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  • CHAPTER 1
  • CHAPTER 2
  • CHAPTER 3
  • CHAPTER 4
  • CHAPTER 5
  • CHAPTER 6

    Anonymous

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


    CHAPTER 1

    This story is a reminiscence, a fond recollection of my colourful days as a youth. I can safely say (with the clarity of hindsight) that my youth was extraordinary. My upbringing was unlike any other young man knew at the time, and to this day, many years later, I have yet to meet a soul whose story can compare with mine in its bizarre nature.

    My erotic rearing gave me a great sense of alienation, yet also a feeling of being absolutely rare and precious. Of course, later in life I learned that I was not alone in my exclusive sexual proclivities; proclivities that flourished and were fostered from the time I was very young on through my early adulthood. I have since had the pleasure of finding others who share the same delicious tastes that I have enjoyed. I was cared for by my strange and beautiful stepsister, Helen, with the delicate attentions that one gives a fragile, unique flower. It was my lovely stepsister who helped me to find the "true" self that was hiding inside my male skin.

    Ever since I could remember, I had a great fondness for the excesses of women's clothing, of women's finery, and of their ways. It was Helen who really prodded me to discover my true nature and created an environment in which I relished the world of women. Thus, the following words are the tale of what I shall call my "becoming." This is the tale of how I metamorphosed from Dennis Evelyn Beryl to the lovely Denise Beryl.


    The story begins shortly after I had arrived at the manor, having just finished my two years at school. My time at the school is a fraction of this unusual story, spicy morsels that I will elaborate upon later in luscious detail.

    Helen had hired a French maid named Phoebe as my personal servant. A maid for a young master of the house, you ask. Yes. Granted, it was a rather strange arrangement for a young gentleman to have a maidservant in his employ, and at his bath and toilet, but as you may have gathered, I was no ordinary young gentleman.

    Phoebe, the maid, had the deft, neat hands of a French woman. I watched her, mesmerized as she threaded a pink satin ribbon among the shining curls of my coiffure and buttoned the last button of my very long glace kid evening gloves. She dusted a powder puff lightly over my white bosom and shoulders. Then Phoebe tucked a tiny lace handkerchief into my corsage and said, "There, now you are ready, Miss. Denise. Stand up!"

    "Miss." Denise indeed! And "Stand up!" The insolence of her! I remained seated.

    "Ah!" said Phoebe with a malicious smile. "You don't like being ordered about by poor servants, do you? You are the young master of Beaumanoir, the wealthy aristocrat, the great landlord, Dennis Evelyn Beryl," uttering my name with amused contempt.

    "Bah! I do not trouble my head about your position. You are in your own house, it is true. It is also true you are under the control of your beautiful stepsister who stripped you of your foolish trousers two years ago to punish you for your impertinence. You are over eighteen years old-I admit it-but for two years you have been mincing in petticoats in a girls' school. A young gentleman, are you? Nobody would believe it. Your hair reaches down below your waist. You have the figure, the face, the soft limbs, the hands and feet and the breasts of a girl."

    I was dreadfully ashamed at Phoebe's outburst. I could not deny a word of it.

    "You are a very important person, I suppose," she went on jeering at me, "with a great career in Parliament! Heavens, how you used to plague my ears with your boastfulness! It may all be true. What I am concerned with is that you should be beautifully dressed as a young lady for the dinner party that your stepsister, Miss. Deverel, is giving. Stand up at once, or I will lace you into a corset one inch tighter than the one you are wearing now."

    "Oh, Phoebe," I cried, "I can hardly breathe in this one."

    I was alarmed. Her tone was so menacing. She was much stronger than I was. She could carry out her threat if she chose. I stood up. I had a special reason for being obedient tonight.

    "That's better, Miss. Denise," Phoebe said.

    I was dressed in an exquisite decollete frock of white transparent chiffon glittering with silver embroideries over an underdress of soft white satin. The corsage was cut very low, the sleeves being merely shoulder straps of flashing silver bugles, and my tight, unwrinkled white kid gloves reached up to my shoulders. A sash of white satin encircled my slim waist and was tied in an enormous bow looped through a huge diamond buckle on my left hip, whence the broad streamers fringed with silver floated down to my feet. A bunch of pink roses was pinned on the right of my corsage at the waist. The sheath skirt moulded my hips in its gleaming satin and chiffon.

    The girlish curves of my figure were caught tightly in at the ankles by a scarf of tulle that passed through a big sparkling diamond buckle in front of the dress and tied in a great bow behind. My legs were quite bound by these dainty fetters of satin and tulle. The skirt was hemmed with tulle and was bordered with a festoon of tiny pink cloth roses, and on the left side a row of flat diamond buttons sparkled up to the knee. The skirt had a long train of white satin, lined with pleats of tulle that rustled deliciously at each movement. Phoebe arranged the train in a gleaming swirl about my feet, and stood up.


    Now dear reader, you may be wondering what kind of young gentleman I was, allowing a servant to speak to me thus, mocking and jeering my predicament. Not only that, but what kind of wealthy aristocrat would allow a maid to dress him so fantastically?

    I have to admit that I was in a strange state of shock, having just arrived at Beaumanoir that afternoon. It was Helen's birthday, and she was throwing an elegant little party that night to celebrate. I had been away for two long years, and before my absence, I had made a strange arrangement with Helen. I had behaved rather terribly at my first boarding school, and so, rather than attract scandal about our names because of my misconduct, I was sent to a girls' school in the country. I was sent there as a punishment, and worse still, I was to be treated as a young lady.

    I had thought at the time that Helen believed that she had sentenced me to a hellish fate. Not so-I was deliriously happy. Oh, of course I protested and wept and begged, claiming the mere idea was repugnant to me. But deep within my breast, my heart pounded with the anxiety of a secret pleasure. I pleaded with Helen because it began to please me to beg and crawl in her presence, and in turn, I could see that Helen was enjoying her dominion over me. At last, I was sent away to bear the delectable torments that awaited me at the school for young ladies.

    Two years had passed, and I had returned to my home to claim my birthright. I was eighteen and of age to become master of Beaumanoir. One would assume that this occasion would merit much anticipatory joy on my part. I was to be released from these exquisite bonds of femininity forever.

    But I was not happy. I had savoured every moment that I was dressed as a lady. I had enjoyed all the privileges that a lovely young girl enjoys, and I was not exactly ready or willing to give that up.

    Helen had demanded that I make one more appearance as a young woman, after which I would be released as her charge. I had agreed, and there I stood in the dressing room with Phoebe the maid, my white skin trembling and enervated by the cool, luscious silk that rubbed against my body. Knowing that I was wearing the delicate batiste lingerie of a young woman, that I was deliciously confined by the lovely laces and whalebone of the corset for the last time, was a terrible thought. I was nearly aroused by the soft, sweet smell of the lavender powder that Phoebe had lightly dusted my breasts with. I remember that my pleasurable sensations were marked by a bittersweet feeling that all this would end, and I would be forced, by society and circumstance, to return to the world of men; a world I had come to admire from the perspective of a woman.

    Phoebe's voice suddenly ruptured these sad thoughts.


    "Now Miss. Denise, put those smartly gloved hands behind your back!" shouted Phoebe.

    "Behind my back? Like a child?"

    "Don't argue. Behind your back with them at once, palm to palm, the fingers pointing down."

    I obeyed. How humiliating it was!

    "Now lift up this pretty face."

    She took my chin and tilted back my head.

    "I must say, Miss. Denise, your governesses have done wonders for you at your school. You always looked like a pretty girl of course, but you are quite lovely now."

    I blushed! Was it all from shame, or was there not some thrill of pleasure and of girlish vanity in my reddening cheeks? Oh, my two years at a girls' school had left their indelible influence upon my disposition.

    "Now put the high heels of your satin slippers together under your frock."

    She looked down to the billowy satin and tulle of my skirt.

    "Have you done it? Are the toes daintily turned out?"

    "Yes, Phoebe."

    "I'll make sure."

    She stooped and, thrusting her hand under my dress, felt my feet. The blush deepened on my face, and a soft wave of voluptuous delight swept over me, enflaming my body and exciting my passions. I am to write the truth here. The thought that here, I was dressed with all the dainty luxury of a very fashionable girl, standing obediently with my hands behind me at the bidding of a maid, while she adjusted my satin-slippered feet, troubled my passions. There was something sensuously bizarre in the contrast that fascinated me. Besides, apart from the queer mental impression produced in me, the actual touch of Phoebe's hands on my body, particularly on my insteps and ankles, gave me a delicious physical sensation. I noticed Phoebe was wearing long, white kid gloves. I asked her why, and she glanced at me shrewdly. "Miss. Priscilla's orders," she answered. "No one is to touch you, or dress you without long glace kid gloves on their hands. But why do you ask, Miss. Denise?"

    I was confused.

    "Did the feel of the gloves on your silk stockings please you? Answer at once."

    "Yes, Phoebe," I replied shyly.

    Phoebe nodded her head with a lewd, knowing smile.

    I was tortured by the possibility that she would not touch my ankle again. I feared that she would not stroke the delicate arch of my instep with her soft gloved fingers. I assumed that she would stop caressing my foot when she realized that she was affording me erotic pleasure. I could tell that she liked the position of dominating me. I could tell it pleased her to see me tortured and willing to be subject to her torments and whims. In fact, I believe Helen hired her because she was capable of severe disciplinarian actions.

    As she stroked my ankle, I arched my back ever so slightly, so that the buds of my nipples would rub against the cool white satin of my slip. The sensation made me move involuntarily.

    "Miss. Denise! If you don't stand still, I am going to be forced to punish you. Not only that, but I must finish my work. Miss. Helen will be calling for you soon.

    "Miss. Helen is a very wise lady. Now stand without moving until she comes to inspect you."

    Helen had foreseen that the touch of the kid gloves would make its sensuous appeal to me. She had deliberately intended that it should. Why? My old fear returned to me-a fear that she and Miss. Priscilla, her aunt, were in a plot together to nullify me, to make me unimportant. Perhaps they had devised some enervating system to reduce me to perpetual subjection. If so, I had reason to shiver; They were so clever. Those two women had shown such insight into my character and failings.

    On the other hand there was the promise that Helen Deverel had given to me in the most emphatic way two years ago. She had promised that the day after I returned from the girls' school I should be allowed to resume the dress of my sex, if the head schoolmistress sent me home with a good report. Well, I had returned this afternoon with an excellent report. Tonight I was to be Miss. Denise Beryl, a cousin of Dennis's. But tomorrow I was to resume my liberty. I was to become once more the master of Beaumanoir.

    I was turning over these doubts in my mind when Phoebe interrupted my reflections.

    "You have moved your feet, Miss. Denise," she said sternly. "In that tight, pretty satin frock, every tremor of your limbs is visible."

    "I wasn't thinking, Phoebe," I said humbly, "I am sorry."

    Phoebe was appeased by the humility of my voice.

    "I will forgive you this once," she said. "There's no doubt, Miss. Denise, that you ought to be kept in girls' clothes all your life."

    "All my life!" I exclaimed.

    "You are so much easier to manage," she replied. What a selfish argument! All she thought of was her comfort, not one consideration did she give to me, my position, the career that awaited me. No! As a male youth, I should give her orders. Under discipline and dressed as a girl, I received them from her. That was all she cared about.

    I was careful not to move again, and Phoebe busied herself putting away the schoolgirl's dress, the one that I had laid aside so I could appear as a grown-up young lady in a decollete gown with a long train.

    I should briefly explain what had led me to these…unusual circumstances.

    My father, who was probably the wealthiest commoner in England, had inherited the great estate of Beaumanoir in Hampshire, a house in Park Lane, and a large fortune, which by skilful business he had greatly increased. He married late in life and I, his only child, was born when he was fifty-two. I was baptized Dennis Evelyn, and the second name, which is given to girls as well as to boys, I always resented. I resented it all the more, because in complexion, features, limbs, and figure I was, alas, as the taunts of my school friends assured me, more like a girl than a boy. My father lost his wife when I was 12 and a year later married a second time-whence came all my troubles. He married

    a middle-aged widow, Mrs. Deverel, who had a daughter Helen, a girl just four years older than myself. She was a sinister girl with dark hair, a pale lovely face, and a slim figure. She had the most winning manners and at once set herself to charming everybody. She succeeded with everybody-except me. I recognized her game immediately.

    I resented my father's marriage and the intrusion of these new people into the house. I would not call the new Mrs. Beryl, "mother," nor Helen, "sister." Mrs. Beryl was considerate and Helen set about trying to please me, but I distrusted them both. I always had a fear that they meant to take my place in my father's affections and oust me from my inheritance.

    I remember particularly one day when I was home for the holidays. I was thirteen at the time, Helen seventeen; she stopped me as I was leaving the drawing room and as she was coming in. Laying her little hand upon my arm, she said with her eyebrows arched, "Evelyn, can't we be good friends? I am so unhappy that you dislike me."

