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Denise A Young Girly Boy - Chapter 6
🕑 Added 2020-10-18 10:29:59 +0000 UTCMy life, my revolt. Exit Denise, enter Miss High-heels. An evening of humiliation. A terrible birching. My scarlet corsage. Helen's triumph. Evelyn disappears. A final scene after two years. The return from the Ball. The book ends with punishment and kisses.
It was Helen's policy to make my life as a girl delightful to me. The next few months were months of pleasure tempered by fits of regret and remorse. But the fits did not last long. I was surrounded by 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 exciting punishments. Miss Priscilla was extraordinarily fertile in her expedients. 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 an accompaniment of pain. This was her design. For once this belief was implanted in my mind must always long to remain in subjection to my dainty tyrants. Thus I remember addressing to her a flippant impertinence at a garden party. She took me at once to the motor-car 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 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 the little feet in their fashionable dainty boots flashing up and down, undergoing punishment.
"Still quicker!"
My thighs bruised one another. My face got red, but not merely with exertion and then in a delirium of passion, the feet raced up and down, 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.
But I must pass over the incidents of that time, the revenge which Lady Hartley's daughter who was jealous, deliberately took upon Violet and myself, the punishment of the velvet bag, the mask, the short frock, the dancing lesson, the mustard, and the poultices. If my readers wish to hear more about the penalties which my tyrants in their ingenuity invented, they have only to say the word.
Meanwhile, I hurry on towards the end.
In the autumn Helen gave a ball at Beaumanoir. I was dressed for the occasion in a plain exquisitely fitting long white velvet gown which molded my figure like a glove and fell in softly gleaming folds to my feet. A white satin sash about the waist alone broke the line. Diamonds and pearls flashed on white neck and shoulders, glittered about my white gloved-wrists, 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, which tonight had the heels raised to four and a half inches, 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 warned me.
"There's a great many coming to the ball, Denise, and very likely the ball-room will get hot. People no doubt will go out into the garden or on to 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!" Yet I disobeyed Helen. Half-way 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 her. They waited until the guests had returned to the ball-room. Then Helen slid back the panel into the punishment room and pushed me roughly. Priscilla followed and closed it.
"I am sorry," I faltered, "that I disobeyed you, Helen."
Helen was in a rage.
"Gag her," she said savagely to Miss Priscilla. A scarf gagged my mouth the next moment. They pinioned my elbows to my side and bound my hands in front of me with satin ribbons. I was dreadfully frightened. Helen was so furious. She was pale with anger.
"Stand up! Press your legs and feet tightly together Denise!"
I obeyed. The two women stooped and while Miss Priscilla gathered in 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 which revealed their contours. Oh, there would be no more dancing for me to-night in my sparkling satin-slippers!
Then while Miss Priscilla supported me, Helen tied my ankles, which were exposed, tightly together with a satin ribbon, and knotted it angrily.
A bright fire was blazing. They placed me on a chair close to it and then Helen at my side sat down on a stool.
"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, she lifted my legs rigid and helpless in their dainty gleaming velvet sheath and held out the 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."
The perspiration burst out on my forehead. My slippers were scorching, 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 neighborhood to make a speech. I went with Helen and Violet and sat upon the platform. The speaker had a great reception and made a magnificent speech. The cheers and enthusiasm of the meeting tortured me. If he, without help, could rise so soon to such a position, what a splendid career I ought to have with all my advantages! I returned home sad and discontented. I followed Helen to her boudoir.
"How long is this going to last?" I asked.
"How long are you going to keep me in girl's clothes, and rob me of my position?"
Helen looked at me calmly.
"Not a moment longer than you wish, dear," she said. "You shall come out of your girl's clothes now."
I was wearing a very pretty 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 hat, my three gloves, 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 and opening the door, and pushing me into the passage. I was dreadfully ashamed. I tried to hide against her. I begged her pardon.
"Too late," she said.
