griply ‘all. I’m a big burly hairy man and I ‘ave been since the day I was born.”

Hearing the sound of her man’s voice, thick with its Yorkshire accent, made her even more aroused. She didn’t rush what she was doing though. She drew it out slowly, just really relaxing into the pleasure, finding it intensifying the more she visualized herself as she was now – as a salt-of-the-earth working man.

She wanted it to carry on though so she let her mind wander, continuing to intensify the identification with herself as Burt; needing it to overwhelm her.

“I don’t fit into those posh places,” she said. “Not no more. I only fit in with me own kind now – with working men like me. Me own kind ain’t stuck up like those snobs at the restaurant. Me own kind’d never let a man like me down.”

She let herself drift, loving the slow sensation – the fantasy of pretending to be Burt. And she knew that the more she kept saying it, the more her accent changed; the more she really sounded like she was Burt. And that turned her on even more.

She was getting close to a climax now and she started pumping harder, looking down her body at her cock and her hairy legs; at her muscles and her overriding masculinity. Nothing that she was seeing said woman. She was a man from head to toe.

“I’m Burt!” she gasped. “I’m Burt!

“I’m a worthless lower class oike!

“An idiot!

“A dozy twonk!

“A filthy working class pillock!”

Then she came, spurting semen up onto her chest as she rocked with the force of her orgasm.

She lay panting for several minutes, loving the complete sense of relaxation and calm.

Then she sat up and swung her bare legs onto the floor.

“Ooah,” she groaned. “That was reet chuffing greet that was. Reet champion. Reet chuffin greet.”

Her voice sounded exactly like Burt’s now. And her sloppy masculine posture was his too. There wasn’t anything in the slightest bit feminine about her. And she loved it! It was great to play the part so perfectly. She’d been right to immerse herself in it. Strutting about like a woman in a man’s body had been a waste of the whole experience. Now she was loving every second.

It made her wonder what it would be like going back into her body. Would she retain her clodhopper accent for a day or two and still walk like a man? That would be hilarious!

But it would go soon enough if she just kept telling herself she was Ann again. There was no risk of getting stuck this way. And she could still talk like a swell whenever she wanted to anyway.

“I say,” she said, doing it now. “Awfully good show, what!”

She gave a manly chuckle. This certainly was the best of both worlds.

She got to her feet, remembering her intention to maintain her standards of cleanliness while she was living Burt’s life. Here in the hotel she’d probably be able to pay for a bath to be drawn for her.

But it seemed a bit pointless to be perfectly honest. Why bother putting on airs? The whole point was that she enjoy being Burt – not pretend to be some jumped up pansy. And bathing took far too long. She wanted to get out and enjoy the city by day as a man!

So instead she pulled on her dirty trousers and shirt, and her waistcoat and boots. There was a musty smell of horse shit and stale beer on the clothes but Ann shrugged. If they wouldn’t let her into posh establishments or first class carriages anyway then what did it matter?

2

While Burt and the duchess sat at breakfast on the balcony in the sunshine overlooking the park, Gladys fussed about making sure everything was perfect – checking that they had everything they needed.

Burt watched her, smiling wryly, while grandmamma read her novel. It was very funny to see Gladys being servile around him when for years she had looked down her nose at him. She had always put on airs, making out that she was superior, just because she worked directly for the gentry inside the manor instead of doing the manual work out in the farm buildings.

This was a real turnabout and Burt relished it. He would have loved for her to know who he really was but obviously he couldn’t possible expose his secret.

Instead he settled for saying, “Go and fetch me a fresh cup of coffee Gladys. This one’s gone awfully cold.”

“Yes m’lady. Sorry m’lady.” Gladys took the cup.

“And be quick about it this time. It was your dawdling that let it go cold the first time.”

“Sorry m’lady. Right away.”

Gladys backed away from the table looking flustered and ashamed and Burt’s wry smile broadened.

3

Ann had always loved to visit York Minster as a child.

It was a beautiful old cathedral with ornate architecture and a staggeringly beautiful interior. It was there, as a girl, she’d longed one day to be married. For many an hour she’d whiled away the time, imagining a handsome and wealthy lord coming to whisk her away from the tedium of Griply Hall to a life of great opulence. It was always here that she envisioned the wedding, filled to bursting with only the most highly appointed guests. She would be wearing a gorgeous white wedding dress with a train that ran back down the aisle thirty feet or more, carried by a whole cluster of pretty bridesmaids. It was the perfect place of her dearest childhood dreams.

Now though she was finding it boring as shite.

It had seemed a good idea to walk over here and wander round as she’d always loved to do but it really did seem pointless now she was here. What was the point of looking at a few spiky bits on an old church. Church was dull enough at the best of times. Wasting a perfectly good day in York looking round one was just plain stupid.

Ann got away from there as quickly as possible, hands in her pockets, cap firmly on, eyes wandering for something else to fill the time that wasn’t so pretentious and dull. She sneered at the rich folk strolling round gazing up at the place like it was important. They were all just wasting their time while trying to make out they was cultured or something.

As she strolled on she mused over how she was seeing life differently now. She supposed the obvious thought was that spending time inside Burt’s body and brain was influencing her likes and dislikes but she didn’t think that was it.

Being Burt was just giving her a fresh perspective. She was seeing life how a man sees it. Having a comparison allowed her to see her former interests from a new angle. It was nothing to do with what body she was in. If she, as Lady Ann, had been able to do and see the things she had recently then she’d have reached all the same conclusions.

Shakespeare was boring and confusing. All that pretentious old fashioned language was just there to make people feel inferior if they didn’t waste hours trying to decipher it. She didn’t have hours to waste! Now she’d discovered them she’d take a good music hall show any day of the week and twice on Sundays.

Same with wandering round old buildings. Rich people only did that stuff because they didn’t know there were better things to be done. Now she’d seen life on both sides of the curtain, Ann knew there were plenty of more interesting activities she could be getting on with.

And she was heading toward one now…

4

Burt and the duchess took a turn around the park as grandmamma’s manservant and Gladys walked ten paces behind in case they required anything.

Burt was wearing a beautiful long dress and white lace gloves. He wore a delicate wide-brimmed hat and carried a pretty little sun umbrella. Grandmamma was wearing her typical black.

“I must say Ann, your English has certainly improved over the last two days. You’ve been working hard.”

“Why thank you grandmamma,” replied Burt, feeling very proud of himself. “I am doing my best.”

“Well I must be a good teacher,” said the duchess. “When you came here you were acting very much the country bumpkin. Now I think you’d pass as a lady anywhere. It’s been an incredible transformation.” She smiled thinly. “I might even suggest it to an acquaintance of mine named George. He’s been looking for the subject of a new play.”

They walked on quietly.

Burt was elated. He felt that he’d finally done something right – doing more than a passing job of impersonating his beloved Lady Ann. He would never have guessed that he could do it but he had. He felt every bit the cultured lady as he took one ladylike step after another.

It still felt startling to be out in public, not only dressed as and looking like a woman, but acting like one as well! But as everyone around him not only accepted it, but expected it, it was becoming easier to accept himslef.

And if he was this good at being a woman now after only four days, how much more womanly would he be behaving at the end of the fortnight?!

5

After another hour’s walk back to the seedier side of the city, Ann started to feel a lot more comfortable again. It was strange. After being brought up in fancy houses and well-appointed manors, now she felt out of place if there wasn’t trash on the floor and filth and rust everywhere.

It all came down, she supposed to how she had been treated lately.

Among the quality she was looked down on and sneered at. Amongst the lower orders she was just treated decently; respected even because of the cash she had and her willingness to throw it about a bit. Coupled with the freedom of speech and action she still felt, it wasn’t a contest. Being around other people of her class was definitely better.

But that made her stop and pause for a minute.

People of her class…

Did she really think of herself as lower class now?

Surely not.

