"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?"