Denise A Young Girly Boy - Chapter 5 (Patreon)

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A happy day. My new boots. Humiliated in a boot-shop. A catechism interspersed with punishments. I am whipped, handcuffed, slapped, and put into the stocks. Miss Priscilla punishes my satin slippered feet. I give in abject surrender. I am suspended in the air while my legs are flogged. I end the evening with Violet. Caned, birched, and blindfolded.

I woke the next morning to find the sun streaming in at the open window and Phoebe bringing 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 chose my own frock, and Phoebe dressed me according to my choice in a short walking skirt and coat of plain white silk with a white lace blouse which had a low baby collar leaving my throat free. With this cool dress, I wore pale grey silk stockings and grey suede shoes with moderately 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 the others 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 definite policy. She wanted me to enjoy my life as a girl, to love it.

After breakfast, Doris was driven off in one of the motor-cars 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 in the veranda with a cigarette. Violet who was a few months younger than I was sat down beside me. Helen joined us with a smile on 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 over by her. For instance, just before the time when we were to start 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 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 glac‚-kid 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 glac‚-kid which 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's shoe. Violet smiled in approval.

"Yes, buckles and high-heels suit you, Denise. You look delicious now," and she flung her arms around 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 I 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!

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!"

"The pavement is quite dry," I said.

We delivered Helen's messages at the various cottages and at each one got further proof of how much I, Evelyn Beryl, was detested and feared. They were all so delighted at Violet's news that I 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 - not the ladies' underclothing of course - was washed.

Some time ago, just before I went abroad, owing to the statement of mine that Lucy had been insolent to me, I had persuaded my father to take away our washing from the laundry. And Mrs. Pettigrew was nearly ruined in consequence and would have been all together, 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 a 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."

She flung open a door suddenly and showed us a horrible little dark room at the back of the parlor. "But that's where I would like to keep him in his girl's clothes," she exclaimed passionately. "All his life I would like to keep him there fastened in a chair and feed him on 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. She looked like a terrible old witch.

I glanced in alarm into the little darkroom.

"Oh! that would be dreadful punishment," I said.

"Ah you don't know him, Missy," Mrs. Pettigrew replied. "He's your cousin I heard and he's nigh as pretty as you if you'll excuse me. But he's the cruelest conceited young gentleman! That's where he ought to be kept, in the darkroom."

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

"I would like to see them on someone," she said and weighed them in her hands.

"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 darkroom. I recoiled. Violet laughed:

"Quick Denise!"

"Oh, Violet!"

"Obey me! Stand here."

With trembling kid-gloved 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 darkroom, hiss Violet!" she said warningly. "me and Lucy and my laundry girls will keep him safe in his girl's clothes."

As we walked away, Violet burst out laughing.

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

"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 to 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. Thus we drove back to luncheon, where Violet told Helen of Mrs. Pettigrew's darkroom and heavy fetters. They all laughed except myself. 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 to which you can go afterward if you like to have your tea. So go and get smartly dressed and I will order the big motor-car for you. I have some arrangements to make about the new houses."

"Can't I help?" I asked. Since the estate was mine I ought to look after it. Helen smiled.

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

I went upstairs humiliated by her words, but the humiliation did not last long. Violet and I were to do an afternoon's shopping. 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 silk voile in Vieux rose, 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 grey satin hat. We drove off in the luxurious big motor-car to the neighboring town.

"Show me your feet," said Violet. I raised my skirt.

"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 said.

"For morning wear, perhaps. How high are the heels?"

"I don't believe they are three inches."

"But Violet, heels too high look improper."

"Nonsense," said Violet. "For the afternoon nothing looks so well as a neat tightly fitting pair of dainty bright very high-heeled boots with glac‚-kid legs which 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 which have been made for you and 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 I never see you again after luncheon without exquisite boots on your feet."

