Miss High-heels

CHAPTER 5

I woke the next morning to find the sun streaming in the open window. Phoebe brought a cup of tea to my bedside. How delightfully different everything was from the rigid severity of my life in the girls' school. My marble-tiled bathroom seemed a paradise on this summer morning. I was allowed to choose my own frock, and Phoebe dressed me according to my choice. I wore a short walking skirt and coat of plain white silk with a white lace blouse that had a low baby collar that left my throat free. With this cool dress, I wore pale grey silk stockings and grey suede shoes with high Cuban heels. A belt of pink satin, a big straw hat, and elbow-length grey suede gloves completed the costume. I went downstairs and had a walk in the garden until Helen's friends came down. Then we went into a delicious breakfast with fruit and hot rolls.

Everyone from Helen to Doris was as kind to me as it was possible for anyone to be. Helen of course was pursuing her policy: She wanted me to enjoy my life as a girl. She wanted me to love it.

After breakfast Doris was driven off in one of the motorcars to her school in the neighboring town of Mark's Cross. I was free from tiresome lessons and long hours in the schoolroom. I took up the Daily Mail and settled down on a cushioned chair on the veranda with a cigarette. Violet, who was a few months younger than I, joined me. Helen came upon us with a smile upon her face.

"What do you girls want to do this morning?" she asked. "You won't want to stay in and I should be very glad, since I am busy, if you would drive down in the governess cart together to the village and take some messages for me."

"That will be jolly," cried Violet and she looked at me with a smiling face. "I shall love going out with pretty Denise."

"Then I will order the cart for eleven," said Helen. "You won't want a groom with you. You can always find someone to hold the pony in the village."

What a change for me! For two years, I had never gone out except with a governess who made us walk two and two and forbade us to talk. Now Violet and I were to drive alone! Thus began a delightful day of freedom for me. The freedom was certainly tempered by some dainty tyranny exercised by Violet. But she was so sweet and loving that I adored being tyrannized by her. For instance, just before the time we were to start off she came to me and said:

"I like your coat and skirt, dear, immensely. But you have prettier hats than the one you are wearing, I am sure, and although those little grey suede shoes and gloves are no doubt very comfortable, I don't think they are smart enough for you to wear when you go out with me."

"All right, Violet," I said laughing, and I ran upstairs to my room. I chose a very big leghorn hat adorned with a broad ribbon of white velvet on the crown and tied with an enormous bow and a row of pink roses to match my belt. And I changed into white transparent silk stockings with little, new white shoes, with sparkling buckles and high Louis Quinze heels. Instead of the grey suede gloves, I put on very long delicate gloves of white that disappeared under the elbow-length sleeves of my white silk coat. I took a pink parasol and ran downstairs to Violet.

"Shall I do now, Violet?" I asked.

She looked me over.

I extended a kid shoe and Violet smiled in approval.

"Yes, buckles and high heels suit you Denise. You look delicious now," and she flung her arms round my neck and kissed me rapturously. "Oh how silly you are, Denise, to want to be a man again, when you are such a lovely girl," she cried.

A groom was holding the pony at the door. We got into the trap. Violet took the reins. I put up my parasol and we drove through the beautiful grounds to the park gates. How I enjoyed the sunlight and the fresh air and the country after being cooped up for so long!

Oh, the contentment and joy I felt in being alone with Violet that lovely morning. The warm spring sun, and the wonderful pleasure of Violet's company was a luxury of freedom that I had not experienced ever. Yet Violet's disposition; her wish to be my tiny tyrant brought to mind and heart a sweet nostalgia for my lovely friend Nellie.

Nellie was my closest companion and dear love during the time I attended the girls' school. When I first arrived at the school, I was filled with apprehension and anger at my predicament. I was feeling a great and terrible excitement, which I now understand as a forceful erotic awakening. I was sensually overwhelmed by the future that entailed masquerading as a young girl. I had been shamed into going to the school, and so upon my arrival, was rather complacent as Helen and Miss. Priscilla arranged everything with the headmistress. Helen had great fun explaining to the headmistress, in lurid detail, about my indiscretion with Guy Repton and the consequent expulsion from my former school.

"He is really quite a monster, and so as his guardian and executor of finances, I have decided that a few years among the refined company of young ladies will only do him good," Helen explained to the stern headmistress. "As you can see, he is really quite feminine already, and we have arranged for clothing and two personal maids to attend to his needs and make certain that his true sex is not revealed."

The headmistress looked me over disparagingly as Helen explained everything to her, and after Helen concluded she paused for a long moment before she answered.

"Well, Miss. Deverel," she said, at last prying her eyes from my bosom and my girlish hands and feet, "I am certain that we shall be able to remodel your charge into a refined young lady of society. I must only ask if he is willing to undergo these changes, for if he is here entirely against his wishes, our task will be next to impossible."

Helen turned to me and said, "Denise, answer the headmistress."

I lowered my eyes in shame and said quietly, "I wish to be here, Madam. Please accept me as Miss. Denise Beryl."

"Very well," said the headmistress. "You shall stay. You really do look more a girl that a man. You know that, don't you?"

I kept my eyes lowered and nodded yes. I was hiding a smile, for I felt that she had just complimented me, and my feelings confused me, for I knew any other young man would have been outraged. I was inwardly exploding with joy. In truth, the events that had started as a consequence of the episode with Guy Repton, the impending punishments, and imprisonment among the lovely young ladies of the school were the greatest and happiest events of my life. But I did not completely understand that at the time.

"She shall have her own room so that the maids can help him dress, and attend to the special regimen that I have constructed for her," said Miss. Priscilla. "She will be needing massages and special care in order to keep her appearances as feminine as possible."

"Yes, and we have had sent a wardrobe befitting a girl of her rank. I do hope this arrangement will be to your satisfaction, Madam," said Helen to the headmistress.

The headmistress nodded, and then instructed us to say our farewells, for I had a lot of adjusting to do as a new pupil in her school.

My eyes met Helen's as we said good-bye, and within our gaze a mutual agreement was passed. I would acquiesce to her power. She understood me more than I understood myself at that moment. Power became her, and her lovely dark eyes gleamed with an unnatural glow.

"Good-bye dear Dennis. We shan't be seeing each other for quite a while. Be a good girl, Denise, and mind what the mistress says." She kissed me lightly on the lips, and left the room, Miss. Priscilla following her out.

Soon the headmistress returned to the parlour, and her stern presence frightened and excited me. This was supposed to be a punishment, and I did not want to betray the exquisite sensation of happiness that was beginning to flood my being. I was afraid that if the women who were controlling me knew what a great coup this was for me, they would retract and redesign their plan for me. I kept my face as expressionless as possible and my shining eyes cast to the floor.

"Now," said the headmistress sternly, "we shall design some rules for you. You are to obey them stringently or you shall be severely punished. As much as you look and behave like a young lady, the truth of your sex remains. You are not to reveal to anyone,with the exception of the maids and myself, your true gender. If you do, you shall be unconditionally expelled. You are to behave in a modest fashion at all times, and I expect nothing more than perfect submission to all the ordinances that apply to all the other girls here. Is that understood, Denise?"

When she called me Denise, I shuddered with excellent joy. "Yes, Ma'am," I stammered, not venturing to look at her.

The headmistress rang a pretty little bell, and a lovely young maid entered the room. Her golden red hair was tied up in an elaborate braid, and she had striking green eyes and the fairest skin I had ever seen. It was unbelievable to me that this magical creature was a maid. She was beautiful, and I could not help but staring at her enviously.