But she did. Sort of. But only in a positive way. She just saw the stuck up people from the upper class more objectively now. She looked down on them! If anything she saw herself as above every class now as she had all the best of all the differing traits.

Eventually she found the kind of establishment she was looking for.

As a woman she’d never been to one of course – had never even seen one! Truth be told she hadn’t even heard about them until the night before at the pub after the show where one of the other blokes told her how good there was a time to be had there.

Well after that she had to try it out. So here she was.

The cathouse was a sleazy-looking building on a back street with shutters hanging loose and paint peeling. In her former days she’d have run screaming from a place like that but she wasn’t chicken no more. Now she wasn’t afraid of nothing.

Outside the front a couple of slags were standing to lure blokes in, dressed in skimpy dresses that showed off their legs and cleavage. They were shockingly shameless but Ann just loved to look at them, even though they were scrawny; their cheeks sunken.

“You look well ‘ung luv,” one of them said. “Fancy a bit o fun?”

Ann grinned proudly. “Aye. Don’t mind if I do. With you or some other bit of fluff inside?”

“Inside,” said the whore. “Go on in. They’re waitin’.”

Ann gave her a nod and went through the door. The interior was dark with candles the only lighting. Ann was led by a matronly madam into the back where she had the choice of a young girl with barely tits to speak of, an older wrinkle-faced bike or a chink.

She chose the chink and got led up the narrow staircase to a tiny room with barely space for a three quarter sized bed.

The Chinese girl barely spoke English but Ann didn’t mind. She liked not having to talk first. That always seemed like a waste of time.

“I suck you,” said the chink. “I suck you good.”

“No,” said Ann, pushing the skinny girl back on the bed. “Spread your legs. If I’m paying then I want to get me money’s worth.”

“I suck you rear good,” said the whore.

“No,” said Ann, forcing her legs apart and pinning her down. “I told you. If’n I’m payin’ then I wants me money’s worth.”

The girl grunted as Ann put her weight on her and let out a little sigh as she was penetrated. She smelled of cheap perfume and some other oriental foody smell she couldn’t identify.

“Oooh. That’s good mistah. That’s rear good!”

“Shut up,” said Ann. “I didn’t come here to chat.”

6

Burt had never been to see a production of Shakespeare in a theatre or anywhere else. He had never had an interest in serious theatre, though he’d always enjoyed the farces and musical productions put on in Griply square by travelling players when he got the chance.

This was something else entirely.

It was a lavishly expensive production with extraordinary sets and costumes. The actors carried themselves with such power and presence. When they had started talking in their slightly archaic language he had sighed, thinking that he’d never understand a word, but in fact he picked up the meaning very easily.

It was a greatly moving production of King Lear and he found himself responding at a deeply emotional level to the scenes played out. He wondered why he’d never bothered with real theatre before. He had missed so much from his pointless life before now. It had been a total waste. His life as Burt just seemed so shallow and pointless compared to this kind of intense experience.

And of course it was delightful to enjoy the production in the best seats in the house, a box very close to the stage, seated with grandmamma; the servants on hand, standing quietly back but ready to step forward if called for.

Being a woman – being Ann – had expanded Burt’s appreciation of life so much. He wondered how he could possibly have been happy missing out on these pleasures… and determined to continue enjoying them after he returned to his proper life.

7

At York City railway station, preparing for the return trip, Ann was starting to feel cross.

She had a timetable but for the life of her she couldn’t work out how to use the bloody thing! It was just a mass of numbers and names. She scanned through the pages trying to find Griply but she couldn’t even find that. She tried sounding out some of the words but none of it helped. She was just getting more and more frustrated.

“I know you,” said a woman’s voice.

Ann turned and looked right into the face of her little sister, Hattie, standing dressed in a brand new dress and hat. She was taken aback by the surprise but felt relief to see a familiar face.

“Yes, I do know you, don’t I? You’re the man who cleans up after the horses, aren’t you?”

Feeling embarrassed to be labeled like that Ann nodded. “Yes. Yes… m’lady.” Knowing it was expected of her she tipped her cap, then felt a flush of anger that she’d had to.

“What’s your name?” said Hattie.

“Er… Me name’s… Me name’s Burt. Burt ‘Arper.”

She found herself glancing down at Hattie’s chest and then flushed from embarrassment, knowing that her sister probably noticed, feeling humiliated that she was doing so anyway to her own flesh and blood.

“Well Burt,” said Hattie. “I don’t know what you’re doing so far from Griply but you look like a little lost puppy. What’s wrong?”

“Er…” Ann felt awful being stuck in this position, having to pretend to be Burt to the sister she’d always lorded herself over, but she did feel confused and in need of help. She found herself saying, “I’ve got a timetable but I can’t read it.”

“You can’t read?”

“I can read. I just can’t… I can’t work out ow to read that.”

Hattie took it from her. “It’s simple.” She turned back the pages. “Look. You just find the place you want to go to – it’s in alphabetical order – then cross reference here, like so. That tells you the list of times the train leaves in that direction and what platform you need to be on. See? A child could work it out.”

Ann blushed and took the timetable back.

“My mother and I are taking the train back now as a matter of fact,” said Hattie. “You can follow us if you like.”

Ann smiled, relieved. “Thank you… miss.”

“Do hurry Hattie!” Ann looked round to see her mother beckoning to her sister to come. “We’re going to miss our train! Don’t waste time talking to filthy men, please. I thought I raised you better than that.”

“Sorry mother.” Hattie walked off, leaving Ann stewing.

Ann hurried after her but realised quickly that it would be frowned upon for her to walk beside them, even though their destination was the same. Instead she walked a dozen paces behind, watching her mother and sister chatter about all their purchase and the fun they’d had at the theatre.

Both ladies were wearing the gorgeous outfits they’d bought and each also had on new jewelry that cost at least as much money per item as she’d allowed herself as pin money for the entire two weeks.

Ann looked down at her own threadbare outfit with its ingrained dirt and musty stench and felt her ears burning again. It was silly. She could afford to buy new clothes and keep clean. She didn’t know why she hadn’t done so far. She was determined to do so from now on. Then people would treat her with more respect.

When they reached the platform the train was waiting. Ann followed her family along its flank but came to an abrupt halt when a guard thrust a hand in her face.

“Third class, you,” he said and pointed far to the back of the train.

Ann looked that way then looked again at her mother and sister climbing excitedly into first class.

This time she didn’t argue. She just sullenly walked down to the cramped and noisy carriages at the rear and took a seat on the hard wooden benches inside.

8

At the interval, Burt and the duchess sipped wine while they discussed the intricacies of the production so far. It was very enjoyable to comment on the subtleties of the acting and direction. Burt had never understood how a play came together but now, with grandmamma’s help, he was really getting to grips with it.

Gladys was hanging about looking a little bored. With a little smile, Burt called her over.

“Gladys. Go and fetch me another glass of wine will you.”

“Yes m’lady. She scurried off through the crowd. Burt couldn’t get over the power he had over her now. He waited patiently for her to return.

Gladys appeared with a second glass of wine and held it out to him deferentially. “Ere you are m’lady.”

“Take it back,” replied Burt. “I’ve decided I don’t want it after all.”

“… Yes m’lady. Of course.” Gladys hurried off again, struggling to get through the milling audience members.

Burt allowed himself another little smile.

When she returned this time he said, “Gladys, where have you been?”

“Sorry m’lady. I was taking the wine back.”

“Taking it back? I’ve called after you until my voice became hoarse. I decided I want the wine after all.”

Gladys almost sighed in frustration but Burt could tell she caught herself. “Sorry m’lady. I won’t be a minute.” She set off again and this time Burt actually grinned.

“Are you tormenting that girl Ann?” asked grandmamma from where she sat.

Burt looked at her sweetly. “Me grandmamma?”

“Yes.”

“Well, perhaps just a little.”

Grandmamma smiled. “It’s quite a diverting pastime, isn’t it? I do it all the time.”

They shared a secret and absolutely delightful grin with one another.

