Transfixed by Her Heel Pt. 02

There's a point where playing dress-up stops being pretend. Where the panties feel too perfect, the lipstick too right, and the girl in the mirror--her smile, her sway--feels more you than the boy you used to be. And yet, there's still that final step... the one you ache for, and fear.

In Part Two, what started as a gift, a game, becomes a routine. Sweet. Addictive. Dangerous. Our darling shopgirl is about to learn what it means to serve in silk, to flirt in stockings, to ache in chastity. And when the heels--the heels--finally touch her feet, something changes. Something deeper. Possibly magical. Maybe irreversible.

Slip them on. But don't expect to walk away unchanged.

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Chapter 6 The new shop girl

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He arrived at the shop exactly on time, his nerves pulled tight like thread about to snap.

The little bell over the door gave a cheery chime as she stepped in, the weight of the heels in his bag and the tight, unyielding press of the pink chastity cage beneath his trousers anchoring him to the moment with hot, stinging clarity.

His body shifted around it with every step, the snug plastic around his small cock, the metal ring clipped tight around his scrotum. It was like a secret he couldn't stop feeling.

Alison stood behind the counter, waiting. She was magnificent.

A sharp pencil skirt clung to her wide hips, the fabric a dark, rich navy that almost shimmered when she moved. Her silk blouse--ivory, pristine--was tucked neatly at her narrow waist, a few buttons left daringly undone to hint at her impressive décolletage. As always she wore heels, nothing ostentatious, but sleek and commanding.

A thin belt cinched her in, accentuating her tall, statuesque form. Her blonde hair was swept into a smooth French twist, not a strand out of place. Around her neck was a delicate gold chain, and at her wrist, a slim watch. The only touch of softness in her look was her makeup--deep cherry lips, a subtle sweep of shadow that made her high cheekbones even sharper.

Mousie barely got a word out before Alison beckoned him forward with one crooked finger. "Let me see."

Wordlessly, trembling, but doing as he was told, he stepped closer.

Alison's hand moved to the front of his trousers, and he flinched as fingers pressed with slow, certain pressure against the hard plastic cage beneath that imprisoned his poor cock.

"Mm," Alison murmured, the barest smile curling at her lips. "Wearing my little present, just as I told you. How amusing."

Mousie's face burned. He couldn't meet Alison's eyes. The humiliation unbearable. And he'd done it to himself.

All of a sudden she gripped his trapped cock and balls in her hand tightly. He could feel the sharp points of her nails through his trousers and panties, making him gasp and wince in pain.

"I want you to remember what this is," Alison continued, her voice silken and low, cruel in its calmness as her sharp nails dug in a little tighter. "This is to stop you from pretending you're a man. It's mine now, and I'll decide if, and when, you ever get to use it. Understood?"

Mousie's voice came out as a whisper. "Yes... Miss."

Alison's brows lifted, approving and released her grip. Mousie let out all the air he'd been holding in.

"Good girl. That's what you call me now. You ask a question, you say 'Miss.' You speak without respect, and I'll correct you, without remorse."

"Yes, Miss," Mousie said again, the words feeling terrifying and strangely right in his mouth.

"But we can't call you 'Mousie' all day, can we?" Alison said, tapping a manicured nail against her lips thoughtfully. "You need a proper name. Something pretty to fit a sissy girl like you."

Mousie shifted awkwardly at the word 'sissy girl'. "I... I don't know, Miss," he whispered quietly.

She stepped closer, her perfume a soft, expensive scent of jasmine and something sharper beneath. Ownership in a bottle.

"I think you'll be Millie today," she said decisively. "It suits you. Sweet, delicate... obedient."

Mousie--no, Millie--nodded quickly, heat flooding his--no, her--cheeks.

She glanced at the clock.

"I have three appointments today. Ladies looking for their winter wardrobes. First one's at eleven. That gives us time to get you ready."

'Millie' followed Alison upstairs. The familiar room felt different now--less like a dressing room, more like a stage he was being herded into. Alison moved with crisp, no-nonsense efficiency, setting out the outfit she'd prepared.

A sleek black dress, just above the knee, with sheer sleeves and a cinched waist. A small, subtle lace choker. Earrings--simple pearl studs.

Millie slipped off his boy clothes under Alison's watchful eye, revealing the stockings, panties and suspenders underneath. He placed a bag which contained the high heels on the bed.

The straps on the heels had little padlocks and, much like the cage trapping his poor penis, there was no key. When he'd tried the heels on at home he dared not lock them, in case he was trapped for days. He knew today, the locks would get used.

As before she helped him with the rest of his dressing, a corset to cinch in his tummy and then a simple padded bra to give him shape.

Millie dressed quickly under Alison's sharp gaze, every layer drawing her deeper into the role. The dress fit like a dream, hugging his slender form. The stockings whispered deliciously as he moved, the faint friction between nylon sending little shivers of pleasure along his thighs. The suspenders tugged lightly against his hips with each step, a constant reminder of her feminine transformation.

Shedding his male form he felt feminine. He no longer felt like 'him.' He was 'her now. Millie. Feminine, girly and a little sexy.

"Watch me carefully," Alison instructed, tipping Millie's chin up and turning her face toward the mirror. "You'll learn to do this yourself in time. Every day, I expect you to be presentable."

She started with foundation, smoothing it over Millie's skin in soft, sweeping strokes. Then came a gentle blush, adding a delicate flush to her cheeks. Millie's eyes were framed with subtle shadow, dark enough to define, soft enough to suggest. Last came the lips--a dusky rose, glossy and feminine without being too bold.

Millie watched in silence, each brushstroke feeling like a soft spell being woven across her skin.

Every now and then, the cage shifted or pinched, sending a jolt of shame that made her toes curl inside her stockings. This is wrong, she thought. I'm really a boy. This shouldn't feel so nice. I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be this.

But she didn't move. She didn't speak.

Because another part of her--the part now called Millie--ached to see what she would look like when Miss was finished.

Finally, Alison picked up the brown wig she had prepared earlier. She eased it over Millie's short hair, adjusting it with slow, practiced care, brushing it through until the soft curls framed her face just right.

She added some simple jewellery. A necklace and a pair of clip on earrings.

When it was done, Millie barely recognised herself.

The boy was totally gone now. What looked back at her was a girl--soft, pretty, uncertain. Vulnerable.

Alison--Miss--stepped back to admire her work. "That's better," she said. "You look like something I'd be pleased to have around the place."

Millie's breath caught.

"And now for the shoes."

She took them from the bag where Mousie had hidden them, elegant pink blush heels with the thin ankle straps and the little locks.

Alison knelt gracefully--somehow still poised even crouching--and buckled the ankle straps of the heels around Millie's ankles. The tiny locks clicked closed with a soft, final sound. Trapped in heels for as long as her mistress demanded it.

"There," she said, standing again. "Now you're ready to serve. You won't be able to take those off without my key. I hope you weren't planning to."

Millie shook her head quickly. "No, Miss" although she feared how much her feet would hurt come the end of the day.

Miss smiled.

"Do you know how to make tea and coffee properly?" she asked, her tone suddenly brisk.

"Yes, Miss," Millie answered. "I--I think so."

"You'd better. I'll be expecting you to serve refreshments for my clients. And I won't tolerate embarrassment. If you ruin a tray or spill anything, I'll make sure the punishment suits the crime."

