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The Further Misadventures Of Miss High Heels free porn video
Further Misadventures of Miss High Heels
Inspired by the classic Miss High Heels, I fell to wondering what other
misadventures the divine Denis(e) could have at the hands of stepsister
Helen and the sinister Miss Priscilla. Thus I came up with the following
tale, narrated by Denis(e):
Ritual Milking
A week after the "death" of Denis Beryl had been announced and I had been
reintroduced to the household as Denise, Phoebe was dressing me one morning
as usual, but stopped once she had laced me tightly into my corset, a
scarlet and black one that I thought looked rather risqu?. I stood before
the full-length mirror in corset, black satin pantalon thickly edged with
sensual black lace, sheer black silk stockings and black patent high heels
that fairly caused me to stand on tiptoe. Perplexed that Phoebe was not
proceeding to dress me in petticoats and outer clothing, I asked her what
was the matter.
"Oh Miss Denise," she replied, smirking impertinently, I thought, "Miss
Helen and Miss Priscilla have ordered that you be dressed in just your
lingerie, stockings and high heels this morning."
"But why? It is most unseemly not to be properly dressed."
I was beginning to worry that those domineering women might have some new,
hideous torture in store for me.
"Never you mind why, Missy. Just come with me."
Phoebe took my upper arm in a rather overly-familiar way and led me from the
bedroom, out onto the landing and down the main staircase to the front hall.
I felt embarrassed in my underdressed state, but Phoebe brooked no
hesitation, ushering me along.
I was steered towards the door of the dreaded Room of Punishments, my heart
sinking. I was right; they had something terrible planned for me!
Helen, looking radiant in a pale blue dress and matching satin high heels,
and Miss Priscilla, looking spinsterly in black, awaited me. Also present
were two of the below-stairs servant girls, sturdy wenches who leered
lasciviously at me, causing me to blush. Oh, what were they doing here?
"Ah Denise, there you are," said Helen airily. Then, to the serving wenches:
"Seize her, girls!"
Before I knew it, the girls had grabbed one of my arms each, twisting them
behind my back and causing me to cry out in pain and shock.
"Proceed, Aunty," said Helen to the ever-stern Miss Priscilla.
This old dame advanced coldly upon me, filling me with dread. Her kid-gloved
hands drew the satin cord of my pantalon, causing them to slip from my
svelte hips, down my silk-stockinged legs to my ankles. This revealed the
leather cache-sexe that hid my maleness. I blushed more furiously at this
revelation, but Miss Priscilla had not finished. Her fingers eagerly undid
my last protection, which she then whipped away, tossing it to the floor.
My long-hidden maleness was revealed to the assembled women. I wanted the
ground to open up and swallow me. I heard the giggles of Phoebe and my two
captors, who continued to pinion me. My head hung in shame, my long fair
tresses hiding my reddened face.
"This morning I have a treat for you, Denise," continued Helen, smiling
brightly.
"I realise that your desires have been pent-up for far too long. What agony
it must be for you, to be dressed as the beautiful girl you are, mincing
about in lovely dresses, sensual lingerie, elegant high heels, yet unable to
relieve your passions."
She delivered these strange words in a sultry, honeyed voice, and suddenly
reached out a kid-gloved hand to take my exposed genitals in a gentle grasp.
"Aaaagh!" I gasped with the shock of it, a lightning-bolt of excitement
shooting through me, my privates already beginning to stiffen. Helen spoke
on, her wonderfully-gloved hand fondling and stimulating me to alarming
effect.
"Poor Denise, a gorgeous creature in silk and lace, so tormented with
longings that she has not been allowed to satisfy. Those tight corsets,
those silken stockings, those dainty high heels, those beautiful dresses..."
I began moaning with desire, my whole being consumed by hot passion, my
helpless genitals growing, hardening in her delightful grasp. Helen worked
on them expertly, bringing my longings to fever-pitch.