    The name Evelyn irritated me. I looked at her ironically and I replied, "I suppose that you really want to marry me, to get hold of my fortune, don't you?"

    She laughed coldly, and pinched my arm hard. "How wrong you are!" If I had not spoken so rashly, I might not be standing now in the fashionable ball dress of a wealthy young lady, waiting for the moment when I should take my place at Helen's birthday dinner party. I had become a living tribute to her domination, from the Louis Quinze heels of my smart satin slippers to the pink ribbon in my curls. For to that foolish answer, I attribute the beginnings of her hatred and resentment. She turned away from me that day, and never made advances to me again.

    That same year, in the autumn, my stepmother died, and the shock of her death prostrated my father, who was then sixty-five. He had a great affection for Helen and a great faith in her capacity; at her suggestion, Miss. Priscilla Deverel, an aunt of hers, was introduced into the household to act as companion to Helen and to assist her in the management of the house.

    Miss. Priscilla was a remarkable woman, a fully qualified doctor with a great medical reputation. Although she gave up her practice to join us, to me at this time, she seemed merely a harmless, slightly ridiculous old maid. She was forty-seven or so when she came to Beaumanoir, a wrinkled thin ungainly woman, who dressed very badly. She was very patient and submissive, and I treated her with the utmost disregard. I did not resent her presence in the house, as I did Helen's. I looked upon her as of no importance whatever.

    The first time I had any doubt about her was a year later when I was ill with a cold: I was then between fourteen and fifteen, and Helen brought her to my bedroom. At first I would not allow her to examine my chest, but Helen threatened to tell my father of my refusal and to send for a doctor from London. That, for a special reason, I dreaded. I let Miss. Priscilla open my nightgown and I saw at once a flash of wonder cross her face. I flushed scarlet. I had a secret that I had always tried to conceal. My bosom was much too developed for a boy's and continuing to develop as I grew. I had not merely the nipples of a boy, but the white globes of a girl's breasts were threatening to become prominent.

    Miss. Priscilla examined them carefully. Then she turned to Helen and exchanged with her a significant look. When she looked again at me, a slow smile of triumph was spreading over her face. It seemed to say: "I have got you," and when she went out of the room I remembered with some discomfort the impertinences that I had showered upon her in the past. However, I soon took courage. She could do me no harm, I thought. What a fool I was!

    The next term at school, an episode occurred of which it is difficult for me to write. But I must refer to it because it affected my future tremendously. I was, as I have confessed, girlish to look at, although I took my part in the games of the school, and my appearance brought upon me a great deal of chaff and ridicule. It also brought upon me the attentions of the bigger boys in the Sixth Form, especially from Guy Repton, a youth of nineteen, who kept pestering me.


    The episode that I am about to relate is a description of my sexual awakening, and the pivotal event that shaped the rest of my life.

    As you can imagine, I had been wallowing in a state of some confusion as to the nature of my sexual orientation since the onset of my adolescence. I had been reluctant to leave my home, which had been veritably dominated by women since my father was a widower. Not only was my experience oriented toward the feminine world, but I was slowly developing a pair of budding breasts!

    When I was sent away to school, I took great pains to hide my body from the other young chaps, but this did not mean that I didn't take the opportunity to steal long glances at my schoolmates. I quickly noted that I was not growing hair upon my body as some of my companions were, and that my muscles were not turning hard, but quite the opposite. I was becoming softer and more round with every passing month. This gave me a terribly ambivalent feeling, for deep within my heart, I could not help but admire the fantastic changes that were happening to my body. On the other hand, I was ashamed and stood up to much ridicule during my time at boarding school.

    My interests were limited when it came to discussions that most of the other boys delighted in. In fact, even though I had grown to mistrust Helen and Miss. Priscilla, I severely missed their gentle company. I found their conversations so much more reassuring and civilized than those of my new companions. I was miserable and terribly out of place. I found that my one solace was daydreaming, and I took to staring out of my window, and the windows of the classrooms, remembering the womanly luxuries that I had once been surrounded with at Beaumanoir.

    Many was the night that I lay alone in my bed, creating images of delight, picture fancies of the lovely gowns that Helen wore and all the accoutrements of her station and sex. I would worry, on such sleepless nights, about my future when I was to take over as master of the household. I felt that I should look forward to that day with much hunger, but in truth, I was not anticipating the day with gladness. In fact, I knew deep within my soul that I had no taste for the powers of my impending manhood, but I did not know how to escape my destiny. If I had only known at that time that my fate was already decided, I would have worried considerably fewer hours away.

    But those hours during which I lay awake were not without their pleasurable moments. It was during the secret quiet of the night that I began to discover the pleasures my own body had to offer. Because I was not obliged to share a room with anyone else, I could spend hours lightly stroking my body and bringing myself to pleasure over and over as I massaged my cock and my extra-sensitive breasts. During these wonderful moments, I would always imagine myself to be dressed in the finest of women's clothing. I fantasized that my hands ran over my body encased in kid gloves, and that my breasts were softly caressed by the fine lingerie or the harsh lacing of a corset. These thoughts aroused my fancy almost more than the actual touch of my hand did. The potency that these fineries held for me is impossible to describe in detail. I can safely say that the deep hours of the night were among the only happy ones that I spent at that boarding school.

    I devised elaborate passion plays in which Miss. Priscilla dominated me, while Helen enjoyed toying with my breasts, or even better still, I liked to imagine Helen's lovely full lips wrapped around my cock while Miss. Priscilla lightly abused my nipples with her fingers or her mouth. Of course, during these imaginary scenes, the two women would be dressed in the most exquisite of gowns, while I too was dressed in the dainty underclothes of a young lady. Oh, the hours of pleasure I afforded myself thinking these wickedly delicious thoughts.

    I had yet to see a woman naked, so it was hard for me to imagine. But there was an instance that I liked to draw upon during my hours of fantasizing. One time, a few years previous to being sent to school, Helen and I were sent to the shore. I will never forget the moment when Helen bent over and gingerly removed her shoes and then her stockings, revealing the most beautiful pair of feet that I had ever seen. I watched with jealous hunger as she ran to and from the sneaking tide. Oh, how I wished that I were the sea, that it was I caressing her perfect white feet with my tongue, with my hands and fingers.

    But I digress! I was to relate the story of the fateful evening in which a turn of events happened that shaped the entire course of my life.

    It was a night like any other previous to it. I lay alone in my bed, lightly stroking my cock with one hand, my lovely little breast with the other. I was recalling an elegant evening dress of satin and tulle that Helen had worn at a spring party the season before. I was enjoying my solitary pleasure so greatly that I never heard the door of my bedroom creak open. As I was quietly moaning into my pillow, I felt a pair of cool hands stroke the soft flesh of my buttocks. I sat up instantly, quietly yelping in surprise when I was met with Guy Repton's hungry eyes. Guy Repton! Here was the boy who had taken such pleasure in tormenting me, and now he had caught me in nightly pleasures.

    "Guy! What are you…"

    "Shh!" he hissed, and covered my mouth with one hand, while the other began roving around my body freely.

    I began to struggle, and he pushed me roughly against the pillows. My heart raced, half in fear and half in a new lust aroused.

    "Guy, what do you think you're doing?" I whispered desperately as I thrashed weakly under his body, which was pinning me to the bed.

    "I know what you've been doing in here, you nasty little thing," he said. He reached between my legs, and grasped my cock in his strong hand. "I came to join in your fun."

    I felt my face flush painfully, especially because my erection showed no sign of quieting. Not only that, but I was painfully aware of my breasts and tried to cover them with my arms.

    "Oh, Dennis, don't cover those lovely things. I came to see them too!" Guy laughed, pulling my arm away from my chest with his free hand. "I want to put my lips on your girlish titties, Dennis. Let me suck your titties!"

    Without waiting for an answer from me, Guy plunged his head down upon my chest and hungrily began to suckle at my soft pink nipple.

    Oh, if I could describe to you the exquisite joy and heated pleasure that I felt course through every inch of my flesh! No one's hands but my own had ever stroked or paid lusty attentions to my secret boobies. And now, in a moment's time, Guy Repton had fallen upon me, and with his lips he kissed and bit and sucked my tit. With his hand, he reached between my soft thighs and took my cock in his hand and began to stroke and fondle the shaft of my pulsing member. I could feel his strong rod bulging against my thigh and the weight and force of his body and mine, the way he was dominating me was exhilarating. I arched my back involuntarily to meet the kisses that he continued to lavish upon one nipple and then the other.

    "Oh! Oh! Guy!" I moaned, my pleasure very nearly exploding.

    Just as I was about to shoot my seed into Guy's fist, the door of my dormitory room burst open. There in the frame of the door, his face lit underneath from a kerosene lamp, was the dormitory master.

    I shrieked and recoiled from the light that the headmaster brought in with him, while Guy shouted and tumbled off of me and the bed. He tried to madly scramble underneath the bed, but of course it was a futile attempt at escape. I was horrified and utterly shattered that I did not get to finish my passions. And I knew, as did Guy, that we would both be expelled for our "disgraceful" behaviour.

    The events that immediately followed at the school were dreary, and I was very glad to get away from the dreadful place as soon as I had been booted. Had I known that the episode was the greatest thing that could have happened to me at the time, I would not have been so ashamed. As it was, I feared Helen's wrath, and thought about it the whole ride home. Well, almost all of the ride… if the truth be told, I did offer a moment here or there to the delicious memory of Guy Repton's hand on my cock and his pretty mouth clamped upon my nipple.


    Accordingly I returned home, and nobody knew what to do with me. I could not go to another school. I was too young for the University. I stayed at home for six months. My father was already sickening with his last illness. There was no one to control me; and no doubt I bullied the servants, was tyrannical and threatening to the tenants, rude to Helen, and contemptuous of Miss. Priscilla. Miss. Priscilla had precise old-maidish neatnesses which it was a pleasure to me to offend. I would stamp about the drawing room in noisy muddy boots and fling myself on delicately upholstered sofas in dirty football clothes. These things I delighted to do because I saw how much they shocked her and offended Helen. Finally Helen made a suggestion to my father that I should be sent around the world with a tutor for a year. My father was delighted with the idea. He was very ambitious for me. He was unwilling to face the disturbing realities of my unusual feminine persona.

    "There is no reason, my boy, why you should make money. I have done that. You must make a famous name. Marry and begin a great family which shall be associated with the history of the country."

    Oh, how well I remember him saying that! Helen and Miss. Priscilla were both at his bedside at the time, and both were looking at me with enigmatic smiles, which, of course, I now understand.

    "You must go into Parliament, become a Cabinet Minister, perhaps Prime Minister. Therefore go round the world Dennis and improve your mind."

    I went, grateful to Helen, but after I had started, I began to wonder whether Helen had not some ulterior purpose. Whether she had not removed me from my father's neighbourhood in order to oust me by slander from his affections and rob me of my inheritance. I wrote to him, warning him against Helen and Miss. Priscilla.

    "They are, both of them, designing women, I am sure. They wish to intrigue me out of my proper position as your son."

    It was an unfortunate letter, for it ultimately came into Helen's hands. But at the same time it had its influence on my father. A couple of months later, I received a telegram announcing my father's death and that he had bequeathed the whole of his immense fortune to me, with a request that I should make Helen such an allowance as I thought sufficient for her and Miss. Priscilla. There was, however, a thorn in that, as in every rose. I was not to come into my inheritance until I was twenty-five, and until that time, Helen was appointed my guardian. I resented the idea of being subject to Helen, who certainly hated me. At this time she was only twenty years old herself. However I reflected that I had the upper hand. She would be absolutely dependent upon me and my money for her meals.

    I returned to London where I found a letter from Helen asking me to go and see Mr. Willowes, the solicitor. Now Mr. Willowes was a friend of Helen's and she had removed the entire affairs of the family from our old solicitor, who had looked after them for twenty years, and put them into this new man's hands. I went to see him in a haughty mood of displeasure.

    "I don't approve of the change," I said foolishly, "and I shall restore the business into the hands of our old solicitor when I come of age."

    Mr. Willowes, a young sardonic looking man, twirled his moustache with an ironic smile.

    "It is very kind of you to give me warning. Meanwhile here is your first-class railway ticket to Beaumanoir. I have paid off your tutor. Miss. Deverel expects you this afternoon and if you will take a word of advice, young gentleman, you will change your tone with her. You are sixteen and a half. She has complete control of you for the next eight years and I rather think that she has had quite enough of your ill manners and bad behaviour. Good morning."

    Wild with rage, I was shown out of the office. I had hardly any money. I had to go down to Beaumanoir. Immediately upon my arrival, Helen threw off her mask. I arrived late, and noticed that all the footmen and menservants had been dismissed. There were only women in the house, plus new women-servants. All of the new maids were big and handsome and strong. I have to admit that deep within my bosom, I felt a renewed vitality being back at Beaumanoir.