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

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

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

She led us into the ladies' show-room upstairs and produced some beautiful little new flashing boots with legs of black glac‚-kid which reached up to the beginning of the calves, with dreadfully high and slender Louis Quinze heels and with the edges scalloped around the buttonholes. She buttoned them onto my feet. They were exquisitely cut, fitting me tightly but not pinching me.

"But the heels are much too high."

"I like them," said Violet.

"They are only a little more than four inches high," said the attendant 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 in them."

"And she is going to be," said Violet resolutely.

"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?"

"Certainly," said the shop-girl, arranging my feet with the heels together and the toes turned out. I had to stand on the chair for half an hour in the show-room, 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 and took me to the Flower-show. We had tea together at a little table in 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 was girl enough to appreciate the admiration of the men and the envious glances and disparaging remarks of the women. We drove back to Beaumanoir, and with some other girls who came in played tennis until half-past six. Then Helen sent for me 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 at your very prettiest before I go. Phoebe will bring you to my room.

Phoebe bathed and dried me, slipped on to my bare feet a pair of satin slippers, and led me back into my bedroom. There she drew on and buttoned a lovely pair of new tight white kid-gloves. They reached actually to my shoulders and were buttoned all the way with little brilliants, while the seams on the back were embroidered in silver. She put me into most

wonderfully fine underclothing all threaded with blue satin ribbons. I wore one filmy petticoat, tight corsets 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 d‚collet‚, 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 to a little below my knees, where it was caught with a clump 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 were really 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 around. With this, I wore exquisite transparent white silk stockings through which my flesh showed pink, with lace insertions and diamond clocks, which since the skirt was short were easily seen. My slippers were of plain white satin, pointed and deliciously cut without bows but with oval diamond buckles, and heels over four inches high. A blue-ribbon of satin filleted my hair. Earrings of diamonds and pearls, a rope of pearls around my shoulders, a string of diamonds, with a diamond pendant around my throat, diamond bracelets over my kid-gloved wrists completed the lovely dress. Phoebe gave me a little fan of ivory and lace which sparkled with brilliants.

"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 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 peremptory 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 girl's feet in their high-heeled satin slippers obediently placed together with the insteps arched, and my legs dangling down 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 strip of a white kid between two 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 happy too. There was a color in my cheeks, my eyes sparkled. I had had a joyous day of fresh air, exercise, and freedom, and now in my delicate underline, and dainty frock, 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 pink insteps in shimmering cobwebs of white silk stockings and to show my feet which in their slim little glistening pointed slippers without embroidery or bows, but with only the big oval diamond buckles for ornaments, looked more slender and elegant than ever.

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

A strip of the 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, and I could take only the tiniest steps.

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

"I know," replied Helen. "But they look lovely. And after all, you are not going to play tennis in that pretty frock. In fact darling, I am going to tie you still tighter."

She was smiling radiantly. She held in her hand a white satin strap with a diamond buckle.

"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 on to the other knee.

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

"This isn't punishment dear," she replied as with her white-gloved hands she delicately crossed m 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 the crossed ivory ankles and bound them daintily but tightly together. Oh, how delightful the sensation was! The blood rushed into my face.

"Now to keep your gloves clean." She tied my hands in the same way.

"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. With my white shoulders and bosom rising from my delicious d‚colletage I looked in Phoebe's arms like some wonderful doll, 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. I saw myself in the glass.

"Oh, Helen!" I murmured, my eyes swimming with languorous vague longings. I was pricked by desires which I did not understand. A world of them was expressed in my sigh. Helen smiled. It was her policy and wish to keep me to-night of all nights stimulated by passionate yearnings. She provoked and increased them now. She caressed with kid-gloved hands my legs, sliding her hands up over the smooth shining stockings under my dress to my knees and garters.

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

"Yes Helen," I answered blushing.

"You are very happy to-night, 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 sole. She leaned over the sofa and looked down at me. A tender snide and a blush came upon her face. Her little gloved-hand caressed my satin slippers.

