Miss High-heels

CHAPTER 2

I had despised Miss. Priscilla two years ago. I wondered if my feelings had changed. She had not changed. She was the same neat, precise, thin, elderly spinster with the terrifying air of authority. I had changed, and at her bidding. At an age when even the poorest of boys begin to gain their liberty, I, one of the richest in the country, the head of one of the oldest families in the country, had been calmly stripped of my freedom by this old maid and her niece. They had been able to manipulate me through their insight into my true character.

Miss. Priscilla was dressed in a high-necked plain gown of grey silk; she wore the flat square-toed ugly shoes that used to excite my ridicule. The solitary touch of luxury on her body was a long pair of white kid gloves. She looked at me coldly, critically. There was no expression upon her cold face, and so much had my two years at the girls' school changed me that I became strangely curious to know what she thought of my looks. I was a little hurt-yes, let me admit it-a little hurt that she was not betrayed into an expression of admiration.

She opened the leather cases and a rippling fire of jewels at once made the room glorious to my girlish eyes. She advanced to me. They were for me then! Those glittering streams of diamonds, those lustrous rows of pearls! Oh I loved jewels! She fixed a high collar of diamonds round my throat with a diamond bow and a tiny diamond tassel dangling from it, just behind the left ear. She passed a double row of magnificent pearls round my shoulders. The strand hung down to my waist. She fixed earrings of big pearls set with diamonds in my ears, which had been pierced. She fixed a diamond star among my curls, and a diamond brooch among the roses at my waist.

"Give me your hands, Denise," she said, and on my wrists, she fastened lovely bracelets of gold flashing with diamonds and rubies. They were very tight and the sensation of confinement thrilled me. And then she fixed another similar pair above my elbows smoothing up my long gloves carefully before she clasped them on.

"These bracelets will keep your pretty gloves tidy and smooth," Priscilla said. "Now, join your hands again behind your back." With each movement the soft fire of the flashing stones ran over me like water. Oh, how I wished to see myself in the mirror. There were a couple of big full-length mirrors with three panels each, such as one sees in a dressmaker's atelier. But the panels were closed.

"What is Miss. Denise's waist-measure?" Miss. Priscilla asked of Phoebe.

"Nineteen inches, Miss.," replied Phoebe.

"And the height of her heels?"

"Four inches."

Miss. Priscilla nodded her head in approval; she turned to me and said, "Have you your big diamond buckles on your satin slippers?"

"Yes, Miss. Priscilla," I replied blushing.

"Lift your skirt and let me see!"

With a shy smile of pleasure-I could not help smiling-I raised the hem of the exquisite satin frock in my delicately gloved fingers. There came into view my slender feet in exquisitely cut, new, glistening, white satin slippers with wonderful arched, narrow Louis Quinze heels. They had pointed toes embroidered with pearls and butterfly bows of dainty white tulle. Mounted on the bows were big blazing diamond buckles. The slim little slippers were posed with the heels together and the toes turned out as Phoebe had arranged them. I pulled the skirt higher, exposing a pair of round arched insteps and small finely moulded ankles. My flesh showed prettily pink through tightly strained stockings of white silk with lace insertions. I had never before seen such stockings, never even dreamed of things so beautiful. They were of the finest gossamer, transparent as cobwebs. They were filmy delicious ornaments, rather than coverings, with a soft sheen that was lovely. Such stockings and slippers were fit for some blushing beautiful debutante of high birth and enormous wealth, to make her curtsey in before her Queen. No one else could have afforded them.

Miss. Priscilla stooped and held out her hands.

"Give me your pretty foot."

Coquettishly I hesitated, just like a pretty girl who pretends modesty, the better to display what she knows to be her best points.

"Oh, Miss. Priscilla," I demurred.

"At once, Denise."

I extended a foot. She took it in her hands, tried the buckle to make certain that it was secure, felt the slipper to see that it was tight enough, and measured the heel.