    "You have just time to dress for dinner," said Phoebe, "if you will hurry."

    "I shall be late," I replied. "How is it that there are no valets?"

    "You must ask Miss. Helen."

    I had my bath, and coming back into my bedroom, I found Phoebe still there.

    "What are you doing here? You can go," I said and I saw to my confusion that she was holding up a dainty corset of white satin.

    "I must lace you into this first, Master Evelyn," she said impudently.

    "How dare you? What impertinence!" I began to leave the room and I saw her move to the bell. "What are you going to do?" I cried.

    "Ring the bell for some of the other servants if you are going to be silly. I have definite orders from Miss. Helen to lace you into a corset and smarten you up."

    I remembered with a sinking heart Mr. Willowes' advice. I couldn't have a struggle with a lot of women-servants. It was a question I must settle privately with Helen. A minute's conversation would settle the matter and put a stop to the repetition of any such nonsense. And so I allowed Phoebe to lace me up in a women's corset. What a strange, luxurious feeling it was! It was an enervating, captivating sensation against which I felt the strong need to struggle. I had a sense now of truly being in a woman's power. The delicate corset, all lace and satin outside, but relentless as steel in its whalebone grip, seemed to me the epitome of womanhood. I loved the feeling!

    I had carelessly allowed my hair to grow long. Phoebe insisted on curling it. I noticed that the dress trousers that had been laid out had a line of little effeminate black satin buttons running for a few inches from the hem upward on the outside of each leg. They were short and exposed my delicate ankles, which were clad in very fine black silk stockings. My stockings were attached to my corset instead of ordinary socks and my shoes were patent leather girls' pumps with neat flat bows and straight American heels, which were higher, of course, than those that men normally wear. I was mysteriously excited by this strange costume. Helen was already at the table when I went down, seated with five or six of her friends. Mr. and Mrs. Rivers and old General Carstairs, a regular degenerate, were there among other guests. I blushed, suddenly ashamed in my costume.

    "Ah, here's the androgyny!" Helen cried as I entered the room. "Come and sit down! How do you like your corset and your bright little shoes?"

    The company tried not to laugh. I was so confused that I wished the floor would open and swallow me up. I ate my dinner not knowing where to look.

    "We have just been discussing your future, Evelyn dear," said Helen.

    "I prefer not to discuss my future with acquaintances," I replied haughtily, looking at the guests.

    "There's no reason to discuss anything," said Helen, "for we have settled it with a unanimous vote. You are too young still for College. For reasons of which you are aware, you cannot be safely sent to a boys' school."

    I grew scarlet.

    "And you are too overbearing and untidy and impossible to remain in this household with a tutor. There is only one thing left for you, dear, and that's a girls' school."

    I started up in a rage, although I can now freely admit that my heart soared.

    "This is really too much!" I shouted, attempting some modicum of behaviour.

    "Come with me," said Helen, with a look on her lovely face that frightened me. She had absolute control of me and my inheritance for eight years. She took me up to my bedroom.

    "I am quite serious about this, Evelyn," she said in a gentle voice. "It is the only thing to be done. I don't know whether you are aware that I can, if I think you fit for your position, let you come of age when you are twenty-one. If you behave very obediently as a girl for two years at the girls' school to which I am going to send you, I may perhaps shorten your minority."

    It was a strong inducement. Besides, she need not have offered any inducement. I actually wanted to go pose as a young lady. I desired no escape.

    I was deeply, mysteriously thrilled.

    "Of course if I go as a girl to a girls' school for two years, I shall be allowed to dress as a man at the end," I said, in case I appeared freakishly happy.

    "If your schoolmistress reports favourably."

    Of course I consented. During the next day, I was busy with Helen's dressmakers, Helen's milliner, Helen's boot makers, Helen's corsetiere. In ten days I was fetched by a governess. I went by train in the summer uniform of the school-a pretty pink frock of Ninon (ankle length), a big white straw hat, long brown glace kid gloves, and patent leather button boots with very high heels. At the school I had a bedroom to myself. No one was to know that I was not a girl.

    I went through the most rigid system imaginable, all designed to make me completely girlish in mind and body. Hair was removed from every part of my body, except my head, by electric needles and depilatories. Every morning and every evening I was massaged for an hour to reduce my waist, develop my bust, and soften my limbs. Exercises with the same objective were carefully supervised. I wore face masks for my complexion, gloves at night to whiten my hands. My skin was very carefully tended. My hair was treated with lotions so successfully that it grew extraordinarily thick. In two years my hair hung down below my waist in luxurious light curls. Of course I was exceptionally aware of the curves that were forming where before there had been boyish angles. The muscles were all vanishing from my legs and arms which were already naturally round. My breasts were developing into the pretty white, round, delicately veined apples of a girl.

    Now back at home, I was waiting for Miss. Priscilla to inspect the result of those two long years. I was in a bedroom that had been altogether refurnished in mauve. Over a thick carpet, a covering of mauve kid leather had been tightly stretched, and it was delicious to feel under my sensitive feet. The room was clearly a girl's bedroom, the dressing table covered with feminine bottles of perfume and lotion, jewelled powder boxes, gold-backed brushes. Why I asked myself, since I was to be returned to the world of manhood again tomorrow? A beautiful little marble-tiled bathroom led from it on one side, and a dainty boudoir on the other. The bed was exquisite in the shape of a swan. It was altogether a lovely suite of rooms-for a girl.

    "I shall not sleep here tomorrow," I said sadly to myself. I loved the room. The door opened and Miss. Priscilla entered carrying a number of leather jewel cases in her hands.


    CHAPTER 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

    "Nineteen inches, Miss.," replied Phoebe.

    "And the height of her heels?"

    "Four inches."

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

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

    "Lift your skirt and let me see!"

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

    Miss. Priscilla stooped and held out her hands.

    "Give me your pretty foot."

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

    "Oh, Miss. Priscilla," I demurred.

    "At once, Denise."

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

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

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

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

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

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

    "Miss. Priscilla, I only hesitated."

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

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

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

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

    "Yes, Denise!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    "Denise! I am so proud of you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    "The stockings are deliciously cool," I said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    The three women burst out laughing, confusing me dreadfully.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


    CHAPTER 3

    "She must be punished," said Helen, pushing me toward a gilt chair with a white satin seat.

    "Lift your skirt carefully, Denise, and kneel on this chair," she said sternly.

    A little frightened, I immediately obeyed this humiliating order. Helen dipped a pen in the ink upon the writing table.

    "It is the rule in this house, Denise," she said, "that one punishment always involves a second to be inflicted later on; and so that we may not forget it, we make a note of it upon the sole of one of the culprit's smart shoes."

    "Oh!" I protested. "I am to be punished twice for the same fault."

    "That is the rule. It teaches pretty young ladies to be careful to avoid punishment altogether."

    She took my instep in her hand and stooped over my feet. My position was, of course, extraordinarily humiliating. But the feel of her gloved hand on my round, warm, silk-stockinged instep, and the sight of her in the mirror as she wrote the punishment I was to endure upon the new white sole of my dainty satin slipper sent a voluptuous thrill through my blood.

    "Now stay as you are, Denise, until the ink is dry," Helen said, and, laying down the pen, she began to adjust my feet. She took great care, with her usual love of neatness, that my ankles were pressed together and my high heels and pointed toes were exactly level.

    Miss. Priscilla, meanwhile, squeezed and rolled into a ball a small lace handkerchief that she had been soaking in eau de cologne. She came over to me with the ball in her hand.

    "Open your mouth, Denise!"

    I obeyed. She thrust the handkerchief into my mouth.

    "Close your mouth now, dear!"

    The eau de cologne burnt my tongue and the roof of my mouth in the most painful way. Tears filled my eyes.

    "Oh, oh!" I cried in a stifled voice, wringing my hands.

    Miss. Priscilla smiled at my sufferings.

    "The eau de cologne will keep your mouth fresh and sweet, darling," she said and she took up a bigger handkerchief of the finest silk and carefully folded it. This she adjusted over my lips and tied the end very tightly at the back of my hair, binding my mouth so that I could not utter a sound.

    "Now stand up, Denise!" Miss. Priscilla shouted.

    I stood up and Miss. Priscilla carefully smoothed down my shining skirt. What a bizarre spectacle met my eyes in the mirror! I saw a grown-up girl in an exquisite evening gown of white satin with her mouth gagged. Her white throat and bosom were flashing with jewels, while her white-gloved hands toyed with a pretty fan. The delicate bows and bright buckles of her luxurious little slippers were peeping out from delicious billows of white tulle.

    Of course what made the spectacle so piquant and seductive to me was the knowledge that the pretty girl was myself. My hands were quite free. I could have torn the gag from my lips in a second. There were only two ladies to prevent me. But I did not dare. I was undergoing discipline in girls' frocks and pearl-embroidered satin slippers at their hands. I was being punished by them and in my subjection I felt powerful and lovely.

    "Now go downstairs into the drawing room, Denise," said Helen. "Our guests will be arriving in a minute.

    I was to be seen by her guests in this ignominious condition. The shame of it excited me. I looked piteously at Helen. But there was no sign of relenting in her face. I thought the guests would never recognize me. They would see only Denise a girl. They will witness Denise's submission and then Denise was to disappear forever. I picked up the train of my frock and went sadly out of the room. As I turned to latch the door, I heard Helen ask, "Well, what do you think?"

    And Miss. Priscilla replied, "In a few weeks he will be the prettiest fetichiste du pied in the world." And then they both laughed heartlessly.

    I was troubled by their words. What was a fetichiste du pied? I had to know. I had an intuition that the phrase was the secret to the riddle, was a clue to the plot those two women had concocted to nullify and ruin me. But I had not time to think about it now. My heels were so high and thin and my skirt so tight that I had to be extremely careful making my way downstairs. There were two maids waiting in the hall to receive the guests and they both burst out laughing when they saw me. They knew who I was of course, and my cheeks grew hot with shame. I feared I did not look pretty.

    There was no one as yet in the drawing room, but my heart sank at the ordeal in front of me. What if I was not as beautiful as I thought?

    I heard a light quick step outside and Doris Hind, Helen's cousin, now a lovely girl of fifteen, ran into the room. She wore a smart little short frock of pale pink mousseline de soie with black silk stockings encased in patent leather slippers. A bright fire was burning in the grate; I turned to it, to hide my gag as long as I could.

    "Who are you, you pretty thing?" she asked.

    I could not answer.

    "What's the matter?" she demanded impatiently.

    Finally, she turned me around and saw the gag over my mouth. She stared at me astonished for a moment. Then the truth broke in upon her and she clapped her hands with pleasure.

    "You must be Denise. Helen has gagged you. How delicious! You are a perfect girl now, Denise."

    I blushed to the roots of my hair, and unconsciously I placed one foot upon the fender to warm it, lifting my skirt an inch or two. Doris uttered a rapturous cry.

    "What adorable feet! And, oh Denise, what divine little satin slippers. Let me see!" I blushed again, but this time it was with pleasure.

    "What lovely buckles and what fairylike bows! And those dear little pearl-embroidered toes! And what jolly high heels. Show me your ankles!"

    I raised the skirt higher, and the delicate, cleanly rounded ankle in its shimmering cobweb of silk and lace came into view. Doris went into ecstasy. "I should like to perch you on still higher heels dear, and keep you in a glass case to show to my friends. That's really all that you are fit for now. Walk across the room you exquisite thing, and let me see how daintily you can do it in your beautiful high-heeled shoes." I was delighted with her admiration, but I shook my head at her request.

    At once she stamped her foot. "Quick, or I'll punish you," she cried. "Pick up your train and let me see those buckles flashing on your dainty butterfly bows this instant."

    I submitted. I was beginning to learn that one of the inevitable consequences of allowing myself to be dressed as a girl was that everyone, even young girls like Doris, who knew the secret, treated me as a little child in spite of my long decollete gown and fine jewels. I walked daintily across the room and back. Doris applauded me laughing.

    "I don't know a girl, Denise, who wouldn't envy your figure and your feet and ankles. Oh, but you must be kept in high-heeled shoes all your life! It would be ridiculous now that Helen has got you so smart and pretty to let you go back into stupid trousers. Being a boy would be so tedious for you now."

    At that moment Helen and Miss. Priscilla came into the room, and the guests began to arrive. There was Mrs. Dawson the clergyman's wife, Lady Hartley and her pretty daughter; Mr. and Mrs. Charles Rivers… about twenty people arrived, mostly young people and all of them neighbors whom I had known as a boy. I was introduced to them as Denise Beryl, a cousin. Helen explained how I came to be punished with a gag. I had to stand and listen, but my cheeks burned with shame.

