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

"Now we will tie your dainty ankles together. Put your slippers side by side dear, buckle to buckle, heel to heel."

She bound my ankles charmingly together, the leather straps supporting me. Then she drew up another chair and mounting it, passed a strong band of blue satin matching the tunic of my dress around my breast and buckled it behind, enclosing the gold cord.

"There is one little final preparation, Denise," she said. I was trembling with passion and fear.

What was she going to do? I was afraid-but stronger than the fear was my delight in my ignominious position. The tightness of the bonds about my wrists and feet made me shiver with excitement. Miss. Priscilla took a long new kid glove.

"It will help your subjection dear, if you associate your pleasure not merely with your feet bound in girls' high-heeled satin slippers, but She tied the glove over my lips gagging me.

"There," she said as she stepped down. "Now you are ready, you pretty thing."

Suddenly, she removed the chair from beneath me, and I hung, dangling in front of the mirror at the end of the gold cord. I was suspended in the air in all my lovely finery. Oh, how deliciously bizarre the spectacle was. I had no fear now. The straps about my thighs were strong; so was the rope, and the broad blue satin belt under my bosom and round the rope held me upright. Nor did I feel any pain, the leather straps pressed on my thighs afforded me the most exquisite sensations.

"Now, darling, stretch your pretty feet down, the toes delightfully pointed. That's right," and Miss. Priscilla took my insteps in her gloved hands and arched them delightfully.

"Now dear," she said as she slid her hands up my legs, pinching them devilishly, "I am going to flog your dainty soft calves in their glistening gossamer silk stockings with a riding whip."

"Oh, Miss. Priscilla!" I murmured inarticulately through my gag. I had never felt so deliciously helpless as at this moment, when looking into the mirror I saw myself bound hand and foot, dangling at the end of a cord in my lovely dress. I saw my poor legs in their delicate stockings and slippers exposed, and Miss. Priscilla calmly swishing her whalebone riding whip through the air. The sense of having nothing under my feet was extraordinary. The perfume of the kid glove over my lips was intoxicating.

"Watch your shoe buckles darling, while I punish you. Strain your feet well down. You love hanging there at my mercy, don't you?"

I nodded emphatically.

The strangest thrills of pleasure tingled through me. I pulled at my hands to feel more certainly the steel handcuffs. I twitched my toes and made my buckles flash to realize more completely, more entrancingly, the bonds about my ankles.

"Now then!" cried Miss. Priscilla savagely, and swish! the riding whip slashed viciously across my calves. I uttered a cry of pain. Again the whip fell. I drew up my knees to my chin in a spasm of anguish.

"I want you to associate supreme delight not merely with your girlish finery and loveliness, but with the pain endured while you look your girlish best." A third time the little whalebone curled round my legs, stinging and burning them. Oh, how I kicked and writhed in delicious agony. The shining slippers flashed in the air like silver, the slipper buckles like coloured flames, and again and again the cruel whalebone switch rose and fell against my soft, helpless flesh. I burst into screams and sobs, I twirled and spun at the end of my cord seeking vainly to elude the cuts of her thin whip.

And then my sobs diminished. Suddenly, I ceased to be conscious of the pain as anything but delightful evidence of my subjection. I saw myself in the dress and straps, in the dancing slippers of a fastidious fashionable young lady as I twirled in the air at the end of a rope. I saw my dainty frock fastened up to my knees while a prim old maid flogged my round smartly stockinged, tightly bound legs. The bizarre quality of this reality overwhelmed me. I pointed my toes, I strained my legs down to meet the blows. I was in seventh heaven; pain and pleasure were inextricably mingled. Miss. Priscilla laid down her whip at last.

"That will do," she said, contemplating my jerking helpless figure with undisguised contempt. "Your education is complete."

She helped me down, removing the straps from my thighs, and unfastening my legs and hands. She took the glove from my lips and wiped my hot face. She gave me a glass of champagne, and then, with a disdainful smack on my bottom, she said: "Now take your pretty feet back to the drawing room."

Ashamed, I curtsied low to her and went out of the room. But the venom was in my veins. As I walked down the stairs, the rustle of my frock, the feel of it clinging delicately about my ankles, the lightness of my slippers, and the sensation of high slender heels all ravished me. Yes, I wanted to be kept in subjection as a beautifully dressed girl. Forever.

I entered the drawing room where I found Violet alone, reading a novel in an armchair. How pretty she looked in her frock of Ninon de soie, and her little slippers! Oh, the venom was in my veins. For the moment, I saw her as young and pretty and dainty, yet I longed to be punished by her. Miss. Priscilla had accomplished her aim.

"You have been a long time," Violet said peevishly. "I have been here alone and it has been very dull."

She was annoyed. I smiled and blushed.

"What has Miss. Priscilla been saying to you?" Here was my chance and I took it.

I flung myself into a chair, crossed my knees and swung a satin-slippered foot indolently to and fro.

"You must find out, my pretty one," I said.

Her eyes flashed dangerously.

"Don't be impertinent, Denise. And uncross your legs at once! Put your heels together and turn your toes out and answer me."

I swung my foot more violently.

"I warn you, Denise," she said violently.

I began to unbutton a glove with an impertinent smile.

"Very well. It is your fault, Denise. Go and fetch me a cane."

She sat up sternly.

"A cane?"

I was horrified. I had not meant to provoke her to inflicting so severe a punishment. My legs already pained me horribly. I wanted no more whipping.

"You will find one in the punishment room. Bring it here and be quick!"

My face clouded over.

"Oh, Violet!" I begged, falling at her feet.

"It's too late to plead for mercy. Be quick," she said.

Reluctantly I rose and fetched a cane. Oh, I had been a fool to provoke her.

"Hold out your hands straight from the shoulder, one on each side. Your feet prettily in position." And then without hesitation, Violet brought down the cane on each of my outstretched hand.

"I'll teach you to be impertinent, Denise," Violet was furious, her pretty face convulsed with rage.

"Oh that's enough, Violet," I wept.

"Not nearly," Violet laughed triumphantly. "This will teach you to obey me in the future." She brought the cane down again and again. My breasts heaved with passion for the little tyrant. I loved my little torturess.

"Oh, Violet, I will, I will," I sobbed.

"Oh you will," she cried. "Don't rub your knees together, you naughty thing. Stand quite still, Miss. High Heels."

She flung the cane down, after she had pleased herself with the torments. "Your hands behind you," she commanded me.

She fetched two thin white cords of silk. And while I stood with my bare shoulders shaking with sobs, my pretty love bound my hands together with savage cruelty.

"Now kneel on the sofa."

She raised my skirts to help me, then she brutally pushed me down.

"Perhaps you will put your pretty feet and ankles together now."

She tied my ankles, my high heels and my insteps tightly together. Then she said, "Lean over the back of the sofa."

"Oh you are not going to cane me again."