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

"No, I am not going to cane you, Denise," she said sternly, as she turned back my pretty frock and took my drawers down to my knees. "I am going to birch you-do you understand, pretty fool? I am going to birch your tender white flesh," and she pinched my bottom with her fingers. "I am going to cover it with red stripes and wheals."

"Oh, Violet."

"Silence."

She ran quickly into the punishment room and came out again with a terrible birch.

"Oh, Violet, you couldn't be so cruel!" Of course, I was hoping beyond hope that she was.

She ran lightly over to me in her satin slippers. Oh, a girl so pretty and so young couldn't mean to punish me so severely for so trivial a fault. It was too good to be true.

"Bend well over," she said, flourishing the birch. She made it whistle in the air. I was helpless.

"Oh, Violet, if you must birch me, please lock the door first and gag my mouth. I know I shall scream, and it would be so disgraceful to be seen tied hand and foot in my dinner dress being birched by a girl younger than myself," I said piteously.

"You don't deserve it, Denise," she said. "But I love you, darling, so I will spare you unnecessary humiliation."

She went and locked the door. Then she carefully gagged my mouth. She stole a delightful moment in which she fondled my breasts freely. She pinched my nipples and lightly slapped my bosom. I felt my cock stir from the pleasure.

"I am sorry, Denise, but you must be soundly birched," she said and took her place. How cold the air was on my naked flesh, how shameful my position!

The twigs whistled through the air and slashed my tender flesh. I would have shrieked at the first stroke, had my mouth not been gagged. My bottom was already so tender.

"Is this your first birching, Denise?"

I nodded my head.

"A virgin bottom! That makes it more delicious to punish." She was like a young fury. "Fancy violating your bottom, darling. A regular rape isn't it?" she cried gleefully, and again the twigs fell. I twisted and writhed, my bottom danced and flinched, the tears streamed down my face. "The fat pretty soft thing is already striped with red, dearest, but you shall have a purple bottom before I am done with you." Her strength seemed to increase with each stroke. "A purple moon of a bottom to show to your friends!" she laughed. "There's still a little white place here, and another here." She flogged me daintily, carefully, never breaking the skin, but making it swell, covering it with bruises and wheals. And then once more my sobs began to diminish. Suddenly, I ceased to feel the pain. As I leaned over the sofa, I surreptitiously rubbed my aching cock against the bolster. Violet was giving me such pleasure, such pain, that I simply had to rub myself against the couch. The friction on my genitals stimulated me even more!

Violet finished.

"Now to wind up properly, I will give you six strokes with the cane across the thin soles of your pretty slippers." I could not protest, but I jerked and writhed in my sweet bondage. Violet took up the cane.

"I won't tear the slippers. I'll keep to the soles, you pretty vain creature! I know your vanity was troubled lest I should spoil your dainty shoes!"

At last she untied my feet and took the gag from my mouth. She led me to a mirror, and holding up my dress, for my wrists were still tied behind my back, she showed me my posterior. What a dreadful condition I was in. A few minutes before it had been white and pretty; now it was a discoloured ugly thing with black patches of congealed blood and purple stripes. It felt dreadfully heavy too, and the pain tortured me.

"Oh, Violet," I exclaimed piteously. "How could you spoil it!"

"It was good for you to have it spoiled," she said. She rubbed it gently, the sight obviously pleasing her. Clearly, she liked to dominate me, too! Oh, how had I become so lucky?

After admiring her handy work, she fixed my drawers, readjusted my dress, and put her arms round my waist. Her anger was all gone. She looked at my piteous face with gentle eyes. She dried my eyes affectionately.

"Kiss me, Denise darling." Our lips clung passionately for a long time. She put her sharp little tongue inside my lips, and bit my lips with endearing little love-bites.

"Stand there!" she said, suddenly pulling away from me.

She replaced the birch and the cane and picked up the fragments of twigs from the floor. She burnt them in the fire. Then she unlocked the door.

"Phoebe will know, of course, when she puts you to bed," she said. "But no one else need know of our little secret. Come here!"

She was folding a big white handkerchief. I crossed the room to her timidly.

"You are not going to punish me anymore."

"I am going to see, darling, whether you will now put your high heels together and turn your dainty toes out when I tell you to. I am going to blindfold your eyes, stand you up on a chair with your face to the wall, just by the armchair in which I am sitting."

I blushed with great pleasure. My eyes danced and my mouth smiled. She fixed the scarf over my eyes and tied it at the back of my hair. Then she turned me round, clapped her hands delightedly, and kissed me ardently on the lips. She led me to the chair and guided my little satin slippers up onto it. She placed me in position. Then she sat down in her armchair at my side and resumed her book. I stood there for an hour blindfolded with my hands tied. Every now and then I felt her dainty little hand steal under my dress and touch my feet to make sure they had not moved. She would caress my ankles, and play with my slipper buckles and high heels. Miss. Priscilla had done her work well that night. The hour was an hour of bliss.

It was Helen's policy to make my life as a girl delightful to me. The next few months were pleasurable although tempered by fits of regret and remorse. But the fits did not last long. I was surrounded with luxuries. I was spoilt. I had beautiful dresses, a horse to ride, Violet to run about with, dainty tyrannies to endure, a great deal of liberty, and even better, exciting punishments. Miss. Priscilla's mind was extraordinarily fertile in this area. Her design was to mix pain and pleasure in an inextricable confusion in my mind, so that I should never be able to think great pleasure possible without the accompaniment of pain. And once this belief was implanted in my mind I would always long to remain in subjection to my feminine tyrants.

I remember addressing a flippant impertinence to her at a garden party. She took me at once to the motorcar and drove home with me. I was dressed in a long trailing frock of misty dark grey crepe de chine, with a big grey satin hat to match that was trimmed with grey ostrich feathers and a bow of green ribbon. I was wearing black silk stockings and little high-heeled patent leather button boots, smart and quite new. Miss. Priscilla led me into the punishment room where a sewing machine stood. She strapped my feet in their smart boots into the treadles, pushed a long mirror in front of me, and said, "Now get to work, Miss. High Heels!" I began to work the machine.

"Quicker! Quicker!"

I obeyed. In the mirror, I could see my little feet in their fashionable dainty boots flashing up and down, undergoing punishment.

"Still quicker!"

My thighs bruised one another. My face got red, not merely with exertion but also the delirium of passion. My feet raced up and down, and a wanton smile shone in my eyes and on my lips. Miss. Priscilla made me go on working the sewing machine in my dainty gown and fashionable bright buttoned boots for the rest of the afternoon.

That first autumn Helen gave a ball at Beaumanoir. I was dressed for the occasion in a plain, exquisitely fitting, long white velvet gown that moulded my figure like a glove and fell in softly gleaming folds to my feet. A white satin sash about the waist broke the line. Diamonds and pearls flashed on my white neck and shoulders. The gems glittered about my white-gloved wrists, and sparkled amidst my curls. My stockings, of course, were of the finest gauze silk and glittered with gems, while the fronts of my white satin slippers blazed with diamonds, and were finished with the daintiest bows made of diamonds. When my feet peeped out from the hem of my dress, one saw two little sparkling shields of diamonds. When I showed myself to Helen before the dance she gave me a warning.