Thursday, September 4, 2014

Miss High Heels 2001

Chapter Six

My life, - my revolt. Exit Denise, enter Miss High-heels. An evening of humiliation. Helen's triumph. Evelyn disappears. A final scene after two years. The return from the Ball. The story ends with punishment and kisses.

It was Helen's policy to make my life as a girl delightful to me. The next few months were months of pleasure tempered by fits of regret and remorse. But the fits did not last long. I was surrounded with luxuries. I was spoilt. I had beautiful dresses, a horse to ride, Violet to run about with, dainty tyrannies to endure, a great deal of liberty, and humiliating punishments. Miss Priscilla was extraordinarily fertile in her expedients. To mix humiliation and pleasure in an inextricable confusion in my mind, so that I should never be able to think great pleasure possible without an accompaniment of embarrassment. This was her design. For once this belief was implanted in my mind I must always long to remain in subjection to my dainty tyrants. Thus I remember addressing to her a flippant impertinence at a garden party. She took me at once to the host's dressing room. I was dressed in a pale green dress, knee-length, with a wide cinching belt. I had on a wide-brimmed straw hat, wrist-length gloves in beige kid, and a fascinating bracelet, a gift from Helen. My shoes were beige pumps with five-inch heels.

In the dressing room, Miss Priscilla undid the buckle of my belt, then ordered me to place my hands behind my back, palm to palm. She then redid the belt, so that it not only encircled my waist, but kept my arms pinned behind my back.

Next she removed the bracelet from my wrist. With a quick snap, she reconfigured it into some sort of bejeweled fetters, that she locked around my ankles, reducing my stride in the extravagantly heeled pumps to a mere three or four inches.

"Now, follow me!" she commanded.

Mincing as best I could, I obeyed. She led me to the entrance to the garden, where she ordered me to stand. Then she revealed the sapphire ring. "You will remain here and greet every guest as he or she enters, and say goodbye to every guest as he or she leaves. You will explain your predicament, exactly as follows:

'I am the pretty punished niece of Miss Helen Devereaux, confined here for impertinence.'

With every utterance of that phrase, you will grow more excited by your position. I expect to find you quite flushed and fevered by the end of the party!"

I remained at my station for over three hours, my legs tiring, my arms cramping, but I never failed to smile sweetly and repeat my punishment phrase to all who passed. When Helen and Miss Priscilla finally gathered me together for our return home, I was swooning with passion.

But I must pass over the other incidents of that time, the revenge which Lady Hartley's daughter who was jealous, deliberately took upon Violet and myself, the humiliating punishments of the mask, the little-girl dress, and the dancing lesson. If my readers wish to hear more about the penalties which my tyrants in their ingenuity invented, they have only to say the word.

Meanwhile I hurry on towards the end.

In the autumn Helen gave a cocktail party at Beaumanoir. I was dressed for the occasion in a silver cocktail suit with blouson sleeves, a fitted jacket, and a tight, straight miniskirt. My hose were black stockings tightly drawn up to sexy garters; my shoes were black patent sling-backs with six-inch heels. I wore black wrist-lenght gloves and a black hat with flowers and netting on the right side. My necklace sparkled with diamonds, as did the bracelets on my wrist and ankle. When I showed myself to Helen before the dance she warned me.

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

"No," I replied with a shiver. "No indeed!" Yet I disobeyed Helen. Half-way through the dance I went out on to the terrace with Violet. As I returned through the glass door into the drawing-room I saw Helen. Worse she saw me. She beckoned me across the room to her.

She seized me by the hand and turned me with my face to the wall at her side.

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

Miss Priscilla in a dress of dark mauve satin joined her. They waited until the guests had returned to the party. Then Helen slid back the panel into the punishment room and pushed me in roughly. Priscilla followed and closed it.

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

Helen was in a rage.

"Gag her," she said savagely to Miss Priscilla. A scarf gagged my mouth the next moment. They pinioned my elbows to my side and bound my hands in front of me with satin ribbons. I was dreadfully frightened. Helen was so furious. She was pale with anger.

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

I obeyed. Helen produced a strap of white satin and buckled it around my knees. Another was used to bind my ankles. I couldn't move if I had dared to try.

Helen called in Phoebe, who carried me back into the party. I was placed at the center of the room and Helen announced why I was so bound and gagged. I became the object of everyone's conversation for the rest of the night.