"Do you know, Denise, that I am falling in love with you, - not because you are youth at all, but because you aren't, because you are a girl. I am in love with you just as girls are with one another," and after this strange utterance which excited me 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 to-night," she said slowly. "I am jealous of her."

She bent her head down and kissed my lips a long ardent kiss. Then she drew a breath of pleasure and I smiled.

"Violet, that was lovely," I said.

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. My hands tied in front of me in their gleaming smooth kid-gloves fluttered. Oh, how my passions were excited! Doris and 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. I had Violet on one side of me, her kiss seemed still to burn and tingle on my insteps and 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 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 shining 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.

"You may if you like," I said eagerly.

"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 too, 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 darkroom with those buckled satin slippers and slender ankles the chains, while the laundry girls fed 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!

Phoebe came in for me and carried me up the stairs to Miss Priscilla's boudoir which was furnished in the Empire style with an elegance out of keeping with her Puritanical appearance. A small fire was burning cheerfully and to keep the room from growing too hot, the window was open upon the summer night.

"Untie hiss Denise's ankles."

I was placed standing in a blaze of light on a square of a 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 on one side so as not to obscure from me my reflection in the mirrors. Phoebe went out of the room.

I was excited. I was 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 your slipper-buckles and your beautifully shod high-heeled feet."

I blushed rosily and smiled "Very well, Miss Priscilla."

"Now listen to me Denise!" she went on, "someday you will be allowed to lay aside your dainty frocks. I think it's a great pity, Helen and I are determined however that we will not have

repetition of your outrageous conceited conduct, of your untidy ways, and your disrespect."

"I am cured of that Miss Priscilla," I said humbly.

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

"Always?" I asked in dismay.

"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 and d‚collet‚ 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 to dress in this way."

"Come 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's like Helen."

"You can easily escape the indignity by remaining in your satin slippers."

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

Miss Priscilla laughed.

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

My eyes sought my feet in the mirror.

"I am very sorry. I forgot," said I 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 is 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 a thrill of sensuous pleasure.

Miss Priscilla calmly ran her hand over my stretched bottom, as I stood bent double, tightening the glittering skirt still more and making me gather it in with my dainty white gloves until there was not a wrinkle or a pleat.

"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!"

"I know. 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 posteriors of a beautiful luxuriously dressed girl who was stretching her pretty frock with her kid-gloved hands to receive the punishment. She flogged me methodically now upwards from the underpart of the hips, now downwards from the back. The pain was intense. My eyes fined with tears, the tears rolled down my cheeks. I sobbed.

"You are moving your satin slippers, Denise," she said. She stooped and put 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," 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 all improved by a good whipping on their haughty impudent flesh," slash, slash, slash, slash.

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

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

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

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

"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. You are to be made a willing slave to a woman's authority. The one certain method to make you that, is to make you love your subjection. It is obvious that you do that to a great extent already. 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 in your mind supreme pleasure with a picture of yourself, dressed by women's kid-gloved hands, in girls' corsets and frocks, girls' smart long gloves, and silk stockings, girls' high-heeled dainty slippers and then with the delightful sensation of exquisite lace-frilled lingerie. Therefore answer me this question. 'Have you ever loved a woman?'"

"No, Miss Priscilla."

She nodded her head with satisfaction.

"Have you ever enjoyed a woman?"

I was scarlet with confusion. I felt too that to answer the truth, "NO", would be to give her somehow a hold on me which 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 we will raise the dainty skirt altogether and whip you over your thin pantaloon."

"Oh Miss Priscilla, I will answer."

"When I have whipped you, Denise."

Miss Priscilla was implacable. My tears were hardly dry, my skin still burned terribly, yet I must bend down and suffer the punishment again only in an acuter form. I bent down. Placidly she lifted my skirt and turned it back over my shoulders, leaving my girlish big protuberance exposed in the batiste drawers.