"Yes, Miss," Millie whispered, the words barely audible over the pounding of her heart.

They made their way downstairs again, Millie clicking carefully behind her in the locked heels, the stockings whispering softly with each step. Alison handed her a cloth and pointed to the front windows.

"Start there. Polish them until you can see your reflection. Then dust the displays, and don't knock anything over."

"Yes, Miss."

She worked quietly, the morning light catching the glint of her earrings, her dress swishing lightly around her thighs. The corset cinched tightly around her waist, reshaping her posture, pulling her back straight and forcing her movements into a daintier, more delicate rhythm. Every breath felt a little shallower, every step a reminder of how she had been reshaped to please Miss.

She couldn't help but feel aroused by how she felt, how she looked when she caught a glimpse of her outfit, felt the nylon as her thighs pressed together. The pressure of the cage reminded her again and again--she was dressed like a girl, serving like a girl, and locked away from anything that once made her feel like a man.

The shame would come in waves. She'd pause for a moment, blinking at her reflection in the glass--lips glossy, eyes lined, wig brushed neatly around her face--barely recognising the girl that stared back.

Outside, the winter sun was bright and clear. Passers-by moved up and down the pavement, wrapped in coats and scarves, some glancing absently into the shop window as they walked past. Every glance felt like a dart of terror in Millie's chest. What if they see me? What if they know? Her heart raced as she shrank instinctively inward, trying to look busy, trying to look natural.

The corset didn't let her hide. It forced her chest up, her waist in, made her hips sway just a little more with every hurried step. It made her seen.

What am I doing? her thoughts would whisper, desperate and breathless.

But always, the answer came back with a thrilling certainty, making her shiver in her heels:

What Miss tells me.

The clock ticked round to eleven and of a sudden, the little bell above the door chimed, and in swept a tall, imperious woman in her late sixties. Her coat was a deep navy wool, her gloves soft leather, her jewellery understated but screaming old money. She surveyed the shop with the entitlement of someone who expected the world to arrange itself around her.

"Good morning, Mrs. Weatherby," Alison said with bright warmth, stepping forward to take her hands lightly. "So lovely to see you again."

"And you, my dear," Mrs. Weatherby replied, voice rich and sharp, already glancing around critically. Her eyes fell on Millie, who was standing nervously by the counter, hands clasped in front of her lacy apron.

"And who is this?" the older woman said, her tone dripping with disdain. "Another of your girls?"

"This is Millie," Alison said smoothly, her smile widening just a fraction. "Our new shop girl. She's still learning, so do forgive her any mistakes. Within reason, of course."

Mrs. Weatherby sniffed, eyeing Millie up and down with a curled lip. "Well, she looks presentable enough. We'll see if she can keep up."

Millie curtsied instinctively, cheeks burning. The tightness of the corset and the pressure of the cage made the simple movement feel exaggerated, theatrical. Mrs. Weatherby gave a dismissive wave.

"Girl," she barked. "Fetch me a proper tea. And be quick about it."

"Yes, ma'am," Millie whispered, scurrying toward the back room where the kettle sat.

From behind her, she heard Mrs. Weatherby's sharp voice continue: "Poor thing. Looks like a little doll someone forgot how to wind up."

Alison laughed lightly at the cruel comment, the sound like a little chime of approval in the woman's dismissive tone, and Millie's heart sank.

The tea was made, carefully carried out on a silver tray, hands trembling slightly. The older woman barely glanced at her as she took the cup, waving her away with a flick of her gloved fingers.

Alison moved through the shop with easy authority, plucking dresses, coats, and shoes from racks and shelves, passing them to Millie without a glance. "Come now, girl, quicker," she said once when Millie hesitated over a heavy fur-trimmed coat. "Mrs. Weatherby doesn't have all day."

Millie hurried, the heels clicking sharply against the polished floor, the corset pulling her tighter with every step. She caught herself in one of the mirrored columns--stockings smooth against her legs, skirt swishing just so, face soft and delicately made up. For a fleeting moment, the shame melted into a strange, fluttering pride. I look... pretty, she thought, dazed.

But the moment shattered as Mrs. Weatherby snapped her fingers. "Girl! Bring the navy suede heels, not the black ones! Must I do everything myself?"

"Apologies, ma'am," Millie mumbled, ducking her head and hurrying back, the words feeling small and silly on her glossed lips.

From across the room, she heard Alison chuckle and say, "She is trying, Mrs. Weatherby. They all need breaking in, don't they?"

The older woman laughed too--a cruel, delighted sound--and Millie felt the cage shift again, pinching as if to remind her that no, she wasn't here to be a boy. Not anymore.

She was here to serve. To please.

To be what Miss had made her.

The morning wore on.

The second client arrived--a bustling, cheerful woman in her fifties, with a round, ruddy face and a booming laugh that filled the little shop. She treated Millie like a beloved, if slightly stupid, pet: patting her shoulder, chuckling as she sent her to fetch armfuls of coats and boots. "Oh, bless her, isn't she sweet?" she kept saying to Alison, who smiled politely but offered no defence when Millie was ordered about like a servant girl.

Millie's feet throbbed inside the locked heels, every step pulling against the tight corset. The shame of being spoken about, rather than to, gnawed at her nerves. Yet somehow, she curtsied, fetched, smiled--and endured.

The third client swept in like a storm: brisk, thin-lipped, her sharp voice slicing through the air. She was efficient, practical, her wardrobe demands precise and unrelenting. Millie could barely keep up, dashing back and forth with wool skirts, cashmere jumpers, gloves and boots. The woman barely acknowledged her existence, barking requests to Alison who in turn snapped her fingers or gave clipped orders to Millie.

By the time they left, arms laden with carefully wrapped packages, Millie's back ached, her corset seemed tighter than ever, and her heels were agony. She barely dared sit, trembling under the pressure to perform, to smile, to be good.

The little bell above the door chimed again.

The final appointment.

This time, a tall, willowy woman in her mid-forties glided in, wrapped in a stunning winter coat. Her hair was a rich chestnut, her makeup subtle and perfect. By her side was her husband--tall, broad-shouldered, handsome in a rugged way, his expensive coat undone with careless ease.

"Miss Llewellyn," Alison greeted warmly. "Welcome."

The woman smiled faintly and breezed past Millie as though she were part of the furniture.

Millie curtsied as she had been taught, lowering her eyes. But the man--he saw her.

From the moment he entered, his eyes found Millie and stayed. A smile curled at the corners of his mouth, lingering far too long as he looked her up and down. Millie's stomach turned over with nerves. Does he know? she thought in terror.

The woman hardly seemed to notice. She spoke animatedly with Alison about their upcoming skiing holiday, about entertaining guests over Christmas, about the need for the perfect winter wardrobe.

Meanwhile, Millie served. Dresses, coats, glittering après-ski outfits--she fetched them all, her hands trembling slightly under the man's gaze. Every time she bent to pick something up, she felt him watching her. Once, as she brushed past him carrying a pile of furs, his hand brushed her waist--lingering longer than it should have.

At first, Millie thought it was an accident. But then came the wink. The sly smile.

And then, as she bent over the counter to arrange a scarf, she felt it: a hand sliding up under her skirt, fingers grazing her stockinged thigh. She gasped--a soft, shocked little noise--and jerked upright.