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

"How long is this going to last?" I asked.

"How long are you going to keep me in girl's clothes, and rob me of my position?"

Helen looked at me calmly.

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

I was wearing a very pretty violet suit with a cinched waist and a straight skirt. My blouse was of gold satin with a cowl neck. I wore black patent pumps with violet satin bows on the vamps. Helen stripped me there and then of everything except, my three gloves, my stockings and garters, and my high-heeled shoes. Then she strapped my hands behind me.

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

"Too late," she said.

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

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

Phoebe took a scissor and chopped off my long hair and recombed it into a male fashion. She dressed me in a purple latex corset, black latex pants and black patent pumps with one-inch platforms and seven-inch heels. A heavy bronze leather bracelet (really more like some sort of cuff) adorned my wrist. Atop my newly short hair she placed a huge violet bow, the sort a schoolgirl might have worn. She made up my face, perhaps even more completely than I had ever been allowed as Denise.

In this humiliating outfit Phoebe and Netta dragged me with jeers along the passages of my own house to Helen's bedroom. I was in tears. Helen chained my hands behind me and fixed little black fetters of polished steel on my ankles. She was deliciously dressed in pink satin.

"Turn round Miss High-heels," she said sternly.

"That is your name for the future--Miss Evelyn High-heels the only name you will be known by. Turn round and let me see that the seams of your delicate stockings are straight." She showed me to myself in the mirrors. I looked like a cross between a pretty grown-up girl and a boy dressed for some fantastic, masquerade. "Oh Helen," I moaned "you can't show me off dressed like this. You promised that I shouldn't be dressed as a girl."

"You certainly aren't dressed as a young lady, Evelyn," she said with a laugh. "Young ladies don't show wear latex corsets and tight-fitting latex pants as a rule. Nor do they wear flaunting heels as high as yours. Only improper women and young effeminate gentlemen undergoing discipline wear seven-inch heels on their dainty shoes."

"But the bow on my head - Oh that's horrible."

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

Handcuffed and fettered in this outfit I was carried downstairs in Phoebe's arms into the drawing-room, and presented to my neighbours assembled for dinner. I could have died of shame. Congratulations were showered upon Helen.

"What an improvement!" cried Mrs. Dawson, the vicar's wife. "He is very like Denise."

"Yes I wish Denise could have stayed," said Helen," for us to compare them. She has gone home to her aunt this afternoon, where I am afraid she is not very happy."

The ladies crowded round me, the men guffawed contemptuously.

"I think the fetters and handcuffs complete the outfit so prettily," said Lady Hartley.

The old General stooped and felt my feet.

"The shoes are very smart," he said. "High-heeled girls' shoes are such a good thing for wilful and disobedient young gentlemen."

"He has certainly never looked so pretty," said Guy Repton with a snigger. "I am sure he ought to be very grateful to his young step-sister for the dainty care with which she has dressed and molded his figure."

Thus they talked of me. I stood red with shame. During dinner I was made to stand up in the center of the table before them all with my heels together, and was only allowed to eat when they were having dessert.

After dinner, Helen slid back the panel of the punishment room, and made me lie face downwards on a white satin ottoman. She placed a white satin cushion under my bosom to lift it up.

"Hold up your head Evelyn High-heels. That's right." She took a little patent leather strap and bound my hands tightly behind me. Then she turned carefully up the lace frills and strapped my legs together above the knees. With a third biting little patent leather strap she fixed my ankles together. Finally with a fourth strap she tied my feet back to my legs in the most painful fashion.

"Violet will you see that Miss High-heels keeps her pretty face up and does not move."

Violet took a book and sat down in a comfortable chair beside the ottoman.

I was so strained in my miserable position that I could not keep still, and holding my head back and face high in the air wreaked my neck. Yet if I stirred Violet pinched my calves mercilessly, and if I lowered my face to rest my neck, she boxed my ears until my head sang.

"I thought you loved me Violet," I said.

"I loved a very pretty girl-friend called Denise," she replied coldly. "How do you like being a man Miss High-heels? Keep your bright little shoes still! After all it is not entire joy being a man is it? You had better have remained a girl. You look lovely in your latex corset and pants but that is because you have a girl's figure and face, hands
and feet."

I remained in that position until bedtime, when I was carried to my own room and put to bed still tightly bound. I ached in the morning, but my passions were more aroused than I could ever recall.