    "Denise is unfortunately very vain," Helen told her delighted guests. "I had to punish her because she kept showing off her feet in a very unladylike way."

    "She is very lucky to have gotten off so easily," said Lady Hartley with severity, looking down at my feet through her glasses. "I should not only have gagged her, I should have taken her pretty slippers away from her altogether." Then, to my amazement and horror, "Mr. Guy Repton" was announced and my old schoolfellow came into the room.

    He had been expelled in disgrace because of me. How did Helen come to know him? Her first words explained.

    "This is my new steward and agent," she said as she introduced him. I was horrified. He was the new manager of my estates. He had turned out to be a handsome young man of twenty-two with a fair moustache. Helen had given him a fine position and a good income. She must have sought him out on purpose, because she believed that I had caused his disgrace. She wished to surround me with my enemies, I felt sure. Guy Repton would be grateful to her and presumably he hated me. Helen did not even pretend to conceal the reason for her choice of him. She darted a triumphant look at me. I felt more and more helpless in her hands.

    Guy entered the room and dazzled the ladies instantly. He had become the gallant in the past two years. Needless to add, my own heart fluttered wildly as he entered the room, for I associated some of my most mysterious feelings with him and the experience we shared at school. I still had fond feelings for him, even if he was the cause of my expulsion and disgrace from the academy. I suddenly felt as though I should thank him for what had happened, because it seemed as if it were an example of divine intervention. But I realized that Guy did not recognize me; mentioning anything concerning our tryst at school would have ruined my feminine effect.

    It seemed as though we had both ended up in the proper positions, though I could not help but smile ironically as he bent his dark, curly head to kiss my gloved hand.

    "Guy," said Helen slyly, "I would like to present to you my delightful cousin, Denise. Denise, meet Mr. Repton." She laughed a little, and the sound was cruel and delicious to my ears. I blushed.

    "She is a most delicate creature," said Guy to Helen, as he continued to hold my hand in his. He turned and met my gaze. He stared into my eyes for a prolonged moment.

    "Helen, are you certain that I have never made the charming acquaintance of your cousin before? She looks so familiar to me," he said in all innocence.

    "Oh no, Guy. This is her first visit to Beaumanoir," said Helen, laughing gaily.

    "But why the gag? Has Miss. Denise misbehaved?" asked Guy, his eyes taking in my person with uninhibited hunger.

    "Miss. Denise has been a naughty, naughty girl. Her punishment for her impudence is to endure this party wearing that gag so that she will learn her proper place in this house."

    "Well I must admit," said Guy, "the gag does become her in a bizarre fashion. It is as though she were meant for it."

    "How right you are," cried Helen with delight.

    I was miserable, for I wanted to join in the festive repartee of the evening. I wanted to display my feminine charms for all the guests to delight in.

    "Come along, Guy, you will have all evening to admire my guests," Helen said, guiding him to another cluster of party guests.

    I was grateful for the superb construction of my little leather sheath hiding beneath all my lacy underthings. Seeing Guy Repton had kindled old feelings deep within my soul. I could tell that he fancied me. I could tell that he admired me dressed as a woman much more than if I were the boy he once knew. This recognition of admiration made the blood rush to my face and to my cock simultaneously, and I was glad that my leather pouch kept my feelings from showing.

    We were waiting for dinner to be announced, when Lady Hartley, a handsome matron of forty-five, came to me and took me by the arm. She led me into a little drawing room situated off of the big one. She pointed to a sofa.

    "Lie down there on your face, young lady," and as I hesitated, she pinched my buttock painfully. "At once," she said.

    Reluctantly I stretched myself out on the sofa. Oh, what did she mean to do with me? I felt the familiar stirrings of pleasure that accompanied the demands made upon me by strong women.

    "I saw something written on the sole of your slipper as you walked across the room," she said. "A punishment, of course." She felt for my foot under my satin gown. Once she located my foot, she lifted it up and read Helen's note. She looked puzzled. "I wonder what it means," she said. "You may get up."

    We went back into the big room where all the guests had assembled. Violet, Doris's elder sister had just come down, and my heart fluttered erratically. Violet looked quite stunning.

    "I am very sorry for being late," Violet faltered breathlessly, with a frightened appeal to Helen. She looked perfectly charming in a blue chiffon gown, which set off her porcelain skin and her fair hair to perfection. Helen looked sternly at her, and made no answer.

    Dinner was announced.

    "Mr. Repton, will you take in Denise," said Helen. "I do apologize to have to give you so silent a companion, but you did seem so charmed by her!"

    I sat gagged at the dinner table bright with flowers, among those smartly dressed people, unable to eat and unable to talk. I felt terribly humiliated. It was cruel to make me come down to dinner at all. I found it difficult to breathe and it was all I could do not to burst into tears. To make things worse the company began to talk about the "other" me, Dennis Beryl. "It is such a pity that he is coming home tomorrow," said Mrs. Dawson. "It has been so pleasant and peaceful here while he has been at his girls' school." Everyone agreed. It was a revelation to me how thoroughly unpopular I was. I felt completely ashamed of my past behaviour.

    "I think you will all find him greatly changed for the better," said Helen with a smile. "His headmistress's report speaks most highly of his docility and his ladylike ways." How I blushed. Luckily no one knew that I was present except Helen.

    "I can quite believe it," said Guy Repton with a hateful snicker. "I think that you are all a little unjust to poor Dennis. I don't think that his nature is really bad, but as a boy he was not in his proper position. He must have known that dressed in male clothes he looked silly and ridiculous, and no doubt he felt uncomfortable. It was this discomfort that made him arrogant and intolerable. But dressed and treated as a girl he would no longer have that feeling of discomfort. He would probably be quite charming." I could have boxed Guy Repton's ears for his impertinence. "Very likely you are right," said Lady Hartley, "but then he ought to be kept a girl all his life."

    "Oh yes," cried Mrs. Rivers turning enthusiastically to Helen. I had thrown a stone through the drawing room window of Mrs. Rivers' house, just after she and Charles Rivers had gotten married. She had never forgiven me. Helen shook her head sadly.

    "I promised him that he should not have to wear girls' clothes after the two years if he behaved himself." She made a sign to Netta, one of the parlour maids, and Netta took the handkerchief from my mouth and the second one from between my lips. My face was revealed, and Mrs. Rivers cried out enthusiastically, "Oh what a pretty girl!"

    I blushed with pleasure, and then the most unfortunate event occurred. I had been sitting with my napkin on my lap, although I had no dinner. I had been consumed with curiosity to know what strange punishment Helen had written down on the sole of my foot. So, while the rest were talking I had slipped off my left shoe. Then dropping my napkin, I had stooped to pick it up and, at the same time, I picked up in it the dainty high-heeled slipper. I held it carefully in my lap and read on the new white sole the words "The glass boxes."

    I was wondering what strange punishment "The glass boxes" could be with a thrill of awe. I was under the impression that no one had seen my manoeuvre when Mrs. Rivers uttered her admiring cry; but Lady Hartley had been watching me and she said at once severely, "Yes, a very pretty girl who has kicked off one of her dainty slippers."

    I hung my head in shame.

    "Is that true, Denise? Let me see!" said Helen sharply.

    "Yes, Helen," I said humbly and lifted up the slipper. Helen called to Netta.

    "Take a shoehorn, and put on Miss. Denise's shoe at once."

    Netta turned my chair around, drew the slipper on my foot, and put my back to the table. Then she took the bracelets from my wrists, unbuttoned my gloves there. She slipped my hands out and turned the gloves back.

    "Yes, a very pretty girl," said Lady Hartley severely, "but if she were my pretty girl, I should tie her gloved hands behind her back, and stand her in the corner with her face to the wall with her dainty heels together."

    My cheeks grew red with shame. But underneath the shame, I was suddenly conscious of a passionate longing to be punished in a childish and humiliating way in front of these gaily dressed people. I tried to shake the obsession off. It felt dangerous and exciting. The venom was in my veins. I tried to think of my ambitions, my career, but I could only think of the little, new, shining satin slippers that so daintily imprisoned my feet under the table, the fairylike bows, the big blazing buckles, the pointed pearl-embroidered toes. I felt the high Louis Quinze heels sinking deliciously into the thick carpet. Oh, to be made to stand upon them publicly in a corner with my face to the wall with my gloved hands tied behind my back like a naughty child. I rubbed my legs together in a spasm of desire. And then as Netta placed my dinner before me and filled my glass with champagne, Helen cried out with a laugh.

    "But, dear Lady Hartley, that is exactly what I shall do with Denise."

    The men looked sympathetically toward me, but all the ladies were clearly delighted. As for myself, I had to bend my head over my plate to hide a smile of sheer delight. Mr. Rivers actually pleaded on my behalf. Of course Helen would not hear of it.

    "And I think Helen is so right," said Lady Hartley. "I support the punishment of young ladies. People allow them such a ridiculous amount of liberty nowadays. It is quite refreshing to find someone like Helen. It is wise to dress them beautifully and treat them like dainty convicts. That is the only way to keep the silly creatures in good order," she said sternly.

    I ate my dinner quickly, while the longing to be punished tingled through my veins. Already I imagined that I could feel Helen's quick little daintily gloved fingers binding my wrists behind me with satin ribbons and adjusting my feet in exquisite finery. As soon as dinner was over, cigarettes and coffee were handed round. I lit a cigarette. It was two years since I had smoked one, and oh how I enjoyed it now! I leaned back in my chair, a smile of delight upon my face, as I relished the rich tobacco.

    There was to be a dance for the people of the village after dinner in the village hall, and we were all to go in to it. Helen rose.

    "Mr. Repton," she said, "will you kindly take the gentlemen down to the village hall when they are ready. There are two motorcars. They can come back for us. We ladies will come in for the fun a little while later. After that you are all welcome to come back here; we will have our own little dance and some supper."

    "Certainly, Miss. Deverel," said Guy Repton. He cast a fiendishly lascivious glance in my direction.

    The other two ladies rose and Helen said to them, "Bring your cigarettes, all of you except Denise. I can't have you standing in the corner, Denise, with a cigarette between your lips."

    Blushing, I laid my cigarette in the ashtray and followed the ladies from the room.

    As they crossed the hall, I heard Lady Hartley say to Helen, "I thought that I read on the sole of Denise's slipper that you were thinking of a quite different punishment for her."

    "Yes," replied Helen, "standing in the corner I look upon as a preliminary. The real punishment will be inflicted later on after supper."

    "It sounds like a curious one-'the glass boxes.'"

    "I think it is interesting and ingenious. You shall see it. I am quite sure you will approve."

    I was curious myself as to what the punishment was going to be- curious and frightened.

    We all went into a small parlour. It was a lovely little room decorated in white and gold with a polished parquet floor scattered with thick white rugs of Persian silk. It was brightly illuminated with shaded electric lamps, and a cheerful fire burned upon the hearth. The ladies took their seats in comfortable chairs about the fire with an air of eager expectation. They continued to smoke their cigarettes as Helen placed me in the middle and handed a little silver buttonhook to her young cousin Doris.

    "Doris, put Denise's hands back into her gloves and button them carefully," she said.

    I gave my hands to Doris, who smoothed the tight white kid gloves over my fingers and fixed the buttons while Helen went over to a bureau. She opened a drawer and came back carrying a mysterious leather case and a number of strong black leather straps with big metal buckles shining upon them. Helen placed the leather case on the mantel shelf and the straps on a chair. Her face was radiant, and her eyes danced with pleasure.

    "Now, Denise, we are going to truss you up tightly and prettily," she said with a thrill of sinister delight in her voice. From my arms, she removed the gold bracelets that I had been wearing to keep my gloves stretched tight. Then, on each arm, where the bracelets had been, she buckled a broad, black leather strap very tightly. Neither the metal buckles nor the eyeholes were at the ends of the straps so that after the belt had been fastened, two broad ends hung from each of my arms. Helen tied the ends in a knot and passed them back through the oval buckles. The leather straps were on the outside of my arms, and on the inside of each strap, a little steel ring was stoutly sewn. Helen produced a tiny bar of polished steel with a spring hook at each end of it. She forced the hooks to snap onto the steel rings, pushing my arms together with a strength of which I should never have believed her capable.

    "There," she said, "I can now tie your wrists comfortably." She sat down.

    "Stand with your back to us, Denise." My elbows almost touched in the small of my back and my shoulders were drawn back most painfully. An extraordinary sense of helplessness, delightful and at the same time alarming, overwhelmed me. Slowly and with hesitation I obeyed my cruel feminine tyrant. I stood in front of her chair with my back toward her, and I offered my daintily gloved wrists for her to bind. There were mirrors set into the wall panels and I could see myself in my glistening white frock, which delightfully reflected the lights, from the buckles and pearls gleaming on my satin slippers to the curls of my exquisitely coiffured head, as I stood in this humiliating position of subjection. Yet how the spectacle aroused my passions! I felt dreadfully excited.

