[Because my usual Tuesday dressing/photo session had to be cancelled, here's a lost story to fill the gap. Update: All of the illustrations for this story have now been found!]
John looked up as he heard the "click-clack" on the tiles of the corridor outside his office. The familiar sound had become unbearably erotic to him in recent weeks. Yes, he thought, that's a terrific pair of heels!
It was his secretary, Marge, wearing a pair of black patent-leather pumps with four-inch stiletto heels. As the quick tapping of those heels continued, John watched the hallway lights glint off the shiny patent leather of the shoes. He felt his cock enlarge and rise. He had had the same reaction to any high-heel shoe ever since he began his weekly visits to Mistress Miranda two months ago.
Anyone observing John at that moment might have thought he was unconscious: His eyes were drifting shut, his breathing had slowed, he seemed completely unaware of the world around him. In truth, he had fallen into a light trance, as he had whenever his attention was drawn to a pair of high heels in the past eight weeks.
As the sight of Marge's heels passed and their sound on the tiles faded in the distance, John awoke from his trance, unaware of its existence, and continued with his work. Have to finish early today, he said to himself. Mistress Miranda expects me at 5:30.
But that gasp was caught in his throat when Mistress Miranda herself appeared behind Colette. She was clad in black patent leather from head-to-toe, and she held a riding crop in her right hand. With the crop, as always, she directed John's gaze to her feet. Today they were pumps in the same patent leather as the rest of her outfit, with heels a mere four inches in height. The moment John saw them, he dropped to his knees and fell into a light hypnotic trance, just as Mistress Miranda had told him he would whenever he saw any woman's feet in high-heeled shoes.
"John," Miranda said, "it's time to deepen your trance and deepen your affection for me and for high heels. Follow me."
She led him into the bedroom and opened the closet, revealing a vast array of high-heeled shoes of every variety--pumps, slingbacks, sandals, mules--and in every height, from a modest three inches to a pair of "ballet shoes" that stood the wearer on her toes with eight-inch heels.
Miranda picked one of the pairs from shelf and held it before John--a pair of pumps with a modest four-inch heel. "Look at the shoes, John. See the leather sparkle in the light," she purred. "As you stare at them, your trance deepens. You fall deeper under my power."
"I'm falling deeper...." John mumbled.
She gestured to the shelf upon shelf of shoes behind her. "And when I wear any shoe and direct your attention to it with the word heel, you will also fall into this deep trance." She looked at him carefully, his eyes still locked on the sandals she wore. "Do you understand?"
"I understand, Mistress Miranda."
"Very good. Now, I'm going to awaken you shortly. When I do, I will show you a pair of heels. You will have a burning desire to wear them, so much so that you will obey any instruction I give you--no matter how bizarre--in order to have them on your feet." She turned her back and picked out a pair of shoes, carefully keeping them hidden from him. "From now on, the word that will arouse you from your trance is sole." He nodded again.
She took the crop and placed it under his chin, pulling his eyes away from the entrancing sandals. "Sole." Instantly, John awoke.
Slowly, teasingly, Miranda revealed the pair of shoes she had chosen, black kid pumps with a four-inch heel. "What do you think of these shoes, John?" she asked.
Automatically, John reached for the shoes, but Miranda held them away from him...and he knew better than to step forward and try to grab them. "They--they're beautiful, Mistress," he answered. "The most beautiful shoes I've ever seen." His hands twitched (as did his cock), aching to possess the entrancing footwear.
"Do you want something, John?" Miranda asked.
He gulped. "May I wear those shoes, Mistress?"
"Wear these shoes, John?" Miranda feigned incredulity. "These are women's shoes. I might even say they are girl's shoes. Are you a girl, John?"
"No, Mistress," John answered.
"Are you sure?" she prodded. "Because only a girl can wear these shoes."
The post-hypnotic suggestion and the ache in John's cock combined to break his will. "I'm a girl," he whispered.
"I'm a girl," he said outright.
"And what does my girl want?"
"I want to wear those shoes," he admitted.
"But you can't wear just the shoes," Miranda insisted. "If you're a girl, you must look like a girl all over, not just on your feet." She opened another closet, revealing a vast collection of feminine clothing. "Now, if you want to wear those shoes, you must look like a girl." She held out a dress with a short, pleated skirt. "This would look well with the shoes, wouldn't it, John?"
"Yes, Mistress," John responded, sensing he was getting closer to his goal.
"Then get out of those male clothes and into this dress, little girl!" Miranda ordered. "You'll find the necessary undergarments in that dresser."
Miranda set them on the floor before him and said, "Very well, John, you may put on the shoes." Without hesitation, John slid his feet into the black kid pumps, teetering a moment as he gained in his balance in the four-inch heels. "You like those shoes?" she asked. "Are they as sexy as mine?"