9

Ann got off the train in Griply after trying unsuccessfully several times to nod off. The third class carriage was crammed so tight with people that she’d been jostled continuously, and being lower class oikes, they’d been unable to sit still and just enjoy the countryside. Instead they’d all just chattered and made a hell of a racket throughout the journey.

By the time she got through the squeeze and out of the train, her sister and mother were ahead of her. When she emerged onto the street they were already being helped aboard the manor’s coach, their baggage and purchases being packed safely away for them at the back.

Ann was tired but she knew there was no point asking for a ride. She’d accepted that. She wasn’t good enough for that anymore. She started up the road on foot.

The coach passed her several minutes later almost knocking her into the ditch. The coach driver threw her a wink and a grin and she tipped her cap without thinking. She was angry she’d been left behind but she reminded herself that she was trying to experience Burt’s life in its entirety. She was a working class man now. She couldn’t expect to ride with the gentry in their coach. As far as they were concerned, she was inferior to all of them.

If she was going to enjoy being Burt – and she was determined to do so – then she had to accept that part of what being Burt was all about. Burt had no right to ride in the carriage and she was Burt for now.

As long as she was, she had no right to ride in it.

Instead she decided to go and see Mavis at the Dog & Pony.

When she got inside the pub she found out it was Mavis’s night off. She went upstairs to her room and found the slutty girl naked from the waist up, brushing her long dark hair.

“Na then Burt,” she said. “I wont expectin you till tomorrow.”

“Ey up darlin,” replied Ann. “I left you a note. Dint you get it?”

“Couldn’t read the chuffin thing. Your handwritin’s terrible.”

Ann shrugged, feeling slightly irritated. “Well I ad a reet grand time in York anyways. Reet grand.”

This was the first time she’d seen Mavis since she’d really cracked the clodhopper accent and Ann noticed the contrast with pleasure. It was magical that she was able to produce the Yorkshire brogue so naturally now without even thinking about it.

Mavis went on brushing her hair and Ann maneuvered to get a better view of her tits, feeling the stirring yet again in her nether regions.

“You look like a right bewer when you sit there like that our lass,” said Ann.

“I thought you was gonna say I looked like an ‘ore,” she replied, smiling lasciviously.

“Aye,” said Ann. “That too.”

“Well get ere and climb on board. I ain’t got all night.”

Ann threw off her clothes and clambered onto the bed, stripping the strumpet’s skirt off her and nuzzling in between her breasts, feeling her arousal spike and then spike again.

“Oooah Burt,” moaned Mavis. “That’s it. Oh I like that Burt.”

Hearing her name come from Mavis’s nasal voice turned Ann on all the more.

Her name…

She closed her eyes as she pushed her cock into the girl’s minge, knowing she wasn’t quite wet enough yet but not caring; enjoying the wince of pain she gave.

Almost immediately she got a flash of the same fantasy she’d had the other night: that she wasn’t fucking Mavis; she was fucking herself – Lady Ann.

This time it didn’t surprise her and she relished it instead, remembering what it was like to see her own naked body through Burt’s eyes when they’d first switched. She replayed that scene in her mind, this time taking the tender woman in her manly arms and pressing their lips together roughly. She imagined throwing this Lady Ann down on the sofa in the cottage and she imagined climbing on top of her – having her way with her.

And all the time she pumped into Mavis; imaging it was Ann underneath her; imagining that she was taking her virginity; fucking her as she’d fucked the slags and whore in York.

She imagined she was pummeling Lady Ann over and over again with her massive cock and that Lady Ann was screaming out in pleasure; begging her for more.

... and for more of my stories, check out:

http://transformation-stories.blogspot.co.uk/

Diverting Pastimes

1

After breakfast, Burt was wandering through the duchess’s huge town house, simply enjoying yet another day off from mucking out the stables and lifting sacks of grain. He was convinced he had the better part of the deal he and his beloved Lady Ann had made, even if he had written her a note to give her the fortnight off.

It still seemed incredible to him that he’d been able to write that note – and sign it with her very own signature; but it wasn’t the only change he’d noticed in his education. He was finding it easier and easier to discuss the arts and culture with grandmamma – something he never could have done before; and he really enjoyed it. He thrived on the intellectual conversations he was having now if truth be told.

He noticed a Jane Austin novel on a bookshelf in the drawing room and idly picked it up. It was called Pride and Prejudice and as Burt folded back the cover he surprised himself by just how well he could read now. He could read every word, even the big ones: words he’d never heard spoken aloud in his life. It was as though all the knowledge her ladyship had learned when she was growing up had been taken out of her mind and deposited into his. He smiled. She’d done all the hard work now he could reap the benefit. He shouldn’t really have been so shocked after the incident with the note but it was still a marvel. He’d never so much as read the first paragraph of a novel before!

This particular book was clearly intended for women to read. Flicking through it seemed to be all about flirting with men and finding husbands but Burt found himself intrigued nonetheless.

He found a quiet spot where there was a chair under a tall window with plenty of light and started to read. He quickly realised that it was a wonderful book and it had plenty to teach him about how ladies and gentlemen were meant to behave in social situations.

He went on reading it all morning, assimilating it carefully and as time wore on, he increasingly found himself identifying with Elizabeth Bennet, the heroine.

2

After having a gigantic breakfast with Mavis, Ann strolled back up to the manor, enjoying the morning sunshine. It was spring and the weather was really bucking up, the flowers starting to peek out to look at the sun.

She whistled as she walked – one of the tunes from the show she’d seen in York, thinking about what a good time she’d had the night before with her girlfriend.

It made her wonder if she really saw Mavis as her girlfriend. She mulled on that as she walked.

She definitely had a sexual attraction to Mavis – rough though she was, with her slutty ways and awful nasal voice – and she enjoyed the girl’s company. They’d had a right laugh after bonking the night before, making fun of her dullard brothers.

And she felt… possessive of her in a way that was rather inexplicable. As a woman, Ann had never been with a man or shared her life in any way. Exploring this part of life for the first time as a man left her feeling confused at times so all she could do was go on her increasingly male instincts.

Mavis was her girlfriend. She was her lass.

The fact that she’d shagged several other women wasn’t withstanding. As far as she knew, that was just what men did; and it was certainly what her dick was telling her to do. She saw no reason to go against that.

It occurred to her then that though she’d been whistling all this time, she’d never been able to whistle in her life. She just started doing it. It could only be a further effect of the transformation her body and brain had undergone. She had Burt’s education now – his limited ability to read and write. It made sense that she would have other learned abilities that he did have over her. It made her wonder again about whether she’d be able to groom horses now.

She decided to find out.

Ann walked to the stables and went inside. It was still early and with “Burt” off work, the grooming hadn’t been done yet. Ann entered one of the stalls and looked at the horse – her horse Rosebud. Despite being devoted to the filly she’d never taken the trouble to learn to look after her. Why have a dog and bark yourself?

Without thinking about it she took up a curry comb off the shelf and, starting on the off-side, beginning to loosen dirt and grit from Rosebud’s coat. Using circular sweeps across the horse’s body she worked her way round, instinctively using a lighter touch on the bonier shoulders and round the belly. At one stage Rosebud’s tail twitched and Ann reflexively lowered the pressure, know that the horse needed a more tender touch in that area.

Next she took up a brush and worked from the bottom of the tale to loosen the tangles, moving slowly up until the entire tale was smooth and lovely. Harry clearly hadn’t been doing this properly for the last couple of days and Ann tutted to herself.

Grabbing a coarser body brush, Ann started work on the flanks of the horse again, brushing out the dirt that the curry comb had missed, enjoying the rhythmic simplicity of the task. Finally she switched to the finishing brush to really bring up a shine on Rosebud’s body.

She stepped back, marveling at her work. She had known exactly what to do. She really did have all Burt’s knowledge as he had hers. It was kind of frightening just how powerful the transformation was but there was no point panicking. It was what it was. Until Burt came back from London she was stuck that way so she might as well enjoy it.