As she took my foot between her two strong hands, I felt familiar erotic sensations aroused in my body and blood. My heart began to move and I felt the heat rise to my head and to my cock. The simultaneous pleasure of being ordered to obey Miss. Priscilla and the exquisite sensation I was experiencing as she held my foot, admiring its grace and form. It was almost all I could do not to swoon right there as Miss. Priscilla held my foot.

I had felt these same stirrings only under very specific circumstances before. There was that experience with Guy Repton that was quite an adventure. And while I was at the girls' school, there was a girl named Nellie who had a great fascination with my body, and whom under the cover of night, I had allowed into all my secrets. Ah, Nellie's hands! She liked to massage my soft flesh so, and she was fond of tickling my titties. She even loved to play with my cock and balls and on especially randy nights she would let her fingers roam to the little virgin rosette of my bottom. Oh! Oh! But I shall write more of Nellie on pages to follow.

I return our attentions to the strange and wonderful passions that were being excited in my flesh as Miss. Priscilla held my foot firmly in her gloved hands. I felt the blood rushing to my loins, and I sensed that my pink nipples were soon erect because of the excitement I was experiencing. I moaned a little, trying very hard to stifle my pleasure, but Miss. Priscilla heard me. She looked at my face sharply. I could see in her eyes a form of pleasure and a special kind of powerful recognition that she was giving me great delight by holding my foot thus.

"They are very pretty," she said with cold content.

"Put them together again, Denise. You disobeyed me."

"Miss. Priscilla, I only hesitated."

"You were trying your little coquetries on me, Denise," she said with a shrewd smile which brought the blushes to my face. "I punish coquetry. You were indulging your vanity by making play with your dainty slippers and I punish vanity, Denise. You will go down to dinner and sit through dinner with your pretty mouth gagged."

"A very good thing for Miss. Denise," said Phoebe delightedly.

I was startled. More than startled, I was appalled, perhaps a little excited.

"Oh, Miss. Priscilla! Am I to sit among the guests at a dinner party -in this lovely frock-in these satin slippers and stockings- with my mouth gagged!"

"Yes, Denise!"

"Diamond shoe buckles and high heels for my feet and a gag for my mouth. Oh, oh!" I gasped.

Poignant emotions stirred me, troubled me, provoked my passions. I will tell the whole truth. I was ashamed, but I also anticipated the impending punishment with a strange secret thrill of delight. Ever since I had been a boy, I had been besieged with queer fancies that at first I had ignored. Soon the fancies began to fascinate and frighten me. I recognized that my fantasies of correction might be a danger to my character. My fantasies might be an obstacle to the great career that lay before me.

I had dreamed of an exotic, extravagant world in which ladies would punish me. I imagined myself as a girl in the most exquisite of frocks and high-heeled shoes. I imagined gloves and corsets and them laughing at my pretensions to a career. These dominating women would keep me in bondage and subjection. A toy for their amusement. I had fought against these fancies because I felt them to be unusual, impossible, and bizarre. I had ridiculed them in my own mind as preposterous. Yet now these fantasies seemed part of my nature. They were being translated into fact, and in the process, I was fascinated and obsessed with an erotic force a thousand times stronger than before. It had thrilled me with strange delightful emotions to imagine myself dressed in the luxurious gowns of a fashionable girl, undergoing punishments and humiliations and dainty tortures at the hands of a laughing beautiful woman deaf to my prayers. How thrilled and excited was I when my dream became true!

I tried, however, to struggle against the strange, sweet pleasure invading my senses. For I knew that Helen hated me, and she thought I had, by inheriting my father's fortune, robbed her. I was afraid that she and Miss. Priscilla were seeking to master me completely, therefore getting it back. I was afraid that Miss. Priscilla, with her knowledge of psychopathia, had guessed my secret fancies and by translating them into fact was seeking to reduce me to willing servitude. For now, though, the pleasure mastered the fear. It was the scintillating pleasure of a dream fulfilled that had made me offer so miserable a resistance to my first corset and my banishment to a girls' school.

Miss. Priscilla had one more question to ask of me as I stood there before the closed mirror with my ivory ankles gracefully together and the big buckles flashing on my glistening slippers.