She took me down into the little drawing-room and made me stand in the corner there until it was time to dress for dinner.
"There is a dinner party to-night dear," she said quizzing me. "You shall appear as Evelyn Beryl and I hope you will like it."
Phoebe dressed me in a girl's 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 on to be a very d‚collet‚ corsage of white satin and lace, 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 jeweled buttons, leaving the frills of my drawers exposed. Girls' transparent black stockings strained tightly up to the corsets and adorned with big ruffled bow-garters of blue satin just above the knees, which the frills of my drawers constantly exposed, and girls' patent leather shining slipper with diamond buckles and scarlet Louis Quinze heels five and a half inches high, set off my legs and feet. A short-sleeved black velvet coat cut tightly into my corseted waist and made in the style of Fragonard's pictures, lined with white satin and smart with jeweled buttons was slipped on over my bodice. It was open in front and showed my d‚colletage, the swelling bosom, the girl's throat. My hair was taken down and arranged in long shining curls and tied back from my face with a white satin ribbon tied in an enormous bow. A white satin sash with a great bow and a diamond buckle on my left hip, a girl's big hat of blue satin, earrings, necklaces, and bracelets completed this costume. What made it still more humiliating was a horrible arrangement in front of the tight knickers. A big bow of black satin was passed through a great oval ruby buckle that blazed like fire against the softly gleaming black velvet.
In this humiliating dress, Phoebe and Netta dragged me with jeers along the passages of my own house to Helen's bedroom.
I was in tears. Helen chained my hands behind me and fixed
little black fetters of polished steel on my ankles. She was deliciously dressed in pink satin.
"Turn round Miss High-heels," she said sternly.
"That is your name for the future - Miss Evelyn High-heels the only name you will be known by. Turn round and let me see that the seams of your delicate stockings are straight." She showed me to me in the mirrors. I looked just like a pretty grown-up girl dressed for some fantastic, masquerade. "Oh Helen," I moaned "you can't show me off dressed like this. You promised that I shouldn't be dressed as a girl."
"You certainly aren't dressed as a young lady, Evelyn," she said with a laugh. "Young ladies don't show 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 undergoing discipline wear five and a half-inch heels on their dainty shoes."
"But the ruby buckle in front - Oh that's horrible."
"You will wear that dear as the symbol of your subjection to my sex, the sign that over your sex, the sex of woman is imposed."
Handcuffed and fettered in this 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!" cried Mrs. Dawson, the vicar's wife. "He is very like Denise."
"Yes I wish Denise could have stayed," said Helen, "for us to compare them. She has gone home to her aunt this afternoon, where I am afraid she is not very happy."
The ladies crowded around me, the men guffawed contemptuously.
"I think the fetters and handcuffs complete the dress so prettily," said Lady Hartley.
The old d‚traqu‚ General stooped and felt my feet.
"The shoes are very smart," he said. "High-heeled girls' shoes are such a good thing for wilful and disobedient young gentlemen."
"He has certainly never looked so pretty," said Guy Repton with a snigger. "I am sure he ought to be very grateful to his young step-sister for the dainty care with which she has dressed and molded his figure."
Thus they talked of me. I stood red with shame. During dinner, I was made to stand up in the center of the table before them all with my heels together and was only allowed to eat when they were having dessert. After dinner, I shuffled in my fetters with the ladies 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 and work hard.
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 downwards on a white satin ottoman. She placed a white satin cushion under my bosom to lift it up.
"Hold up your head Evelyn High-heels. That's right." She took a little patent leather strap and bound my white-gloved hands tightly behind me. Then she turned carefully up the lace frills and strapped my legs together above the knees. With a third biting little patent leather strap, she fixed my ankles together. Finally, with a fourth strap, she tied my feet back to my legs in the most painful fashion.
"Violet will you see that Miss High-heels keeps her pretty face up and does not move."