She curtsied in front of Miss. Priscilla, and said, "How can I help you, Ma'am?"

"Nellie, take Miss. Denise to the suite upstairs. Her maids will be arriving shortly with her trunks. While you are waiting for their arrival, draw a bath for Miss. Denise, and see that she is well groomed for supper." And with that, the headmistress dismissed both myself and my lovely, lovely Nellie.

As we walked up the stairs, I could not take my eyes off the perfect form of her buttocks, which rubbed against the black fabric of her skirt as she walked.

"Where are all the other girls?" I asked.

"They are all on a picnic for the afternoon, Miss.," Nellie replied.

I couldn't wrest my eyes from her perfect complexion, or the unusual fullness of her pert breasts, which strained at the fabric of her apron. She had dainty, small feet that were enclosed in a simple pair of black boots with many grommets for the high lacings. She had tiny hands, uncharacteristic of a maid. Her general beauty and manner seemed much more refined than any maid that I had ever known. I was falling hopelessly in love with her.

"You are such a pretty thing," said Nellie as she went about preparing my lovely new room. "I do hope you like it here at the school. Most of the young ladies are such nice girls. I think you will be very pleased here, Miss." Nellie approached me as she paused, and took a lock of my hair and twirled it on her finger. "You are a pretty thing," she repeated.

So I passed for a girl. I was shocked and pleased. I was equally surprised by Nellie's forward behaviour as a servant, but then I realized that I was unfamiliar with the ways and manners at a girls' school. In a sudden rush of impulsive affection, I reached out and drew Nellie to my breast.

"Thank you for saying so, Nellie. I think you are lovely too. I am so happy to be here!" I gushed. I felt the warmth of her large breasts against my own, and felt her arms encircle my waist. My heart sang. Her hair smelled sweet and clean, and her skin was as soft as butter.

"You are so lucky that you will be in a room of your own, Miss.," said Nellie as she pulled away from my embrace. Her face was suddenly flushed and probably as red as my own.

"Nellie, don't be ashamed of being kind to me. I think you are a wonderful creature, and I do hope we will be friends," I said, stroking her hot cheek.

"Oh yes, Miss. Denise. I would like that ever so much," she cried as she smiled.

I could scarcely believe my fate! I was the happiest youth in the world. The possibilities of the next two years unravel as a delicious fantasy within my mind's eye. My dreaming was interrupted by the thrilling, shocking sensation of Nellie's delicate fingers pinching my nipples.

"Nellie!" I cried, but did not move away. She meant to draw her hand away from my bosom, but I grabbed her wrist and guided it back to my breast.

"You like that, Miss.? I overheard the headmistress say that you will be getting special massages, and I just wanted to please you, Miss." Nellie's face was still quite red, but there was a mischievous gleam in her eye.

"What else did you "overhear" the headmistress and my cousin Helen discuss!" I asked, continuing to keep her hand pressed to my tittie.

"Nothing, Miss.," Nellie insisted.

"Are you certain that you didn't mistakenly hear something you shouldn't have?" I pressed. I felt certain that she knew my true identity and that she was simply toying with me. I realized that she had wanted to touch my breast to see if it were in fact a woman's breast.

"Yes, Miss. Denise. I didn't hear anything. Nothing that I shouldn't have heard, that is," she retorted with growing confidence.

Ah, so she was going to blackmail me. How absurd the thought is in retrospect, but at the time, I was terrified of being discovered and expelled from the school; a place I desperately wanted to stay.

"You would like to see my titties, wouldn't you?" I said suddenly.

"Oh, Miss.! I-I…," she could not finish her sentence.

I laughed and let her remove her hand from my tit. Without hesitation, I undid the buttons of my simple travelling blouse, and shimmied out of the straps of my chemise, thus revealing my full breasts and pink nipples to the randy maid.

"Oh, Miss. Denise, you have lovely titties. I thought… I thought that…," she stammered and stared at my heaving chest; I was excited by the sudden turn of events.

"I have shown you mine, don't you think it fair for you to show me yours now, Nellie? It looks as though you are carrying a lovely set of globes. I want to see them," I coaxed her.

"You are right Miss. I will show you my bubbies." She undid the ties of her apron, and then the small buttons of her blouse. Once she was released of her cotton chemise, she revealed a deliciously large pair of milky white breasts with large pink nipples.

"Oh, Nellie," I cried. "You have lovely titties. Let me feel them!" And without waiting for an answer, I reached out and took her flesh between my fingers. She returned the loving caress immediately.

The thrilling sensation of her light fingers, gently at first, and then more forcefully, teasing and tickling my nipples, was making me delirious. It seemed inevitable that I would always get an erection almost immediately in the presence of this young goddess.

"Let me kiss them," Nellie whispered. "I've seen the other young ladies of the school doing this with each other at night. They thought I wasn't watching, but I was. Oh how I longed to join in their fun. They are always giggling and embracing each other when they tickle each other's bubbies and quims." Nellie paused suddenly and arched her eyebrow. "Let me see your quim," she said.

I pushed her away in terror. Of course I could not undress before her. It was unthinkable. Only my personal maids were to know about my true identity. While I was thinking, Nellie had come forward and put her delicate red lips to the most nervous part of my breast. She began sucking and licking me, and the feeling was exhilarating. I did not want her to stop, but I was still afraid. I continued to fondle and pinch her breasts, enjoying my task immensely. And then suddenly, as I was lost to the pleasures of Nellie's lips on my breasts, she reached between my legs and when she felt what was there, she let out a surprised cry and jumped backward.

"It is true, then. I did hear. Oh, Miss. Denise, how exciting. Oh please, please, let me see you. Please."

I was utterly shocked on two counts. Firstly, I was astounded that Nellie had the nerve to reach between the folds of my skirt and grab my cock, and secondly that she was not frightened nor repulsed.

"Please, my pretty pet," she pleaded. "We could have such a lovely time together."

I slowly began undoing the buttons of my skirt, never taking my eyes from her luscious breasts. Suddenly, I had a brilliant thought.

"Why don't we both get undressed? In fact, why don't you draw a bath for me, and then if you would, you might join me in the warm soapy water."

"Oh yes, Miss. Denise. That is a lovely idea. I do so love baths." She turned and went into the bathroom, where I heard the water running and her pretty voice humming.

I was beside myself with expectation. I had never seen a woman completely nude. I had never had the opportunity to be touched by another girl, nor had the fun of freely exploring one's body with my hands. My cock ached with built-up tension and desire. Carefully, I stepped out of my skirt and went into the bathroom.

I found Nellie bending over the bathtub, her clothes neatly folded in a stack on a shelf high up so that they would not get soaked. I had the pleasure of admiring her full buttocks for a long moment as she bent, completely exposed, over the porcelain tub. I could see a fringe of hair peeking out just below her little rosette anus.

"Nellie, you are lovely," I whispered.

"Oh, Denise, you frightened me," she jumped. And then without hesitation, she came toward me. I took in her creamy flesh, her voluptuous tit, her white belly, and the cleft between her soft white thighs, the crack of her pussy surrounded by light blond hair.

"Come now, Miss. Denise, take off your underthings. It is time you had your bath," she said mischievously. She reached out and undid the drawstring of my drawers, and gasped when her eyes landed on my penis, which stood out in rigid excitement.