I was dressed in this fashion--or something very much like it--for ten days, every day including some embarrassing humiliating appearance in public as Miss Evelyn High-Heels. I was ridiculed and pointed out for mockery...and often compared, not pleasantly, to Denise. Still I had not backed dwon from my demand to be male. On the eleventh day, I was in a green latex open-front blouse, another pair of black latex pants, and pumps with six-inch heels. The massive bow in my hair matched the blouse.

I was led to Helen. She kissed me affectionately. I was encouraged to say:

"Helen please don't keep me dressed like this!"

"But I love you like this," she said leading me to a long mirror. "Stand with your shiny patent pumps together. You look exquisite dear with your dainty bow and your tall slender figure tightly encased in latex."

"But I can't go out dressed like this."

"Of course, you can. You already have!"

"But everybody jeers at me."

"I think that you will find that some of them will make love to you, dear," Helen answered with a smile.

"But when am I to be allowed to wear real trousers again."

"Never," said Helen decidedly. She sat down. I stared at her aghast.


"Of course not. How can you wear trousers with those hips and that waist and that pretty posterior?"

"But it's my corset which intensifies the girlish look of them," I said blushing deeply.

"No doubt, but you can never get rid of your corset darling. Remember that you have girl's round breasts. You must have a support for them, otherwise your figure would soon be ruined. It would be ridiculous to let you wear trousers. You look pretty now. You would only look silly and, dear, rather improper in trousers."

I got red with confusion.

"Yes," Helen went on, "I am responsible for your good name. That can never be."

I saw that it was in vain to bend her. I recognized also some truth in her observations. She and Miss Priscilla between them had had their revenge. I had inherited my father's fortune and in return they had made me irrevocably a girl.

I fell on my knees before her, as she had prophesied that I would.

"Then Helen I have been thinking. Let Evelyn Beryl disappear altogether."

I saw a flash of triumph in her eyes.

"Let him die! You will become mistress of the estate. Let Denise return to you. I am never to marry. I am never to wear trousers. I am never to have control. Let me have the liberty, the life of a girl."

Helen kissed me ardently. To this she had been bringing me.

"I will make you very happy Denise," she said. "I will keep you beautifully dressed. You shall have Violet, your friends, your enjoyments."

So it was arranged. With Guy Repton's help and her lawyer's and my enormous fortune all was easily arranged. I was sent down dressed as a girl under Miss Priscilla's charge to a little lonely house by the sea. Helen announced that I had gone to a German University to complete my education. A student dying of consumption with a very poor family was
bribed (as were his parents) to assume my name. He died and was cremated as Dennis Evelyn Beryl. You may see his tombstone in a little churchyard at Bonn.

Helen went to Germany for the funeral. No one raised any difficulties or suspected any fraud. Her lawyer was well-paid. All over my estate the tenants were delighted that she was now the real owner and mistress. On her return she announced that she was going to make a home for Denise Beryl out of memory for poor Evelyn. Denise had made herself popular. Denise was welcomed. I came back as a girl. Violet was delighted. What of me? Let one final scene be the answer.

It is two years later.

A magnificent ball at a great house in the height of the London season. A conservatory screened with palms and lit with a dim light. Through the door comes the languorous music of a waltz. Inside the conservatory two armchairs are close together. In one a girl dressed in a figure-hugging gown of blue satin, her shoulders bare in the halter style. Her red lips are smiling, her bright eyes sparkling, her fair face radiant with pleasure. At her side bending towards her a young handsome man with a look of force upon his face, the young man who had made the brilliant speech in Hampshire and is now a cabinet minister. The young man speaks.

"Denise, I must call you Denise. You are adorable from your curls to the tips of your little satin slippers."

Denise laughs, blushes and coquettishly places together in view the little white shining high-heeled shoes.

"My heart is beneath them," says the young man. "How shall I prove it?" Denise turns her sparkling eyes to her companion.

"Kiss them on your knees," she says. They are alone they think: the young man drops on his knees and reverently kisses the small feet. Denise springs up with a laugh. "I must go. I have a partner for this dance."

"You will give me your hand?" the young man implores.

"You ask too much," says Denise with a smile, "I have already given you my feet."

She runs lightly to the ball-room. She has lost her position, her fortune, her authority as a man but she has gained, as a girl, power which few men ever have.