Violet took a book and sat down in a comfortable chair beside the ottoman.
I was so strained in my miserable position that I could not keep still, and holding my head back and face high in the air wreaked my neck. Yet if I stirred Violet pinched my calves mercilessly, and if I lowered my face to rest my neck, she boxed my ears until my head sang.
"I thought you loved me, Violet," I said.
"I loved a very pretty girl-friend called Denise," she replied coldly. "How do you like being a man Miss High-heels? Keep your bright little slippers still! After all, it is not the entire joy of being a man, is it? You had better have remained a girl. You look lovely in your velvet knickers but that is because you have a girl's figure and face, hands, and feet."
Helen and Miss Priscilla came 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.
They laid me on my face on an ottoman, made the wheel run along with the ceiling until the rope in the groove hung above my feet. They substituted for the leather strap a silk strap which bound my ankles tightly together. This they fastened to the hook at the end of the rope and by touching a lever in the wall, the rope was wound up until I hung head downwards in the air. Helen birched me in this attitude until I thought my head would burst. They lowered me, 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, is 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. Daintily holding my left strapped-back foot in her left hand, she flogged me between the thighs.
I screamed for mercy.
"You had better be thoroughly birched to-night darling," she said. "The recollection will save my pretty Miss High-heels many a birching in the future."
The twigs slashed and slashed me between my thighs curling up onto the stomach underneath and torturing with anguish the most tender parts of my body.
Then she set me free.
"Put on your knickers, Evelyn, again."
Writhing with pain, I took off my slippers. I could not have got the tight knickers over my high-heels, drew on my pantaloon and knickers and Miss Priscilla fixed them up and buttoned and buckled them at my thighs. Then she removed my coat corsage, stays, and chemise, stripping me naked from the waist upwards. There were some panels of looking-glass in the walls. How strange I looked in them, the buckled slippers the silk stockings, the frills, the pretty black velvet knickers with the jeweled buttons and rising out of them the white bosom and shoulders of a girl!
They laid me on the ottoman at the end of which a pair of stocks was fixed. They put me on my face, fixed my ankles in the stocks, and my hands down to the legs of the ottoman.
"It is your turn now Aunt," said Helen to Miss Priscilla.
I was sobbing as if my heart would break.
My thighs were on fire.
"Oh please no more."
Helen took a seat in front of me and patted my tear-stained face with playful fingers.
"We are going to dress you in a scarlet corsage dear, which will go extremely prettily with your smart black velvet knickers. It will be a skin-tight d‚collet‚ 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 avoiding carefully the skin of my shoulders which an evening bodice would leave exposed.
I struggled 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. Oh! Aah! ah!"
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.
"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!"
"We shall teach you obedience darling." Slash. "There is a good one and here's another." Slash, slash. "Oh, we'll cook you finely. All your wealth." Slash. "All your jewels." Slash, slash. "All your pretty clothes and high-heeled shoes won't save you." Slash, slash.
She kept turning me around, searching out white unbeaten spots on my body, and when she found one she slashed it until it matched the rest of me.
"There you are dear in your scarlet corsage," she said kissing me contemptuously. Phoebe was rung for and she carried me upstairs sobbing bitterly half-naked as I was and put me to bed.
I remained in bed ten days thinking - thinking hard. On the eleventh day, I was able to bear corsets once more round my body. I was allowed to get up. It was the evening and after dinner. I was dressed in the most wonderful costume of palest lavender satin - d‚collet‚ 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 which were covered with diamonds and had diamond bows beside and five and a half-inch heels; and of course long white kid-gloves.
I was led to Helen. She kissed me affectionately. I was encouraged to say:
"Helen please don't keep me dressed like this!"
"But I love you like this," she said leading me to a long mirror. "Stand with your satin slippers together. You look exquisite dear with your curls swinging down to your waist and your tall slender figure tightly 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 which intensifies the girlish look of them," I said blushing deeply.