    "Keep quite still now, Denise," said Helen, with a laugh. "Have you ever had your hands tied together for bad behaviour before?"

    "Never, Helen."

    "It seems a pity that you should have to have them tied up on an evening when you look so pretty and are so delightfully dressed."

    My girlish vanity made me answer with a smile of confusion, "If I have got to have my hands tied behind me I would rather be prettily dressed than not for the ceremony." The ladies laughed and I blushed. Lady Hartley cried out, "That is charming of you, Denise."

    I felt Helen's hands on my body and suddenly-was it in a panic, or was it to prolong the delight I felt? I began to struggle. But my arms were already bound, and the struggle was soon over. In the mirror I saw my hands suddenly interlaced with Helen's. They were fluttering like four doves. Our four hands separated. Helen's hands were holding the ends of a black leather strap, which encircled my wrists. She drew it tighter and tighter.

    "Oh, oh, you are hurting me, Helen," I protested.

    "You shouldn't make it necessary for me to hurt you, darling," she answered. And then she tied the leather and passed it through the oval steel buckle as she had done with the other straps.

    "That will do," she said, rising briskly. My arms hung down behind me in their delicate long kid gloves, inert, useless. She took me by the elbow.

    "Take care how you walk on your high heels now that your hands are tied behind you Denise. Point your toes and arch your pretty insteps!"

    She led me to a corner by the fire and placed me in it with my face to the wall. "Hold your head up darling! That's right! Put your high heels together, and turn out the pointed toes. Let me see!"

    She stooped down and picked up the train of my dress. She proceeded to wind it tightly round my legs, binding them in its folds and exposing to view my ankles and feet. She fixed it at my knees with a leather strap.

    "Now stand without moving," she ordered, and with the handle of her fan, she gave me a sharp smack on my bare white shoulder.

    "Take care! If I see a flutter of the butterfly bows or a flash of the diamond buckles on your daintily slippered feet, I will lock a tight pair of fetters over your gossamer silk stockings, locked round your slender ankles. You will be bound so fast that you won't be able to twitch one of your toes."

    "Oh, Helen," I sighed. But it was not a sigh of alarm. It was a sigh of voluptuous, languorous desire.

    Strange as it may seem, it was absolutely delicious to be standing daintily in the corner with my arms and hands cruelly bound behind me in my exquisite satin frock. I loved the sensation of the long girls' gloves of supple white kid. I was nothing more than a pretty punished thing of ribbons and pearls. But to have my ankles in their girls' lustrous transparent open-worked white silk stockings fettered tightly together too! The thought of standing in a corner with my delicate feet unable to move in their exquisitely cut high-heeled slippers of white satin and delicate bows was nearly more than I could bear. To see my round pink insteps gleaming daintily through the lace insertions of stockings-stockings that only the richest of heiresses would wear at a ball in the London season! The mere thought of it made me almost swoon with delight. This is what I had dreamed of. I could realize my deepest desires by a single movement. An irresistible impulse to act out was upon me.

    "I don't see the use of my wearing beautiful satin slippers with valuable diamond buckles if I have to hide them in a corner," I pretended to grumble.

    "Nonsense, Miss. Denise," replied Mrs. Dawson, "it is delightful for us to see an elegant young lady with pretty feet smartly shod standing obediently in the corner." She evoked a picture of myself in my mind that carried me away. I was nearly delirious with pleasure. I wanted nothing more than to feel the binding powers of those fetters.

    "Mayn't I even do this?" I asked impertinently, and I stretched out a foot, pointing the toe. I quickly drew it back again. An exclamation of indignation at my wilfulness broke from the group of ladies.

    "Lock and chain together those satin slippered feet at once, Helen!" cried Lady Hartley.

    "I will indeed," answered Helen. "Come Violet, Miss. Hartley, help me please." With the assistance of the two young ladies she literally carried me from the corner and lifted me onto a chair.

    "Support her please," said Helen. I was quite helpless, with my satin train swathed around my legs and my hands and arms tied behind me. Helen opened the leather case and took out a pair of bright fetters of thin polished steel.

    "Oh, they are too small," I cried. "They will never go around my ankles."

    "Hold your tongue," said Helen and she stooped over my little buckled feet. Oh, wonderful blissful moment! I felt the cold, cruel bands close about my ankles, the lock clasp sounding sharply through the room. It was done now, past recall. I was chained and completely at the mercy of these women. Thrills of voluptuous exquisite delight tingled warmly through my body from my high heels to my curls. I looked down-oh, bizarre and entrancing spectacle! I saw the bright bands of steel glistening on my filmy silk stockings, imprisoning my ankles. I saw my small feet in the gleaming, white satin pearl-embroidered slippers. Oh what waves of sensuous pleasure swept over me! Helen raised her hands and smoothed down my skirt from the waist to the knees. Her masterful hands, which having bound my arms and wrists behind me, and fettered my ankles, were now engaged in the feminine work of making my frock sit prettily. The blood rushed into my face.

    As Helen ran her hands over the front of my lovely gown, her searching hands rested most languorously upon my crotch. Her fingers tickled and grasped at my cock. For the second time during that evening, I thanked Heaven for the leather sheath that Miss. Priscilla had forced me to wear. I was also cursing it, however ambivalently, because as Helen teased my cock, the sheath forbade me to experience the true pleasures of an erection. Instead the thing caused me great discomfort, which, of course, was not altogether unpleasing to me, but I wished suddenly to be naked and alone with Helen. I imagined her pretty gloved hands stroking and squeezing my cock. I even went so far as to picture her lovely mouth covering my prick, giving it a good-night kiss. The exquisite torture that Helen had devised for me was more than I had ever expected in my life. Helen continued to lightly tease my rod beneath the folds of my evening gown, and with every stroke I felt the strain of my secret bondage. As Helen tortured me so voluptuously, our eyes met for a long, tense moment.

    "Oh, oh," I murmured. I stood quite still, every nerve tense and alive. It seemed to me that Helen's hands had opened the door to an unimagined Paradise. She stared into my rapt eyes shrewdly.

    Then in a triumphant whisper, she said, "You wanted me to chain your feet, Denise."

    Her words brought me to my senses. It was part of her plan, I was sure, to produce in me a craving for these delectable punishments. It was part of her plot to keep me in a permanent state of submission.

    "Lift the pretty creature down," said Helen contemptuously. When I was placed standing again on the parquet floor, she added with a slow malicious smile, "I think, Denise darling, that since you are so disobedient, before I put you back into your corner, I had better give your fleshy little ass a sound caning."

    "Oh, please no," I cried in terror.

    Helen turned to Lady Hartley.

    "Don't you think that I am right, Lady Hartley?" she asked.

    "Certainly. You will be doing Denise a kindness."

    "Doris, will you go and find Phoebe and ask her to bring a strong thick cane for Miss. Denise?"

    "Oh, please, Helen" I whimpered, "I have never been caned. Oh, I will go on my knees to you."

    "You can't, darling," said Helen, "you have your pretty feet chained together. Don't be silly!"

    She turned me around and ran her hand lightly over my buttocks.

    She began laughing with excitement and pleasure. "I am afraid that even through this fabric the cane will hurt and sting you terribly dear. Your flesh is so deliciously soft."

    I wriggled and struggled in vain. Oh, what a fool I had been to let her bind and fetter me! I was helplessly at her mercy now. My heart soared with secret bliss.

    Phoebe brought in a long, thick bamboo cane. It was a dreadful weapon. Helen made it whistle through the air. I shrank and trembled.

    Helen burst out into a callous laugh at my abject entreaties. The other ladies moved excitedly in their chairs, tapping with their heels on the floor, making their pretty dresses rustle. Clearly, all of them were eager to see me soundly caned in my lovely clothes.

    "Come, Denise, don't disgrace the smarter sex by so much cowardice!" said Helen.

    She seized me. She thrust her left arms in between my bound arms and my back, and lifted my hands off my back into the air.

    "Bend over, dear."

    She raised the cane high above her head.

    How cruel women can be! Helen herself was flushed with pleasure. She grew more severe with each stroke.

    "Seven! Oh, I love to see you crying, Denise!" she said. I writhed and screamed.

    "Eight!" she cried triumphantly and the slashing cane burnt my soft buttocks like a hot wire.

    "Keep still, Denise! Don't rub your knees together under your frock in that indecent way. You'll tear the lace frills of your drawers if you do."

    "Oh, Helen!" I sobbed. "Let me go."

    "Nine! And don't squeeze your satin slippers against one another. You'll ruin the butterfly bows. Ten! You are to dance in them tonight and show them off! Eleven!"

    I shivered from head to foot, fearful that I was going to shoot my spunk.

    "Now for the last! Twelve!"

    The last was a dreadful stroke, and I very nearly reached climax.

    "Oh, untie my hands!" I screamed. "Take my dress off! Let me plunge my bum into cold water! Oh, my flesh is on fire."

    Helen laid down the cane.

    "Shut up," she said. "Violet, Miss. Hartley!"

    They lifted me up, carried me writhing in agony into the corner, and placed me once more standing with my face to the wall.

    "Your head well up! Turn your shoe buckles out!" Helen barked at me. She looked flushed with the pleasure of having completely dominated me. Her eyes were lustily feverish. She looked beautiful.

    "Now cry away, baby, as much as you like, while we go down to the village. Aunt Priscilla will sit here while we are away and see that you don't move," she whispered in my ear. "Think of your perfect humiliation! Think of your perfect submission, and my total dominion over your body and your mind," she whispered caressingly in my ear, tempting me with seductive images.

    Soon the ladies put on their cloaks and went away. I was left in the little sitting room, standing in the corner, sobbing bitterly while Miss. Priscilla, sat at the bureau where she could watch every movement that I made. She callously ignored my weeping and wrote letters.

    She had no pity for me in my bondage and misery. She was perpetually chiding me. One moment it would be, "Don't work your shoulders in that violent way. Keep them still and if you must cry, sob silently!"

    Later she said, "I see your fingers twitching, Denise. Open your hands and let them lie quiet against your satin dress." And then moments later, "Your feet are trembling, Denise. Keep them still. Your slipper buckles are flashing so that they continually attract my eyes. I shall have to cut them off your shoes."

    She came over to the corner with a pair of scissors in her hand. All my vanity, all my love for my dainty slippers, rose in alarm.

    "Oh, please don't cut the buckles off. Please, Miss. Priscilla!" I begged her.

    "Be careful, then," she said and rapped my insteps exposed in their open-worked thin silk stockings with the handle of her fan. My tears broke out afresh.

    At last the pain of my burning flesh began to diminish. I sniffed rather than sobbed. Finally I said in a humble voice, "Miss. Priscilla?"

    "Well, what is it?" she answered sharply.

    "My hands are tied. Would you be kind enough to wipe my nose for me."

    She consented. I was eighteen years old, a youth, the owner of this house, a young man of great wealth and position. And yet there I stood in a corner wearing a girl's evening frock of white satin, girls' gloves, girls' silk stockings and high-heeled shoes. Not only that, but girls' tight satin corsets and frilled batiste drawers were secreted under my dress. My long hair had been done up beautifully in a girls' coiffure. I was bound with my hands behind me, and my ankles chained, and I had to have my nose wiped by an old maid whom a year or two ago I despised. With what strange paradoxes and twists of fate does life provide us!


    CHAPTER 4

    The minutes passed with excruciating slowness. A little clock upon the mantel shelf struck the quarter, and afterward the hour.

    "Miss. Priscilla," I said finally, my voice weak with submission.

    "What is it?"

    "Mayn't I be released now? My feet ache so, arched in these high heels."

    "If you knew how pretty and smart you looked Denise, standing in your corner, you would never want to come out of it," she said calmly.

    "But my corset hurts me, it's so tight, and the fetters gall my ankles. Oh, Miss. Priscilla, I am so unhappy," I cried piteously. Truthfully, I was not so much unhappy as bored.

    Miss. Priscilla rose with a cry of annoyance. She came over to my corner, felt my hands, stooped and felt my legs.

    "Your hands will do as they are," she said. "But your feet are hot, and the fetters tight. We can't have your pretty ankles swollen."

    She took the little key from the mantel shelf and unlocked the fetters. What a relief it was! She unfastened the leather strap from about my knees, and let it drop on the ground.

    "Sit down there."

    She pointed to the sofa. I stumbled across the room and sat down; my legs were numb.

    "Give me your feet," she commanded.

    Miss. Priscilla knelt down in front of me and with her clever, skilful hands, she massaged my ankles, taking the stiffness out of my joints in a moment or two.

    "There! Now the pretty things won't swell up," she said.

    "Oh, thank you, Miss. Priscilla," I said gratefully. Tears welled in my eyes.

    "Stand up, Denise!"