"And the punishments we inflict on you while you are so beautifully dressed.
You are quite the helpless damsel, at the mercy of strong women. How we bind
you...chain you...whip you.."
"Aaaaah! Oooooh!" my fair head tossed from side to side as I wailed my
longing, not caring how I sounded to the giggling, sneering servants, in
whose iron grip I remained. My silk-stockinged thighs began to rub together
with an erotic hissing sound.
Helen's lovely hand worked its dark magic, now teasingly frigging my
considerable shaft. Oh God, I shall climax, I suddenly thought, but did not
care. I was the utter captive of my aching need.
Helen's other hand tickled and teased my balls, increasing the white-hot
erotic intensity that consumed me.
Up and down, up and down my rigid phallus went that insinuating kid-gloved
hand.
Then, suddenly, her hands were off me. My burning desire became tinged with
puzzlement. Did she merely mean to tease me out of my mind, and then deny me
relief?
I need not have worried. Helen had merely gone to fetch a scented
handkerchief from a small table. She handed it to Miss Priscilla.
"Aunty, will you do the final honours?"
Smiling coldly, Miss Priscilla took the proffered handkerchief.
Consternation crossed my face. I had enjoyed the lovely Helen tormenting me,
but now this fearsome old spinster was going to finish me off!
She swiftly wrapped the handkerchief round my erection, which had begun to
wilt somewhat at the prospect of the old woman taking over. But when she
began vigorously working her gloved hand up and down me, hardness and length
returned with a vengeance. I thought of my position: I was a lovely
aristocratic young lady, in beautiful corset, sheer black silken stockings
and dainty high heels, helpless in the hands of dominant women, one of whom
was torturing my cock to a point beyond madness.
"Oooooh! Aaaaagh! Yeeeegh," I shrieked, moaned, struggled in vain with my
strong captors, my hips jerking frantically, that horrid old woman's hand
working my steel-hard penis without pity.
"Yaaagh!"
A new startling sensation as the fingers of Miss Priscilla's other hand
wormed their way into the rose-hole of my bottom! Was there no end to that
old crone's ingenuity in humiliating me? In and out, round and round went
those insinuating fingers, adding to my sensual torture tenfold.
How must I have looked to those women, writhing and moaning in my lingerie
and high heels? I who had once been the lord of this estate, heir of a vast
fortune? Now reduced to a lust-crazed androgynous harlot, firmly held by
mere servants, while an old spinster whom I had once despised worked at my
organ and violated my bottom.
Faster and faster she frigged, deeper and deeper her fingers probed my
rectum. I had no shame left. My crisis was approaching.
"Yeeeaggghh!"
A joyous spurt, followed by another and another; white-hot torrent of my
release. Wild wondrous shooting of my boiling seed. Shrieking my orgasm with
not a care to what I sounded like.
I finished, sagged in the arms of those lusty wenches. Red shame and guilt
flooded me as passion fled. Miss Priscilla released my drooping organ,
withdrew her fingers from my derriere.
"Phoebe, see to Miss Denise," ordered Helen peremptorily.
My maid came forward with a metal bowl of warm water and a cloth. She dipped
the cloth in the water and dabbed at my sore, exhausted privates. She smiled
cheekily at me as she withdrew, revelling in having witnessed my utter
humiliation.
Miss Priscilla advanced once more, my cache-sexe in hand. This she tied back
in place, and then drew up my black silk-and-lace pantalon. She then
inspected my stockings to make sure that they were sheer and taut, and took
her place beside Helen.
"Release Miss Denise, girls," ordered Helen breezily.
Freed from the firm grasp of the servant girls, I tottered in my high heels
momentarily, finding it hard to look anyone in the eye.
"Phoebe, bring Miss Denise back to her bedroom, and complete her dress."
Thus was I escorted from the presence of the women, who gazed at me coldly
as though nothing untoward had happened. But I knew that this episode
demonstrated the utter power these ladies had over me.
Sherry
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