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

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

"Keep quiet 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, smack, smack, the thick rubber stick danced and jumped upon my batiste drawers. I screamed. It bruised my tender flesh; it stung and burnt me intolerably.

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

She flogged until I yelled with pain, and the tears streamed down my face in floods and my white bosom strained and heaved. Then she stopped and carefully readjusted my dress. "Stand up now Denise! Hold your skirt as before. That's right."

Again she dried my eyes.

"Answer me now Denise. Have you ever enjoyed a woman?"

I answered through my sobs.

"Never!"

Miss Priscilla's 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 mold you, or to write indelibly 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, so subtle were her questions, handed me over more and more to her to make me a slave. Yet if I did not answer I was 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, of what in them do you think?"

I was startled. No, I could not answer her.

"If you don't answer immediately, Denise, I shall lock a bright little pair of steel handcuffs over those delicate white shining 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 shod in those fairy-like ball-room things.

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 actually was 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 arms and hands hung down at once in position, clothed from the shoulders to the finger-tips in the tight unwrinkled gloves of shining spotless kid.

She took my hands and round the wrists fitted the gleaming bands. 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 wardress might, chaining the exquisitely-gloved hands of her pretty young prisoner in her gala d‚collet‚ frock and dancing slippers of white satin. Click, click, the handcuffs snapped to. I was helpless. Then she took a long chain with a spring hook at each end. One end she snapped on to a ring on my left handcuff. Then lifting my skirt all round so that my ankles were left visible, she drew the chain tightly around me behind under the upswell of the thighs and fixed the other to the right handcuff. The chain did thus three things. It held down my handcuffed hands, bound my thighs, and kept up my dress. 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.

"Shod in what way, Denise?"

I hung my head. I had told so much, however, I went on:

"In little smart patent-leather buttoned boots glac‚-kid legs and high Louis Quinze heels. In elegant patent-leather shoes laced with satin ribbons tied in big bows on the insteps. In 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 f‚tichiste-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 the chained hands rest quite 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. Am I right?"

"Quite right," 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 white kid-gloves which seemed 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," - slap - "You disobedient" slap - "impertinent" - slap - "girl!" slap.

"Oh, oh, oh! your kid-glove stings my face dreadfully, Miss Priscilla."

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

"It is meant to sting this pretty," - slap - "silly" – slap - "girl's face," slap slap. "These delicate soft cheeks," – slap - "want a lot of punishing I see."

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

as this one is."

She began to slap my left cheek now 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 cruel!"

"Why don't you answer the questions then?" Slap, slap. "What a pity that I have to smack this pretty face and spoil its delicate complexion!" Smack, smack, smack. "Your satin slippers

are moving, dear." Slap. "I shall have to turn my attention to the dainty glistening white feet in a moment." Smack, smack, smack, smack. "There that will do! You are as red as a dairy-maid, you silly girl."

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

"What is it that chiefly enthralls 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 used to wander.

"Being forced by ladies to wear corsets, long gloves, girls' frocks, and little high-heeled girls' boots and shoes myself."

"Is that all?"

"And 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 onto my nerves.

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

"You knew that?"

"I guessed it from your ways. It is not unusual in girlish youths. 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 in a sudden passion.

"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." 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 implacably coming towards me.

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

"How dare you move?" she asked in a quiet stern voice that frightened 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 that you ought to have your pretty feet punished now 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 grooves."

The stocks were of polished mahogany with the holes fined and padded - with satin so that they could hold the legs in a vice and yet not tear the most delicate silk stockings. I put my legs in the grooves. She shut down and locked the upper plank of the stocks and wheeled one of the big three-sided mirrors 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, and satin and silk. 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.

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 the leg just above the ankle in both hands and sawed her hand's different ways pinching my tender flesh and provoking screams from me. Then she took the slippers delicately off my foot and whipped the sole with a little whalebone rod until I yelled again in 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 so tender.

She raised me. To touch the ground tortured me.

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

"Yes, Miss Priscilla."