Alison was at her side in an instant, her hand firm on Millie's elbow. "Come along, girl," she said sweetly, her voice a warning. She led Millie into the small back room, out of sight.

The door barely clicked shut before Alison slapped her--sharp, controlled, across the cheek.

Millie stumbled back, tears springing to her eyes. "Miss! Please, he--"

"No excuses," Alison said coldly. "You are here to serve. Not to complain. If you can't manage that, perhaps you aren't cut out for this after all."

Millie, her face burning hotter than the slap itself, lowered her eyes. "I'm sorry, Miss," she whispered.

"You will apologise," Alison said, smoothing a wrinkle from Millie's dress as if nothing had happened. "And you will behave."

Swallowing her shame, Millie followed Alison back out to the shop floor, her cheeks burning, her legs trembling. She curtsied low before the man and woman.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, sir," she said, voice barely a breath.

The woman barely noticed. The man smiled.

For the rest of the appointment, every time Millie handed him a jacket or bent to collect discarded outfits, he found little ways to touch her--a brush of the hand, a palm against her back, a squeeze of her waist.

Each time he did, Millie could feel the humiliating heat on her skin, the tightness of her corset keeping her posture rigid, the cage between her legs a constant reminder of what she was--and what she wasn't.

Somewhere inside, her old self screamed at the indignity. How could she allow herself to be manhandled like this?

But the girl called Millie stayed exactly where she was.

Serving. Silent. Pretty. Submissive and obedient. Exactly as Miss expected.

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Chapter 7 A special treat for hard working girls

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The bell chimed softly as the door shut behind the last client, leaving the shop in a hush.

Alison locked it with a click, drawing the heavy curtains across the windows. "Come along, girl," she said without looking back, heels tapping smartly against the floor as she led the way upstairs.

Millie followed, head low, heart pounding. Each step was a dull throb through her tired calves, the locked heels a cruel weight she could barely endure. The tightness of the corset pulled at her ribs with every breath, keeping her posture straight even as exhaustion made her want to sag.

At the top of the stairs, the little flat was warm, softly lit, a world away from the polished formality of the shop below.

"Get undressed," Alison said, shrugging off her coat. "Back to Mousie, for now."

Reluctance prickled along Mousie's skin even as she obeyed, fingers clumsy with fatigue. She unlaced the dress, letting it slip from her shoulders in a whisper of fabric, standing there in her stockings, corset, and delicate underwear. She tugged at the corset laces, feeling the slow, painful release of pressure from her ribs as she suddenly realised how constricted her breathing had become.

She reached for the locked heels--and then froze, a small helpless whimper escaping her lips. The tiny padlocks on the straps mocked her; she couldn't remove them without Alison's key.

Wordlessly, Alison approached with a wicked smile, drawing a little silver key from between her breasts where it had been tucked away all day. With slow, deliberate movements, pulled up her skirt over her knee and bent and unlocked each shoe, one after the other, her fingers brushing Mousie's trembling ankles.

The relief was immediate. Mousie almost collapsed from the release of pressure, her calves aching fiercely as she shifted back onto flat feet. Her cheeks burned hot with shame at needing Alison even for this.

Stripped now to just her stockings, suspenders and panties, she swayed unsteadily, feeling raw and exposed--and yet somehow, deliciously vulnerable.

She turned--and froze.

Alison was undressing too.

With no ceremony at all, she undid the buttons of her blouse, peeling it away from her body. Her skirt slid down her hips and pooled around her ankles. She stepped free of it gracefully, shaking out her hair from its pinned bun. It fell in rich, glossy waves around her shoulders.

Mousie stared, wide-eyed, breath catching in her throat.

Underneath, Alison wore black and gold satin lingerie that gleamed under the low light--an exquisite bra that cupped her breasts perfectly, matching panties, and delicate suspenders holding up her black stockings. Her figure was breathtaking: elegant curves, almost athletic looking legs, a narrow waist, full hips and a generous peach of a bottom clad in the gold satin of her knickers--all draped in temptation.

With lazy ease, Alison picked up a black lace robe from a hook and slipped it over her shoulders. The robe was sheer, barely hiding anything, the filmy material clinging to her curves, framing her body like a decadent afterthought.

Mousie gawked, helpless and awestruck.

Alison caught her looking--and smiled, slow and wicked.

"Enjoying the view, little one?" she murmured, stepping closer, the lace whispering around her long legs clad in their elegant stockings.

Mousie stammered, heart hammering, shame and longing tangled into one painful knot.

Alison chuckled softly, running a hand through her loosened hair. She circled her prey slowly, fingers brushing across Mousie's bare shoulders, making her shiver.

"You were a good girl today," she said, voice low and indulgent. "Maybe you deserve... a little treat."

Before Mousie could react, Alison knelt down before her--glorious, predatory, devastatingly beautiful. Her manicured fingers skimmed over the soft lace of Mousie's panties, making her twitch and whimper before pulling them down to reveal the pink cock cage Mousie was wearing.

From between the folds of her robe, Alison drew the tiny key again and reached for the little silver lock of the chastity cage. With a click, the lock surrendered, and the device slipped away in Alison's expert hands.

Mousie gasped, trembling from the sudden, dizzying freedom. Her penis finally free from its pink prison.

Alison didn't move away. She ran a single lazy finger along the inside of Mousie's thigh, in the soft bare patch above her stockings, feather-light and devastating.

"You love this," she whispered, smiling up at her. "You love serving... you love being my pretty little thing. A little sissy girl."

Mousie's legs wobbled under her, mind spinning, the day's exhaustion swallowed by a rush of arousal, adoration, and desperate, desperate need.

Alison leaned closer, her breath warm against the sensitive skin of Mousie's thigh. She kissed the soft flesh there, a slow, maddening brush of her lips, while her hands caressed upward, up over her hips, her trembling stomach, her chest, commanding every shiver, every gasp.

"Good girls," Alison whispered, voice like silk, "get rewarded."

Mousie's breath hitched, her knees nearly buckling as Alison's lips brushed higher, soft and electric. The lingering warmth of the kiss burned on her skin, every nerve ending tingling and raw.

Alison rose slowly to her feet, the black lace robe slipping back over her curves as she stood, a living vision of temptation. She cupped Mousie's flushed cheeks in both hands, tilting her head up until their eyes met.

"So pretty," Alison murmured, brushing her thumb lightly over Mousie's glossy lips. "My perfect little doll."

Mousie whimpered under her touch, unsure if the trembling inside her was fear, desire, or some wild, helpless mixture of the two. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest, and every part of her body felt too hot, too exposed.

Alison leaned in, her movements slow and deliberate, and brushed her lips against Mousie's--a whisper of a kiss, barely there, a tantalising tease that sent a shiver down Mousie's spine. The faint stick of lipstick and gloss clung between them, a soft, delicious tension, before Alison drew back just enough to let the sensation linger.

Alison leaned in for another kiss, this one deepened, slow and commanding, her mistress taking what she wanted, tasting her, owning her. One of her hands slid into Mousie's hair, pulling her in closer, deepening the kiss until Mousie whimpered again, the sound lost between their mouths.

When Alison finally pulled away, she left Mousie dazed and gasping, lips tingling and knees weak.

"You'll learn," Alison whispered, her voice husky now, filled with wicked amusement. "To crave this. To crave me."