She reflected for a minute on the significance. She could groom horses. She was a groom. She really was a stable hand. Thinking that made her penis swell again. For some reason it turned her on.

But something wasn’t quite right.

She reached for a hoof pick off the shelf and stepped forward, sliding her hand down Rosebud’s foreleg. “Up.” The horse raised its leg and Ann dug at the dirt and manure lodged inside the hoof.

“Eh up Burt,” said Harry as he walked into the stable and spotted her. “I thought miss high-and-mighty had given you the fortnight off. You back working again? Can’t keep away eh?”

Ann set the foot down and stood up feeling caught out and embarrassed. “No. I was just… Just checking on Rosebud… for er ladyship.”

“Er again?” Harry frowned. “You lovesick fool. When are you going to get it through that thick skull o yours that she’s never gonna want to be with you? She’s quality. You’re a servant. And a smelly one at that.”

Ann crossed her arms.

“If you were a proper servant oop at manor she’d still think you were dirt beneath her shoe but you ain’t. You’re a groundsman. Ain’t ya?”

Ann didn’t reply.

“Ain’t ya?” pressed Harry.

“Yes,” mumbled Ann.

“Well, if yer back to work you can get the rest of these ‘orses done and then come out to feed the sheep with me. There’s no point me luggin round sacks of grain if I’ve got you to do it.”

“I ain’t back to work,” said Ann. “I’m goin.”

“What?”

“I said I’m goin.” She put down the hoof pick and went to leave.

“Oh you leaving me to do it all meself, is that right?” asked Harry. “An old man toting grain sacks up and down the fields?”

Ann looked back at him. She did feel like she was shirking her responsibility. She was Burt – she kept telling herself that – and Burt’s job was to help Harry with the labour. That meant it was her job now because she was Burt.

Perhaps she should give up the rest of her holiday and work instead. That was only right.

But no! That was idiotic! It was Burt’s responsibility! Not hers! She was Lady Ann! She practically owned all of this! She didn’t have to do anything!

“Well?” said Harry. “You going to toss off like a selfish wank and leave me to do it by meself or are you going to be a man and help out?”

Ann faltered, confused. More than anything she wanted to be a man. She wanted to be a decent bloke who didn’t let people down. But she resisted with all her might. She wasn’t going to waste her time doing work when she could be enjoying herself.

She stormed off without another word while Harry called after her.

“Great! Thanks! You’re a real mate leaving me to do this! A real mate!”

She felt awful; truly awful; but she didn’t turn back. She just kept walking.

3

At brunch, Burt ate sparingly. He wasn't very hungry but it was so wonderful to be waited on! It made him feel in truth like he was Lady Ann. Grandmamma was reading and periodically she let out a dry chuckle.

"Whatever is it Grandmamma?" asked Burt.

"A most diverting book child. You must read it. Leave it to the yanks to be to be so silly and bold."

She passed over a novel called Perkins the Fakir but when he flicked back the cover the first story title leaped out at him. When Reginald Was Caroline!

"It’s about a married couple,” said grandmamma. “The wife switches bodies with her boorish husband to teach him a lesson! It is most diverting."

Burt shot the old woman a glance. Did she suspect?

No. It wasn’t possible. She still thought Burt was Ann, especially now he had become so much better at acting like a lady. Fascinated Burt read a little, giggling at the mistakes the man made.

He passed the book back but decided to take another peek later. Reading it might help even more to masquerade as a woman…

It made him reflect on how well he was doing already. His voice and body language now seemed exactly those of the real Lady Ann and he could also read and write as well as she could.

He supposed that close scrutiny from someone who knew Ann well might show him to be a fraud but he was spending most of the day with his new grandmamma and she didn’t seem to suspect a thing! He really was Lady Ann now.

Burt found more and more pleasure in his appearance and the lovely gowns he wore. Everyone said he was beautiful and he always flushed with gratification.

Being a lady was so enjoyable and he was doing it so well!

4

Ann was bored.

Mavis wasn’t available and she’d had enough of travelling for now. She didn’t feel like going for a walk or going down to the village. All of her new mates were working. Not too surprising since they were all working men.

Thinking that gave her a moment’s pause. She kept enjoying the fact that she was a working man but she did feel slightly disappointed that she couldn’t really call herself that if she wasn’t work. A very small part of her wished she could take on Burt’s job for the rest of the holiday and really become a working man properly.

Fortunately it was completely overshadowed by the rest of her mind that wanted nothing of the kind.

Feeling increasingly at a loose end and tired of sitting around the hay barn, Ann climbed down the outside staircase and sauntered up toward the manor. What she really fancied doing was going inside and up to her bedroom; sitting on the window seat with a good book, but she knew she couldn’t. As a mere labourer, Burt wasn’t allowed to set foot inside Griply Hall. And now she was Burt, with every downside that entailed.

It did grate on her somewhat. In a holiday that was meant to give her freedom above all else, she was growing more and more weary of butting up against restrictions that she had now she was living Burt’s life.

She ended up loitering outside the front of the manor, looking up at the window of her room, not realizing that it was a stance the old Burt had frequently taken up, gazing up in the hopes of catching a glimpse of her.

But she wasn’t there for long. After five minutes the butler came out and shooed her off, snapping that he didn’t want her “dirtying up the place.” Cowed by the much older man’s aggression, Ann slunk off, chuntering to herself about how she’d give him what for when she was back in her rightful body.

Still bored she ended up round the back of the house, watching the coming and going of the servants. She had several enjoyable minutes watching the chamber maid beating the dust off a carpet before she got snapped at by the cook.

“Oi! Burt! Go on! Be off with you!”

Ann scowled.

“You hangin round look to cadge some food again?”

Ann paused, thinking that she was actually quite hungry. “If you got some goin then yeah.”

The cook frowned, then allowed herself a tiny smile and said, “Alright. If you’re that desperate that you ‘ad to come beggin again then I’ll see what I can do.” She disappeared inside.

Ann grinned to herself at the feast to come but did wonder what she had come to that she was begging at the back of her own home for scraps.

The cook appeared a couple of minutes later but the grin fell from Ann’s face as she was handed some leftovers from the previous night’s meal – fatty pieces of meat and some dried up potatoes – in a dog bowl of all things.

“This’ll have to do,” said cook. “The food’s been out all night but the bowl’s mostly clean… and I don’t trust you with a proper plate. You’re liable to break it.”

Ann couldn’t believe what she was looking at – that she was thought so low that she couldn’t be trusted with a china plate – that the cook really thought she’d eat leftovers on a dog bowl.

“Just leave the bowel on’t floor by the back door when you’re done with it,” said cook. “I’ll get Sally to put biscuits out for the dogs later.” Then she vanished inside.

Ann should have thrown the bowl back in the cook’s face. She didn’t know why she hadn’t, except for the trouble she might have got in. She went to throw the bowl down then hesitated, noticing how enticing one of the bits of meat was.

It couldn’t hurt to have that and the dried up bits of dog food on the bowl weren’t touching it. She grabbed the greasy chunk in her ditty fingers and shoved it in her mouth, chewing clumsily. It was cold but delicious and she had a second piece. And a third. Before she knew it she’d polished off all the potatoes too then she licked the gravy residue off the bowl and tossed it down, rubbing her tummy happily.

5

In London, Burt and his new grandmother ate out at a lavish restaurant.

It was the most fabulous eating establishment Burt had ever been too but he was disgruntled and confused when he found that the menu was in French. Reading was still comparatively new to him, but in another language – no chance.

He gaped at the different columns awkwardly, feeling like a dunce, then realised suddenly that he could read it. He could read it all! He looked from the back of the menu to the front. He could understand every word! There were even words he had never known in English! Now he understood them perfectly in French!

“Bonsoir mademoiselle,” said the waiter. “May I take your order?”