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

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

She sat down calmly in her chair.

"When did you first feel that you wanted ladies to dress you like a girl and punish you?"

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

Miss Priscilla nodded.

"I thought it would be something like that. You understand now, Denise, why we dressed you in girl's 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 which 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, 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. 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 where I stood between the two mirrors. I now saw a high stool of solid mahogany. It was seated with a padded seat of white satin 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 and a flat back padded with white satin and with arms stretching out in the form of a cross rose behind. So at the extremities of the arms little handcuffs were fixed to hold the arms extended.

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

She raised my skirt and carefully straining the fragile stockings up over my knees, shortened the suspenders.

"Now mount on to the stool."

She placed a little gold footstool. I climbed onto the stool by means of it and sat with my legs dangling. She took away the gilt footstool. She strapped with a white satin strap my waist 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 watched her timidly.

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

She fondled my bosom with her kid-gloved hands and actually kissed me with her leathery lips. I was terribly excited. I waited in 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!"

I saw in the bright light reflected from the mirror the round legs tapering down in their shimmering meshes of silk to the neat little ivory ankles and 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!" She took the satin-slippered feet in her hands and began to caress and fondle them as she had fondled my breasts. Oh the feel and the sight of her hand in their white kid-gloves, playing delicately with my shining satin slippers, dusting imaginary specks from the bright buckles, toying with the heels, sent thrills of voluptuous pleasure through me.

"Isn't it ridiculous Denise," she said in a gentle insinuating voice, "to want to go back to heavy boots when you can attract everybody's admiration by the flash of your diamond buckles 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 said.

Her hands crept up to my insteps, patted and tickled them, spanned the bound ankles, rose over the smooth diamond-docked stockings, pinched the calves affectionately, reached the knees. I was trembling from head to foot. I watched my legs and feet in a delicious expectancy. A mirror was tilted underneath them 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, the round soft legs in the shimmering gossamer of the tightly-stretched wonderful silk stockings, and the white satin strap binding them deliciously together at the delicate ankles! Oh, the little feet in their feminine finery, the slim girl's slippers of glistening satin like the strap which bound the ankles, light, fragile, beautiful pointed slippers which ladies made me wear as a punishment! Oh, the arched insteps, the high curving narrow heels! 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. For as she fondled my knees, she said:

"Weren't we right to dress you as the lovely girl you are, should be dressed, Denise? 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 tight satin frocks and light little high-heeled buckled satin slippers which are a positive joy to their eyes?"

"Weren't we right?

"Oh, yes, Miss Priscilla," I murmured languorously.

"And when we had dressed you and gloved you and corseted you, weren't we right to take the silk-stockinged legs and cross the dainty slippers and bind the ankles with satin straps and the gloved hands with handcuffs?"

I stared at the reflection in the mirror, the beautiful girl with the flushed face and wanton smile upon her red lips and the white satin high-heeled slippers with the diamond buckles fitting with such perfection over the glistening white silk stockings exposed, bound with satin straps and handcuffs at the mercy of this thin shriveled old woman in the black plain dress.

"Oh you were right," I murmured languorously. Her caressing hands extorted the admission.

"Reflect," she said "that no lady would punish you with this treatment were you dressed as a youth. 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 its exquisite degradation. Don't you love your subjection?"

"Oh, I do! I do!"

It was I, Dennis Beryl, the youth with the great fortune and the lofty ambitions who was speaking. But her kid-gloved bands caressed me. I could give no other answer. I gave up my will, my life to her, and to Helen. I leaned towards her as far as my handcuffs and my bonds would allow. I was in ecstasy. To live satin-slippered and corseted with handcuffed gloved-hands and strapped ankles in beautiful d‚collet‚ frocks - yes, I learned 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!" and I sank back with a drooping head.

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 large 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 tapping heels for the future. We have finished with Evelyn 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 beard 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 dangled 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 my dress behind, took my arms out of the shoulder straps, and let it fall in billowy daintiness about my feet. My one delicate petticoat followed.