Mousie's head spun, too overwhelmed to speak, too needy to move.

Alison's hands roamed lower, over Mousie's trembling sides, down to her panties. With a slow, torturous deliberation, she slipped her fingers under the lace and began to ease them down further, dragging the delicate fabric over Mousie's hips, her thighs, letting it fall in a puddle around her ankles.

Mousie shuddered, utterly exposed, utterly hers.

Alison's fingertips skimmed the newly freed, aching flesh with a feather-light touch, stroking, teasing, never giving quite enough. Every brush was a spark, a shiver, an exquisite torment. Mousie's body strained toward her without thinking, desperate for more, desperate for her.

"Mmm," Alison purred, studying her with wicked satisfaction. "You're such a good girl for me, Mousie."

The praise hit harder than any command. Mousie's toes curled against the floor, a broken, desperate little whimper escaping her throat.

Alison smiled, slow and indulgent, and leaned down once more. This time, she kissed along Mousie's belly, her hips, her thighs, planting soft, claiming kisses, worshiping her little servant with languid, devastating tenderness.

Each kiss sent a fresh shudder through Mousie's exhausted, overstimulated body, until she was gasping and trembling, overwhelmed by the waves of sensation crashing through her.

And still, Alison held her firmly, guiding her, controlling her pleasure as easily as she had controlled everything else that day.

"You belong to me now," Alison whispered against her skin. "You'll come when I allow it. You'll thank me when you do."

Mousie could only nod, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes--not from sadness, but from the sheer, unbearable relief of surrender.

Alison's laughter was soft, almost affectionate, as she eased Mousie down onto the soft couch behind her, arranging her like a doll, spreading her legs wide. The black lace robe pooled around Alison's stunning form as she knelt once again, lowering herself between Mousie's trembling thighs.

Mousie gasped, back arching helplessly as Alison finally, finally put her mouth on her--soft, hot, and utterly relentless.

The world dissolved into sensation--Alison's mouth, her hands, her voice whispering filthy praise and sharp commands into her sensitive skin as she devoured Mousie's small erect penis.

Alison used her mouth slowly, easily devouring all of Mousie's cock within, her tongue slavering the foreskin and shaft, her mouth sucking and slurping as her divine drool dripped down Mouse's cock and onto her testes below.

Pleasure hit her in waves--deeper, sharper, unlike anything she had ever known. It wasn't just the physical bliss--it was the dizzying, intoxicating knowledge that she had given herself to Alison, that every moan, every tremble, every desperate buck of her hips was not hers anymore.

It didn't take long.

When Alison finally allowed her release, Mousie sobbed her gratitude aloud, her whole body shaking with the intensity of it, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Alison didn't pull away immediately. She lingered, taking every drop of Mousie's load before kissing her way back up Mousie's spent, quivering form, finally gathering her into her arms and kissing her on the lips. As she did so Mousie felt her warm tongue move something equally warm and salty into her mouth. She realised it was her own seed was being passed back to her.

Alison pulled back, her eyes focused on Mousie, judging. Another test. Another thing that felt so wrong, but to go against her mistress's wishes would be unthinkable. She swallowed down the cum, gulping as she did.

For a long, quiet moment, they stayed like arm in arm--Mousie curled against her Mistress, undone and remade all at once.

"You did well today, little Mousie," Alison whispered, stroking her hair. "But this is only the beginning."

Mousie lay trembling in Alison's arms, her heart still racing, the world around her soft and blurred, as if she were floating. She nuzzled instinctively against the black lace of Alison's robe, the scent of her--warm skin, expensive perfume, the faint sharpness of sex--filling her senses, branding her deeper than anything else could have.

Alison cradled her for a moment longer, letting her breathing slow, letting her body soften in surrender.

Then, slowly, she shifted, tipping Mousie's chin up with a single, commanding finger.

"Listen carefully, little one," Alison said, her voice low and honeyed but with that unmistakable edge of authority that made Mousie's stomach flip. "This isn't just for today. You're mine now."

Mousie's lips parted, but no words came out. She could only nod, overwhelmed and helpless beneath the certainty in Alison's gaze.

Alison smiled--a slow, dangerous smile--and gently brushed a stray curl from Mousie's forehead.

"Every Saturday, you will come here. You will arrive early, properly dressed, properly prepared. I expect you to work hard, obey my commands, look pretty, and make me proud."

Her hand drifted lower, tracing a line over Mousie's bare shoulder, across her chest, down her belly, making her squirm with sensitivity.

"You will obey without question. You will serve our clients with a smile. No sulking, no whining, no hesitation. Understand?"

Mousie whimpered and nodded again.

"But it's not just here," Alison continued, her voice dropping even lower, until it wrapped around Mousie like silk cords. "You'll prepare at home, too. Practicing your posture. Your makeup. Your mannerisms. A good girl doesn't stop being a good girl just because no one is watching."

The words sank deep into Mousie's dazed mind, terrifying and thrilling her all at once.

"I'll be watching," Alison murmured with a smile. "And there will be rewards... and punishments."

She leaned down, her mouth brushing Mousie's ear. "You want to be my good girl, don't you, Mousie?"

The words, so casually cruel and sweet at once, broke something open inside her.

"Yes, Miss," Mousie whispered, her voice hoarse with emotion.

Alison kissed her temple, almost tenderly.

"Good girl," she said. "Now get dressed. We have much, much more to do."

She rose gracefully, the black lace of her robe trailing around her perfect legs as she moved toward her dressing table. Mousie remained sitting there, shaky and awed, until she realized she was staring--and that Miss was waiting.

Blushing furiously, she hurried to gather her boy clothes, slipping them over the panties and stockings.

But even as she dressed, pulling on the plain trousers and shirt that felt so wrong now, Mousie knew something had changed.

The boy she used to be felt further away than ever.

And the girl she was becoming--the soft, trembling, yearning girl called Millie--was just beginning her journey.

Underneath her clothes, her skin still burned with the memory of Alison's touch.

And deep inside, in the place she was learning to be most honest, she wanted more.

She wanted everything.

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Chapter 8 Bound by the Heels

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The days blurred into a strange new rhythm.

By day, Mousie trudged through his humdrum office job, a grey ghost among grey walls.

But by night, in the privacy of his small bedroom, he became something else.


He practiced the makeup lessons Miss had given him, tracing the shape of his lips, the flick of eyeliner, the gentle flush of blusher across his cheeks. He teetered in his heels until his calves ached and his posture shifted without thought.

He kept his body smooth and pampered now, shaving meticulously and massaging in the creams and serums Alison had so thoughtfully recommended.

More and more, he found himself browsing for his own clothes--soft, delicate things that let him hold onto the feeling of being Millie a little longer each day.

He had even started to grow out his hair, tired of the artifice of wigs. He wanted it to be real. He wanted himself to be real.

And always, always, he wore the pink chastity cage, snug and unyielding--a constant reminder that even apart, he belonged to her.

Saturdays were the highlight of his existence. When he could put on a skirt and heels. When he could enhance his looks with makeup. When he could become her.

As Millie, she scurried after the elegant ladies who frequented Maîtresse--fetching heels, coats, and dresses, pouring tea with a curtsey and a practiced smile. She obeyed their commands without question, bowing her head to their whims and accepting their cool dismissiveness as if it were her due.