"Why, you're half-man, half-girl aren't you? How wonderful! You get the best of both!" she cried gaily, and without hesitation fell on her knees and kissed the tip of my throbbing sex.

She looked up at me, and asked me if I liked the way that felt. I could only nod vehemently. It felt absolutely divine. She put her full lips over the head of my penis and tickled the end of it with her tongue, and then after doing that for a few moments, she thrust her mouth over the entire shaft and took my prick all the way into her throat. As she did this, with one hand she caressed and teased my balls and with the other, she lightly touched her own nipple. I felt involuntary moans escape my lips, and I thought with horror that I was going to shoot my white seed into the lovely girl's mouth at any given moment.

"OH! Nellie, that feels so marvellous. Oh! Oh!" I cooed and groaned. But something kept me from letting go of my spunk. I wanted to see her experiencing pleasure as I was.

Gently, I pulled her up so that she was standing. We embraced, and I kissed her lips which were swollen and bruised from sucking my prick. I let my tongue play at the soft vulnerable flesh of her mouth and tongue, while she did the same to me. Our nipples grazed and touched one another as we held each other in a tight embrace. One of her delicate little hands was gently working the shaft of my penis, while her left hand seemed to have disappeared inside the folds of her own flesh. I groped between the soft flesh of her thighs, and found her hand there lightly stroking her own pussy.

"Let me," I whispered. Though I had never touched a woman's pussy before, I knew instinctively what to do. Nellie guided my hand at first, leading my fingers deep into her warm, wet quim. I felt a thrill of the mysterious nature of women overwhelm my sensibilities, and for a moment I was slightly jealous of Nellie's pretty folds of pink wet flesh surrounded by the soft curls of her blond hair. Her hands guided my finger to a point inside her nether lips where it seemed to be harder, a little pearl of pulsing flesh. I was fascinated, and began to delicately massage her. As I did this, she moaned and thrust her hips against me and pressed her mouth against my own more forcefully.

Soon I felt that I could hold back no longer. Nellie had one hand on my nipple, which she pinched harder and harder, as her strokes on my cock became more fierce and rapid. My hips moved back and forward to meet the thrusts of her hips, as my fingers drew out a natural rhythm from her beautiful body. Suddenly, I thought I was going to swoon from lack of oxygen, and I gave myself over to the burning lava flow of my orgasm. As soon as I did this, I felt Nellie stifle a moan, putting her mouth to my neck and I felt her warm sex juice flow all over my fingers.

Afterward, we both began laughing rather sheepishly at our rather bad behaviour, Nellie dressed herself while I climbed into the bathtub. I told her my whole story. I told her everything about Miss. Priscilla and Helen and my father. I told her of my real desire to be a woman, though I enjoyed the pleasure that my cock afforded me too, and how coming to the school was, in a sense, the best of both worlds.

Nellie listened with a wide smile as she gently soaped and rubbed me in the bathtub. I realized that by telling her my whole secret, I was trusting someone I hardly knew with my deepest, darkest truths. I remember that I felt instinctively that she would never hurt me. And I turned out to be correct. During my two years at the school, Nellie was an unfailing friend, a patient confidante, and an exquisite lover. She was the most lovely companion that a girl (or boy) could ever want.

I wept piteously when we said good-bye, for I knew I would never return to the school after I left it. We had shared so much together, and I feared that I would never find her equal. But when I met Violet, I realized that she had the potential to fill the space that leaving Nellie had created. Violet was much more the tyrant than Nellie, and this is what I had grown to need. I loved Violet almost as fiercely when I first saw her as I had loved Nellie.

The village was almost at the gates of the park, but the park itself was two miles long. We drove into the village and left the pony in charge of a boy.

"Mind your pretty shoes, Denise," said Violet as I got out. "Don't dirty them!"

"Oh yes, Miss. Violet! I will," I said, happily stepping down.

We delivered Helen's messages at the various cottages and at each one got further proof of how much I, Dennis Beryl, was detested and feared. They were all so delighted at Violet's news that he was to be kept for some time longer at the girls' school.

There was one cottage especially where the news was welcomed. A little old woman called Mrs. Pettigrew and her big buxom daughter, Lucy, kept a laundry employing six girls of the village, where all the house linen of the manor.

Sometime ago, just before I went abroad, declaring that Lucy had been insolent to me, I had persuaded my father to take our washing away from the laundry. Mrs. Pettigrew was nearly ruined in consequence, and would have been altogether, had not Helen given it back to her. Mrs. Pettigrew hated me, naturally, and when Violet told her that I was to remain at school, she laughed with vicious satisfaction, "That's a blessed message of comfort for every poor man and woman in this village," she cried. "Tis kind of Miss. Deverel to keep him in the school."

The old witch urged us inside and showed us a horrible little dark room at the back of the parlour. "That's where I would like to keep him in his girls' clothes," she exclaimed passionately. "All his life I would like to keep him there fastened to a chair, feeding him just bread and water. We could do it, too. Tell Miss. Deverel, please Missy! Me and Lucy and my laundry girls, we could keep him safe and quiet in there. He wouldn't get away with these on his legs."

With a horrid laugh she held up a cruel pair of rusty fetters with a very short and terribly heavy iron chain between them. I was terrified. Her face was so threatening, her voice so passionate. I became certain that she was in fact a crone.

I gasped in alarm as I gazed into the little dark room.

"Oh! That would be dreadful punishment," I said, my blood quickening at the idea.

"Ah, you don't know him, Missy," Mrs. Pettigrew replied. "He's your cousin I heard and he's nearly as pretty as you, and he's a boy! But he's the cruellest, most conceited young gentlemen! That's where he ought to be kept, in the dark room."

Violet had meanwhile taken the fetters in her hands and was glancing at me roguishly.

"I would like to see them on someone," she said, weighing them in her hands as she eyed me lasciviously.

"Lock them on Miss. Denise's ankles, Mrs. Pettigrew."

"Oh, no," I cried in terror. Once I had the fetters on, Violet might take it into her head to lock me in the dark room. I recoiled. Violet laughed.

"Quick, Denise!" she ordered me.

"Oh, Violet!"

"Obey me! Stand here."

With trembling hands I raised my skirt, but Mrs. Pettigrew came to my rescue.

"The fetters want cleaning, Miss. They'd dirty the young lady's pretty silk stockings. It'd be a shame to lock up such dainty feet. I am sure those little white buckled shoes have never trampled on the hearts of poor people."

The old woman came to the door with us. "Tell Miss. Deverel of my dark room, Miss. Violet!" she said warningly. "Me and Lucy and my laundry girls will keep him safe in his girls' clothes."

As we walked away, Violet burst out laughing.

"You had a narrow escape, Denise. Oh, we simply must keep you as a girl. Everybody loves you as a girl and everybody hates you as a boy."

"But, Violet," I said, "I shall be quite different now. I have had my lesson."

I looked so remorseful and penitent that Violet suddenly kissed me on the lips.

"You are delicious now at all events, Denise," she said, "and perhaps Helen will keep you in petticoats for a long while. Get in!"

I mounted into the governess cart and sat opposite Violet. She took up the reins.

"You won't want your parasol up, Denise," she said, "so put your hands behind your back and place your beautiful feet together, the smart shoe buckles level. That's right."

