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

In the bright light reflected from the mirror, I saw my round legs tapering down in their shimmering meshes of silk to my neat little ivory ankles and my exquisitely slippered slender feet. I tried to move them.

"I can only move my insteps, Miss. Priscilla," I said smiling. "I can make my shoe buckles flash, that's all."

"I don't mind you doing that, dear. Watch your beautiful legs and feet!" And then without warning, she took my satin-slippered feet in her hands and began to caress and fondle them as she had fondled my breasts. The feel and the sight of her hands in their white kid gloves, playing delicately with my shining satin slippers, sent me into ecstasy. She played with my heels, and it sent thrills of voluptuous pleasure through me, causing my nipples and prick to respond to the feeling.

"Isn't it ridiculous, Denise," she said in a gentle insinuating voice, "to want to go back to heavy boots when with the flash of your diamond buckles, you can attract everybody's admiration to the beautiful shape of your feet and ankles and the loveliness of your shoes and stockings."

I smiled and blushed. "Perhaps, Miss. Priscilla," I whispered shyly.

"I am sure, dear," she replied.

Her hands crept up to my insteps, where she patted and tickled them. She then pinched my calves affectionately, and reached up to my knees. I was trembling from head to foot. I watched my legs and feet with a delicious expectancy. A mirror was tilted underneath me in such a way that the new white soles and satin-covered heels were reflected in the big glass and were made visible to me. Oh, my round soft legs in the shimmering gossamer of the tightly stretched silk stockings, and the leather strap binding them deliciously together at the delicate ankles; oh my little feet in their feminine finery! My slim slippers of glistening satin looked sensuously perfect, and the added sensation of Miss. Priscilla's touch was the living end. Oh, my arched insteps, my high curving narrow heels! How exciting that these ladies had perched me up in them as a punishment. Oh the blazing diamond buckles! Ladies had had them set for me, had sewn them on the exquisite slippers as a badge of subjection, and to attract all eyes to the loveliness of my feet.

Miss. Priscilla seemed to read my thoughts. As she fondled my knees, she said: "Weren't we right to dress you as the lovely girl you are? Why should ladies put up with a clumsy youth in ugly trousers, when they can have a prettily corseted, long-haired girl tripping about the drawing room in rustling satin frocks and light little high-heeled slippers that are a positive joy to their eyes?"

She continued to fondle my feet with slow, sensuous attention.

"Oh, yes, Miss. Priscilla," I murmured languorously. "You were right."

"And when we had dressed you and gloved you and corseted you, weren't we right to take your silk-stockinged legs and cross the dainty slippers, binding your ankles with satin straps and your gloved hands with handcuffs?"

I stared at the reflection in the mirror, and saw a beautiful girl with a flushed face and a wanton smile upon her red lips. I saw the white high-heeled slippers fitting with such perfection over the exposed glistening white silk stockings. I admired them, bound with leather straps and handcuffs. I was thrilled to be at the mercy of this thin shrivelled old woman in her black plain dress.

"Oh, you were right," I murmured wildly, almost losing control of myself. Her caressing hands extorted my admission.

"Reflect," she said "that no lady would punish you with this treatment were you dressed as a boy. It is only because you are corseted and curled and white-bosomed and are wearing satin slippers with high heels that you are subjected to this exquisite degradation. Don't you love your subjection?"

"Oh I do! I do!" I cried, nearly swooning with erotic pleasure.

It was I, Dennis Beryl, the young man with the great fortune and the lofty ambitions who was speaking. But her kid-gloved hands caressed me. I could give no other answer. It was in that moment that I gave up my will, my life, to her and to Helen. I leaned toward Miss. Priscilla as far as my handcuffs and my bonds would allow. I writhed in an ecstasy. To live satin-slippered and corseted with handcuffed gloved hands and strapped ankles in beautiful decollete frocks-yes, I learnt that night from Miss. Priscilla's hands that this was the supreme joy life held out to me.

"Keep me tied and daintily frocked! Oh, Miss. Priscilla, thank you!" I gasped and sank back with a dropping head as I found my body racked with joy.

Miss. Priscilla sprang up with a cry of triumph. She freed me from my bonds, led me over to a sofa, and stretched me out upon it on my back.

"I am going to cover your face," she said and she took up a black silk handkerchief. She gazed down with the utmost contempt at my outstretched form.

"It is all over with you now. Do you remember how you used to annoy me with your dirty shooting clothes and your heavy noisy boots? No more noisy boots Denise-ever! Only the daintiest little things of patent leather with slender tapering heels for the future. We have finished with Dennis Beryl."

I was floating back now into the ordinary world of men and women. I was ashamed. I moved restlessly.

"Lie still."

She covered my face and left me. I heard her moving the furniture again. She snatched the handkerchief from my face.

"Stand up, Denise!"

Where the stool had been there was now a chair and above the chair a gilt rope with a strong hook at the end dangling down from a ring in the ceiling. The rope had, until this moment, been wound around a glittering chandelier quite close to the ring.

I stood up. Miss. Priscilla rapidly unlaced the back of my dress, took my arms out of the shoulder straps, and let the dress fall in billowy daintiness about my feet. My singular delicate petticoat followed.

"Oh, what are you going to do to me?" I moaned piteously.

"I am going to make sure of your decision, Denise," she said significantly.

I stood in my corset and pantalets. She took two strong flat straps of leather.

"Open your legs, Denise," she said grimly, moving toward me.

"Oh, Miss. Priscilla!"

I opened them. She passed the straps between my thighs; brought one around outside each hip and joined the four ends, which had metal loops on them, to the small of my back. Making me hold them there, she drew up my petticoat and frock, and passing the four loops outside the frock where it laced up the back, she dressed me again and fastened my dress. Thus I had each hip in a strong flat leather loop underneath my dress and the ends of the loops were outside my dress at the middle of my back. Miss. Priscilla fastened the straps with the decisive click of a small lock.

"Now, your hands behind you!"

She fitted the bright steel handcuffs over my wrists and at the touch of them, the familiar delicious sense of being helpless in a woman's hands returned to me.

Miss. Priscilla intensified the feeling. For she turned me round like a doll, smiled pleasantly, and said, "You look very pretty and seductive, Denise." She smoothed down my skirt, letting her hands rest a little longer on my crotch.

Passionate longings and desires swelled up in me again.

"Mount the chair, Denise!" said Miss. Priscilla.

I looked down helplessly at the glittering buckles on my dainty satin toes.

"I would if I can, Miss. Priscilla. But with my hands handcuffed behind me, my heels are too slender and high. And my stockings are so tightly gartered that I should tear them."

She patted my cheeks hard.

"I don't ask you to do impossible things Denise. I will help you."

She placed the gilt footstool in position and helped me up. Then she slipped the four loops of the leather straps, which were outside my frock, over the hook at the end of the strong gilt rope. She could just manage to do that, and the rope now held me standing on the chair. Miss. Priscilla then raised my skirt up to my knees and with a delightful rustling of satin and chiffon, gathered it in tightly at the back and fixed it up with a satin strap, leaving my silk-stockinged legs exposed from knees to toes.