The shame of that first day had softened into something sweeter, almost addictive.

The admiring glances from the husbands that once made her blush now sent a delicious little thrill through her. She loved it when their eyes lingered too long on her legs, when a hand brushed just a little too low as it passed. Something was awakening in her--something warm and wicked. As Millie, she would giggle at their cheeky comments, maybe toss a flirty glance over her shoulder or lean just a little deeper to pick something up, letting the faintest glimpse of stocking top peek from beneath her hem. She'd never felt sexy before--not really--but now? Now she was beginning to enjoy being looked at. Being wanted.


She loved even more when, upstairs after closing, Alison would reward her with a shuddering 'release', her present for being a good girl, before locking her back up for the week as she returned to him.

Each time she climbed the stairs, her body thrummed with yearning as her eyes fell on the stiletto in the window--that first kiss of temptation all those weeks ago--shining wickedly, seducing her with the silent promise that one day, it would be hers... and so would everything it meant..

It gleamed under the soft lights, calling to her, whispering promises.

More and more, he dreamed of staying as Millie, of staying as 'her', not just on Saturdays, but always. It was always such a disappointment when she had to disrobe and leave Millie behind for the week, become that shy grey mouse again. Back to being a dull boy. His body was far from masculine, but without the clothes and makeup he wasn't as feminine as he liked. He was no longer Millie.


He dreamed of being seen, desired, owned. Owned by his mistress.

One evening, after the shop was closed and the two of them were undressing upstairs, Alison watched him with a gleam in her eye. She could see the excitement of her little pet, waiting to spend a few precious moments free of the cage and a hot release from Alison's seductive mouth. But she could also see the slight disappointment of having to shed this wonderful skin and go back to being a grey, anonymous boy once more.

Alison moved like liquid gold, each motion unhurried, deliberate, a slow unveiling meant for no one's pleasure but her own. She slipped free of her blouse, her skirt whispering down her long, elegant legs, until she stood in nothing but dark, decadent lingerie--black and gold silk stretched over a statuesque frame built for worship.

Her golden hair spilled in soft waves past her shoulders, catching the light with every subtle tilt of her regal head. Her body was a symphony of impossible beauty: high, proud curves; a narrow, sculpted waist; endless legs kissed by the sheer black of her stockings as she towered over Mousie by a good few inches, even without the heels.

She slipped a sheer black robe over her shoulders, the delicate fabric clinging just enough to hint at the body beneath. It offered glimpses, not answers--a tantalising suggestion of her curves, the swell of her breasts, the shadow of what lay beneath--leaving Mouse's eyes hungry for more, but never quite satisfied.

Her makeup, perfect as ever, framed a mouth made for sin turned into a perpetual knowing smirk, her eyes glancing lazily over her Mousie--barely seeming to notice the way her pet trembled with need. But it was no accident. Every step, every turn, was a chain slipped tighter around Mousie's heart, a spell whispered against trembling skin.

Tonight, she would not ask. She would command. And her pet would beg to obey.

Mousie had stripped down to his delicate underthings, shedding Millie for the day and reverting to a boy in lingerie. His heart still hammering from watching his mistress. He caught sight of himself in the mirror--pretty, shy, aching. Nowhere near as glamorous as her, but still much more attractive than he ever was in the outside world. But not truly feminine enough.

"You've done so well, my pretty little pet," Alison purred, running a lazy finger along his arm, making him shiver.


She paused a moment, contemplating her next step and making Mousie hang on her next command, hoping for the regular release she allowed him.

"Would you like to be Millie for longer... For more than just a Saturday?"


Her voice was velvet and steel, every word a hook sinking deeper into his helpless heart.

Mousie hesitated--afraid, excited, needing.

"Y-yes, Miss," he whispered, his voice barely his own. Desire taking over any sense of how that might work.

"There's a cost, you know. A price to pay. If you want your wish, you'll have to submit to me completely -- no questions, no negotiation. I would own you."

Mousie hesitated. She had already given him so much, revealed a part of himself he hadn't known was there. But this was different. This was everything. And he didn't doubt for a second that she meant every word.

"Yes, Miss," he stammered. Fear caught in his throat, making the words tremble. "I'll do whatever you ask. I want to be Millie all the time. Make me pretty."

Alison's lips twisted into a wicked smirk, ruby-red and sharp as a blade, while her brow arched high -- like she was toying with a joke only she understood.

"If you look in the window," Alison whispered, her voice thick with dark promise, "you'll see it's no longer alone. Its twin has finally come to claim you."

Mousie's eyes flickered, helpless against the pull, and when he looked, the sight of them struck him like a spell--powerful, inescapable, as if the shoes themselves had reached out and taken hold of his very soul.

There they were: the stilettos. Not a single shoe, but a pair. Waiting.

Black as midnight, their glossy leather gleamed like liquid under the faint, flickering streetlight from outside, every curve impossibly smooth, the elegance of the scalloped sides, every line wickedly sharp. The heels rose like blades -- four inches at least, tall enough to command, to punish, to reshape whoever dared to slip into them--designed not for practicality, but for worship.

Beneath them, the blood-red soles glowed faintly, like embers smouldering in the darkness, burning with silent promise.

Mousie's breath hitched. He didn't just want them. He needed them.

The shoes weren't just beautiful; they were alive with a terrible, exquisite promise. As he stared, the pull became overwhelming, undeniable--a voice inside him whispering sweet, dangerous things. Slip them on. Give yourself over.

The longing sank its claws into him, and he knew: there would be no turning back.


It was no longer a whisper in the back of his mind. It was a demand. Become the girl you should have always been. Let them claim you.

The air turned thick and stifling, every breath laced with tension. Alison stood facing him, draped in her decadent lingerie, a goddess, her golden hair gleaming, her smile sharp and knowing. She watched without mercy as he faltered, her eyes gleaming with quiet triumph. Under her gaze, the shoes seemed almost to throb with dark promise--impossible to resist, a trap he had always been fated to walk into.

"Would you like to try them on?" Her voice was barely a whisper now, seductive and coaxing, like the call of a siren from a dream, or a dark magic wrapping around his soul, tightening with every word.

For a moment, Mousie froze, as if some part of him still clung to the life he was leaving behind. But the spell was already too deep, the path already chosen. Shivering, he rose to his feet, every nerve alive with fear and anticipation.

Naked but for his stockings and suspenders, he moved toward the shoes like a condemned soul approaching the altar, each trembling step a surrender. His body betrayed him, drawn by a desire so overwhelming it crushed his fear into something small and useless. There was no escape now. Only her, and the shining black promise she had laid at his feet.

Behind him, Alison's voice curled through the heavy air, rich with dark amusement:
"That's it, my pretty little thing," she purred. "Go on. Show me you were always meant for this."

Her words, wicked and tender all at once, drove him forward. There was no hesitation now. Only longing, and the sharp, thrilling fear of what he was about to become.

With trembling fingers, he reached out and picked them up--the black patent leather cool and supple against his skin, the elegant curve of the arch, the wicked sharpness of the stiletto heel.


Even the scent of them--the luxurious, expensive soft leather--rose to meet him, heady and intoxicating. These weren't ordinary shoes. They were something more.

A flicker of fear gripped him. What if they didn't fit?


What if, after all their whispered promises, all their silent seduction, they rejected him?