"There was a third tight white kid glove I arranged for you to wear. Have you it on?" I went scarlet. But if I did not answer I should be punished. I hung my head.

"Yes, Phoebe buttoned it on," I replied in a whisper of confusion. Miss. Priscilla was content.

"I must see it!" Miss. Priscilla charged.

I blushed more deeply than before as I sighed, "Oh, Miss. Priscilla, please…"

"I want no disobedience from you, young lady!" she snapped at me.

Her voice terrified me and thrilled me, as there was a subtle form of threat occurring underneath the calm exterior of her cruel face.

"Phoebe, arrange her skirts so I might see that the third glove is buttoned and in its place," Miss. Priscilla shrilled with authority.

"Yes, Miss.!" Phoebe chirped, happily obliging. She went to work carefully lifting my dress and soft white satin slip so that Miss. Priscilla could take a look at the little glove that had been sewn especially for my cock.

Miss. Priscilla had ordered a tailor to construct this fascinating little belt, suggesting that the piece be sewn from soft kid leather. The tailor had obliged, and had managed to create a fabulous little sheath that kept my cock and balls in place so that the lovely lines of my dresses would not be marred by the bulge that showed without the third glove. Thus the prettiness of my appearance would not be disrupted by the distraction of my male sex. The leather sheath cupped my member closely, while delicate little straps went round the slender part of my waist and met in a V that went down and between the cleft of my buttocks.

I was glad for the tortuously clever device for two important reasons. Firstly, the tight fit of the glove was pleasingly painful, and I enjoyed the secret restraint that was occurring beneath my skirts. I secretly thought of the leather sheath as a modified chastity belt, if you will. The second reason that I liked my special little belt is linked to the first, in that when I was stimulated or aroused and my sex grew hard, the constraint upon my penis was even more excruciating, therefore more pleasant.

Phoebe greedily stared at the delicate contraption that secreted my cock and balls. I was absolutely blessed to be given both a healthy set of balls and a lovely set of girlish globes. Who could be luckier than I?

"Everything is in place, Miss. Priscilla," Phoebe muttered as she continued to stare at my cock.

I trembled a little with excitement as I felt Phoebe's hungry eyes devouring my body.

"Stand still!" Phoebe barked. And then she came forward and rather impudently put her hands near my thighs. She ran her fingers and the palms of her hand slowly over my soft white flesh, pausing for a long moment on my package of love. Her eyes met mine in a devious smile that suggested quite a lot. She grabbed my cock hard and gave it a healthy squeeze. My breasts heaved involuntarily, and I felt my nipples spring to erection, a state of excitement to match my erect penis. I suddenly feared that Phoebe was going to excite my passions beyond all hope, and I would be forced to carelessly spray my seed all over these lovely clothes.

"Oh! Please," I moaned softly. My plea was in part a begging sound for her to cease, and in part a desperate call for her to continue. I wanted her to defile me completely with her strong grip.

"It will teach you to be modest in the presence of women, Denise, and to remember that you are under their authority. You will wear it always."

Priscilla pulled down my skirt and arranged it so that the toes of my slippers and an inch of silk-stockinged instep were exposed. As she finished, Helen entered the room. She looked beautiful in a sweeping decollete gown of black velvet and shoulder length white kid gloves.

I could not complain of any want of admiration on her part in any event. A look of wonder and delight shone in her face as she approached me. She uttered a rapturous cry. She ran to me, hugged me, and with passionate kisses, bruised my lips.

"Denise! I am so proud of you."

I hung my head, conscious for a moment of the full extent of my humiliation. I was her victim. And I loved my enslavement. I adored her for exposing my true self. I loved and feared her because she dominated me completely.

"Oh, Denise!" She laid her lovely face against mine. "Your cheek is as soft and fresh as a peach. You are a lovely girl."

"I am not a girl," I weakly protested. I was becoming drunk with her attentions.

"Aren't you, darling? You shall decide for yourself."

One of the great mirrors was placed behind me. Oh, how excited I became! At last I was to see what they had made of me. The second was placed in front of me unfolded. I stood in a blaze of light. I stared at myself. I uttered a cry and covered my face with my hands.