I blushed and smiled and obeyed. I couldn't remember being happier. Thus we drove back to luncheon, where Violet told Helen of Mrs. Pettigrew's dark room and heavy fetters. They all laughed except me. I was beginning to wonder whether, after all, I should not be happier if I remained a girl.

After luncheon Helen said to Violet and me, "I want you two girls to go into Mark's Cross and do some shopping for Denise. There is a flower show you can go to afterward and have your tea. So go and get smartly dressed and I will order the big motorcar for you. I have some arrangements to make about the new houses."

"Can't I help?" I asked. Since the estate was mine I thought regretfully that I ought to look after it.

Helen smiled, and said, "Of course not, dear! Run along and put on a pretty dress."

I went upstairs relieved by her words. I wanted nothing more than to shop with Violet. We were to have the big motorcar to ourselves, tea at the flower show. The prospect was delightful. I put on a lovely trailing dress of rose voile, tied well in below the knees with a scarf of tulle and a blue hat with a crown of pink roses. Violet was in dark grey Ninon with a gray satin hat. We drove off in the luxurious big motorcar to the neighboring town.

"Show me your feet," said Violet, as we rode along. I raised my skirt obediently.

"As I thought," she said. "You don't pay enough attention to your feet, dear."

I protested. I was wearing a very smart pair of brogue patent leather shoes, laced with black silk ribbons tied in big bows on the insteps, and black silk stockings.

"These are lovely shoes," I cried indignantly.

"For morning wear, perhaps. How high are the heels? I don't believe they are three inches."

"But, Violet, heels that are too high look improper."

"Nonsense," said Violet. "For the afternoon nothing looks so fascinating as a neat, tightly fitting pair of dainty very high-heeled boots with black leather legs that button over the ankles without a wrinkle. Look at mine!" She extended an exquisitely booted foot before my eyes. "Luckily we are going to fetch some new ones that have been made for you. I will have you buttoned into a pair before I take you to the flower show, though really I don't know that we ought to go now."

"Oh, Violet!" I pleaded.

"I don't see how I am going to find time to punish you for your carelessness about your feet, Denise," she said. "Take care that after luncheon I never see you again without exquisite boots on your feet."

Violet bought some hats for herself and for me and then we drove on to Binot, Helen's boot maker.

"You have been making some lovely black leather boots for this young lady, Miss. Denise Beryl," said Violet to the girl who came forward.

"Oh yes, Madam, some very pretty boots with high heels. This way please."

She led us into the ladies' showroom upstairs and produced some beautiful flashing boots with legs of black glace kid that would reach up to the beginning of my calves. The boots had dreadfully high and slender Louis Quinze heels, with escalloped edges around the buttonholes. The shopkeeper buttoned them onto my feet. They were exquisitely cut, fitting me very tightly but not pinching me.

"But the heels are much too high," I said as I teetered on them.

"I like them," said Violet. "They are becoming to your feet and ankles."

"They are only a little more than six inches high," said the shopkeeper calmly. "Stand up, Miss., if you please," and I stood up. "But they suit you beautifully."

"I can't wear them, really, Violet," I cried.

The shop girl looked at me sternly, "I think that young ladies who want to be slovenly and object to the high heels of their dainty boots ought to be punished."

"She will be," said Violet sternly.

"Stand up on your chair, Denise."

"Violet!"

"At once! And hold up your dress to your ankles."

I obeyed.

"I will leave her under your charge in this position," said Violet to the shop girl. "I shall come back in half an hour for her. Will you see that she doesn't move? If she does, you may rap her on her pretty buttocks."

"Certainly," said the shop girl, arranging my feet with the ankles together and the toes turned out. I had to stand on the chair for half an hour in the showroom, while ladies came in and tried on their boots. Each one naturally asked what I was doing perched upon the chair, and the shop girl explained my fault.

Violet came back after what seemed to be an eternity and took me to the flower show. We had tea together at a little table on the grounds.

"Show your smart boots dear," said Violet. "Cross your feet in front of you and let everyone see them. You must be grateful now that I took you to the boot shop."

I blushed and said, "Yes, Violet."

I couldn't help but appreciate the admiration of the men and the envious glances and disparaging remarks of the women. I was having a lovely time. We drove back to Beaumanoir, bringing with us other girls who came in and played tennis until half past six. Then Helen sent for me to come to her boudoir.

"You have had a pleasant day, Denise?" she asked affectionately.

"Oh, Helen, it has been lovely," I exclaimed kissing her.

"I am glad, darling," she said. "Now run away, have your bath and get dressed for dinner. Phoebe is waiting for you. I am going out to dinner myself, but I want to see you looking your very prettiest before I go. Phoebe will bring you to my room."

As Phoebe began to bathe me, I suggested to her that she perhaps give my titties a nice little massage.

"Oh, Miss. Denise, you are as impudent as they say you are," she laughed contemptuously and reached down and took both my nipples between her fingers and gave me an excruciating pinch.

"Phoebe! You're hurting me!" I cried.

"Silence, or I'll hurt you more," she said fiercely.

I bit my lip and tried to keep the cries of mingled joy and pain muffled within. Just when I thought that I could stand it no longer, she released her iron grip.

"Now, stand up, Miss. High Heels," my maid commanded me.

I did as she requested reluctantly, fearing some further torment. I lifted my body out of the soapy water and it was revealed to Phoebe that I was suffering from a rather imposing erection.

"Well well, Miss. Denise, it seems you like that kind of torment."

I was too ashamed to answer. Plus, my prick seemed to be talking for me. I hung my head, looking greedily at my poor bruised nipples.

"Come here!" barked Phoebe, holding out a bath sheet for me.

I stepped out of the tub, and as soon as I did, Phoebe took my engorged prick in her hands and began stroking it furiously. I was shocked because she had never done this sort of thing before but of course I did not object. I moaned despite the self-control I was trying to exert over my emotions. But it was impossible: I was nearly climaxing under the pretty tortures my maid was suffering unto me.

"You like this don't you, Miss. Denise? Don't you? Tell me you like it. Say you love what I am doing to you," she whispered hoarsely. I could see that she had her own hand stuck up her skirt and was rubbing herself fiercely between her legs.

"Oh yes, Phoebe, I do! I do love it. Kiss my titties, they are so sore from your tortures. Put your pretty mouth on my poor nipples," I begged my maid pathetically, enjoying the desperate sound in my own voice.

Phoebe obliged me, stealing vicious kisses and little bites of my flesh. She sucked and licked me, all the while jerking her strong wrist up and down the shaft of my agonized prick.

"Oh, Phoebe! I am coming. Oh, yes, yes!" I cried exuberantly.

Quite suddenly, she stopped.

My eyes flew open in wild disappointment. "Phoebe," I cried, "don't stop. Please!" I begged.

"There," she said heartlessly, as she walked away from me. "This little punishment serves you well for being such a spoiled little tart. Mine is far worse torture than being caned, is it not?" She laughed at me heartlessly.

I sobbed and pleaded and begged for her to finish me off, but of course, she refused.

She led me back into my bedroom. There she dressed me in a lovely pair of new tight white kid gloves. They reached all the way to my shoulders and were buttoned with hundreds of little brilliants, while the seams on the back were embroidered in silver. She put me into the most wonderfully fine underclothing, all threaded with blue satin ribbons. I wore a filmy petticoat, a tight corset of pale blue satin, and a lovely frock of white satin covered with embroidery of silver and diamonds. Over this frock I wore a tunic of blue chiffon through which the silver-embroidered satin rippled like water. The corsage was extremely decollete, the sleeves being mere shoulder straps of paillettes and diamonds, and on the left side of the corsage a bunch of big pink tea roses was fastened.