The thought was almost unbearable. These shoes had been the start of everything--the whisper that had drawn him into this beautiful, spiralling submission.

Holding his breath, he lifted one foot and, with a soft, silken shush, slipped it inside.


The fit was perfect--so perfect it was almost eerie, as if the shoes had been crafted for him alone, lying in wait for this very moment. As the tight leather swallowed his foot, something invisible shifted, subtle but irrevocable. A line had been crossed, a door closed behind him, and there would be no going back


The heel forced his calf to pull taut, sculpting his leg into elegant, feminine lines, higher and sharper than anything he had worn before.

Then the second shoe--another whisper of silk against leather--and he stood, feeling the delicious, precarious height. Higher and sharper than any heel he'd worn before.


A slight ache bloomed in his toes and calves as the shoes tilted his body into their command--but it was a sweet pain, a welcomed one, like a kiss bruising the skin.

He turned toward the mirror--and gasped.

The moment he slipped into the stilettos, something changed. It was subtle--no flash, no spark--but undeniable. A ripple, deep under his skin. He caught his reflection and froze. Even without the wig, corset, or bra, he looked... different. Softer, shapelier, strangely alluring. Feminine.

The effect was impossible, unnatural--and yet there it was, staring back at him. His breath caught as panic started to rise within him. Whatever had just happened, it felt like a step taken past some invisible threshold--one he couldn't take back.

His hair--was it longer? Softer? Gentle waves now framed his face, cascading over his shoulders with an effortless grace, as if it had always been this way.

His skin--softer, glowing with an almost eerie radiance, a dewy delicacy that made him look both fragile and otherworldly.


His chest--small, yes--but unmistakably shaped into breasts, a tender curve where once there had been only flatness. His nipples more prominent somehow, more delicious looking than before.


And his face-- More feminine somehow. Fuller cheeks, a natural pout to his larger lips, wide luminous eyes framed by thick lashes, giving him an innocence that was both sweet and unsettling.

And lower-- The heels had worked their dark magic. His legs, his hips, his waist--they were no longer just parts of him, but sculpted lines that moved with a sensuality that felt alien, yet so undeniably real. His body had been remade into something that didn't belong to the boy he had once been. His backside--once flat, now rounded and pert, the high heels creating a perfect curve that made him look softer, more delicate. He could feel it as he moved--his own body unfamiliar under him, reacting to the heels, to the transformation.

The only remnant of his former self lay between his legs--though even that had been touched by the transformation. His cock was no longer bold or insistent, but a softened nub, delicate and strangely pretty. His balls had shrunk to tender, pale globes, drawn up tight and nearly vanished, as though retreating in surrender. The sight made his breath hitch--half-aroused, half-afraid. It was beautiful. It was wrong. And it was happening, whether he was ready or not.

He looked sexy. Dangerously so. The kind of girl he would've worshipped from afar not so long ago--glossy-limbed, tight-waisted, soft where it mattered. But now, unbelievably, she was staring back at him.

No wig. No corset. No makeup.

And yet... he was Millie.

Elation bloomed in his chest, hot and dizzying--then twisted, sharp and panicked, in his gut. This wasn't dress-up. This was real. Too real.

Something had happened when he stepped into those stilettos. A shiver of enchantment, almost imperceptible--but there. The subtle whisper of dark magic that slid into his skin, his thoughts, like silk on bare flesh. He felt it: the shift in bone, the softening of flesh, the tilt of his own desires.

Not just his body--his very self was reshaping, curling around the contours of this new, forbidden form.

And it was glorious. It was terrifying.

He swayed, suddenly unsteady. Like a girl learning to walk. Like a boy about to fall. He wanted to tear the shoes off--but didn't dare. What if they were the only thing keeping him as her?

He had taken a step he couldn't undo.

And somewhere, deep inside, a voice purred: Good girl.

His thoughts were muddied, like a fog rolling in, clouding everything. Memories--small, insignificant ones at first--slipped away unnoticed, leaving behind an unsettling emptiness. He could feel his past slipping through his fingers, replaced by a new, unfamiliar drive. A compulsion, a need for control that didn't belong to him, but to someone else.

The thoughts that had once been his own--fragmented, disjointed--were now becoming a steady, constant hum. A whisper that grew louder, firmer: You are Millie. You belong to her now. Be who you were meant to be.

This had all felt like play up till now--like dressing up, pretending to be someone else for the erotic thrill of it. A costume. A game.

There was always the option to shed it, to return to the boy he was, go back to his dull, familiar life. But now? This felt different. This wasn't a game anymore. It was real. And there was no coming back. No option to turn back the clock. His very identity was slipping away, piece by piece, like water through his hands.

The lock had been clicked shut and the key thrown away.

There was an ache inside him--something that longed for release, yet something else pulling him closer to the inevitable, urging him to surrender. It wasn't just about the heels or the transformation, it was about who he was becoming. His very identity felt malleable, slipping between his fingers like sand, as if the boy he had been was being replaced with this new person, piece by piece.

His thoughts, once his own, no longer felt familiar. He wasn't sure where he ended, and the pull of the black high heels began. They had rewired him, remade him in their image, and now his mind bent to their will.

This was like dark magic.

He was her now. He was Millie.

And there was no boy left to mourn--not really. Just this beautiful, aching creature, trapped in a body that wasn't his, in a mind that was becoming increasingly alien.

A thing reborn, not just in appearance, but in soul. Her.

Millie glanced toward Alison.

Alison stood watching with a slow, predatory smile--not warm, but dark, filled with the satisfaction of a hunt well completed. A cat that had not only claimed the cream, but savoured the last breath of the mouse caught in her grasp.

Compelled, like a puppet on invisible strings, Millie moved toward her.

The heels made her glide, each step more elegant, legs crossing in front of each other, each step more hypnotic than the last.

It felt... wrong. But natural. As if her body had always known this rhythm, this walk.
As if the shoes had been waiting for her--not just to wear, but to claim her entirely.

And deep inside, something inside her screamed in a final, desperate whisper--but it was already too late. That part of her was gone.

Alison's voice was a soft purr, laced with a dangerous, intoxicating edge as she took in the sight of Millie. Her eyes roamed over her new creation with a predatory satisfaction, savouring the way Millie stood, trembling, on the edge of complete surrender.

"Well, look at you," she murmured, the words dripping like honey, yet edged with steel. "A perfect little thing, aren't you? So much prettier, so much more... obedient than the boy you used to be. Just a toy now, a beautiful little puppet for me to play with, moulded exactly the way I wanted."

She took a slow step forward, her gaze lingering on Millie's every curve, every delicate movement, as though she was delighting in the final result of a masterpiece.

"You're mine now, Millie. A thing of my making. And you're going to make me so very proud. You'll never be anything else again."

Her smile was a dark promise, one filled with something far more intoxicating than any affection. It was control. Absolute and unwavering.

--------------------------------

Chapter 9 Your only pleasure is my pleasure

--------------------------------

Alison's voice lowered, darkening and commanding with a tone that made the air between them crackle with tension. "I think it's time you learned your place, pet. From now on, the only pleasure you will know is the pleasure you give me. That's the price for every moment I allow you to stay close to me. You understand, don't you?"

Her gaze was sharp, like a predator sensing weakness, yet filled with something far more intoxicating. "On your knees, girl. Show me just how obedient you can be."