"No doubt, but you can never get rid of your corset darling. Remember that you have a girl's round breasts. You must have support for them, otherwise, your figure would soon be ruined. It would be ridiculous to let you wear trousers. You look pretty now. You would only look silly and, dear, rather improper in trousers."
I got red with confusion.
"Yes," Helen went on, "I am responsible for your good name. That can never be."
I saw that it was in vain to bend her. I recognized also some truth in her observations. She and Miss Priscilla between them had had their revenge. I had inherited my father's fortune and in return, they had made me irrevocably a girl.
I fell on my knees before her, as she had prophesied that I would.
"Then Helen I have been thinking. Let Evelyn Beryl disappear altogether."
I saw a flash of triumph in her eyes.
"Let him die! You will become the mistress of the estate. Let Denise return to you. I am never to marry. I am never wearing trousers. I am never to have control. Let me have the liberty, the life of a girl."
Helen kissed me ardently. To this, she had been bringing me.
"I will make you very happy Denise," she said. "I will keep you beautifully dressed. You shall have Violet, your friends, your enjoyments."
So it was arranged. With Guy Repton's help and her lawyer's and my enormous fortune, all was easily arranged. I was sent down dressed as a girl under Miss Priscilla's charge to a little lonely house by the sea. Helen announced that I had gone to a German University to complete my education. A student dying of consumption with a very poor family was bribed (as were his parents) to assume my name. He died and was cremated as Dennis Evelyn Beryl. You may see his tombstone in a little churchyard at Bonn.
Helen went to Germany for the funeral. No one raised any difficulties or suspected any fraud. Her lawyer was well-paid. All over my estate, the tenants were delighted that she was now the real owner and mistress. On her return, she announced that she was going to make a home for Denise Beryl out of memory for poor Evelyn. Denise had made herself popular. Denise was welcomed. I came back as a girl. Violet was delighted. What of me? Let one final scene be the answer.
It is two years later.
A magnificent ball at a great house in the height of the London season. A conservatory screened with palms and lit with a dim light. Through the door comes the languorous music of a waltz. Inside the conservatory, two armchairs are close together. In one a girl dressed in a 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 towards her a young handsome man with a look of force upon his face, the young man who had made the brilliant speech in Hampshire and is now a cabinet minister. The young man speaks.
"Denise, I must call you Denise. You are adorable from your curls to the tips of your little buckled satin slippers."
Denise laughs, blushes and coquettishly places together in view the little white shining high-heeled shoes.
"My heart is beneath them," says the young man. "How shall I prove it?"
Denise turns her sparkling eyes to her companion.
"Kiss them on your knees," she says. They are alone they think: the young man drops on his knees and reverently kisses the small feet. Denise springs up with a laugh. "I must go. I have a partner for this dance."
"You will give me your hand?" the young man implores.
"You ask too much," says Denise with a smile, "I have already given you my feet."
She runs lightly to the ball-room. She has lost her position, her fortune, her authority as a man but she has gained, as a girl, power which few men ever have.
Yet she in her turn is subject to others. A young woman, dark-haired and pretty, clothed in a gown of gold brocade, gold slippers, and stockings rises from behind another palm and walks quietly to the ball-room. She taps Denise with her fan upon her pretty white shoulders.
"I was in the conservatory," she says.
Denise looks alarmed.
"Helen," she falters imploringly.
"I heard you, Denise. I cannot allow such vanity and ill-manners. Say good-night to your hostess."
Denise crosses the ball-room and says good-night. She has been looking forward to another hour of dancing. She comes back to Helen with an anxious face.
"Pick up the train of your dress, Denise, and follow me." Helen is familiar with the house. The hostess is her friend. She walks placidly along the corridors. Denise follows timidly holding up her velvet dress. The diamond buckles on her little smart satin slippers sparkle and tremble as her shaking feet follow in Helen's steps. Helen comes to a deserted dimly-lit passage, opens the door, and turns on the electric light. They are in a library. Helen locks the door. She has a gold bag at her wrist. She takes from it a white silk stay lace.
