Anonymous - Miss High-heels:the story of a rich but girlish young gentleman under the control of his pretty step-sister and her aunt

"Place Miss. Denise on her feet there."

Phoebe set me down. Yes, I had never looked so well. My blue tunic with the silver embroidered white satin underdress set off my fair hair and skin to perfection. I was so happy. There was a color in my cheeks, and my eyes sparkled. I had enjoyed a lovely day of fresh air, exercise and freedom, and now in my delicate underlinen and dainty frock, I was dressed for dinner. I was conscious of a voluptuous feeling of well-being and delight. My dress was short enough to give a glimpse of my pink insteps in shimmering cobwebs of white silk stockings. I could see my feet, which looked more slender and elegant than ever in their slim little pointed slippers, ornamented with the big oval diamond buckles.

"You look sweet, dear," said Helen. "Let me see how prettily you can walk in that frock!"

A strip of white kid was unrolled on the floor by Leonce.

"Keep on the strip," said Helen; and I walked, turned, and came back, pointing my toes and flashing my slipper buckles. The dress rustled deliciously about my ankles as I walked. I could take only the tiniest steps, which exaggerated my submission.

"My skirt is so tight that my legs are actually tied together," I said smiling at Helen, "and I have an extra half an inch on my Louis Quinze heels."

"I know," replied Helen. "They look lovely. In fact, darling, I think I am going to tie you still tighter."

She was smiling radiantly. She held in her hand a black leather strap with cruel steel buckles.

"Sit down on this chair, and give me your beautiful feet."

I had learned enough to know that obedience must be prompt. I extended my feet to Helen, who kneeled on one knee and took them onto the other knee.

"But Helen, what have I done?" I asked.

"This isn't punishment dear," she replied as she delicately crossed my slim ankles. "But it is very, very important that there should not be the slightest mark even on the white soles of these exquisite new high-heeled slippers when you have your conversation with Aunt Priscilla."

Why, I wondered? She adjusted the gleaming strap round my crossed ankles and bound them tightly together. Oh how delightful the sensation was! The blood rushed into my face, and into the more intimate parts of my body.

"Now, to keep your gloves clean," she said as she tied my hand in the same way with a smaller strap.

"There, darling, now we are certain that you won't walk and soil the shoes," she said. "Be very obedient to Aunt Priscilla." She kissed me, and Phoebe once more lifted me in her arms. The voluptuous thrills which had been coursing through my veins redoubled. I saw myself in the glass. With my white shoulders and bosom rising from my delicious decolletage, I looked like some wonderful doll in Phoebe's arms-except that my bosom heaved rather spasmodically. Phoebe, in order not to ruffle or tear my dress, had raised the skirt, so that not merely were my buckled feet and crossed tied ankles visible, but my silk-stockinged legs as well, to halfway up the calves.

"Oh, Helen!" I murmured, my eyes swimming with languorous yet heated longings. I was pricked by desires I knew I could not act on. A world of these fantasies were expressed in my sigh. Helen smiled. It was her policy and wish to keep me, tonight of all nights, stimulated by passionate yearnings. She even provoked and increased my desire as she caressed my legs, sliding her hands up over the smooth shining stockings under my dress, feeling all the way up to my knees and garters.

"Are your garters of white satin dear, with big bows and buckles?" she asked.

"Yes, Helen," I answered blushing.

"You are very happy tonight, Denise, aren't you?"

"Oh yes, Helen."

Phoebe carried me downstairs to the drawing room and placed me on a sofa, propping up my back with cushions and drawing down my dress so as to cover my ankles.

"Now lie like that! Don't put your feet to the ground, Miss. Denise," she said.

"I won't, Phoebe."

I was left alone, and in a few minutes Violet came in looking very pretty in a white gown of Ninon de soie. She leaned over the sofa and looked down at me. A hungry smile and a blush came upon her face. She teased me by running her gloved hand over my satin slippers.

"Do you know, Denise, that I am falling love with you? Not because you are a boy of course, but because you are a girl. I am in love with you only as girls can love one another." After this strange utterance, which excited and flattered me, she cried, "Oh, you have got your hands and feet tied! How delicious! I must look." She turned back my frock, and asked me why. I explained.

"I wonder what Miss. Priscilla is going to do to you tonight," she said slowly. "I am jealous of her."

She bent her head down and kissed my lips long and ardently, letting her tongue play over my hungry lips and even coaxing my tongue to lace with hers. Then she drew a breath of pleasure and smiled.

"Violet, that was lovely," I said breathlessly.

She bent down again passionately, lifted my bound feet and I felt her warm lips pressed upon my insteps. Oh! A delicious spasm of emotion shook me. How my passions were ignited! Suddenly, Miss. Priscilla, dressed in a high-necked black silk robe and flat square-toed shoes, joined us. Netta announced dinner. Phoebe carried me in and placed me in a chair and freed my hands. A clean white satin footstool was placed under my bound feet and we dined. How I enjoyed that dinner. Violet was on one side of me, and her kiss seemed to still burn and tingle on my lips and insteps. At times she dropped her napkin, and as she stooped down to pick it up, she would give an affectionate squeeze to my slippers or a sly caress to my legs. Even Miss. Priscilla's face looked pleasant. I was carried back to the drawing room where Violet and I were allowed a cigarette over our coffee. Miss. Priscilla rose.

"I shall send Phoebe to bring you to my boudoir in five minutes, Denise," she said. "I am just going to see that all is ready. Meanwhile put on your gloves and button them carefully. Perhaps Violet will help you."

"Of course I will," cried Violet. She kneeled by the sofa and, with caressing fingers, drew on my long delicate gloves and buttoned them up to my shoulders, smoothing them over my arms, so that not a wrinkle should show. Then she pressed my hands passionately.

"I should love to tie them together, just as your feet are tied, only ever so much tighter."

I blushed, and realized that I loved her and wanted to possess her.

"You may if you like," I said after staring at her hungrily for a long while.

"There's no time now. Someday when we are alone I will."

"But, Violet, you said you loved me," I remarked with a smile. She frowned in perplexity.

"I do Denise. Yet, do you know what I would really love? I would love to see you dressed just as you are now in that beautiful evening frock tied to a chair in Mrs. Pettigrew's dark room with those buckled satin slippers and slender ankles in the fetters, while the laundry girls feed you on bread and water."

My face grew scarlet.

"Oh, Violet, that would be dreadful," I cried, and yet the picture her words evoked fascinated me strangely! I felt my cock grow more lewdly inside its leather singlet, which I was again wearing. Oh, how I wanted Violet to torture me with her fetters. Oh, how I wanted her to torture me with her tongue.

Unfortunately, Phoebe came in for me then. Violet and I kissed one another good-night, and then Phoebe carried me up the stairs. Miss. Priscilla's boudoir was furnished in the Empire style with an elegance out of keeping with her puritanical appearance. A small fire was burning cheerfully, but to keep the room from growing too hot, the window was open, letting in the summer night.

"Untie Miss. Denise's ankles," said Miss. Priscilla at once.