"Oh, what are you going to do to me?" I moaned piteously.

"I am going to make sure of things, Denise," she said significantly, but once more quite pleasantly.

I stood in my corset and pantalon ferm‚. She took two strong flat straps of white silk which were padded and thick in the middle.

"Open your legs, Denise."

"Oh Miss Priscilla!"

I opened them. She passed the straps between my thighs; brought one round outside each hip and joined the four ends which had loops in 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 silk loop underneath my dress and the ends of the loops were outside my dress at about the middle of my back, held in position there by the lacing of the frock.

"Now your gloved-hands behind you!"

She fitted the bright steel handcuffs over my wrists and at the touch of them, the old delicious sense of being helpless in a woman's hands returned to me.

Miss Priscilla intensified the feeling. For she turned me around like a doll, smiled pleasantly, and said, "You look very pretty and seductive Denise," and smoothed down my skirt.

Vague longings and desires were swelling up in me again.

"Mount up on to the chair Denise!"

I looked down helplessly at the glittering buckles on my dainty satin toes.

"I would if I could 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.

"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 silk 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 the dainty ankles together. Put the satin slippers side by side dear, buckle to buckle, heel to heel."

She bound my ivory ankles charmingly together, the padded straps supporting me, with the white satin ribbon which she had used before. She then drew up another chair and mounting on 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, with fear.

What was she going to do? I was afraid - but stronger than the fear was my delight in my ignominious position, in the tightness of the bonds about girl-gloved wrists and girl-shod feet. Miss Priscilla took a long new kid-glove.

"It will help to your subjection dear if you associate your pleasure not merely with your feet bound in girls' high-heeled satin slippers, but with ladies' white glac‚-kid gloves. I want you to have the perfume of them in your nostrils."

She tied the glove over my lips gagging me daintily.

"There," she said as she stepped down. "Now you are ready, you pretty thing with the beautiful slippers."

She removed the chair and then pulled that on which I was standing from under me. I hung dangling in front of the mirror at the end of the gold cord in the air in all my lovely finery of a fashionable young lady at a ball. 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 silk straps where they pressed on me were so padded.

"Now, darling, stretch your pretty feet down, the toes delightfully pointed. That's right," and she 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 caressingly, "I am going to flog these 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 with 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 and strain the feet well down. You love hanging there at my mercy, don't you?"

"Oh, I do! I do!"

The strangest thrills of voluptuous 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!" and swish, the riding-whip slashed viciously across my calves. I uttered a cry of pain.

Again it fell. I drew up my knees to my chin in a spasm of anguish.

"I want you Denise dear to associate supreme delight not merely with your girlish finery and loveliness, but with pain endured while you look your girlish best. Three!" and a third

time the little whalebone curled round the legs, stinging and burning them. Oh, how I kicked. The shining slippers flashed in the air like silver, the slipper buckles like colored flames, and again and again, the cruel whalebone switch rose and fell. 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. I ceased in an extraordinary way to be conscious of the pain as anything but delightful evidence of subjection. I saw myself in the dress and the dancing slippers of a fastidious fashionable young lady twirling in the air at the end of a rope with her dainty frock fastened up to her knees while a plainly dressed prim old maid flogged the round smartly-stockinged, tightly-bound legs. The bizarrerie of the position overwhelmed me. I pointed my toes, I strained my legs down to meet the blows. I was in a seventh Heaven; pain and pleasure were inextricably mingled. Miss Priscilla laid down her whip at last.

That will do, she said, contemplating with undisguised contempt my jerking helpless daintily clothed figure. "Your education Denise is I think complete."

She helped me down, removed the straps from my thighs, unfastened my legs and hands, 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 gleaming buckles, the lightness of my slippers, the sensation of high slender heels all ravished me. Yes, I wanted to be kept in subjection as a beautifully dressed girl.