The tunic reached below my knees, where it was caught with a bouquet of the same roses and finished with a band of blue satin, which held the dress in with a great buckle in front, and was fastened behind with a large bow. The skirt was so tight and clung so closely to my figure that my legs felt as though they were tied in it. From the bottom of the tunic, the white satin skirt, with its shining embroideries, fell to my feet, but cleared the ground all the way round. I wore exquisite transparent white silk stockings through which my flesh showed pink. My slippers were of plain white satin, pointed and deliciously cut without bows but with oval diamond buckles, and heels over six inches high. A blue ribbon of satin filleted my hair. I wore earrings of diamonds and pearls, a rope of pearls around my shoulders, a string of diamonds with a diamond pendant around my throat, and diamond bracelets over my kid-gloved wrists. Phoebe gave me a little fan of ivory and lace.

"Now you are ready," she said, "and I am very proud of you, Miss. Denise, I can tell you. Stand still." She placed one strong arm around my waist, and the other under my knees and lifted me up in the air as though I were a baby.

"What are you doing, Phoebe?" I cried indignantly, while I wriggled in her arms. "I am not a child. Put me down on the ground at once."

Phoebe held me still tighter.

"Keep still, Miss. Denise, and hold your silly tongue or I'll punish you," she said sternly. "I am obeying my orders. Your hands behind your back at once."

I was waving my luxuriously gloved hands in protest, but at the sound of her pre-emptory voice, I obeyed her.

"That's better," she said. "Now press your ankles and feet together! Arch your insteps. Make the most of your beautiful buckled slippers."

Blushing with shame, I obeyed her again. I could see myself in a mirror held in her arms, a grown-up young lady in a lovely evening frock! I could see my lovely feet in their high-heeled satin slippers obediently placed together with the insteps arched, and my legs dangling over her arm. Phoebe carried me along the corridor to Helen's bedroom and kicked at the door. Helen's French maid, Leonce, opened it. Helen was dressed in an exquisite long gown of pale green chiffon over white satin. She turned with a smile and pointed to a spot between her two large mirrors.

"Place Miss. Denise on her feet there."

Phoebe set me down. Yes, I had never looked so well. My blue tunic with the silver embroidered white satin underdress set off my fair hair and skin to perfection. I was so happy. There was a color in my cheeks, and my eyes sparkled. I had enjoyed a lovely day of fresh air, exercise and freedom, and now in my delicate underlinen and dainty frock, I was dressed for dinner. I was conscious of a voluptuous feeling of well-being and delight. My dress was short enough to give a glimpse of my pink insteps in shimmering cobwebs of white silk stockings. I could see my feet, which looked more slender and elegant than ever in their slim little pointed slippers, ornamented with the big oval diamond buckles.

"You look sweet, dear," said Helen. "Let me see how prettily you can walk in that frock!"

A strip of white kid was unrolled on the floor by Leonce.

"Keep on the strip," said Helen; and I walked, turned, and came back, pointing my toes and flashing my slipper buckles. The dress rustled deliciously about my ankles as I walked. I could take only the tiniest steps, which exaggerated my submission.

"My skirt is so tight that my legs are actually tied together," I said smiling at Helen, "and I have an extra half an inch on my Louis Quinze heels."

"I know," replied Helen. "They look lovely. In fact, darling, I think I am going to tie you still tighter."

She was smiling radiantly. She held in her hand a black leather strap with cruel steel buckles.

"Sit down on this chair, and give me your beautiful feet."

I had learned enough to know that obedience must be prompt. I extended my feet to Helen, who kneeled on one knee and took them onto the other knee.

"But Helen, what have I done?" I asked.

"This isn't punishment dear," she replied as she delicately crossed my slim ankles. "But it is very, very important that there should not be the slightest mark even on the white soles of these exquisite new high-heeled slippers when you have your conversation with Aunt Priscilla."

Why, I wondered? She adjusted the gleaming strap round my crossed ankles and bound them tightly together. Oh how delightful the sensation was! The blood rushed into my face, and into the more intimate parts of my body.

"Now, to keep your gloves clean," she said as she tied my hand in the same way with a smaller strap.

"There, darling, now we are certain that you won't walk and soil the shoes," she said. "Be very obedient to Aunt Priscilla." She kissed me, and Phoebe once more lifted me in her arms. The voluptuous thrills which had been coursing through my veins redoubled. I saw myself in the glass. With my white shoulders and bosom rising from my delicious decolletage, I looked like some wonderful doll in Phoebe's arms-except that my bosom heaved rather spasmodically. Phoebe, in order not to ruffle or tear my dress, had raised the skirt, so that not merely were my buckled feet and crossed tied ankles visible, but my silk-stockinged legs as well, to halfway up the calves.

"Oh, Helen!" I murmured, my eyes swimming with languorous yet heated longings. I was pricked by desires I knew I could not act on. A world of these fantasies were expressed in my sigh. Helen smiled. It was her policy and wish to keep me, tonight of all nights, stimulated by passionate yearnings. She even provoked and increased my desire as she caressed my legs, sliding her hands up over the smooth shining stockings under my dress, feeling all the way up to my knees and garters.

"Are your garters of white satin dear, with big bows and buckles?" she asked.

"Yes, Helen," I answered blushing.

"You are very happy tonight, Denise, aren't you?"

"Oh yes, Helen."

Phoebe carried me downstairs to the drawing room and placed me on a sofa, propping up my back with cushions and drawing down my dress so as to cover my ankles.

"Now lie like that! Don't put your feet to the ground, Miss. Denise," she said.

"I won't, Phoebe."

I was left alone, and in a few minutes Violet came in looking very pretty in a white gown of Ninon de soie. She leaned over the sofa and looked down at me. A hungry smile and a blush came upon her face. She teased me by running her gloved hand over my satin slippers.

"Do you know, Denise, that I am falling love with you? Not because you are a boy of course, but because you are a girl. I am in love with you only as girls can love one another." After this strange utterance, which excited and flattered me, she cried, "Oh, you have got your hands and feet tied! How delicious! I must look." She turned back my frock, and asked me why. I explained.

"I wonder what Miss. Priscilla is going to do to you tonight," she said slowly. "I am jealous of her."

She bent her head down and kissed my lips long and ardently, letting her tongue play over my hungry lips and even coaxing my tongue to lace with hers. Then she drew a breath of pleasure and smiled.

"Violet, that was lovely," I said breathlessly.

She bent down again passionately, lifted my bound feet and I felt her warm lips pressed upon my insteps. Oh! A delicious spasm of emotion shook me. How my passions were ignited! Suddenly, Miss. Priscilla, dressed in a high-necked black silk robe and flat square-toed shoes, joined us. Netta announced dinner. Phoebe carried me in and placed me in a chair and freed my hands. A clean white satin footstool was placed under my bound feet and we dined. How I enjoyed that dinner. Violet was on one side of me, and her kiss seemed to still burn and tingle on my lips and insteps. At times she dropped her napkin, and as she stooped down to pick it up, she would give an affectionate squeeze to my slippers or a sly caress to my legs. Even Miss. Priscilla's face looked pleasant. I was carried back to the drawing room where Violet and I were allowed a cigarette over our coffee. Miss. Priscilla rose.