The phrase directed John's gaze again to the devastating sandals Miranda still wore. "Heel!" she announced...and he fell again into his trance.
"High-heeled shoes are the ultimate feminizer," she told him. "Whenever you wear them, no matter what else you may be wearing, you are a girl," she said. "You are Joanne, my sweet little lesbian slave.
"Who are you?"
"I am Joanne," he answered, in a breathy contralto.
"Very good--we'll have time for more lessons next week, I think," Miranda mused.
John's bizarre attraction and reaction to high heels increased over the next seven days. The mere sight of a pair of heels caused him an erection...and a prolonged gaze dropped him into a deepening trance, one that was ended only by the sound of someone speaking to him. His co-workers began to have questions about his strange behavior.
But those questions would soon be ending.
"Joanne," the voice on the phone began, "I want you to invite all your friends and colleagues to a party at your place this Saturday."
"Yes, Mistress Miranda," John replied. "May I ask why?"
"Of course not," his mistress answered. "You'll find out then."
So, that Saturday evening, John greeted his closest friends, neighbors and co-workers for an informal gathering of drinks and small-talk. Even his immediate supervisor, Mr. Conner, showed up. But, as the night wore on and Mistress Miranda still didn't appear, John grew more and more nervous about her mysterious plan.
Finally, about nine, the doorbell rang. John swallowed nervously. He knew who it had to be--all the other invited guests were already there. He opened the door and there stood Mistress Miranda, resplendent in a tight, strapless white cocktail dress, sheer stockings and white patent-leather pumps with a six-inch heel. She carried a small overnight bag.
"Well, Joanne," she whispered, "invite me in and introduce me to your other guests."
John escorted his mistress into the party and got everyone's attention. "Friends, associates," he said, "this is...Miranda, a very special friend."
There were gasps from several sources in the room, especially many of the men and not a few of the women. Most were surprised that John had a relationship with such a beautiful and sexy woman. They greeted her warmly while John got her a drink.
"Heel!" she said quietly, and John dropped into his deepest trance. A few of the guests noticed this odd tableau and were transfixed. They nudged others until the entire gathering was watching in fascination.
Now Miranda reached into her overnight bag and produced a pair of black patent pumps, much like her own, but with a lower five-inch heel, and a pair of lacy ankle socks. She handed them to the mesmerized John. Without a word, he stripped off his own shoes and socks and pulled on the feminine footwear. "Now, Joanne," Miranda admonished, "you know you can't wear those lovely shoes and socks with that horrid male attire." She handed him the bag. "Go change, now."
Still seemingly unaware of his guests' reaction, John stood and moved to the bedroom. Once the shoes were on his feet, he was no longer a male--he was Joanne, the submissive lesbian plaything of his Mistress Miranda. She leaned back on the couch and smiled, saying nothing to the others, who whispered among themselves. It was clear that many of the men were enthralled by the dominance she had displayed and many of the women were eager to hear how she'd managed it. But that would wait.
"This, ladies and gentlemen, is Joanne," Miranda announced. "Joanne is my sweet, simpering, sissified, lesbian submissive lover. She is addicted to high heels, both wearing them and worshipping them. Allow me to demonstrate."
She directed Joanne's attention to her feet. "Do you like my shoes, Joanne darling?"
"Oh, yes, Mistress Miranda," the transformed male responded. "They are incredibly sexy and beautiful."
"They seem a bit dirty to me, Joanne," Miranda mused. "I think they need a shoe-shine."
Instantly, Joanne fell to her knees and began to lick the slick patent-leather surface of her mistress's shoes with her tongue. The sound of her breathing changed, becoming shorter and more rapid. It was clear to all that the once-John was becoming highly aroused by this bizarre activity. Some of the men coughed nervously, others were fascinated by the display, and many of the women found their panties becoming quite wet.
The party-goers were shocked as the cross-dressed man took the shoe into his hands and began to suck on the heel. Clearly he experienced this as an extremely erotic, arousing experience, as they watched the bulge under his skirt grow.
"You know the rules, Joanne," Miranda said. "No coming until I give the word."
Joanne looked up at her mistress from beneath heavily mascaraed lashes and seemed to plead silently for release. "Take the heel all the way into your mouth, darling," Miranda told her. "Now suck on it, suck on it hard!" Joanne seemed determine to suck every bit of dirt off the shiny, slippery leathery.
"All right--spike it!" Miranda announced...and Joanne's cock filled her panties with come.
The observers gasped with surprise. Many of the women gazed at their male partners, some of whom seemed already hypnotized by Miranda's dominant power. They gathered around her, and she knew she would soon have much company as a dominant fetish feminizer!
[Don't forget to choose the woman you'd prefer to be (details here)!]