Burt was in a daze. He spotted something he fancied and quickly told the waiter what it was but he didn’t even realise right away that he was doing it in fluent French – even so far as telling the man how he wanted the meat cooked and what wine he wanted.

Grandmamma did the same and Burt watched the waiter depart, satisfied. It was plain unbelievable but it was further proof that his and Lady Ann’s bodies weren’t the only things that had swapped.

He spent the rest of the meal discussing the literature the two of them were reading. Burt was well into Pride & Prejudice now and loved discussing the finer points of the narrative with the duchess. They laughed as they talked about the different tactics the women in the book could have used to snare their men and Burt found himself making comments that sounded just as informed as the old lady’s.

They discussed her book too and then went on to a much wider conversation regarding the development of literature in the latter part of the nineteenth century and how it measured against the books being published nowadays.

Again Burt found himself with many an opinion and taking great satisfaction in exploring the subject.

6

That night at the Dog & Pony, Lady Ann really cut loose.

She was there at opening time, knocking back one pint after another and by the time the place filled up she was really off her head.

Since she’d been a little girl she’d never been allowed to utter a curse. Swearing was deemed entirely inappropriate behaviour for a young lady and as a result she’d never done it. Now she was really making up for lost time. Like a naughty schoolboy she made one lewd joke after another, making up dirtier and dirtier stories as the night went on and then laughing raucously.

She got to telling folks about her trip to York later on and ended up singing some of the songs from the music hall. As Ann she’d had a lovely singing voice and has performed solos from time to time. As Burt she was tone deaf but that didn’t stop her droning on, falling over more than once and knocking drinks flying before clambering up laughing loudly and carrying on.

She saw Mavis scowling at her but that didn’t stop her carrying on. As long as her dick stayed big she knew Mavis would forgive her anything. And speaking of her dick…

Ann started bragging about how big it was to all in sundry and before you could say how’s your father, she had it out in her hand, flashing it around with her shirt off, bare chested. The ladies screeched but the men chuckled and Ann bawled with laughter, thrusting it this way and that, feeling how proud she was to be so well hung.

She fell over again, knocking a table over and sat there on the floor in the dirt, covered in beer, laughing her head off.

... and for more of my stories, check out:

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Meeting the Earl

1

The next morning Ann woke up outside.

She was lying in a ditch with her legs up the bank and her head and left arm in its dank muddy bottom. She raised her head and saw the half-dried vomit down the front of her shirt and on her trousers.

She chuckled to herself and struggled over onto her hands and knees getting even wetter and muckier. She got to her feet and sidestepped, losing her balance as she realised how drunk she still was then fell through the side of a gorse bush.

She was chuckling even harder as she got upright again and staggered out onto the lane. She swayed back and forth, thinking about the night before and then started to stagger along in the direction she thought the manor was. Thirty paces on she stopped and looked round then staggered back the other way, deciding that actually it was more likely that way.

“What a night,” she mumbled. “There was nowt wrong with that. It was chuffing greet from start to finish.”

She had a fuzzy memory of pulling her cock out to all her mates at the pub and she chuckled again, then she remembered the expression on Mavis’s face and laughed aloud.

“A reet good night!”

2

“I want to ask your opinion on something Ann,” asked Grandmamma. For a change today she wasn’t wearing her customary black.

They were sitting in the morning room with sun streaming in through the French doors. Burt was wearing a sweet dress that left his arms bare, a gold necklace on his smooth chest and a matching bracelet at his wrist. “Of course grandmamma. What is it?”

“You know who I mean by the upstairs maid?”

“Yes.”

“Well I’m thinking of getting rid of her. I wanted your opinion before I did so.”

“Whatever for?” asked Burt.

“The girl’s lazy and good for nothing and she always has been. And she’s too slovenly for my taste.”

“Hmmm.” Burt pictured the girl in her maid’s outfit. “I wouldn’t say she’s that bad.”

“You wouldn’t?”

“No.” He considered for a moment. “I have spent… some time around the servants at Griply Hall…”

“I can tell that from the atrocious accent and manner you had when you’ve arrived.”

“And I should say that a servant’s life… is a very difficult one. From my observations.”

“Your observations?”

“I know that servants do try their best and I’m sure that if she were to be guided by a kind hand then she would correct her behaviour as quickly as she could.”

“Do you think so?”

“If I know servants, then yes. I should say so.”

“Well,” said the duchess. “Then I’ll leave her to you.”

“Pardon?” Burt sat forward and uncrossed his legs.

“If you think the girl can be brought around then I make it your responsibility and thank you for the kind offer.”

“My what?” Burt was confused.

“If you think you can improve matters then you have my blessing. If you decide she’s beyond hope and think she needs to go… well you have my blessing for that as well.”

3

Ann sauntered back onto the grounds of the estate and headed toward the stables so she could get some kip. Sleeping in the ditch might have been funny but it had left her buggered.

But as she turned the corner in the lane and walked down into the courtyard in front of it she stopped in her tracks.

There, in front of the building, wearing his hunting jacket and deerstalker hat, was her father, the earl, looking grumpier than she’d ever seen him. She started to back up but he fixed her in his eyes.

“You! Man! Come here!”

She pointed stupidly at her own chest.

“Yes. You.” She started toward him. “Quick man! Run! I haven’t got all day.”

She ran to him and stopped short, looking up into his hard face, his metallic eyes, his silvery handlebar moustache. “Yes?” The earl’s cold eyes narrowed. “…m'lord?”

He pointed to some crates of wine. “These have been dropped off down here by some idiot. Pick them up and carry them up to the back of the house.”

“But…” She paled. “It’s me holidee… sir. I’s got a note… from your darter… Ann… er ladyship… givin me the fortnight off.”

The earl turned to face her properly, spacing his feet wide and putting his fists on his hips. “What did you say to me man?”

Ann’s throat became suddenly very narrow. She had always been wary of her father but she had no protection of blood now. He might literally do anything to her that he liked and he’d never know it was his own daughter he was punishing. “Holidee sir,” she said. “I’m not meant to be workin.”

“Well,” said the Earl, very quietly and coldly. “Shall I tell you what I think of that?”

“No sir. Er yes sir.”

“Let me ask you this,” he said. “Who is in charge of this estate? My daughter or me?”

“Er, you sir,” said Ann, increasingly terrified.

“So if I tell you to do something… you’d bloody well better do it or I’ll have you in the stocks before you can blink! Is that clear!?”

“Yes sir.”

“Is it?!”

“Yes sir!”

Then pick up those ruddy bottles and carry them up to the house! Now!”

“Yes sir,” gasped Ann, rushing over to pick up the first of the heavy crates, her mind filled with white panic.

“Then come down here and clear up this yard! There’s detritus everywhere! Do you hear me!?”

“Yes m’lord,” muttered Ann, hefting up the crate and staggering with it up toward the house.

“Then and only then can you go back to having this bloody holiday that Ann seems foolish enough to have given you!”

Ann gasped with relief. “Yes sir. Thank you sir. Much obliged sir.” She hurried on.

“But let me tell you one thing my lad,” called the earl after her.

Ann stopped, afraid to turn round.

“If you ever talk back to me again I will have your guts for garters and you’ll be shoveling up horse dung from dawn until midnight, holiday or no!”

4

Burt passed the maid that grandmamma had talked about on the stairs. She was dusting the paintings and Burt had to agree: her whole manner was rather lackluster and placid. He went on walking but tried to think of the best approach to the girl.

He had been a servant his whole life and he empathized with her but working out the kindest way of correcting her behaviour was a challenge. He had been spoken to innumerable times by his superiors and told what to do. Invariably they had left him feeling like dirt. Now he had a chance to do it himself he wanted to do it the way he would have liked to be spoken to all his life.

He went into his gigantic bedroom, loving the warmth and comfort of everything he saw. He went to the mirror and started to repeat the lines he had begun doing every day to reinforce who he was and encourage his change in behaviour.

