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

"There's a great many coming to the ball, Denise, and very likely the ballroom will get hot. People no doubt will go out into the garden or onto the terrace between the dances. But you must not. Remember that! On a night like this, thieves may be lurking about the house, and you are wearing thousands of pounds worth of jewels. Your lovely little flashing slippers alone are worth a fortune. You wouldn't like to be kidnapped and robbed, would you Denise?"

"No," I replied with a shiver. "No indeed!" But secretly I did want to be kidnapped. I secretly wished to be tormented by faceless captors. And so I disobeyed Helen. Halfway through the dance, I went out onto the terrace and smoked a surreptitious cigarette with Violet. As I returned through the glass door into the drawing room I saw Helen. Worse-she saw me. She beckoned me across the room to her. She seized me by the hand and turned me with my face to the wall at her side.

"Your heels together at once, Denise, and your hands behind you," she whispered in a savage voice, and to Violet she said, "You can go to bed at once."

Miss. Priscilla, in a dress of dark mauve satin with a chemisette of lace filling the bosom, joined Helen. They waited until the other guests had returned to the ballroom. Then Helen slid back the panel that led to the punishment room and pushed me in roughly. Priscilla followed and closed it.

"I am sorry," I faltered, "that I disobeyed you, Helen."

Helen was in a rage.

"Gag her," she said savagely to Miss. Priscilla. A lace scarf gagged my mouth in a flash. They pinioned my elbows to my side and bound my hands in front of me with leather laces. I was dreadfully frightened. Helen was so furious, she was pale with anger.

"Stand up! Press your legs and feet tightly together, Denise!"

I obeyed. The two women stooped and while Miss. Priscilla gathered my lovely velvet dress behind my legs, Helen with a strong carpet needle actually sewed it up from my haunches to my ankles, spoiling the gown and sewing my legs together in a tight sheath of gleaming white velvet that revealed their contours. Oh, there would be no more dancing for me tonight in my sparkling satin slippers!

Then while Miss. Priscilla supported me, Helen tied my ankles, which were exposed, tightly together with a leather strap and knotted it angrily.

A bright fire was blazing. They placed me a on a chair close to it and then Helen sat down on a stool at my side.

"Take care that Miss. Denise does not fall off the chair, Aunt," she said grimly.

Miss. Priscilla held me firmly by the shoulders. Oh, what were they going to do with me? I was helpless! Helen stooped, lifted my legs rigid and helpless in their gleaming velvet sheath, and held my strapped feet in their diamond-covered slippers close to the blaze of the fire.

"I'll teach these pretty high-heeled things to walk where I tell them," she cried, and she held my legs firmly while the heat of the flames tortured my feet. I writhed and struggled.

"Yes, twist about, Denise!" she said savagely. "A lot of good it will do you."

Perspiration burst out on my forehead. My slippers were scorching, and my toes curled and twitched inside the slippers. The diamond bows and sparkling fronts flashed and glittered. I was helpless. I could not even cry out. The flames almost touched the soles of my shoes. The pain was terrible. I was on the point of swooning when they took me from the fire and stretched me out on a sofa for the rest of the evening. I did not recover the full use of my feet for a week.

Soon afterward, a young and rising politician who had made his way without influence or friends came to our neighbourhood to make a speech. I went with Helen and Violet, and sat upon the platform. The speaker had a great reception and made a magnificent speech. The cheers and enthusiasm of the meeting tortured me. If he, without help, could rise so soon to such a position, what a splendid career I ought to have with all my advantages! I returned home sad and discontented. I followed Helen to her boudoir.

"How long is this going to last?" I asked. "How long are you going to keep me in girls' clothes, and rob me of my position?"

Helen looked at me calmly.

"Not a moment longer than you wish, dear," she said. "You shall come out of your girls' clothes now."

I was wearing a very pretty black velvet gown ornamented with big satin buttons, patent leather shoes with silver buckles, a big black hat with blue ribbons of satin tied on one side under the chin and long white kid gloves. Helen stripped me there and then of everything except my black silk stockings and garters, and my high-heeled shoes. Then she strapped my hands behind me.

"Come, Denise," she said, taking me by the arm. Opening the door, she pushed me into the passage. I was dreadfully ashamed. I tried to hide myself against her. I begged her pardon.

"Too late," she said grimly.

She took me down into the little drawing room and made me stand in the corner there until it was time to dress for dinner.

"There is a dinner party tonight dear," she said to me. "You shall appear as Dennis Beryl and I hope you will like it."

Phoebe dressed me in a girls' chemise and drawers with heavy lace frills, laced me into a corset tighter than I usually wore by an inch, gloved me to the shoulders in white kid, put a very decollete corsage of white satin and lace onto me. And then she produced a little tight pair of black velvet knickers, which only reached to the middle of my thighs and were fastened there with diamond buckles and big jewelled buttons, leaving the frills of my drawers exposed. Girls' transparent black stockings strained tightly up to the corsets held up by garters of blue satin just above my knees. The frills of my drawers were constantly exposed. Then Phoebe put me in girls' patent leather shining slippers with diamond buckles and scarlet Louis Quinze heels five and a half inches high, setting off my legs and feet.

A short-sleeved black velvet coat, made in the style of Fragonard's pictures, lined with white satin and smart with jewelled buttons, was slipped over my bodice and cut tightly into my corseted waist. It was open in front and showed my decolletage, my swelling bosom, and my girl's throat. My hair was taken down, arranged in long shining curls, and held back from my face with a white satin ribbon tied in an enormous bow. Earrings, necklaces, and bracelets completed this costume. What made it still more humiliating was a horrible arrangement in front of the tight knickers. A grotesque leather codpiece covered and cupped my penis, to bring exaggerated attention to it.

In this degrading dress, Phoebe dragged me with jeers along the passages of my own house to Helen's bedroom.

I was in tears. Helen chained my hands behind me and fixed little black fetters of polished steel on my ankles. She was deliciously dressed in pink satin.

"Turn around, Miss. High Heels," she said sternly.

"That is your name for the future-Miss. Dennis High Heels; the only name you will be known by. Turn around and let me see that the seams of your delicate stockings are straight." She showed me to myself in the mirrors. I looked just like a freakish grown-up girl wearing the external costume of a boy for some fantastic masquerade.

"Oh Helen," I moaned "you can't show me off dressed like this. You promised that I should be dressed as a girl."

"You certainly aren't dressed as a young lady, Dennis," she said with a laugh. "Young ladies don't show the frills of their pantaloons as a rule, nor so much pretty stocking. Nor do they wear flaunting scarlet heels as high as yours. Only improper women and young effeminate gentlemen wear five and a half inch heels on their dainty shoes."

"But the codpiece in front-that's horrible."

"You will wear that, dear, as the symbol of your subjection to my sex, the sign that the sex of women is imposed over your sex."