"I shall send Phoebe to bring you to my boudoir in five minutes, Denise," she said. "I am just going to see that all is ready. Meanwhile put on your gloves and button them carefully. Perhaps Violet will help you."

"Of course I will," cried Violet. She kneeled by the sofa and, with caressing fingers, drew on my long delicate gloves and buttoned them up to my shoulders, smoothing them over my arms, so that not a wrinkle should show. Then she pressed my hands passionately.

"I should love to tie them together, just as your feet are tied, only ever so much tighter."

I blushed, and realized that I loved her and wanted to possess her.

"You may if you like," I said after staring at her hungrily for a long while.

"There's no time now. Someday when we are alone I will."

"But, Violet, you said you loved me," I remarked with a smile. She frowned in perplexity.

"I do Denise. Yet, do you know what I would really love? I would love to see you dressed just as you are now in that beautiful evening frock tied to a chair in Mrs. Pettigrew's dark room with those buckled satin slippers and slender ankles in the fetters, while the laundry girls feed you on bread and water."

My face grew scarlet.

"Oh, Violet, that would be dreadful," I cried, and yet the picture her words evoked fascinated me strangely! I felt my cock grow more lewdly inside its leather singlet, which I was again wearing. Oh, how I wanted Violet to torture me with her fetters. Oh, how I wanted her to torture me with her tongue.

Unfortunately, Phoebe came in for me then. Violet and I kissed one another good-night, and then Phoebe carried me up the stairs. Miss. Priscilla's boudoir was furnished in the Empire style with an elegance out of keeping with her puritanical appearance. A small fire was burning cheerfully, but to keep the room from growing too hot, the window was open, letting in the summer night.

"Untie Miss. Denise's ankles," said Miss. Priscilla at once.

I was placed standing in a blaze of light on a square of white kid between two great mirrors, so that I could see myself back and front. Miss. Priscilla drew up a chair and sat facing me, but a little to one side so as not to obscure from me my reflection in the mirrors. Phoebe went out of the room.

I was excited and a little frightened too. I looked at Miss. Priscilla timidly. She crossed one leg over the other, showing me her ugly flat shoes and lisle-thread stockings.

"Lift your dress, Denise! A hand on each side of your skirt! Lift it prettily above the ankles. That's right. Press your high heels tightly together and turn out your toes! That will do. Now watch your pretty reflection in the mirror, while I talk to you and, above all, never lose sight of the truth in the glass in front of you."

I blushed rosily and smiled, "Very well, Miss. Priscilla." I trained my eyes on my mysterious image.

"Now listen to me, Denise," she went on, "some day you will be allowed to lay aside your dainty frocks, but I think it's a great pity. Helen and I are determined, however, that we will not have a repetition of your outrageous conceited conduct. We will not tolerate your untidy ways or your disrespect."

"I am cured of that Miss. Priscilla," I said humbly, watching my feminine lips answer.

"Perhaps," she replied calmly, "but we mean to make certain of the cure. We want you to willingly submit to the rule and authority of women."

"Forever?" I asked in dismay, but my dismay was coloured with a passionate warming in my heart. I wanted to be under their authority forever.

"Always."

I hesitated.

"Miss. Priscilla!"

"Yes."

"It seems natural to me that I should be kept in subjection," I said timidly, "so long as I am wearing girls' corsets and long gloves, earrings, and pearl necklaces, while I am wearing decollete dresses, girls' frilled lingerie and pretty petticoats, girls' silk stockings, and satin slippers with high heels. I don't resent discipline at a lady's hands while I am dressed this way."

"That's better. You are improving, Denise."

"But when I go back to trousers, it would be so undignified to be under a woman's authority, especially a young woman like Helen."

"You can easily escape the indignity by remaining in your lovely costumes."

"I know," I said weakly. "But I must be a man. I must have a career."

Miss. Priscilla laughed, and her cruel snickers made me realize my own ridiculousness.

"Meanwhile, Denise, even in your satin slippers, you are not as obedient as you profess your willingness to be. You are looking straight at me instead of at your own reflection in the looking glass."

My eyes sought my image in the mirror.

"I am very sorry. I forgot,." I said humbly.

"That is no excuse, Denise," said Miss. Priscilla placidly. "Gather in your pretty frock, until it is stretched quite tight over your behind, and bend double."

She rose. Red with shame, I obeyed her.

"I can't whip you with a cane, Denise, for a cane would tear your fragile dress. But this will be quite as effective."

She took up a very thick short stick of rubber covered with white satin. It was like a policeman's truncheon, except that it was flexible.

"Bend well down. Your skirt tighter. Gather it in with your kid-gloved hands, dear."

Oh, how ashamed I was to be punished in this humiliating childish way in my lovely clothes, yet I felt that familiar thrill of sensuous pleasure.

Miss. Priscilla ran her hand languorously over my stretched bottom as I stood bent at the waist.

"We will punish the right globe first," she said. "One, two, three, four," and at each word the elastic stick danced upon my bottom stinging me dreadfully.

"Oh, Oh! Miss. Priscilla. It hurts worse than the cane. Oh!"

"Keep still! Five, six."

She held her dress aside with her left hand. I saw her common flat shoes and cheap stockings. How extraordinary and bizarre it seemed that an elderly skinny woman dressed so humbly should be whipping the posterior of a beautiful, luxuriously dressed girl who was holding up her pretty frock with to receive the punishment. She flogged me methodically. I think I could hear her moaning almost imperceptibly. The pain was intense. My eyes filled with tears; the tears rolled down my cheeks.

"You are moving your satin slippers, Denise," she said. She stooped and yanked my heels and ankles together with her hands. "Watch your diamond buckles! Each time they flash, I shall add three more strokes."

"Oh, Miss. Priscilla," I wailed. "Please tie my ankles together then. I can't help moving, the pain is so dreadful."

"I shall not tie your ankles, Denise. You would love that, wouldn't you?" she said. "You must stand quite still of your own free will while you are being punished. Now for the left globe. One, two." I screamed.

"Three, four-yes, this is the weapon, Denise, to bring fashionable young ladies in dainty frocks to their senses." Smack, smack, my bottom danced and writhed. "This will teach you obedience, pretty Miss. Satin Slippers."

Smack, smack. She fairly cooked my flesh, up and down and now across, smack, smack fell the heavy elastic stick on the thin delicate skirt. "High-heeled young ladies," bang, bang, "are improved by a good whipping on their haughty impudent flesh." Her voice had become hoarse and deep.

"Now perhaps you will watch your shoe buckles, will you?"

"Oh, Miss. Priscilla, I will, I will," I cried.

"Good!" She laid the truncheon aside. "Now stand up, Denise."

She contemplated my tear-stained face and my quivering bosom with pleasure.

"Now loosen your frock, but take care that it doesn't fall over your ankles."

"Yes, Miss. Priscilla," I jerked out between my sobs.

"And mind that you don't move your pretty buckled satin slippers."

She dried my eyes with her handkerchief and resumed her seat.

"We will go on where we left off. If you wish, you are to be made a willing slave under woman's authority. The one method certain to make you that is to make you love your subjection. It is obvious that you already have the disposition of a slave. It is quite clear that you love to be punished in your pretty frocks even though the punishment costs you pain and tears. But to make that love the overwhelming influence of your life, it is necessary that you should be made to associate supreme pleasure with a picture of yourself. You must love the image of yourself dressed in women's gloves, girls' corsets and frocks, silk stockings, girls' high-heeled dainty slippers, and then, of course, the delightful sensation of exquisite lace-frilled lingerie. Therefore, answer me this question: Have you ever loved a woman?"

