Programming Language by Miss Irene Clearmont

Book Details

Programming Language – We are in Middlesbrough, a small post-industrial town in the north east of England. A place where men are men and football and beer are more important than sex… Two female best friends commiserate over their boyfriends, husbands and the struggle of living a life that is less important than football and beer.

In the local pub the TV shows the winning lottery numbers and guess whose numbers have come up? Thus begins a journey for Karen and Angie that leads to them having the life of luxury and pleasure that they always dreamed of. Gives them power over themselves and those around them. The question is: What can be achieved with all of that money, how will it be shared and what will being rich do to them?

But, there are complications as Karen’s husband sues for his share of the win. Their solicitor finds himself having bitten off more than he can chew and his wife is gradually pulled into the world of gratification and privilege that the two friends who have become lovers have built around their lives. First of all, she needs to stop the court case with a subterfuge then she can move towards adding a little control to Phil’s life.When the time comes for revenge and retribution, it seems that Karen and Angie have decided to automate their retribution.

A fully automated system that controls their ‘servants’ programmed in the CANE programming language. A language that allows the system programmed to control endless devices and all of the functions of the victim. A language that detects the slightest signs of arousal, defiance, disobedience and pleasure. It is this system that is installed in Karen and Angie’s new house. It is this system that is about to be loaded with its first subject…

All that remains is to decide who will be the recipient of the system’s control. Who will find themselves punished, pleasured and controlled by a computer that runs CANE?

Setting: North East UK

F/m, F/f, Humiliation, Chastity, Feminisation, Control by Machine, Evil Nurse, Fetish, Abduction, Blackmail.

Strength 7/10 – 40,000 Words

Written 2016 Re-edit 2022

Excerpt: Programming Language

Goto London (Two Years Ago)

‘Never mind the stupid lottery draw,’ said Phil. ‘The Chelsea-Everton match starts in five and I want to see the pre-match commentary.’

Karen sighed and tucked her purse back into her handbag. ‘I take it that you will be stuck in front of the goggle-box all night, Phil,’ she said in an irritated tone. ‘I can’t bear the incessant football. Every night there’s another vital match, can’t we just settle down and watch a nice film or something?’

Phil looked up at his wife and pulled a grimace. ‘It’s nearly the end of the season,’ he said. ‘This match determines the play offs at the bottom of the Premier League; anyway, I have a bet on Everton… Why don’t you just go for a glass or three with Angie and when you come back we can have a bit of play-time?’

‘You can chuck that thought in the bin,’ said Karen. ‘I’m not in the mood…’

‘Yeah, but tomorrow I’m gone for a week,’ said Phil. ‘I really fancy a fuck!’ Karen just shook her head and stomped out of the room in a temper. Every Friday night it was the same. Every Friday night it had always been the same. Phil sat contented with a few cans and munchies while twenty- two idiots kicked a ball around a field to the excited tones of the inane commentators. It killed the passion, it left her wanting to sleep alone. His perfect Friday night was football, beer followed by a fuck and Karen did not consider twenty-two men on a football pitch suitable foreplay.

Thank God for Angie, she thought as she pulled on her coat. I’d have gone mad long ago if it weren’t for her! She closed the front door behind her, cutting off the sound of the roar of the crowd and headed down the street to the local pub. It appeared that every other person in the street was riveted to their TVs, every window flickering with the light as she passed it. The endless row of small terraced houses depressed Karen. A world full of people satisfied with their small lives, each proud to be an owner-occupier, each contently perched on their sofas engrossed in the struggle for supremacy in a sport for which she had no interest at all. Ironic, she thought as she turned the corner.

She had escaped the football at home to go to a pub where a huge screen would be surrounded by excited testosterone-filled morons. There she would meet her friend and spend all night shouting over the roar of the crowd in the pub as well as the masses in the stadium.

The glow of the pub windows spilled onto the street. A couple of huddled smokers lurked under the ‘Yellow Rose’ sign outside and the stale smell of beer wafted into the street. Her world had become nothing more than a series of chores and a pathetic job at a till in the local supermarket. She’d had dreams, they were slipping through her fingers. Start a small hair salon, study to be something else, marry a rich man. Do whatever she desired… What had come of all of that? Where had it all gone?

Karen stepped into the warm pub and looked around. Normally the two of them perched at the bar and chatted about this and that, but today the bar was packed and Angie was not there. Karen stood at the bar and ordered two Gin and Tonics and then started her search for her only true friend. She checked the tables by the roaring TV and then noticed Angie slumped at a table in the rear, head in her hands, coat still on her back. ‘This’ll cheer you up,’ said Karen as she placed the two drinks on the table and slipped in, to sit next to her friend.

Angie looked up and Karen was shocked to see a livid bruise on her cheek, just under her left eye. ‘Jesus, Angie, what the fuck happened to you?’

‘Mike’s chucked me out,’ wailed Angie.

Karen put her arm around her friend in sympathy. ‘What, tonight?’

‘We had an argument…’

‘And he hit you?’

Angie nodded and looked down at the drink in front of her.

‘Did you call the police?’

‘Do me a favour, Karen, they can’t do anything. It’s his house…’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘I’ll have to go to my mum’s place,’ said Angie with a sob. ‘There’s nowhere else!’

‘Fuck, what were you arguing about?’