Alison's fingertip brushed lazily across her lips, the motion languid and deliberate, but it was the cruel flick of her wrist toward the floor that sealed Millie's fate.

Millie didn't hesitate, though disappointment swirled through her. Despite the panic, the terror of what was happening to her, she felt more aroused than ever.

The one thing that seemed to remain of the boy she was, her small penis and balls. Although his mistress had unlocked its pink cage, it might as well still be there. A shackle of a very different kind had taken its place.

Despite the aching heat between her legs, it lay there--tiny, soft, and utterly useless. A pale pink nub, more ornament than organ. She stared at it with a mix of pity and shame, wondering if the cage would even fit now it was so small. It was the cruellest of jokes: the last fragment of boyhood clinging on, denying her full womanhood, yet incapable of offering the slightest pleasure. A relic, nothing more--mocking, meek, and wholly hers.

How she yearned for this goddess before her to wrap her lips around it, to once again feel the sensation of her wrapping her soft lips around her cock, feel her warm wet mouth and teasing tongue guide her to another delicious orgasm.

But Millie knew now, those days were gone. That was not her place anymore.

But that disappointment quickly mingled with a strange thrill, a strange excitement, as she knelt before her mistress, unable to look away from the intoxicating power she exuded. She was compelled to worship her mistress.

Alison turned her back to Millie and walked languidly across the bedroom, each step unhurried and deliberate in her patent red leather heels. At a drawer, she pulled out three items--Millie could just make out the gleam of black leather--and laid them carefully on the dresser.

Then, to her breathless surprise, Alison slipped off her robe and reached behind her and began to unclip her bra.

Millies heart pounded. She had wanted to see her magnificent breasts in full and uncovered for so long that the anticipation almost hurt, a nervous excitement building inside her, making her ache with need for the smallest glimpse.

Over there time together how she had gawped at her cleavage, her perfect ample bust pressed tight in the satin blouses she wore and wondered what they felt like, how heavy they would be in her hand, how supple the skin, what her nipple would taste like in her lips, to suckle on them, what it would be like to nestle her head between them, feel their warmth on her cheeks.

Alison let the bra slip from her fingers, falling carelessly to the floor. Then, with a slow, teasing grace, she slid a finger into the waistband of her satin panties and began to ease them down her generous womanly bottom--her hips giving a playful little wiggle as she did so--until they too slid down her stocking clad legs, down to the floor in a silken whisper, pooling at her feet.

Still with her back to her, Alison stood there, naked but for the elegant sheer black stockings and satin suspenders clinging to her long legs, and the string of pearls glistening around her throat like a decadent collar.

Millie couldn't help but stare at the vision in front of her. Alison's behind wasn't girlish -- it was the full, ripe curve of a woman in her prime. It flared out from her narrow waist into a generous, peach-shaped swell, every contour smooth and confident, skin golden and flawless beneath the low light. Below, dark stockings clung to the tops of her thighs, the contrast making the pale flesh above seem to glow. It was hypnotic. Commanding. Utterly feminine.

Millie could feel a stirring deep below, but her nub still stayed small and useless. She could feel a drop of sticky pre cum on her thigh. This was the sexiest sight she'd ever witnessed, and her cock, her last mocking link to her maleness, was restrained from even getting fully aroused.

At last, Alison turned--slowly, with the unhurried grace of a queen surveying her prize--and Millie shuddered.

Arousal hit her like a velvet hammer, sharp and heavy, washing away her fear in a searing tide of need.

The part of her that might have fought--might have remembered who she once was--was slipping away, dissolving into the darkness that curled through her mind, seeded by the spellbound heels clinging to her feet.

It felt good to forget. It felt right.

Her mistress. Her goddess.

The only thing that mattered now.

Millie's heart thudded helplessly in her chest, her body aching to be touched, used, claimed.

Every instinct she had left cried out to please Alison, to debase herself in any way that would win any glimmer of approval or a shred of affection.

She belonged to her now.

Mind, body, soul.

And somewhere, deep inside, the last whisper of the boy she had been screamed 'run, before it's too late!' as it was smothered into silence.

Before her Alison smirked as she stood in her magnificent nakedness, exposed, to her pet. Millie's eyes drank in her body. Her smooth perfect skin, her large round breasts with pink nipples standing proud, demanding to be teased and suckled at. More perfect than her deepest fantasises. The soft curve of her hips. Her golden triangle of pubic hair and below...

A large cock drooping between her legs. Smooth and veiny, and much larger than Millie's poor nub of a penis. Much larger than before it shrank to such a pathetic state.

Millie froze, her breath catching in her throat as her gaze dropped--and she saw.

For a moment, her mind refused to process it, stuttering in disbelief. It was impossible.

Unthinkable.

And yet the truth stood before her, undeniable, raw, and proud.

Alison wasn't like the women Millie had once daydreamed about.

She was something more. Something other.

A perfect, terrible blend of everything Millie had once craved and everything she had been taught to fear.

Millie knelt, frozen in place, her breath snagging in her throat as her gaze dropped--and she saw.

For a heartbeat, her mind recoiled, scrambling in disbelief.

No... This couldn't be. This wasn't what she wanted, wasn't what she had ever wanted.

A shudder ran through her--not from cold, but from some deeper, bone-deep confusion. Horror... and then something hotter, something shameful. The ripple of fear twisted in her gut--but it was quickly drowned beneath a surging, molten wave of want.

Because Alison was no ordinary woman. She was something else--something exquisite and monstrous all at once.

A dark vision of power and possession, towering over her, radiant in her terrible beauty.

Her cock was magnificent. It swung heavy between her thick thighs, the tip touching the tops of her stockings, the head glistening as it swung and swayed between her thighs with each step as Alison walked towards Millie with intent in her eyes.

Millie's lips parted soundlessly, a whimper caught somewhere deep in her chest. I'm not supposed to want this, some small voice cried out inside her.

But already that voice was fading further, muffled under the sticky, sweet fog spreading through her mind.

The last barriers of her old self cracked and crumbled as her mind scrambled to rewrite its own rules, its own desires.

Where once there would have been fear or revulsion, now there was only awe. Worship.

Alison was... perfect.

A goddess in human form, dark and commanding, irresistible.

Millie swallowed hard, every beat of her heart hammering the truth deeper into her soul:

There was no going back.

She would kneel for this creature. She would beg to be owned.

She was changing--not just in body, but in soul. Her desires rewriting themselves, her submission deepening with every breath she drew in.

Alison stepped ever closer, her presence overwhelming. The slow sway of her hips, smooth and unhurried, was a hypnotic rhythm of her huge cock that Millie could neither look away from nor withstand.


Frozen on her knees, Millie tilted her head back, gazing up at the towering figure before her. Alison's monster only inches away from her lips. She could see the thick veins, the large helmet gleaming at her. It jerked and twitched, almost touching her mouth. This thing was alive.

Her heart battered against her ribs, a frantic, trapped thing -- fear and heat twisting together inside her until she could no longer tell them apart.

The scent of her glans--heady, forbidden musk--filled her senses, thick as incense, clouding what little resistance she had left. She could almost taste it. Her lips parted a fraction as she started to imagine what that would be like.

She wanted this.
She dreaded this.
But she needed it more.