"No, Miss. Priscilla," I lied.

She nodded her head with satisfaction.

"Have you ever enjoyed a woman?"

I was scarlet with confusion. I felt that to answer the truth would somehow give her a hold on me that would be dangerous.

"You must not ask me such questions," I said.

Miss. Priscilla rose, never losing her temper.

"Bend down again, Denise! This time you will raise the dainty skirt altogether and I am going to whip you over your thin pantalets."

"Oh, Miss. Priscilla, I will answer."

"After I have whipped you, Denise."

Miss. Priscilla was implacable. My tears were hardly dry, my skin still burned terribly, yet I was made to bend down and suffer the punishment again, even more acutely this time. I bent down. She lifted my skirt and turned it back over my shoulders, leaving my girlish bottom exposed in my batiste drawers.

"Now lift up the dress in front until the frills at your knees are exposed."

I obeyed her. She took up the elastic truncheon and stood behind me.

"Keep quite still, dear! Can you see your high heels reflected in the mirror behind you?"

"Yes, Miss. Priscilla."

"Fix your eyes on your glistening slender satin slippers and I'll tan you thoroughly and well."

Smack, smack, smack, the thick rubber stick danced and jumped upon my batiste drawers. I screamed as it bruised my tender flesh. The pain she was giving me was intolerable and deliciously cruel.

"The feet still, Denise, or I will punish them too. There's nothing half so good for the dainty derrieres of satin-slippered young ladies as the stick. Oh these girlish globes can dance, my dear, as much as you like, so long as the girl's buckled shoes are quiet." She breathed as she brought the truncheon down again and again.

She flogged me until I yelled with pain, and the tears streamed down my face in floods. My white bosom strained and heaved. At last she stopped and carefully readjusted my dress. "Stand up now, Denise! Hold your skirt as before. That's right," she said as she dried my eyes. "Answer me now, Denise. Have you ever enjoyed a woman?"

I answered through my sobs, "Never!"

Miss. Priscilla's thin lips smiled with contemptuous satisfaction.

"I thought that anyone so feminine as you would hardly be acceptable. But I wanted to be sure. Had you known a woman dear, you would have been more difficult for Helen and me to deal with. We should not

have been able to mould you, or to indelibly write your subjection upon your character as upon a blank page."

Miss. Priscilla settled herself in her chair with a look of satisfaction. I felt singularly helpless. I understood that every answer I made handed me over more and more as a slave. Yet if I did not answer I would be cruelly punished until I did.

"I pass to another subject, Denise. When you have admired women, what is it in them that you have admired? When you think of women, what about them do you think? What about women attracts you so?"

I was startled; I would not answer her.

"If you don't answer immediately, Denise, I shall lock a bright pair of steel handcuffs over your delicate white gloves."

My heart gave a jump. I blushed rosily-with pleasure. I saw the little white-gloved hands, which so daintily held up my lovely frock. To have them handcuffed by Miss. Priscilla! A divine longing filled me. I looked at my little buckled slippers of satin. Oh, to be handcuffed while wearing those fairylike ballroom shoes. The strangest sensations overcame me.

"If you handcuffed me," I said timidly and not replying to her question, "I should not be able to keep on holding up my dress."

"I will prove to you that you are wrong, Denise." She took up a shining pair of handcuffs; thin broad bands of steel linked close together. She was actually going to handcuff me. Oh, the expectation was delicious!

"Let your skirt fall. Now your hands together, palm to palm in front of you."

My hands met at once in position. I could not help but admire the tight unwrinkled gloves of spotless leather.

Miss. Priscilla took my hands and roughly fitted me with the handcuffs. What a stimulating picture met my feverish eyes in the mirror! An elderly sharp-faced woman, in a black robe, looking just as I should imagine a prison Mistress would, chaining the exquisitely gloved hands of her pretty young prisoner. Click, click, the handcuffs snapped to. I was helpless. She then took a long chain with a spring hook at each end. She snapped one end onto a ring on my left handcuff. Then lifting my skirt all around so that my ankles were visible, she drew the chain tightly around behind me, under the up-swell of my thighs, and fixed the other spring hook to the right handcuff. The chain thus did three things: It held down my handcuffed hands, bound my thighs, and kept my dress up. I smiled at my reflection in the glass. I felt and looked so deliciously helpless. Miss. Priscilla sat down again, calmly watching me.

"Now, Denise, perhaps you will tell me what you admire in women."

"Their feet and ankles," I replied shamefacedly.

A gleam of triumph shone in Miss. Priscilla's eyes.

"In what way, Denise?"

I hung my head. I had told so much; however, I went on, "I like the smart patent leather boots with leather legs and high Louis Quinze heels. And elegant patent leather shoes laced with satin ribbons tied in big bows on the insteps. And little buckled high-heeled satin slippers."

Miss. Priscilla nodded with satisfaction. "Shod then, just as we keep you shod."

"Yes, Miss. Priscilla."

"I thought so, I have watched you Denise. You are a fetichiste du pied."

So that is what the phrase meant! How well she knew me! I was dreadfully ashamed.

"But that is not enough, Denise. Don't twitch your pretty fingers. Let your chained hands rest quietly against your lovely frock. I have not finished with you yet. The mere sight of a lady's pretty feet in her dainty boots attracts your eyes, fascinates you, but it does not trouble your passions, as they were troubled last night when you stood in the corner."

"Yes," I said in a whisper. "But, oh Miss. Priscilla, don't ask me any more questions; I am so horribly ashamed."

"I must ask them," she returned implacably. "You must remember that you are a girlish young gentleman of enormous wealth, enormous power, and responsibilities for which you are quite unfitted, and that Helen and I are responsible for you. If you ever obtained your liberty, you would abuse your power. We are bound therefore to keep you in bondage and for that purpose I must know every detail of your character. Since ladies' boots on ladies' feet by themselves do not arouse and delight you, what does? Tell me at once."

"Miss. Priscilla, I can't," I cried in despair.

She rose calmly. "Lift up your head!"

I obeyed. Her hands were clothed in the long black kid gloves that seemed to be the uniform of the house. She took the point of my chin in the fingers of her left hand and held it firmly. With her right palm, she deliberately smacked my cheek with all her strength.

"So, you won't answer, won't you? You disobedient, impertinent girl!"

"Oh, oh, oh! Your leather stings my face dreadfully, Miss. Priscilla."

I struggled in vain to wrench my chin free from her fingers.

"It is meant to sting your pretty silly face."

Slap, slap, slap, slap. "Now we will make the other as red as this one is."

She began to slap my left cheek in the same way. My hands were chained down to my legs. I could not resist. I burst into tears from the pain which I was suffering.

"Oh, Miss. Priscilla, you are too cruel!"

"Why don't you answer the questions then? What a pity that I have to smack this pretty face and spoil its delicate complexion! Your satin slippers are moving, dear. I shall have to turn my attention to your dainty white feet in a moment." She slapped me a few more times and then said, "There that will do! You are as red as a dairymaid, you silly girl."

She resumed her seat, while I stood and sobbed helplessly.

"What is it that chiefly enthrals and delights you, Denise?"

The question was asked again. Oh, through my tears, I had to answer it! I had to reveal that entrancing, shameful dream-world in which I liked to wander.