    I obeyed. She unhooked my dress at the back, after undoing the second set of straps. Then feeling under my cache-corsets he loosened my corset laces. Oh, what a joy it was to draw in a deep breath, to be relieved of the constriction about my waist and of the painful binding about my hips.

    Then, to my dismay, I felt my drawers slipping down, revealing my little leather pouch. In loosening my corset laces, Miss. Priscilla had, by mistake I thought, untied the strings of my pantalets. I felt a delicacy in mentioning the fact to her. I pressed my thighs together and held the pantalets up at my knees. It was very uncomfortable. But I should soon have my hands untied, I hoped, and I could then slip upstairs and rearrange myself. Suddenly however I felt a violent tug.

    "Draw in your breath, Denise, and expel it! That is right," and Miss. Priscilla drew in my corsets tighter than ever, and tied the laces.

    "Oh, it's worse than before," I moaned. Yet the familiar confinement was somehow reassuring.

    "Hold your tongue," she answered in her calm, cold voice, "or I'll lace you up in stay laces from your neck to the tips of your satin slippers." What a terribly delicious threat! She hooked up my dress, readjusted my sash about my waist, and suddenly thrust her hand inside my skirt.

    "Where are the frills of your drawers?" As she said this mockingly, she took a firm hold of my cock encased in its precious leather singlet.

    "Open your legs, Denise." As she yelled this at me, she pulled my drawers down to my ankles. Clearly, it was not a mistake that she had untied the strings of my pantalets. She had meant to do it.

    Miss. Priscilla backed away from me, and sat down upon the sofa, sedately smoothing her silk skirt over her knees. Then she drew on her long glace kid shining gloves with deliberate languor. Her eyes never left my compromised and humiliated body exposed before her.

    "Come to me, Denise," she said calmly.

    I shuffled forward shamefacedly, my pantalets clogging my ankles and lace frills frothing about my satin slippers in the most untidy fashion. When I reached Miss. Priscilla's side, she seized me with sudden effort, and flung me across her knees face down.

    "Oh, Miss. Priscilla," I cried startled out of my wits. "What are you going to do to me?" Without answering me, she took up my skirt with its long train and turning it back, heaped the rich satin folds about my back. My thighs and my buttocks were completely exposed.

    I protested, my cheeks fiery with shame.

    "I am going to slap your striped bottom," said Miss. Priscilla, as calmly as if she were in the habit of doing it every day. "I am going to teach you not to complain."

    "But, Miss. Priscilla, you yourself admitted that the steel fetters were too cruel."

    "I didn't admit that your corset was too tight, or that your pretty heels were too high."

    She began to pinch the white flesh of my buttocks between her kid-gloved fingers.

    "Oh, Miss. Priscilla, remember that I am eighteen," I protested weakly.

    "You must first remember it yourself dear, and not behave as if you were six."

    She raised her gloved hand and brought it down with a resounding slap upon my quivering, naked bottom. I could not endure it. The kid glove stung my tender flesh, but the childlike character of the chastisement stung my soul. I lashed out with my legs, trying to kick my feet free from the delicate fetters of my batiste drawers. But the frills clung about my toes, and caught on the high heels and diamond buckles of my shoes.

    Despite the rawness of my flesh, which had so recently been ravaged under Helen's vicious hand, the fresh pain of Miss. Priscilla's gloved hand coming down upon my naked bruised skin sent ripples of secret delight coursing through my blood.

    "Oh, you nasty thing! You like this, don't you?" Miss. Priscilla cried.

    She continued to laugh ruthlessly as she plunged her hands between my helpless thighs. Without compunction, she took my cock in her hands and gave it a healthy squeeze, which caused my prick to engorge almost instantly. And then she proceeded to do something even more audacious: She released the little straps of my leather "glove" and clasped my naked sex in her agile hands. The sensation of the cool, buttery leather glove against my most tender flesh caused me to moan out loud.

    "Oh yes," she hissed in my ear, as she leaned closer to me. "You have the best of both worlds, don't you?"

    As I lay helplessly across her lap, I realized that she was right.

    "You have the perfected beauty of a woman, and the ability to completely satisfy a woman's desire. Oh yes," she cooed, her hand stroking me all the while, "you are lucky to have such a pretty little cock, aren't you."

    I could not answer her, so great was my pleasure. I do not think that she wanted me to answer either. I felt that she was talking as much to herself as she was to me. The only sound that came from my lips were low moans of shameful pleasure. I was in hideous raptures under the dominating presence of Miss. Priscilla. Without meaning to respond so lasciviously, my hips began to grind against the soft silk of her dress, and the soft creamy leather of her gloved hand. It was beyond my control; I could not help responding to the delights she offered.

    "Oh yes," she moaned hoarsely, and it was then that I realized that this bizarre tableau of reversal was affording her as much pleasure as it was giving me! It was a great revelation to learn that my subjugation and humiliation caused a reciprocal pleasure in Miss. Priscilla's loins.

    "Yes, yes, my pretty little Denise," she whispered softly, "you are a disgusting, naughty girl. Oh, yes, yes. That's right. You like being a naughty girl, don't you."

    She went on speaking in a distracted, low voice as she tortured my cock with her lovely hands. Soon, I had reached a proper frenzy and feared that I would shoot my spunk all over Miss. Priscilla's evening gown.

    "Oh, Miss. Priscilla," I moaned. "I am going to… to… I am going to ruin my dress. Oh! Oh!"

    As I writhed on her lap, moving closer and closer to the edge of a shattering climax, Miss. Priscilla brought her free hand down with a hard slap, her leather-gloved hand meeting with the soft flesh of my buttocks in a resounding clap. The mixture of stinging pain and the hot, delicious strokes of pleasure that she continued to give my prick

    confused me. I was falling into utter madness under the hypnotic, wild caresses of the woman. I cried out, making unintelligible sounds of ecstasy.

    "Don't climax, Denise!" I heard Miss. Priscilla shout. Her voice seemed far away, and her command seemed impossible to obey. I felt as if I was already falling into the blissful realm of orgasmic pleasure.

    "Whatever you do, don't allow yourself to fall into that pleasure," sighed Miss. Priscilla. It sounded as if she were in the midst of falling herself, judging by her low moaning sounds, and the slight gyrations of her hips against mine.

    Before I knew it, I realized that Miss. Priscilla had asked too much of me, and I was reaching a point of indescribable panic and pleasure. After all the delicious tortures I had endured, my mistress was requesting the impossible. An excruciating moment passed, and then without attempting to hold back any more, I allowed my seed to shoot wildly. The release of the hot load was as if I had fallen into a savage abyss of black joy.

    I heard Miss. Priscilla draw in her breath very sharply, and I felt her body quiver and rattle beneath my own. She cried out, making a sharp high sound that I had never heard her make, and then she released her tight grip on my sex and fell back against the chair.

    I remained inert for what seemed like an eternity, nearly swooning into a deep sleep. I took this brief respite to revel in the lingering feelings of great delight that Miss. Priscilla afforded me. But of course, this pleasure was short-lived.

    Her kid-gloved hand rose pitilessly and came down heavily upon my naked and helpless flesh. I moaned, I plunged, I writhed upon Miss. Priscilla's knees. I kicked, I strained at the ribbons that bound my hands.

    Miss. Priscilla laughed mincingly, as she looked down at my extended form.

    "Really, Denise, your skin is delightfully soft and tender. They must have taken a great deal of trouble with your body at the girls' school. I don't blame you for kicking your legs about in this wanton fashion, but I must take precautions so that you shan't spoil your beautiful satin slippers."

    She raised me up and placed me sitting on the sofa, smiling at me with huge irony.

    Then she knelt on one knee in front of me, and flung my dress up above my knees, acting as though nothing had happened in the last ten minutes.

    "Stretch your dainty legs out to me, Denise, I will muffle and tie them up in your drawers."

    I blushed, hiding my legs away under the sofa.

    Miss. Priscilla rose calmly to her feet and said, "I must whip those soft pretty legs with a riding whip for your obvious misconduct."

    "Oh no," I cried in a panic stretching out weakened genitalia toward her.

    "Too late dear," said Miss. Priscilla. She fetched a terrible little thin riding switch of whalebone with a jewelled handle from a table beside her.

    "But my silk stockings are so thin and fine," I moaned. "Oh, Miss. Priscilla, the switch will hurt my legs dreadfully. I am so sorry to have misbehaved," I lied.

    "I will only give you two cuts across the calves dear. They will help you to remember in the future that so long as you are wearing the delicate thin stockings and clothes of a fashionable young lady, you had better behave as one. Out with your feet!"

    My face twitched with fear mingled with a deep, warm pleasure. I extended my trembling legs.

    "Join the ankles and arch your insteps gracefully!"

    I obeyed and with two quick strokes Miss. Priscilla brought the crop down upon my legs, extorting shrieks from me. The whalebone curved round my legs and bit into my calves, torturing me terribly.

    "Now, put your satin slippers up onto my knee," she said kneeling in front of me.

    I silently obeyed and she wrapped my cock back into the delicate leather pouch. She pulled the batiste drawers round my slippers tightly, making a pad of the lace frills to protect my diamond buckles, and then with a satin ribbon, she tied my feet up in a parcel.

    She resumed her seat and pulled me over her knees again face down. She raised her gloved hand and without warning began smacking me again with all her might. I shivered and prayed for mercy, but it was in vain. Tears filled my eyes. For while she smacked me she lectured me, and every word seemed chosen to inflame me and trouble my passions.

    "What an undignified position for a young lady dressed in the extreme of fashion. To lie across my lap, her white shoulders rising from an exquisite decollete frock, her gloved arms bound behind her, her satin skirt turned back, her smartly shod feet muffled up in her drawers." She continued to smack me harder and harder still. "What a disgrace. If you only knew how ridiculous and pretty you looked with your high satin-covered heels sticking out from the lace frills of your elegant drawers."

    Tears ran down my face. I sobbed like a child.

    She finished at last, stood me up, drew up my pantalets, and fastened the strings about my waist, loosening my corset and dress to enable her to do it. Oh, how ashamed I was. How I blushed to feel her hands moving seductively across my breasts.

    She laced me up tightly again, corset and frock, buckled my ankles together with a leather strap and passed through a steel buckle. Then steadying me, she forced me to hop in a most humiliating manner back to my corner once more.

    It was nine o'clock when I was first placed in the corner. The clock struck ten as Miss. Priscilla put me back there, lifting up my chin, drawing back my shoulders, adjusting my feet, turning out my toes as much as my ankle strap allowed her to do.

    "Now will you stand quietly dear?" she asked.

    "Yes, Miss. Priscilla," I said humbly. So much had happened in an hour!

    "That's right, Denise. You can't imagine how delicious you look standing there tied up in your smart clothes. Think how you have been punished. Consider your indiscretions."

    I wriggled my knees.

    "Ah, you are thinking of the dainty slippered feet," she said mocking my desire.

    That was her policy. She would punish me into abject subjection and then make me love and crave that punishment by associating it in my mind with the voluptuous images that provoked my passions. She was succeeding. I obeyed her, and responded in the way she wished me to.

    I imagined my dainty high-heeled slippers shining and sparkling below my satin dress, heel to heel as I stood in the corner. The minutes eked by. I was delighted by the feel of the height of my heels. I wanted to catch a glimpse of my buckled toes and realized that I must not move them, since I was undergoing punishment at Miss. Priscilla's hands. The clock struck eleven to my great surprise. I had been standing in the corner for two hours. At last, the door opened, and Helen, Lady Hartley, and Violet Hind came into the room. I heard music and the sound of voices in the ballroom. Oh, I longed to be free.

    "How has Denise behaved Auntie?" asked Helen with a jolly tone in her voice.

    "She was troublesome at first. So I gave her a sound slapping across my knee."

    I blushed with secret shame.

    Violet cried "Splendid," and clapped her pretty hands.

    Miss. Priscilla resumed. "But for the last hour she has been standing very prettily in her corner, not uttering a word."

    Helen came over to me.

    "Have you been thinking of what I told you darling?"

    "Yes, Helen," I replied blushing more than ever.

    Oh, how determined those two women were under all their loving terms and dainty endearments to corrupt and make me a slave to their sinister way.

    "Then I will set you free as a reward." She did so, unbuckling the leather straps. "Now go to the ballroom and dance. Enjoy yourself," she said.

    I was delighted.

    "But mind darling that you only dance with girls," she said with a warning nod, explaining to Lady Hartley: "That is part of Denise's punishment."

    I was delighted to have an excuse not to dance with men, even as humiliating an excuse as this was. I went into the ballroom which led out on the other side of the big drawing room. It was a beautiful room with a lovely parquet floor. There were a good many people whom Helen had brought up from the village; luckily more girls than men, so that I had a still better excuse. I was able to say that as I was staying in the house, it was my duty to see that the visitors had partners. I danced with Violet, and Miss. Hartley, and other girls-and I loved it. I had been beautifully taught and I knew that I danced very well. Violet, too, was a good dancer. Oh, to swing round in a waltz with her to the sound of languorous music, our little slippers flashing in and out, weaving and interweaving, yet never touching, it was delicious. At midnight we all went into the dining room for supper. The party was as merry as could be. Oh, how sorry I was when the guests began to go. Miss. Priscilla took me aside, presenting me with a new pair of long white gloves.