"Oh, I am! I am a girl!" I admitted with a cry of pure delight. I hoped for propriety's sake, that I sounded a little shocked.

I saw a girl's face, of fair complexion, mine but more refined and softened. A wealth of fair glinting hair, done up in the most fashionable style, crowned my face. A broad white forehead and arched eyebrows showed darker than my curls. Big, wistful eyes of dark blue with long dark eyelashes flashed. I saw a delicate nose, soft cheeks in which the color came in excitement. Red lips in a Cupid's bow, the color of pale rose leaves. I was smiling and showing a perfect set of small white teeth, a small rounded chin, little ears-such was Dennis Beryl upon his return from school.

I saw in the mirror a girl sparkling with jewels from her feet to her curls, and dressed for a ball in the London season. Helen was in raptures. She might well be, since this was her doing. I was her creation

"You have exceeded all my expectations, darling," she said.

With little cries of delight, she ran her gloved hands over me, feeling and caressing my skin until I was scarlet with embarrassed desire.

"Oh, Helen. You mustn't," I protested.

"Nonsense, dear! I am your guardian. Keep still, or else I will whip your girlish bottom."

"Oh, oh!" I sighed as an excruciating sensation made me blush more than ever.

"Whip me? In this lovely frock?" I whispered shyly.

"Ah," cried Helen enthusiastically, "you do love your exquisite satin frock, darling, don't you?" It rustled delightfully under her hands. "And the tulle band here with the big sparkling buckle in front and the big bow behind?"

"It ties my ankles delightfully," I stammered as she continued to stroke my body.

Oh, was it I was who speaking? "The dress is like a soft caress upon my limbs."

Helen applauded me with a radiant face. She ran her daintily gloved hands down the dress across my behind. She felt through its thin texture, squeezing my legs and calves as she teased me.

"They're charming," she cried. "Your legs are as soft as butter. And you love your stockings too, Denise, don't you-the exquisite stockings I deck you out in?"

The feel of her hands affectionately pinching my calves was intoxicating. Her dainty air of mastery wooed me, lulled me into believing that she actually owned me.

"The stockings are deliciously cool," I said.

"And your white satin slippers with the high heels and the pretty bows and the sparkling buckles, you love them too? Lift up her dress to the knees, Phoebe. Don't you love your little girls' shoes, Denise?"

Phoebe raised my skirt to the knees. The white satin garters with the big bows and buckles and the dainty frills of my batiste pantalets were visible.

"Look in the mirror Denise and tell me gratefully that you love them!"

"If I must wear girls' shoes," I replied blushing deeply, "they may as well have high heels and diamond buckles." Something much stronger than myself made me speak. In the midst of her delight, Helen exchanged a quick glance with Miss. Priscilla. It was a glance of triumph and it put me on my guard.

Phoebe let my dress fall and Helen took me round the waist. "You are delightful Denise. You are quite a girl now with that pretty white bosom."

"Yes, Ma'am," said Phoebe, "her breasts have come up wonderfully. I think Miss. Denise ought to be very grateful to Miss. Priscilla for the trouble she has taken in arranging the proper exercises and massage and medicines."

"Oh, there was no difficulty," said Miss. Priscilla. "The moment I discovered that Denise had the milk vessels of a woman, I had no doubt that we could fit him with as pretty a pair of girl's white breasts. As perfect as any young lady could wish for."

"The milk vessels," cried Phoebe with a laugh. "Then Miss. Denise is a freak?"

"Not at all," said Miss. Priscilla calmly. "The men of the primitive tribes used to have the milk vessels. Miss. Denise may be a chance return to the primitive type. Or originally it might have been that nature was going to give Evelyn a twin sister, and that their embryos got mixed. That happens not infrequently."

Helen laughed and stroked my cheek lasciviously. I could tell she had further designs on me. But that was later.