"I adore being forced, by ladies, to wear corsets, long gloves, girls' frocks and little high-heeled girls' boots."

"Is that all?"

"I love being punished in them."

"You are delighted now?"

"Oh, Miss. Priscilla!"

"Answer!"

"Yes."

"Did the idea, the thought of being put into girls' high-heeled shoes and corsets, and punished in them, excite you before it was actually done to you?"

"Yes."

"Since when?"

"Since I was a boy."

"What was the first occasion?"

The horrible catechism, making me reveal all my hidden fancies, was getting on my nerves.

"Of course, I knew that you longed for women to dress you in girls' clothes," Miss. Priscilla continued calmly.

"You knew that?" I gasped. I was astounded.

"I guessed it from your ways. It is not unusual in girlish boys. But it's important that I should know how the idea first came into your head."

"Oh, Miss. Priscilla, I can't answer you. It isn't a fair question. I won't answer," I cried out passionately.

"In that case," she said looking at me with a malicious smile as she rose from her chair, "in that case Miss. Satin Slippers must have her pretty face slapped again."

"Oh, no, Miss. Priscilla! I can't endure it. I won't have my face slapped again," I cried, and before she even raised a hand to touch me, I burst into a flood of tears and turned away.

"Stand still, Miss. Satin Slippers," she said fiercely, coming towards me.

"No, no, I won't," I sobbed passionately. I stamped my feet in a rage as much as the chain around my thighs allowed me to do, and then I tried to run away. She seized me at once. My hands were handcuffed, I could do nothing to defend myself.

"How dare you move?" she hissed, her voice frightening me. "Do you think that we dress you up in the finest silk stockings specially woven for you at ten guineas the pair and have your shoes cut and finished and buckled in the most exquisite style with the daintiest heels for you to stamp at us in them?"

At her quiet tones my anger vanished. A fresh flood of tears burst from me remorsefully. "Oh, Miss. Priscilla, I didn't mean to be impertinent to you." I sobbed, and in a fit of penitence, I, the fashionably dressed Miss. Satin Slippers, as she termed me, buried my face in her bosom.

She took me in her arms and patted my white bare shoulders soothingly. "There, there, Denise!" she said gently. "Don't pull at your handcuffs, dear, like that; you can't get them off and you will only spoil your nice gloves. Come dry your eyes."

She dried them with her handkerchief, holding me affectionately in her arms.

"You forgive me, then?" I said imploringly.

She shook her head.

"You must be cured for your own sake, Denise, of these foolish fits of passion. You must recognize the necessity of having your pretty feet punished before your face is slapped."

"Punish my feet?" I exclaimed, a queer thrill of pleasure shooting through me even at that moment, as I looked down at them. "In these shoes and stockings?"

"Yes."

In the corner by the fire, with its back to the wall, stood a chair upholstered in white satin and gold, a solid chair with arms. To it was attached a pair of stocks for the legs. She placed me in the chair, turned back my skirt, and opened the stocks.

"Put your legs in the stocks."

The stocks were made of polished mahogany, the holes lined and padded with satin so that they could hold the legs in a vice and yet not tear the most delicate of silk stockings. I put my legs in the grooves. Miss. Priscilla shut down and locked the upper plank of the stocks and wheeled a big three-sided mirror in front of me. I could see my ankles and feet sticking out from the stocks in their dazzling finery of high heels and diamond buckles and lace. There was not a mark on the new white soles. They were the slippers of a wealthy debutante and I was going to be punished in them. My blood frothed and boiled with erotic anticipation.

Miss. Priscilla kneeled and took my right foot in her hand and, in an instant, piercing shrieks from my lips rang through the room. She bent down my instep until I was sure that the bones must snap. Then she twisted it to the right until I was certain my ankle must break, then again to the left.

"Oh, please, Miss. Priscilla, this is dreadful. It's torture! Oh, oh, my foot! You have lamed me for life."

But she was a doctor. She knew exactly how far she could punish me without breaking bones or spraining sinews. Then she clasped my leg just above the ankle in both hands and sawed her hands different ways, pinching my tender flesh and provoking screams from me. Then she took the slippers delicately off my foot and whipped the bottoms of my feet with a little whalebone rod until I yelled again through a blinding storm of tears. She replaced the slipper and treated the left foot in the same way. She released my legs and said, "Your feet won't forget that lesson very quickly, Denise. Stand up!"

"Oh, my feet are too tender."

She forced me to stand. To touch the ground tortured me.

"Go back to your place. Will you stand quietly while I slap your face?"

"Yes, Miss. Priscilla." I wept but kept my eyes lowered humbly.

She smacked me cruelly again until my cheeks were fiery red, and I thought my sobs would choke me.

"Now we will get back to business, Denise."

She sat down calmly in her chair, and looked at me hard. "When did you first feel that you wanted ladies to dress you as a girl and punish you?"

"When my governess took me over her knee to punish me. I was seven years old. While she slapped me, I was looking down and I saw just below me her feet which were shaped very prettily and shod in elegant buttoned patent leather boots with high heels."

Miss. Priscilla nodded and said, "I thought it would be something like that. You understand now, Denise, why we dressed you in girls' clothes and are subjecting you to discipline. If you loved the mere idea of it, how much more would the real thing appeal to you! How much more easily you could be subdued and held in subjection!"

Yes, the whole terrible plot these two women had concocted to turn me into their willing prisoner was now revealed to me, yet I seemed incapable to resist it. Miss. Priscilla rose, clasped my waist, and caressed my bosom.

"You are not going to give us much trouble, Miss. Satin Slippers."

She took the handcuffs and chain from me.

"Stand in the corner until I am ready for you. Put your face to the wall, your dainty heels together, your hands behind you."

I obeyed. I heard Miss. Priscilla moving the furniture. She led me out of the corner and stood me between two long mirrors. I saw a high stool of solid mahogany. It had a padded seat of black leather, and at the edge of the seat, there were white satin straps to tie down the legs above the knees. In the front of the solid stool, a little bar of steel with a ring at the end of it jutted out for an inch or two just at the place where the ankles would be if anyone were sitting on the stool. It had a flat back padded with white satin, and arms stretching out in the form of a cross rose behind the chair. At the extremities of the arms of the stool, little handcuffs were fixed to hold the arms extended.

"I think your stockings can be drawn tighter up your legs, Denise."

Miss. Priscilla raised my skirt and carefully strained the fragile stockings up over my knees, shortening the suspenders.

"Now mount the stool," she commanded me.

She placed a little gold footstool in front of me, and I climbed onto the stool by means of it. I sat on the stool with my legs dangling. She took away the gilt footstool. She strapped my waist with a leather strap tightly to the back of the stool, and extending my gloved arms one on each side, fixed them with the handcuffs to the cross. I allowed it all timidly.

"You need not be frightened, Denise. I am not going to hurt you."

She fondled my bosom with her gloved hands and kissed me for a long time. I was terribly excited. I waited in an extraordinary suspense. Then she tucked up my skirt in front and underneath me until my white satin garters with the big bows and buckles and the lace frills of my drawers were exposed. She strapped my thighs down together to the edge of the seat just above the garters, so that my knees, showing delicately pink through the filmy sheen of the tightly strained stockings, projected a little beyond the seat, and my feet hung down clear of the little steel bar and ring.

"Can you move them? Try!" Miss. Priscilla mocked me.

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.

"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."

"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.