    "You must have these put on, Denise. You have soiled the ones you are wearing." She smoothed the clean pair over my arms, and buttoned them.

    "Have you also soiled your slippers?"

    "No, Miss. Priscilla. The ballroom floor is as clean as a new tablecloth."

    "Let me see!" she said. I swept my frock aside and showed her my feet.

    "Yes, you need not change them," she said.

    In the excitement, I had forgotten all about my punishment. I saw Helen saying good-bye to a crowd of guests at the drawing room door, and I wondered whether she had not forgotten it too. I thought that if I could slip up to my room, I might escape altogether. I tried, but Helen saw me trying to disappear, and cried out pleasantly, "You mustn't go yet, Denise dear."

    She continued saying good-bye to her girlfriends as I stood by her side. I felt a cold thrill of erotic trepidation as I considered what sort of new torment Helen had concocted for me. The fearful anticipation was nearly as painful as the canings I had received earlier. I shuddered with delight remembering the warm pain that shot through me as I had been caned and spanked. In considering my evening thus far, I began to grow excited anew. I felt the familiar pull at my leather pouch as my cock began to engorge with hope.

    All the guests went at last. Helen took me firmly by the hand. "Come with me," she said. Only Lady Hartley, Miss. Priscilla, and Lady Hartley's daughter were left in the drawing room. Helen touched a spring in the wall and a panel slid aside, showing another room of which I had not guessed the existence. The house had been greatly altered during the years of my absence.

    "This, Denise," said Helen with a cold smile of anticipation, "is the punishment room."

    Lady Hartley followed Helen, Miss. Priscilla, and myself into the punishment room. It was a small room, furnished prettily with a bright fire glowing on the hearth. Helen closed the panel as soon as we had entered and at once it appeared that the room had no door to it. It was decorated in mahogany and white satin. On the floor was a thick carpet that made walking luxurious. The walls were all thickly padded with white satin and the light was only admitted through a skylight over which, at this moment, heavy curtains of white velvet were drawn.

    This room was a room for punishment. At a first glance no one would have guessed that. At a second, one would have noticed some sinister particulars. Across the ceiling a grooved gilt wheel ran on a strong rail and from the groove of the wheel, a thick strong gold rope descended. The wheel was worked by a small lever in the wall, and at this moment was in a corner of the ceiling with the rope tied to a hook. On the ottomans and chairs, I noticed steel rings and bars, and one long flat sofa was furnished at the end with a pair of sticks. There were cases with glass doors fixed against the walls; glancing into one, I saw a stand of bamboo canes, into another a stand of birches daintily tied with blue and pink satin ribbons, and into a third, handcuffs and fetters and irons of all kinds in polished steel. I was afraid. But what most terrified me was a mahogany chair raised an inch or two from the ground on a solid frame. It was luxuriously padded and cushioned in white satin. Yet for some reason it appalled me.

    "Sit down, dear," said Helen pushing me toward the awful chair. I advanced timidly and mounted the frame. I sat down in the wicked chair. Helen fixed a strong leather strap round my waist, buckling it tightly behind the chair. Other straps were attached, and these she fastened over my shoulders, drawing them tightly under each arm. My body and bust were thus securely imprisoned. The chair was furnished with short arms thickly padded in white satin, and an inch or two beyond the extremities of the arms, two strange square boxes of glass were supported on steep pedestals fixed into the frame of the chair. On the sides of these boxes, facing the arms of the chair, were holes thickly padded with white satin for the wrists, the upper part of the glass sliding upward in grooves to admit the hands. The other sides and the bottom of the boxes were covered with looking glass. The top surfaces of the boxes like the sides facing the chair were of glass. Helen lifted up the sliding portions of the glass.

    "Lay your arms flat upon the arms of the chair, Denise darling, so that your hands are in the glass boxes," she said in her most honeyed accents. "The palms of your gloved hands uppermost dear."

    I obeyed her in dreadful alarm. Lady Hartley looked on in delighted curiosity, while Miss. Priscilla strapped down my elbows and forearms with leather straps to the arms of the chair. My hands were quite inside the glass boxes. Helen then slid down the upper pieces of glass, and made them fast by locking a steel bar along the tops. My wrists were now hermetically imprisoned in the glass pillories.

    In front of me, at the end of the frame, supported also upon steel pedestals, was a bigger box of the same make as the boxes for the hands. Only in this bigger box there were holes for the ankles a little apart from each other and raised so that, with my feet in the boxes, they would be in a straight line with my knees as I sat in the chair.

    "Raise your legs dear, and insert your pretty feet," said Helen. She flung back my skirt, exposing my silk-stockinged legs, my garters, and even the frills that decorated my knees. Timidly I raised my legs and inserted my feet into the box, letting my legs rest in the grooves made for them, while Helen held up the upper slide of glass. As soon as my legs were in position she slid down and secured the glass, tightly fitting me into this strange pair of glass stocks.

    My legs fitted very tightly into the holes just where the calves began to swell, so that my ankles as well as my feet were enclosed in the glass boxes. Then Helen, by means of a little silver knob on the outside of each box, drew out the mirrors that formed the bottoms of the boxes, and disclosed shallow cavities underneath. At once, from these cavities a brown dust whirled out and flew about the boxes as if driven by a wind. The brown dust settled on my shining white gloves, my smart glistening slippers, my gleaming stockings of silk. I could move my fingers. I could also work my toes and insteps up and down, though I could not twist my feet from side to side. I worked both hands and feet to shake the dust off in vain, and then I felt two or three sharp pricks on my insteps and other pricks on the palms of my hands at the small opening of the gloves. I shook my hands and feet more violently and then I began to feel the pricks all over my ankles and feet wherever my stockings were open-worked, and all over my hands too. Meanwhile the little clouds of brown dust spun about the boxes.

    A suspicion of the truth dawned upon me. I was seized with a dreadful irritation wherever the dust touched my flesh. I could not lean forward, for I was strapped firmly back in my chair. But I fixed my eyes upon my twisting fingers, my twitching feet, and I discovered the truth.

    "Oh, Oh!" I cried. "Helen, the specks of brown dust are fleas! My stockings are full of fleas! Oh! They're torturing me. It's horrible."

    And in a frenzy I worked my feet; I twisted and clenched my fingers. It was all in vain. My ankles, my insteps, my hands were at the mercy of these obscene insects and they were devouring me.

    Lady Hartley was in raptures.

    "What a delightful punishment for a pretty, disobedient girl!" she cried. "To tie her into a chair in her lovely evening frock and then to give her satin-slippered feet and slender little ankles in their exquisite stockings to fleas to devour and bite! I think you are wonderfully clever, Helen."

    Helen smiled in acknowledgment of the praise.

    "It is, at all events, an appropriate punishment," she answered modestly. "Denise is being punished for her vanity in making a coquettish display of her little feet. To hand them over in their finery to fleas seemed to me the best way of teaching her humility." She looked at me pointedly.

    They stood and watched me with vicious joy as I writhed and twisted in my bonds. The fleas were driving me mad. They got inside my stockings, down under my slippers, round my ankles and bit me terribly. They were ravenous. The fleas were inside my gloves, between my fingers, everywhere. My feet and hands twisted in their glass prisons. The mirrors reflected back to me the irony of my flashing buckles, my dainty bows and heels, and the tightly fitting elegant long gloves.

    "Oh, oh! It is excruciating," I cried. "Oh, Helen, you are cruel! I am being eaten up. The irritation is driving me out of my senses." I burst into tears, I tugged at my legs and arms to break the glass and free myself. I felt the blood rush to my face. I was growing delirious.

    "It's a disgusting punishment," I moaned. "Please, please, stop it. Please!"

    Helen simply laughed at me and stood among the other women, just watching me.

    "Is it indeed, Denise? I don't allow young ladies to use such language about my punishment which I feel it my duty to inflict upon them. If the fleas are disgusting to your delicate sensibilities, what I wonder will you say to this?"

    Into the tops of the glass boxes little silver boxes were let in, one over each gloved hand, one over each satin-slippered foot. Helen touched a spring in each of these boxes and the bottom, which in each case was inside the glass box, fell down upon a hinge. And to my inexpressible loathing, from each box, there dropped a horrible fat, big, slimy worm. There were four of them. One dropped on to the kid-gloved palm of each hand, one on to the pearl-embroidered toe of each of my slippers. I uttered a piercing scream of horror. I suppose that it was very feminine of me, but I couldn't help it. The sight of those loathsome fat worms on my pretty gloves and shoes filled me with nausea. I shuddered. I felt that I was going to be sick.

    "Oh, take them off! Take them off," I screamed. I shook my hands and feet in a panic. Then the worms began to crawl! Oh, it was revolting. They crawled over my toes leaving a disgusting brown trail of phlegm on the dazzling sheen of my white satin shoes. They mounted onto the buckles and bows. They were crawling toward my open-worked stockings. Oh I could feel them on my flesh. Perhaps they were poisonous too, I thought in my panic. They were crawling about my fingers as well. I touched one with the tips of my fingers as I closed one hand spasmodically and the soft feel of it as it moved and wriggled caused me to shriek again.

    "Oh, Helen! Please set me free!" I moaned. "It's a horrible punishment."

    The tears poured down my face. My slipper buckles flashed and flashed in a thousand many coloured rays as I arched and bent my feet to shake them off.

    "That's a wonderful punishment," said Lady Hartley. "It appeals to the imagination as well as to the body. Ugh! The slime on the dainty slippers and the shining tight white kid gloves! How ashamed of herself Denise ought to be!"

    I interrupted her with a scream. One of the worms had crawled inside my left glove and I felt it wriggling on the flesh of my palm. It was unendurable. Then I felt something wet and soft crawling over my insteps. The worms were on my stockings, feeding on the silk and lace. My screams redoubled. The chair shook with my frantic struggles. All the while, too, the fleas were biting and torturing me!

    Helen watched me complacently. She was delighted with the success of her bizarre experiment. She listened to my sobs and screams; she watched my tear-stained face, revelling in my abasement and suffering. Then, with her hypocritical kindness, she said, "The lesson, darling, you have to learn is this: If you were wearing high boots and thick stockings you would not mind the worms. Therefore the more daintily you are dressed, the more careful you must be to be obedient and modest." And then she and her friends laughed heartily, at my expense.

    I interrupted her sermon with another scream. One of the worms had crawled through the open-worked pattern and was inside my stocking clinging to my flesh. It was the last straw. I went into a fit of hysterics. I screamed, and laughed, and sobbed all at once. My face flushed red and I convulsed. I was going mad. Even Lady Hartley was terrified by my appearance.

    "She has been sufficiently punished, Helen," she said, nervously.

    Helen took a little tube with an India rubber ball at the end. She pressed the tube through a tiny hole in the glass. Squeezing the ball at the end of the tube, she discharged a strong insecticide powder into the boxes one after the other, which at once killed the fleas and worms. Phoebe immediately stripped my stockings off my legs. Helen released me from the stocks, and my gloves, shoes, and stockings were taken off and left in the glass boxes to be destroyed. I was still sobbing bitterly, shaken with convulsions and shivering fits and tormented by the irritation of the flea bites.

    Lady Hartley said good-night and took her daughter away, while Phoebe brought a basin of warm water in which some herbs had been soaked. She bathed my inflamed and swollen hands, ankles, and feet.

    "There's no reason for you to go into hysterics, Miss. Denise," she said with a rough kindness as she knelt at my feet, bathing me. "This infusion will soon cool your legs and remove the irritation, and tomorrow morning there won't be a mark on your pretty white skin."

    By this time, Helen herself was a little alarmed. She brought me a large glass of champagne saying, "I did not realize how completely soft and girlish you had become, dear."

    "But you meant me to become soft and girlish," I said between my sobs. "You and Miss. Priscilla sent me to a girls' school for two years and you knew what would happen to me."

    "Oh yes, darling," said Helen patting my bare shoulders affectionately. "Of course, we meant to punish you by permanently giving you the figure, the pretty breasts, and the lovely face of a girl. It pleased us to dress you in exquisite clothes suitable to your looks. But we did not dream that the system would be as delightfully successful as it has

    been in changing your haughty spirit into a timid and shrinking disposition. However we know now, and I promise you that we will not punish you with the glass boxes again; unless you should make it absolutely necessary."

    "Thank you, Helen," I said gratefully. Even at the time I felt a strange and significant change in me. I was not angry and resentful because she had punished me and thrown me into hysterics. I seemed to recognize that I wanted her to do what she pleased with me.