“I’m Lady Ann Neville. I’m a beautiful woman and heir to Griply Hall where my family has lived for generations. My father is the earl Neville and I have a wonderful caring mother and a sister named Hattie. I am visiting my grandmamma and the two of us are getting along famously. I do so enjoy our long conversations about culture and the arts.”

He smiled at himself, seeing only a woman looking back at him, then switched to the other half of his daily reaffirmation.

“I am not Burt. The very idea of that is preposterous. Burt is a filthy menial with no wit to speak of and even less education. He is a dirty servile clodhopper who is completely beneath me. He’s nothing but a working class thug – a worthless servant and nothing more. He means absolutely nothing to me.”

That was better. He smiled again. Distancing himself from his old life did no end of good for strengthening his perception of being a lady and that did no end of good for living up to his side of the deal and being the best Lady Ann he could be.

5

There was nothing for it, decided Ann. She had to do something about her appearance.

She was getting tired of being looked down on because she looked like a vagabond. She had money. There was no reason she couldn’t dress smartly. As a matter of fact, with money, there was no reason she could walk round dressed and treated like a swell. With her upbringing she could act like an upper class man as well as she could an upper class woman.

She imagined herself strutting about in top hat and tails at the races in a man’s body with servant’s tipping their caps at her. That would be right ruddy grand and no mistake.

She hadn’t changed clothes all week but she decided that was going to have to if she was going for a fitting. No tailor would treat her seriously if went walked in dressed in her filthy working clothes. Burt only owned one other outfit: his “Sunday best.” It wasn’t much better than the clothes she had on – barely any difference in the cut or quality – but at least they were cleaner. Ann decided to wear them for now.

She needed to get clean as well so she got the bath down off the wall. After looking at it for several minutes while she stroked her bushy moustache she put it back on its nail and went outside to the water barrel instead. She washed her face and hands there. That would have to do. It was a chilly day and she didn’t fancy going to all that trouble again to have a lukewarm bath.

When she was changed she walked sown into the village whistling a tune she must have heard from somewhere, though she couldn’t think where.

She tried not to think about what had happened with her father as she walked. It had been the most unpleasant situation of her life and she had no desire to either dwell on it or repeat it.

It seemed like a longer walk than usual and Ann was rather irritable by the time she reached the edge of the village. It just seemed like it was going to be such a hassle having to wait around while the tailor measured her up then fannied around. And she looked much better already in her Sunday best! Was it really worth all the trouble?

She knew she’d made a resolution to look better but she’d already more than achieved that! Not only had she got all dressed up but she’d washed her face and hands!

When she got level with the Dog & Pony she saw that there was already a din of frivolity coming from inside. She weighed up her options, quickly justifying what she really felt like doing against what she thought she ought to do. With an expectant grin on her face and a weight off her shoulders she crossed the road and went inside, giving a loud cheer to announce her arrival.

Sensing free beer, the other punters cheered too and Ann went quickly to the bar to buy drinks all round.

6

Burt found the upstairs maid, Betty, smoothing the bed covers down when he entered his bedroom and stood for a moment watching the girl, his hands clasped demurely at his waist.

She wasn’t putting much effort in and she looked very bored. She left several ruckles in the covers as she turned to leave and only then did she see him standing there. She looked caught out and ashamed. “Oh! M’lady! I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there.”

“No matter,” replied Burt. I was hoping to have a word with you.”

He had planned out what he was going to say carefully but he was still a little nervous. Talking to a servant as one of the quality was still new to him and correcting one was unheard of; but he looked forward to seeing the light of realization in her eyes as she realised how easy it was to avoid being fired.

The girl looked sullen and evasive. “What about?”

Burt took a seat on the edge of the bed and patted the covers next to him. “Here. Sit down.”

The servant girl looked startled. “On the bed?”

Burt nodded. “It’s alright. Come on.”

She did so, looking entirely uncomfortable.

“I wanted to speak to you about your performance here,” said Burt.

“I’m not good enough, am I?”

“It’s not that. It’s just that it would help if you could take a little more care… to get things just right. I know that you’re an honest hard-working girl and with some positive guidance I’m sure you could be an excellent worker.”

“So you are saying I’m no good. I knew it. I knew I was terrible.”

“No. Listen,” said Burt. “If you’ll listen, I can give you a few helpful tips. If you follow my advice you’ll be doing better in no time.”

The girl looked sullen, her cheeks flushed red. She sat staring down at the floor as Burt went through several suggestions on how she could improve. She didn’t respond to anything and he started to feel as though she wasn’t even listening.

“Do you understand what you need to do?” asked Burt.

The maid shrugged. “I suppose.”

“Alright., Just to be sure, tell me what your plan is going to be.”

The girl looked at him stupidly.

Burt forced a smile. “Just tell me back what I said to you.”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. To try harder… and stuff.”

Burt sighed and folded his arms. “Were you even—?” He paused, calming himself. “Alright. Don’t worry. That’s enough for today. We can have another chat tomorrow. Alright?”

The girl said nothing.

“I’ll help you until you’re doing a first rate job. Hmmm?”

She shrugged, avoiding eye contact. Feeling like he was wasting his time, Burt stood up and let her go, shaking his head as she walked off down the landing.

7

Ann was glaring at Jeb across the pub, watching exactly what he was doing as he talked to some of his mates at the farm he worked. She was sure the big lummox was giving Mavis the eye, following her round with his gaze as she delivered ale to the tables.

Mavis was wearing a particularly slutty outfit this evening with both shoulders bare and a great circle of cleavage sprouting from her chest. Ann could hardly keep her eyes off the girl herself but she resented Jeb’s attentions.

“Ere Burt,” said an old man named Arvin who was sharing a table with her. He had a newspaper folded up and was puzzling over a crossword puzzle. “Chief city Christian. Six letters. Something something S; something something P.”

Ann Looked at him then turned back to Jeb.

“Any ideas Burt?”

“No,” said Ann.

“Ah,” said Arvin. “Bishop. The chief Christian in a city.”

Ann shrugged.

“Here’s one you’ll definitely get,” said Arvin. “It’s easy.”

“I’m busy,” said Ann.

“No. Listen.”

Ann snorted and turned to face the old man. “What?”

“French capital.”

Ann shrugged.

“French capital,” said Arvin. “Begins with a P.”

Ann was getting tense. “I don’t know.”

The old man chuckled. “What’s the capital city of France?”

Ann got what he meant and groaned. That was obvious. She opened her mouth to say it. Then stopped, mouth gaping.

“What’s the capital of France Burt? Come on. You must know that. Everyone knows that.”

Ann stared at him; and she went on staring. She didn’t know. She’d been there. She remembered going. She’d spoken fluent French since she’d been a little girl. But she had no idea what the answer was! She no longer remembered what that place was called!

... and for more of my stories, check out:

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Imbecile

1

Burt reclined happily in the long pleasure boat with grandmamma as her manservant gently guided them across the centre of the lake in the morning sunshine.

“So you talked to that idiot maid then,” said Grandmamma.

“Yes,” replied Burt. “I did.”

“And how did she take your kind guidance?”

Burt raised an eyebrow. Grandmamma was smiling playfully. His first instinct was to be snippy, say something like, You were right. She’s nothing but an ignorant lazy girl who doesn’t deserve a kind hand.

But he remembered too well the life of a servant and the constant haranguing from the upper class over the slightest misdeed. He was determined to be better than that.

“She… wasn’t as… grateful… as I expected her to be,” he said. “But she just requires more time; and more guidance. When I see her again I’ll mention something else and so on as the days go by. By the time I leave at the end of next week she’ll have gone through as great a transformation as I have, thanks to you.”

“Well my best wishes to you Ann,” replied grandmamma, “but I fear you’ll grow weary of her laziness long before then.”

Burt smiled back, determined to prove her wrong.

2

Back at the manor, Ann was enjoying herself immensely! The first week had been just a long series of drinking binges and marathon sex sessions and she was looking forward to even more of the same!