"Your hands."
Whimpering, but not protesting, the pretty girl turns her white back to Helen and obediently joins her hands. In a moment they are bound together by the stay-lace which cuts into the delicate kid-gloves.
"Open your mouth!"
A lace handkerchief is forced into it. The next moment, Denise in her ball-gown is lying face downwards over Helen's lap, the skirt is tossed back, the frilled drawers of batiste hardly veiling the white bottom are revealed, and Helen's white-gloved hand falls twelve times with resounding smacks on the exposed bottom which quivers at every stroke. Helen places Denise upon her feet, unbinds her ankles, rearranges her dress. Denise is weeping. Helen removes the gag from the girl's lips and marches her to a corner of the room.
"The carriage is not ordered for an hour. You will stand
here until I fetch you. No one will come and I shall lock the
door and take the key," says Helen.
She stoops, she produces a piece of chalk from her gold bag.
One after the other she picks up the pretty feet of her prisoner
and chalks the soles of the glistening satin slippers. She
places the feet carefully, with the high heels together.
"I shall know Denise if you move."
She turns off the light, locks the door, and takes the key. She walks placidly back to the ball-room. Denise with her hands tied behind her stands in the corner and weeps silently, not daring to move her buckled satin dancing-slippers.
In an hour Helen comes back cloaked for departure, with another white satin cloak over her arm. She replaces the key and entering the room, switches on the light again. She lifts the gleaming frock of white velvet to see if her prisoner's dainty shoes have moved. They have not dared. She wipes the soles clean and then fastens the cloak round Denise.
"We will keep your hands tied Denise," and Denise, ashamed and afraid lest any of the other girls or any of the men should detect her punishment, follows Helen closely to the front door. A carpet leads to the carriage. Helen helps Denise into the luxurious automobile. She steps in afterward, takes her seat beside Denise, and slips from the girl's shoulders and her own satin cloaks. The door is closed. An electric lamp illumines the automobile. As it drives off, Helen stoops with a thin cord of white silk in her hands.
At once follow prayers and entreaties from Denise, a delicious commotion of her billowy velvet skirt, an entrancing rustling of her lace petticoat, a pretty sparkling of agitated slipper-buckles in the depths of the carriage on the white little satin-shod feet.
"No, no, I won't have it," says Denise obstinately. Helen says not a word, but in the depths of the carriage, a pair of small resolute hands tightly gloved are engaged in subduing a pair of dainty mutinous ankles, tightly encased in filmy white silk stockings.
The delicately-gloved hands gradually win the victory.
The high-heeled glistening slippers are crossed, at last, the nervous fingers quickly loop the silk cord twice around the fluttering ankles and draw it tight and still tighter. There is still a feeble little twitching of pretty toes, but in a few moments, even that ceases. The small feet in their fairy-like slippers submit reluctantly to the degradation of the cord. It is knotted tight about the ankles. Helen rises again lifting up in her arms the velvet-sheathed legs now rigid and helpless of her prisoner and extends the dainty satin-slippered feet upon the opposite seat. She bends over Denise.
"You resisted my dear. Three days in the dark prison on bread and water," she murmurs.
She takes the trembling girl in her arms. After a minute or so with a sweet rustling of dainty lace, Dessous Denise turns her slim velvet-clothed body on its side and buries her flushed face in her mistress' white bosom.
"Oh Helen," she murmurs.
The gloved bound hands are twitching spasmodically behind her back, the tightly-corded satin-slippered feet are strained and arched in some delicious tension, soft drawn-out sighs of languor burst from her perfumed lips.
"Three days on bread and water in a dark prison, Denise," says Helen.
"Three years, darling, if you wish," sighs Denise, and ardent kisses bruise a pair of tender mouths.