Yet she in her turn is subject to others. A young woman, dark-haired and pretty, clothed in a gown of gold brocade, gold slippers and stockings rises from behind another palm and walks quietly to the ball-room. She taps Denise upon her pretty white shoulders.

"I was in the conservatory," she says.

Denise looks alarmed.

"Helen," she falters imploringly.

"I heard you Denise. I cannot allow such vanity and ill-manners. Say goodnight to your hostess."

Denise crosses the ball-room and says good-night. She has been looking forward to another hour of dancing. She comes back to Helen with an anxious face.

"Denise, follow me." Helen is familiar with the house. The hostess is her friend. She walks placidly along the corridors. Denise follows timidly holding up her velvet dress. The diamond embroidery on her little smart satin slippers sparkle and tremble as her shaking feet follow in Helen's steps. Helen comes to a deserted dimly-lit passage, opens the door and turns on the electric light. They are in a library. Helen locks the door. She has a gold bag at her wrist. She takes from it a white silk stay lace.

"Your hands."

Whimpering, but not protesting, the pretty girl turns her white back to Helen and obediently joins her hands. In a moment they are bound together by the stay-lace which cuts into the delicate satin gloves.

"Open your mouth!"

A lace handkerchief is forced into it. Helen marches Denise to a corner of the room.

"The carriage is not ordered for an hour. You will stand here until I fetch you. No one will come and I shall lock the door and take the key," says Helen.

She stoops, she produces a piece of chalk from her gold bag. One after the other she picks up the pretty feet of her prisoner and chalks the soles of the glistening satin slippers. She places the feet carefully, with the high heels together.

"I shall know Denise, if you move."

She turns off the light, locks the door and takes the key. She walks placidly back to the ball-room. Denise with her hands tied behind her stands in the corner and weeps silently, not daring to move her satin dancing-slippers.

In a hour Helen comes back cloaked for departure, with another white satin cloak over her arm. She replaces the key and entering the room, switches on the light again. She lifts the gleaming frock of white velvet to see if her prisoner's dainty shoes have moved. They have not dared. She wipes the soles clean and then fastens the cloak round

"We will keep your hands tied Denise," and Denise, ashamed and afraid lest any of the other girls, or any of the men should detect her punishment, follows Helen closely to the front door. Helen helps Denise in to the luxurious automobile. She steps in afterwards, takes her seat besides Denise, and slips from the girl's shoulders and her own their satin cloaks. The door is closed. As it drives off, Helen stoops with a thin cord of white silk in her hands.

At once follow prayers and entreaties from Denise, a delicious commotion of her satin skirt, an entrancing rustling of her lace petticoat, a pretty sparkling of agitated slipper-buckles in the depths of the carriage on the white little satin-shod feet.

"No, no, I won't have it," says Denise obstinately. Helen says not a word, but in the depths of the carriage a pair of small resolute hands tightly gloved are engaged in subduing a pair of dainty mutinous ankles, tightly encased in filmy white stockings.

The delicately-gloved hands gradually win the victory.

The high-heeled glistening slippers are crossed at last, the nervous fingers quickly loop the silk cord twice round the fluttering ankles and draw it tight and still tighter. There is still a feeble little twitching of pretty toes, but in a few moments even that ceases. The small feet in their fairy-like slippers submit reluctantly to the degradation of the cord. It is knotted tight about the ankles. Helen rises again lifting up in her arms the satin-sheathed legs now rigid and helpless of her prisoner and extends the dainty satin-slippered feet upon the opposite seat. She bends over Denise.

"You resisted me dear. Three days on display in the entry hall as the French maid," she murmurs.

She takes the trembling girl in her arms. After a minute or so with a sweet rustling Denise turns her slim satin-clothed body on its side and buries her flushed face in her mistress' white bosom.

"Oh Helen," she murmurs.

The gloved bound hands are twitching spasmodically behind her back, the tightly-corded satin-slippered feet are strained and arched in some delicious tension, soft drawn out sighs of languor burst from her perfumed lips.

"Three days of humiliation as a silly servant girl, Denise," says Helen.

"Three years, darling, if you wish," sighs Denise, and ardent kisses bruise a pair of tender mouths.

The End

[Don't forget to pick the man you'd love to see feminized (details here)!]

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

I love Miss High Heels! I long to be prettily dressed and punished as was Denis(e)!