She’d just finished yet another long morning shag with Mavis on top of her, the girl’s massive breasts swinging in her face as she chewed on them hard to her piggish squeals of delight, thrusting her pelvis up against Mavis’s crotch. She was a right bit of rough. Just the kind of woman Ann liked: a real slapper.

And she knew Mabel thought she was the best man in the village. She’d caught Mavis and the other girls more than once, tittering away about how virile she was and big her cock was. It made Ann’s pride swell to stride round the village getting admiring looks from all the slutty girls. She’d already had her dirty way with half a dozen other girls. It was great being admired for being so masculine. It made her realise how far she was from her former life.

“I’d best be off else me father and brothers’ll want to know what for,” whined Mavis nasally. “I afta work in’t bar again this afternoon. You comin’ down later?”

“Right you are,” replied Ann, lying back with her hands behind her head, her cock still sticking up onto her stomach. “I’ll be getting a few bevies in tonight, that’s for certain. I aim to get absolutely rat-arsed tonight, me. Then maybes I’ll give Jeb another trouncing. That fat bugger’s been givin’ you the eye right enough more than once. He’s gotta learn to keep ‘is eyes off of uvver men’s property!”

“Aaah Burt,” whinged Mavis, “You’re always fighting, yer great big cretin. Why do you afta act life such a simpleton all the time? We both knows you ain’t clever but you’ve been nothing but a nitwit lately; a right dunce. Everyone says so.”

Ann fell silent, stewing angrily.

“You better shape yourself up and stop acting like an idiot. I don’t want people saying I’m stepping out with some nincompoop. If you don’t stop acting the fool all the time then I might have to get me pleasurin’ someplace else” She strode out haughtily, still only half dressed, the rest of her clothes under her arm.

Ann got up off the hard pallet but didn’t bother to put any clothes on. She packed away the pallet to avoid a balling out from old Harry. As Burt, she had another week off yet but that didn’t stop the old man treating her like dirt whenever he got the chance.

But was Mavis right, pondered Ann. Was she stupid now?

There was a pamphlet Harry had left lying around on a shelf all about the Socialist Party. Ann picked it up in her dirty big hand and tried to read it but it was all beyond her. She couldn’t read more than one or two of the simpler words now! Her comprehension had declined even further than she’d realised!

She’d known all week that the part of her brain that contained her former education had changed into Burt’s less complicated grey matter but she’d had no idea it was so complete. She really was illiterate now.

But did that actually mean she was less intelligent?

She chewed her dirty fingernails absently, looking back over her actions of the past few days and the conversations she’d had in York and down’t pub. As Lady Ann she had enjoyed culture and heated discourses on political and artistic matters. Now she had to admit that she found it difficult to follow talk about anything vaguely intellectual. And it all seemed so stuck up and pointless. She recalled the conversation she was part of in York about the impact of tax on income. She hadn’t realised the significance at the time but she’d quickly grown bored, unable to understand the terms and had actually ended up starting trouble just to end the discomfort she had felt.

And the night before – she hadn’t even been able to remember the capital of France. She still couldn’t now, even though Arvin had told her then, laughing at her ignorance.

She’d wanted to experience being Burt but it was like she was really becoming him now, the more time went on. She’d already lost her intellect and education. She’d taken on his mode of speech and body language. She’d lost interest in most of her own pastimes and had developed a love for his.

The only things that stopped her going mad in a panic were that she still had her core personality – that was mostly unaffected, and it didn’t matter. She’d be back in her old life in only another week though and back to being a right posh and cultured woman.

She did feel embarrassed about what a dunce she now was though. It made her want to hide away and not see anyone. She’d always been known for her intelligence and wit. Now she had lost all of that and truly become a clodhopper.

It didn’t matter. She kept telling herself that. Once she was back in her own body all this would go away.

Still, she didn’t like the sound of what Mavis had said. She didn’t want to run the risk of losing the girl on account of being a nitwit. She really liked shagging her senseless and didn’t want to get dumped.

Which Ann told herself was ridiculous! What did she care about some silly barmaid? She could get any woman she wanted! … as long as they weren’t quality. But she did want to be a good man for Mavis… even if she was an annoying nag when she wasn’t spreading her legs.

Ann sighed angrily, then; her mind wandering; opened a drawer and found a little framed picture as though she’d know it was there.

It was a sepia portrait photograph of Lady Ann with an oval frame! She had no idea where the original Burt had got it from – probably filched it from the house when no one was looking! She

was wearing a lacy black blouse with the smooth skin of her upper arms visible through it and her chin was resting on her hand, her soft feminine forearm exposed.

She smiled alluringly out of the picture and the new Burt stared at her face, feeling resentful of Mavis and the nagging she always gave him. He wished he could be with a woman like this, even though he knew it wasn’t possible. How would it feel to kiss those rouged lips and have this wonderful cultured lady look on him as an equal? It would be—

Wait a minute, thought Ann angrily. What am I thinking? I am Lady Ann! Not some idiot country bumpkin!

It had been a wistful subconscious thought but it chilled her a little. She was enjoying herself as Burt but she’d be glad when the holiday was over. She’d had no idea how fully immersive becoming Burt would be, even for a short time!

She wasn’t about to ever forget who she really was – that would never happen – but she did find herself acting entirely as though she was a commoner. It was just disconcerting not being as fully in control of this switch as she had planned.

She decided to maintain better control from now on. Down’t pub today she’d not talk like a clodhopper so much and she’d have some proper conversations. And she wouldn’t fight! She wasn’t a caveman. She was the one in control of herself. She wasn’t defined by her body! She was Lady Ann Nevile for chuffs sake, not some block’ead twit!

And it wouldn’t hurt to keep Mavis sweet. She didn’t want to risk losing a good’un like her.

Before she left Ann tucked the picture of the gorgeous Lady Ann back in its drawer, sighing happily at the thought of her lovely smile

3

Burt and the duchess attended a delightful open air concert in the park after their boat trip. It was turning into a glorious day and it was wonderful to sit neatly on the pretty little wooden seats provided and listen to the melodies of Bach. The cellos were simply divine in their ability to carry such sweetly long notes.

When the orchestra paused to recuperate and the audience stood to take an interval, Ann and grandmamma sent the servants to buy ices while they took a stroll to the lakeside.

“I have a proposition I think you might enjoy Ann,” said the duchess.

“Oh? Do tell?”

“Simply that we leave in a day or two and spend some time in Southsea.”

“Southsea?”

“Yes. I know a hotel there that’s half decent and we can enjoy ourselves a little rather than moping about in my stuffy old house.”

Burt was overjoyed! He couldn’t conceive of any better way to spend his time! Yet again he couldn’t believe that the real Lady Ann had chosen to miss out on this opportunity! And had taken his life as a servant instead! She really was a bloody idiot!

But that didn’t matter now. For the rest of the concert Burt’s mind wandered as he imagined how exciting it would be to go to the seaside. He’d never seen the sea before in all his born days! It was yet another first!

When they got back to the duchess’s house he flew straight up the stairs and into his room and fluttered about gathering his dresses and trying to decide which would be best to wear in every conceivable situation he could visualize.

He tried on a variety of different outfits and pretended he was at the beach or walking along the promenade, or out at an expensive restaurant. It was a wonderful way to spend the afternoon!

It was only hours later that he realised what he’d done. Without any intention to play a role he had pranced about for hours doing exactly what a woman would have done in those circumstances.

Why, she was acting more and more like Lady Ann every day!

She really was a woman now!

4

At the Dog & Pony though, the burly man found it was harder than she’d thought to be more Ann than Burt.

For a start, these working men here drinking and singing were her mates. As soon as she was surrounded by them, the idea of trying to act more ladylike seemed preposterous! She couldn’t let them see her acting like a sissy!