I entered the drawing-room. Violet was alone reading a novel in an arm-chair. How pretty she looked in her frock of ninon de sole, her little slippers! Oh, the venom was in my veins. For the moment I saw her young and pretty and dainty. I longed to be punished by her. Miss Priscilla had done her work.

"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 were 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.

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 inflict so severe a punishment. My legs stung 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!"

"It's too late to plead for mercy. Be quick." Reluctantly I rose. I 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 slash, slash, slash, slash, the cane descended alternately on each kid-gloved outstretched hand.

"I'll teach you to be impertinent Denise," slash, slash, - Violet was furious, her pretty face was convulsed with rage.

"Oh, that's enough Violet".

"Not nearly," slash, slash, I burst into tears. Violet laughed triumphantly. "So you won't put your heels together when I tell you," slash, slash. "And you won't turn your buckled pointed toes out when I order you," - slash, slash.

"Oh, Violet! I will, I will," I sobbed.

"Oh, you will," slash. "Don't rub your knees together." - slash, slash. "Stand quite still, Miss High-heels," slash, slash, slash, slash.

She flung the cane down.

"Your hands behind you."

She fetched two white thin cords of silk. And with one while I stood with my bare shoulders shaking with sobs, my pretty friend bound my hands together with savage cruelty.

"Now kneel on the sofa."

She raised my skirts to help me. I knelt.

"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 this white tender flesh," and she pinched it 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 tied with a pink ribbon.

"Oh, Violet you couldn't be so cruel!"

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.

"Bend well over," and she flourished the birch and 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 and 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 locked the door, carefully gagged my mouth, and then tenderly kissed me.

"I am sorry Denise, but you must be soundly birched," she said and she took her place. How cold the air was on my naked flesh, how shameful my position!

"One, two, three, four." The twigs whistled through the air and slashed my tender flesh. I should 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!" slash, slash. "It's delicious to punish it," smack, slash, slash. She was like a young fury. "Fancy violating your bottom darling," slash, slash. "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. "Already the fat pretty soft thing is striped with red, dearest," slash, slash. "But you shall have a purple bottom before I have done with you," slash, slash. Her strength seemed to increase with each stroke. "A purple moon of a bottom to show to your friends!" slash, slash, slash, slash. "There's still a little white place here," slash. "And another here," slash. She flogged me daintily, carefully, never breaking the skin, but making it swell, covering it with bruises and wheals. And then once more suddenly my sobs began to diminish. I ceased to feel the pain. I was leaning over the sofa. Oh, oh! I was being punished in my satin slippers and silk stockings! That was the thought which took away my pain.

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 bonds. Violet took up the cane.

"One, two. Oh, I won't tear the slippers. I'll keep to the soles, you pretty vain creature! Three, four! I know your vanity was troubled lest I should spoil the dainty shoes. Five, six."

She untied my feet and took the gag from my mouth. She led me on to a mirror holding up my dress, for my wrists she still kept tied behind my back and showed me my posterior. Oh, what a dreadful condition I was in. A few minutes before white and pretty, now a discolored 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 spoilt," she said.

She fixed up my drawers, readjusted my dress, and put her arms around 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," and our lips for a long time clung passionately together.

"Stand there!"

She replaced the birch and the cane and picking up the fragments of twigs from the floor 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 needs. 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 - but with pleasure. My eyes danced, my lips smiled. She fixed the bandage over my eyes and tied it at the back of my hair. Then she turned me around, clapped her hands delightedly, and kissed me ardently on the lips. She led me to the chair. She guided my little satin slippers up onto it. She placed me in position. Then at my side, she sat down in her arm-chair and resumed her book. I stood there for an hour blindfolded with my hands tied, and reefing every now and then her dainty little hand steal under my dress, touch my feet to make sure they had not moved, caress my ankles, play with my slipper buckles and high-heels. Miss Priscilla had done her work well that night. For the hour was an hour of bliss.