‘You know Tracy? The slut that I suspected that he was getting his leg over?’

‘You told me last week…’

‘I challenged him and he threw me out!’

‘Fuck, that must mean that you were right…’

‘Of course I was fucking right. I know what they’ve been up to at her place.’

‘You don’t have to go to your mum’s,’ said Karen. ‘Stay at my place for a week while you sort it all out. Tomorrow, Phil’s going on that stag-do in Riga for a week. I’ll help you find a new place…’

‘I can’t afford it, you know what they pay me at the Supermarket, it’s not enough!’

‘Well, at least stay a week and get your head together,’ said Karen.

‘OK! You’re a real friend, Karen. The only one I’ve got!’

‘You too,’ replied Karen. They did not speak much. Angie cried, Karen comforted her and they made the drinks last until at last the match on the pub TV reached half time. For a minute the experts in the studio commented on Everton conceding three goals. Karen listened to the familiar discussion and decided that perhaps she fancied the retired footballer who was explaining the referee’s mistakes.

‘He’s a bit of all-right,’ said Karen as she pointed at the screen.

‘Oh, fuck off, Karen. That’s all I need right now, to dream about the guy who’s famous for his string of glamorous girlfriends!’

‘Wait a sec,’ said Karen, ‘they’re giving the lottery results. I’ve got a ticket here…’ She fumbled in her purse and pulled out a crumpled scrap of paper.

‘I’ve got one too,’ said Angie.

They looked up as the moderator spoke on the TV. ‘Here are the results of the Powerball,’ the woman was saying as the numbers appeared on the screen.

‘Never do that one,’ said Karen. ‘I only play Euromillions.’

‘Me too.’

‘Let’s go halfy-halfy if we win,’ said Karen. She took the ticket from Angie’s hand and placed it face down next to her own ticket. For a moment she moved them rapidly on the table and then turned them face up.

‘Are those your numbers?’ asked Angie.

‘I always go random like you… Less regret!’ said Karen. ‘Let’s have a look…’ Her eyes scanned the numbers, three correct, that was a tenner. She was about to boast about the result and looked up at her friend to see a look of shock on the bruised face.

‘Here,’ said Angie as she shoved the ticket over to Karen. ‘Take a look at this!’

Angie looked at the numbers and gasped. ‘Fuck, we’ve got them all!’

‘And the extra one as well,’ said Angie with a smile.

‘How much is this worth?’

‘If we are the only ones, fifty million!’

‘And a tenner,’ laughed Karen as she showed her ticket to her friend. ‘My round…’

*****

Karen felt as if her legs could not carry her weight. They trembled and shook, her knees knocked together and she had to lean on Angie as they stood listening to the roar from the Yellow Rose as Chelsea scored again. ‘We need to go somewhere,’ said Angie. ‘Just sit down and take it all in.’

Karen nodded and allowed her friend to lead her down the dark street. ‘I don’t know how I managed not to scream,’ said Angie. ‘I’ve got fifty million in my hand!’

‘Well, put it in your bag and let’s find somewhere to discuss this.’

‘How about Khan’s?’

‘OK.’ The two friends walked down the street that led to the Indian restaurant. Angie feeling as though she was living someone else’s life, Karen still staggering from the shock.

‘Wait until Phil hears about this,’ said Karen.

‘He’ll buy a fucking football team,’ laughed Angie. ‘Me, I’m getting a big house and a Rolls Royce!’

‘Shit, you’re right, Angie. He’ll go mad with the money!’

Angie stayed silent and led her friend into the warmth of the restaurant.

‘Jesus, I don’t think that it’s hit me yet!’ said Karen. ‘Wait a sec, let’s check the numbers again on my mobile.’ They sat down and Karen fiddled with her phone. Her hands shook as she found the official website and stared at the numbers.

‘It’s right,’ said Angie. ‘I know that it’s right.’

‘All seven,’ said Karen at last. ‘We got them all…’

‘So what happens now?’

‘We get the claim in and tell everyone, of course. ‘Fuck, I’m a millionaire…’

‘I wonder which of us won?’ asked Angie.

‘Shit, Angie, who gives a fuck? It’s twenty-five each… wait a sec, let’s have a look. Actually it’s fifty-five million three hundred and seventy-six thousand six hundred and eighty something pounds.’

‘And the tenner that the other ticket won,’ laughed Angie.

‘That gets shared as well…’ Karen giggled almost hysterically.

‘Let’s not tell anyone, let’s leave it a week…’

‘Why would we do that?’

‘Because, it’s our money, that’s why. I don’t want to share it all out to my idiot family!’

‘But…’

‘Promise me, just a week,’ said Angie. ‘Let’s get the claim in, split the cash and then we can each decide for ourselves!’

‘I don’t know if I can keep it in,’ said Angie. ‘But, if that’s the way that you want it, I can wait a week.’

‘Good. We’ll both go to London tomorrow and make the claim, then we can share it all out and you can do what you want!’

‘It’s a deal. Jesus, we could buy all of Harrods with this ticket.’

‘That’s the plan. While Phil is in Riga, we’ll be having a ball in the big smoke.’

‘I have to work tomorrow,’ said Karen dubiously.

‘You’ll never have to work again!’

‘Fuck me… you’re right!’

Excerpt from: Programming Language