"In any case, Denise has a girl's bosom-for life." She touched them with her gloved fingers and daintily caressed them, ruthlessly titillating my nipples, sending waves of delicious sensation through my veins. "They are a real punishment, dear, for all the trouble you have given us. You can't get rid of them as you could of your girl's shoes and stockings if we were to let you. They are a permanent proof to you of the wisdom of being a woman and the pleasure of being obedient to women."

"But you are going to let me get rid of my girls' shoes and stockings tomorrow. You promised faithfully, Helen," I said.

Helen held me firmly, caressed me, bruised my lips with burning kisses.

"You don't want to get rid of them Denise. You love them! You love your dainty frocks. You will be so much happier as a girl."

She pleaded with me, her voice, the perfume of her breath, the feel of her limbs through my dress tempted me. I felt inclined to let myself go in her arms, to say, "Helen I belong to you." But I remembered my ambitions.

"No, no I have your word," I cried. "I must be a man. I am to marry and begin a great family."

The three women burst out laughing, confusing me dreadfully.

Helen cried, "Oh, Denise, I would love to see your wife's face when she first discovers your girl's bosom. No, no my dear, you shall love your pretty frocks, your smart corsets, your long gloves, and your lovely little high-heeled slippers."

"No, no," I insisted obstinately, and Helen, with an exclamation of annoyance, let me go. She had after all only pretended to be affectionate, though she had very nearly deceived me. Now her face became stern with anger. She looked at me with threatening eyes. "Very well," she said, "but I warn you, Denise, you will come on your knees begging me to put you back into girl's clothes. Now go down to the drawing room, and take care how you walk. Point your toes, arch your feet. Take your fan!"

She gave me a lovely fan of ivory and gold. I had turned from her toward the door when Miss. Priscilla called me back.

"You forget that you have to be punished, Denise," she said calmly, and she told Helen of my coquetry and of the punishment she meant to inflict.

Oh, how confused the situation had become! There I stood dressed as elegantly as any young woman of fashion, all the while being taunted, moulded by the women I had come to love and fear the most in my life. My ambivalence was not only directed toward Helen. I also felt disoriented about the dilemma that I had found myself in.

How right and accurate Helen had been to exclaim that I loved the corsets and dainty shoes, the silk stockings and the fabulous evening gowns. She knew me well, and between her mind and Miss. Priscilla's, they had knowingly awakened the real me that would not lay dormant again. I knew this deep within my unconscious mind, but I had been so stringently conditioned by my father to strive for a career, to build a family name… yet I did not protest as I was bullied by Helen and Priscilla to endure the wonders of their medicines, the massages, the girls' school. In fact, I lived for the hours when I wasn't with Nellie, during which the strong women masseuses would prod and tickle and slap my flesh, slowly forming my body into the feminine shape that it still has to this day. I adored the hours that I lay stretched on my back as a pair of lovely, strong hands kneaded and prodded my wonderfully sensitive breasts into a more full existence. On lovely, rare occasions, the masseuse would be a saucy woman, who would take pleasure in kissing my pink cock, or even lightly stroking the tight little rosebud orifice of my bottom, while she massaged my legs and bum. I never wanted those voluptuous hours to end.

Nor did I want to desire Helen the way that I did. But I knew-as she drew closer to me, letting the tips of her own perfect breasts nearly kiss the tips of my own-I knew that she desired me too. But as a woman. She only wanted to be near me, to stroke and kiss and fondle me if I were dressed as a woman. This was a sudden realization for me, and I nearly reeled upon discovering this secret fact. I wanted nothing more than to remain in this passive, lovely costume for the rest of my days. But how could I have conveyed that through my shame? The thought of remaining a girl forever was as confounding as it was exhilarating. I wanted to reach out and pull Helen toward me, but I refrained and stood still.

I hadn't really wanted to protest my "humiliating" situation, but I did because I thought that I was supposed to. I was to be punished for my insolence and my ingratitude.

I realize now that it is very likely that I had secretly wished this punishment upon myself, that I had precipitated Helen's response to my insolent mood. I deeply wished the sensuous torments that she was to heap upon me.

Ah, one can never underestimate the power of the unconscious mind, the secret part of our mind that drives so much of our behaviour.