She decided soon after entering that the best way to prove she wasn’t a peasant through and through would be to talk more gentile and avoid getting into fights. If she could get involved in some proper intellectual conversations then all to the good. The lower class thugs she palled around with in there were hardly geniuses so it couldn’t be that hard to do!

Getting pissed was part of the problem. Being totally bladdered didn’t help her to maintain decorum. She decided to lay off the raz tonight entirely.

Counter to that, Jeb slapped a pint of bitter down on the table a minute after she sat down.

“Ah, I ain’t drinkin’ tonight Jeb,” said Ann.

“Course you fucking are, you pansy,” snapped Jeb. “Get it down ya!”

Ann fumed at being called a pansy. She was more a man than Jeb any chuffing day of the week! But she kept calm, deciding to humour him with the drink rather than starting a fight over it.

Once she’d downed that, Jeb slapped her hard on the back and said. “Your round up!”

This put Ann in a difficult position.

Jeb was right. If she was going to behave like a gentlewoman – well, like a gentleman, then she had to be civil. Part of that civility was meeting her obligations – in this case buying an equal number of drinks.

She bought them both a second pint and started to chug it down, feeling the rosy warmth spread through her muscles. She didn’t know why she’d been so stuck up about it to be honest. Everyone knew that liquor didn’t turn you into somebody else it just brought out the man inside.

As they started on their sixth pint, Jeb said, “I’m sick of that chuffing lord of the manor! Ee thinks he so much better’n us! But ee’s not! Am I right?”

“Well you ain’t chuffing wrong and that’s a fact,” replied Ann in the same broad Yorkshire accent she’d been using pretty much constantly for the past four days. It was funny how difficult she’d found it at first to pretend to have the same accent as the lower classes, sounding like a toff doing a bad impression, but after spending an appreciable amount of time with her new mates she talked more and more like a Yorkshire clod! Now she sounded exactly like all the other working men.

All the other working men…

It was funny but annoying and Ann was a bit tired of it. Obviosuly she couldn’t start talking like a stuck-up twat in front of her mates suddenly but she came up with a cunning idea to prove to herself she could still talk like a swell whenever she wanted to.

“Ere,” she said, “Ow’s this for an impression of the old fart!”

Jeb chuckled, as did several other men nearby. “Come on then Burt! Show us what you think of the old ponce!”

Ann cleared her throat theatrically and said, “Ere, you lads! Get that ruddy work done else I’ll tan yer ‘ides!”

There was a sudden silence, then bawdy laughter broke out across the pub. Ann grinned, thinking they thought her impression accurate, then Jeb shouted, “Blimey Burt! That’s the worst bloody impression of the old snob that I’ve ever heard! You sound common as muck!”

Ann blushed furiously, determined to do it justice; after all, nobody there had the breeding she did. “Ahright then Jeb, ye muttonhead! Ere! Listen!” She cleared her throat again, concentrating hard. She couldn’t have forgotten how to talk gentile like. That was impossible! She was quality!

“I’m Earl Neville, me,” she cried, puffin out her chest. “I live oop in’t manor ‘ouse over yonder with me wife and darters!”

The whole pub filled with laughter. Ann stared back at them, furious with rage and humiliation. She literally couldn’t talk gentile at all no more!

Jeb snorted with laughter then put on a pretty realistic plum voice. “Shouldn’t you have talked a little more like this old chap?” He burst out laughing and everyone laughed too. “You really are a bonehead Burt me old mate!”

Ann pushed him hard in the chest, seething and was about to punch his lights out when she caught Mavis’s disapproving eye. Cowed, she lowered her head and stomped off to the corner with her pint. She couldn’t face being balled out by her girlfriend on top of everything. She wanted to be a good man for her.

She couldn’t believe how humiliated she felt though. All across the pub, the other blokes were squawking out impressions of the posh folk and all of them were better than hers. She couldn’t talk like the quality at all no more. Even these common labourers could talk posher than her if they chose to. She really had become Burt in every way!

She sulked for the better part of an hour, nursing first one pint, then another and finally the third that Jeb bought over as a peace offering. In the end she chuckled to herself. It was funny that she, Lady Ann Neville, was stuck this way, a big great oafish lout who couldn’t even talk proper. And it didn’t matter how common she’d become. One week away and she’d be back in the manor house. She would have avoided a dull trip to her grandmothers and everything would be back to normal. She could stand being an illiterate idiot man until then.

An idiot man…

Did she really think of herself as a man now? She hadn’t realised.

She thought it through for a minute.

Yes he did. He didn’t think of himself as a woman one whit no more. The idea of being a woman actually seemed weird and unpleasant – mincing about in dresses and skirts with pretty hair and make-up.

Obviously he wanted to go back to his old life – there was no doubt about that – but at this moment it seemed completely alien.

Ann caught himself daydreaming again for a minute, imagining an alternative where Lady Ann returned from her holiday a week from then and instead of switching back, he took her out walking in the woods. He imagined them strolling arm in arm and turning to the beautiful woman and saying, “I luv ye Lady Ann. I right chuffing luv ye.” And he imagined her smiling and saying back to her in cultured tones, “I’ve always loved you Burt, you big strong handsome man.”

“Burt” sighed and necked the last of his ale just as Mavis came and wrapped her legs round his waist, shoving her tongue into his mouth. His big cock had already been aroused. Now it sprung to attention painfully in his dirty trousers, even if this bawdy girl’s attention wasn’t as pleasant as his daydream had been.

“Youse a good man Burt, not fighting Jeb back then,” said Mavis, making him swell with pride. I’m going to give you some extra special attention tonight to say ‘good boy.’ How’s about that?”

Ann grinned from ear to ear. Blimey though. He was looking forward to that.

He decided he’d sulked enough.

He reached into his pocket, determined to buy drinks all round and go back to carousing, but he decided against it when he saw how much he had. He’d taken a lot of money with him when he’d made the switch but it was starting to run a bit thin. He’d have to be careful or he’d run out before the end of his second week!

5

When Burt went up for an early night to enjoy some more Pride & Prejudice by lamplight before settling into bed to go to sleep she found the upstairs maid, Betty, standing there, proud as you please in front of the mirror wearing one of her necklaces.

As soon as the girl saw Burt in the doorway she snatched off the necklace, embarrassed, but instead of placing it carefully down she threw it onto the hard surface as she backed hurriedly away.

Burt saw red.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she snapped. “What ON EARTH do you think you’re doing with my necklace?”

“I’m sorry m’lady.”

“Sorry? SORRY!?” Burt put her hands on her hips angrily. “You’re trusted to come up here into my private room because I expect you to treat my property with respect. Who told you that you could try on my necklace?”

“Nobody miss.”

“Who?”

“Nobody. I’m sorry m’lady.”

“Oh! You’re sorry! And does that make it alright?”

“No m’lady.”

“No it doesn’t!” Burt strode over to the dressing table. “Let’s see if you’ve damaged it because, by God, if you have you’ll be straight to the police!”

“No miss, please!” The girl had tears in her eyes.

Burt examined the necklace but could see no actual damage, She turned back to the girl but seeing the tears only made her angrier. “Am I expected to take pity on you young lady? Is that it? Is that why you’re crying?”

“No miss. I don’t know miss.” Betty hung her head in shame.

“So you don’t know.” Burt glared at her then folded her arms tightly across her chest. “Well let me tell you what I know.” She paused. “You’re fired. You can clear out your things and be gone by lunchtime tomorrow. Is that clear?”

“But miss—”

“I don’t want to hear another word from you,” snapped Burt, turning her back on the ignorant girl. “Get out.”

“But—”

“Get out!”

There was a moment of silence then a shuffling and then the door closed.

“Good riddance to bad rubbish!”

Burt glanced to her right and caught her reflection in the glass. It startled her out of the moment completely and the expression she had seen there dissolved into one of surprise.

For one moment, just for the briefest second, she had seen on that woman’s face the exact same expression she’d seen on the real Lady Ann’s a thousand times.

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