    The irritation was soothed by the healing infusion of herbs with which Phoebe bathed me; I recovered from my hysterics and my sobs ceased. Phoebe dried my legs, and put on to them a fresh pair of silk stockings and satin slippers and I stood up.

    "I am very tired," I said. "I will go to bed."

    "Before you go to bed, Denise," said Miss. Priscilla calmly, "you will have to have a long conversation with me in my boudoir." I knew what she wanted.

    "Oh, please, not tonight! I am exhausted."

    Miss. Priscilla was implacable.

    "Tomorrow you are to be dressed as a young gentlemen again. It is necessary that our conversation should take place while you are still wearing your girls' clothes."

    I was worn out by the punishments and experiences of the day.

    "Then I will wear girls' clothes for one more day." I said. I was deliriously happy.

    Helen laughed. "Really, dear, it is not for you to make bargains with us. If you wear girls' clothes tomorrow to please yourself, you will wear them as long as I choose to please me."

    "Oh, Helen!" I cried excitedly. I did not know what to do. The long "conversation" I was to have with Miss. Priscilla frightened me. I was too tired. I was not fit for it. I should do anything that she wanted me to do. On the other hand if I were to agree that it should take place tomorrow, Helen might keep me dressed as a girl for another year. And I was to be a man. I had a future. But in front of my eyes there rose the vision of my reflection I had seen in the mirror. I remembered my pretty face, my curls, my white throat, my beautifully gowned figure, and my gloved hands. I thought of my feet in their little buckled satin high-heeled slippers. Oh I should not mind if Helen did keep me dressed as a girl for a year. I said, "Very well Helen! I consent. Miss. Priscilla shall talk to me tomorrow and you shall keep me as a girl until you are willing to let me become a man again."

    I blushed as Helen rippled over with delight.

    "Darling, we'll make you happy," she cried and she kissed me. "Even tonight you shall begin to realize the privileges and liberty of a beautiful young lady. You shall have a naughty book to read in bed and can smoke a cigarette before you turn out the light."

    Phoebe took me upstairs, undressed and bathed me, put on a lace-embroidered nightgown of batiste threaded with pink satin ribbons and tucked me in bed. On a little table by the bed she placed a glass of lemonade and some biscuits, a box of cigarettes and some matches and my novel.

    "Take care you don't set the house on fire, Miss. Denise," she said, "and turn out the light before you go to sleep."

    She left me in my luxurious bed to myself. What a delicious change it was from the hard mattresses and strict discipline of the girls' school! I smoked my cigarette and read my novel. Oh it wasn't such bad fun being a young lady after all.


    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.


    CHAPTER 6

    It was Helen's policy to make my life as a girl delightful to me. The next few months were pleasurable although 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 even better, exciting punishments. Miss. Priscilla's mind was extraordinarily fertile in this area. Her design was to mix pain and pleasure in an inextricable confusion in my mind, so that I should never be able to think great pleasure possible without the accompaniment of pain. And once this belief was implanted in my mind I would always long to remain in subjection to my feminine tyrants.

    I remember addressing a flippant impertinence to her at a garden party. She took me at once to the motorcar and drove home with me. I was dressed in a long trailing frock of misty dark grey crepe de chine, with a big grey satin hat to match that was trimmed with grey ostrich feathers and a bow of green ribbon. I was wearing black silk stockings and little high-heeled patent leather button boots, smart and quite new. Miss. Priscilla led me into the punishment room where a sewing machine stood. She strapped my feet in their smart boots into the treadles, pushed a long mirror in front of me, and said, "Now get to work, Miss. High Heels!" I began to work the machine.

    "Quicker! Quicker!"

    I obeyed. In the mirror, I could see my little feet in their fashionable dainty boots flashing up and down, undergoing punishment.

    "Still quicker!"

    My thighs bruised one another. My face got red, not merely with exertion but also the delirium of passion. My feet raced up and down, and a wanton smile shone in my eyes and on my lips. Miss. Priscilla made me go on working the sewing machine in my dainty gown and fashionable bright buttoned boots for the rest of the afternoon.

    That first autumn Helen gave a ball at Beaumanoir. I was dressed for the occasion in a plain, exquisitely fitting, long white velvet gown that moulded my figure like a glove and fell in softly gleaming folds to my feet. A white satin sash about the waist broke the line. Diamonds and pearls flashed on my white neck and shoulders. The gems glittered about my white-gloved wrists, and sparkled amidst my curls. My stockings, of course, were of the finest gauze silk and glittered with gems, while the fronts of my white satin slippers blazed with diamonds, and were finished with the daintiest bows made of diamonds. When my feet peeped out from the hem of my dress, one saw two little sparkling shields of diamonds. When I showed myself to Helen before the dance she gave me a warning.

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

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

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

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

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

    Helen was in a rage.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Helen looked at me calmly.

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

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

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

    "Too late," she said grimly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    "What an improvement!" cited 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 dress so prettily," said Lady Hartley.

    "The shoes are very smart," Lady Hartley continued. "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 stepsister for the dainty care with which she has dressed and moulded his figure."

    Thus they talked of me as though I were nothing more than a statue. I stood red with shame. During dinner I was made to stand up at the centre of the table before them all with my heels together, and was only allowed to eat when they were having dessert. After dinner I shuffled in my fetters into the drawing room. Helen placed me in a chair with my feet on a satin footstool, gave me some embroidery to work at with my gloved fingers, and told me to be silent.

    At ten o'clock she took the work away. "You mustn't spoil your pretty eyes, dear," she said. "And you mustn't read a novel for you would soil those dainty white kid gloves with the cover, and you mustn't dance for your scarlet heels are too high. You had better come with me. Violet, will you come too?"

    Helen slid back the panel of the punishment room, and made me lie face downward 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 white-gloved hands tightly behind me. Then she carefully turned 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 hands 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. She would not even deign to speak with me when I was dressed as Dennis.

    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 wracked 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 girlfriend called Denise," she replied coldly.

    "How do you like being a man, Miss. High Heels? Keep your bright little slippers still! It is not entire joy being a man after all is it? It would have been, had you remained a girl."

    Helen and Miss. Priscilla came back in an hour, sent Violet to bed, and took down my knickers.


    "We are going to start you off on your new career as a high-heeled young gentleman with a good birching," said Helen.

    Helen birched me in this ridiculous costume until I thought my head would burst. They removed my knickers and laid me again on my face on the ottoman. They doubled back my legs and tied my right foot up to my right gloved elbow, my left foot to the left elbow, my hands, of course, being still strapped behind me. Then they dragged my thighs apart and secured them in this position. Helen took a new birch. In her exquisite rustling frock of pink satin, her little satin slippers peeping restlessly out beneath the skirt, her face flushed and radiant with enjoyment, she looked wonderfully pretty. She stood beside me with her back to my head. Holding my left foot in her left hand, she flogged me between the thighs, attacking the soft white flesh viciously.

    I screamed for mercy.

    "You had better be thoroughly birched tonight, darling," she said, "The recollection will save my pretty Miss. High Heels many a birching in the future."

    The twigs split and slashed me between my thighs, curling up onto my stomach underneath and torturing the most tender parts of my body.

    Then she set me free.

    "Put on your knickers, Dennis," Helen said with disdain.

    Writhing with pain, I took off my slippers for I could not have gotten the tight knickers over my high heels. I drew on my pantaloons and knickers, and Miss. Priscilla fixed them up and buttoned and buckled the cod-piece at my poor, welted thighs. Then she removed my coat, stays, and chemise, stripping me naked from the waist upward. There were some panels of looking glass in the walls. How strange I looked in the reflection. The buckled slippers the silk stockings, the frills, the pretty black velvet knickers with the jewelled buttons-and rising out of them the white bosom and shoulders of a girl!

    They forced me on the ottoman at the end to which a pair of stocks was fixed. They put me on my face, fixing my ankles in the stocks and my hands down to the legs of the ottoman.

    "It is your turn now, Aunt," Helen said to Miss. Priscilla.

    I was sobbing as if my heart would break.

    My thighs were on fire.

    "Oh, please, no more," I wept piteously.

    Helen took a seat in front of me and slapped my tear-stained face with playful fingers.

    "We are going to dress you in a scarlet corsage dear, which will go extremely well with your smart black velvet knickers. It will be a skin-tight decollete corsage, and Aunt Priscilla's birch will do all the dressmaking. I am not sure that it ought not to be a high-necked corsage. We will see. Go on, Auntie."

    Miss. Priscilla took a new birch, long and supple and horrible. She swished it up and down and then she began cutting my back from left to right, and afterward from right to left, carefully avoiding the skin of my shoulders, which an evening bodice would have exposed.

    I struggle and yelled and sobbed.

    "Oh, it's dreadful! It's intolerable! Oh, take all my fortune! Turn me out as a beggar! Only don't torture me!" I was feeling none of the pleasure with this pain, for I was not dressed in my lovely women's clothing.

    Helen laughed and lifted up her lovely little pink satin slipper to my mouth.

    "Kiss my foot, dear!"

    I obeyed. The feel of her warm dainty instep under my lips almost made me forget the pain and terrible loss I was suffering.

    "There, that will do," said Miss. Priscilla. She released my hands and bound them behind me. I had no power of resistance. I was twitching and writhing and torn with sobs, but they had no pity for me. They turned me over on my back and then Miss. Priscilla birched my stomach. The agony of that punishment was the worst of all. When she released me, I was trembling from head to foot, my teeth were chattering, I was going to swoon.

    "No nonsense, Miss. High Heels," said Helen sternly.

    "Stand up prettily in your bright-buckled slippers and pretty velvet knickers."

    She gave me some champagne and brandy. Then she took a little riding whip.

    "Oh, no more!" I screamed in horror.

    "We shall teach you obedience, darling. There is a good one and here's another. Oh, we'll cook you well. All your wealth. All your jewels. All your pretty clothes and high-heeled shoes won't save you."

    She kept turning me round, searching out white spots on my body, and when she found one, she slashed it until it matched the rest of me.

    "There you are dear. A scarlet corsage!" she said, kissing me contemptuously. Phoebe was rung for, and she carried me, half-naked and sobbing bitterly, upstairs and put me to bed.

    I remained in bed ten days, thinking-thinking very hard. On the eleventh day, I was able to bear corsets once more around my breasts. I was allowed to get up. It was evening, after dinner. I was dressed in the most wonderful costume of palest lavender satin: decollete corsage, a sash with long gold-fringed streamers down to the heels of my shoes, and a great bow at my back, short satin knickers with a ruby buckle in front, and diamond buckles at the thighs, the frills of my drawers- which also were short and did not hide my knees-fluttering, open-worked silk stockings and satin slippers that were covered with diamonds and had diamond bows besides and five and a half inch heels, and, of course, long white kid gloves.

    I was led to Helen. She kissed me affectionately.

    "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 satin slippers together. You look exquisite, dear, with your curls swinging down to your waist and your tall slender figure encased in lavender satin."

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

    "This is an evening dress, darling. You can go out in your velvet knickers and your little buttoned patent leather boots."

    "But everybody will jeer at me."

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

    "But when am I to be allowed to wear trousers again?"

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

    "Never?"

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

    "But it's my corset that 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 a 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 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 the truth in her observations. She and Miss. Priscilla had gotten their revenge. I had inherited my father's fortune and in return they had irrevocably made me a girl.

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

    "Then Helen I have been thinking. Let Dennis 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 want to be your pretty slave. Let me have the life of a girl."

    Helen kissed me ardently. She had been bringing me to this.

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

    So it was settled. With Guy Repton's help, my enormous fortune 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 Dennis had gone to a German university to complete his 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. His tombstone is in a little churchyard in Bonn.

    Helen went to Germany for the funeral. No one raised any difficulties or suspected fraud. Guy Repton was well paid. All over my estate, the tenants were delighted that Helen 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 Dennis. 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.

    Two years later a magnificent ball is held at a great house at the height of the London season. A conservatory is screened with palms and dimly lit. Through the door comes the languorous music of a waltz. Inside the conservatory two armchairs sit close together. In one sits a girl dressed in a lovely rich frock of white velvet, pink roses in her corsage and in her hair, jewels on her white neck and her gloved wrists. Her red lips are smiling, her bright eyes sparkling, her fair face radiant with pleasure. At her side, bending toward her, is a young handsome man with a forceful look upon his face. It was the young man who made the brilliant speech in Hampshire and become a cabinet minister. The young man speaks. "Denise, I must call you Denise. You are adorable from your curls to the tips of your satin slippers."

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

    "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 think they are alone. 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 ballroom. She has lost her position, her fortune, her authority as a man, but she has gained, as a girl, a power that few men ever enjoy.


  • CHAPTER 1
  • CHAPTER 2
  • CHAPTER 3
  • CHAPTER 4
  • CHAPTER 5
  • CHAPTER 6
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