Alison's lips curled into a slow, indulgent smile as she produced a thick leather collar from somewhere behind her. It was dark, gleaming, almost brutal in its simplicity--a single heavy ring fixed to the front, waiting for its purpose.

Millie barely breathed as Alison lowered it toward her.


The leather brushed against her neck, and she shivered--not from the cold, but from the sheer finality of it.


A soft click echoed through the room as the collar fastened shut, sealing her fate with a sound that made Millie's heart stutter.


Then came the leash--a slim but unbreakable tether, clipped to the ring at her throat with a cruel, definitive snap.


Millie's lashes fluttered. Her lips parted in a soft, helpless moan.

She was collared. Owned. Alison's pet.

And the terrible thing--the shameful, exhilarating thing--was how right it felt.

How natural it was to kneel there, leashed and trembling, waiting for her goddess's next command.

Milie's eyes were still focused on the mammoth penis in front of her. Transfixed. It was like she was hypnotised by this veiny anaconda.

Dressing up had always been a game. A harmless escape. She'd never thought of herself as gay, never wanted men, even though she flirted with the husbands of the women who frequented the shop, it wasn't serious.

But now... was it even gay anymore? With this soft, reshaped body, this aching need blooming inside her, how could it be? How could it be wrong to indulge this goddess in whatever she desired.

It didn't feel wrong. It felt right. Like this was what she was always meant for -- to kneel, to serve, to belong.

Yet somewhere, buried under the honeyed fog clouding her mind, that ever faint voice still screamed. Was this truly her desire--or the spell, twisting her thoughts until she couldn't tell where she ended and Alison's will began?

She wanted to believe it was her choice.

It has to be, she whispered inside. It has to be.

But even as she clung to the thought, the boy she had been slipped further into the void, until he was little more than a fading dream she barely remembered.

Alison tugged the leash once, sharply, bringing Millie's gaze up to meet hers. Her smile was slow, predatory, full of cruel delight.

"Your turn now, my sweet little thing," Alison purred, her voice like velvet over steel. "You've been remade to serve... and it's time you showed me just how grateful you are."

The words slithered into Millie's mind, wrapping around her like chains. Her body trembled with desperate, aching need. Every thought screamed obedience, devotion, worship.

And yet--this wasn't her. This wasn't what she wanted. Was it?

The thought flickered, tiny and weak, and then Alison gave another soft tug on the leash -- and Millie, helpless, broken open by her own hunger, surged forward to obey.

Her hands moved slowly, her mind slightly fogged still, and finally her fingertips touched her mistress's cock, feeling the soft hot skin. It sent a shiver down her spine and her lips parted as she let out a warm sigh.

She slipped her delicate fingers around the girth, feeling it for the first time, the weight, the heat, the power, its stiffness wrapped in a warm velvet. The first penis she'd ever touched other than her own, which paled into insignificance next to this thing of beauty.

It felt so alive, Millie felt it twitch in her hand as it reacted to her warm touch, skin to skin. She could feel her own heat building up inside of her. She leaned her head forward, closer, inch by inch. That small voice in the void now barely audible as her own arousal overwhelmed her.

Millie held the cock towards her as her mouth drew in close. Her wet lips parted further, her breath faster.

"That's it, my pretty little pet," Alison murmured, her voice low and intoxicating. "Give in... it's all you were ever meant for."

Millie extended her tongue and gently licked the tip of the cock. Tasting it for the first time. With such a simple thing she felt like she'd taken yet another step.

"Well done, my Millie," Alison cooed, a wicked smile curling her lips. "You're finally learning your place... and it's exactly where you belong."

Millie pushed the cock up with her hand, it was starting to get stiffer anyway and pull itself more erect and become even more intimidatingly larger. She cocked her head slightly to one side and gave the shaft a long lick from the base near her heavy balls, all the way up to the glans at the top, slavering it with her saliva and worship. Making the shaft gleam with her tongue.

She could feel the penis even more alive in her hands as she did so, getting stiffer, growing to its full size. She gulped as she contemplated what she had to do next. It didn't seem possible.

With her eyes wide she looked up across Alison's magnificent body, her perfume soft tummy, her large breasts with nipples standing proud, up to the cruel smirk and those eyes shaded and magnified with long dark lashes and eye shadow, focused on her. Their gaze locked and Millie knew what had to come next.

Slowly she parted her now fuller lucsious lips, the red glossy lipstick making them even more sensuous. She moved towards the head of the penis, her eyes still on Alison's willing and commanding gaze. And then she felt the soft tip of her cock touch her lips.

She inhaled the scent of it as fleshy helmet touched her lip, the smell rushed through her senses like a narcotic, making her mind even more fuzzy and increasing her desire to take it inside of her.

Opening her mouth a little wider she slipped the penis into her mouth, letting her lips close tight around the head as the length started to slip in, her jaw widening more and more to accept it's girth, her tongue teasing and worshipping it as the cock pushed in further.

"Hmmm, don't stop, darling. I'm the only one who matters now, remember?"

The cock invaded deeper into Millie's mouth. As it did so the doubts, and thoughts lifted from her mind. There wasn't much left, all she was now was a doll. A pet. Mindless of her own needs apart from the pleasure of her mistress.

"You were made for this, weren't you? To serve, to worship."

Alison tugged on the lead linked to Millie's collar, pulling her towards the impaling penis, urging her to take more. Millie coughed and spluttered as the length and girth choked in her throat.

Then Alison released the slack, letting Millie move up and down on her shaft.

"That's it, Millie. You're learning to please me perfectly."

Tears fell down Millie's rosy cheeks as she did her best to please. Squeezing the girth in to her stretched wide mouth, sucking at it, making her cheeks cave. Doing her best to pleasure her mistress and not complain as she struggled to breathe and her jaw stretched beyond what she thought it was capable of. Her drool dripped down onto her chest, down across her belly until it dripped on her nub of a penis.

Alison pushed her hips forward and she pulled back on the chain. Her cock pushed harder and deeper into Millie than ever before, deep into her throat, cutting of the air. Millie's eyes bulged, her face turned red as her body jerked. The gagged and writhed, tears streaming down her face as her stomach caved almost as if she was about to be violently sick. Alison held the chain tight as she watched her servant squirm beneath her.

Finally Alison pulled back and realised the chain as Millie gasped for air.

"You're so eager to please, it's almost pathetic--yet so satisfying."

Millie felt an odd rush of pride, pleased to be treated with such condescension. Like a pet reacting to a kind word from its owner. She would do anything for her mistress now as she engorged herself on her mistress's meat, moving her mouth up and down while ignoring the pain in her jaw, the soreness in her throat.

Her face was a beautiful ruin now--smeared with sweat and spit, streaked with mascara that ran down her cheeks in inky tears. Her once-perfect lipstick had bled into a smeared, swollen grin, more debauched than playful. Her skin flushed crimson with effort, her expression dazed, undone, and utterly used.

All of a sudden Alison pulled her cock from her mouth. Millie gasped in the oxygen, letting it fill her lungs while a large trail of saliva dripped down from her abused mouth to the tip of Alison's cock.

Alison admired her work as she reached down with her hand, a finger under Millie's chin making her look up at her goddess as she inspected her ruined face.

"Hmmm. It's so beautiful to see you like this, my pet. So obedient, so devoted."

She stepped back. "Onto the bed with you now. On your hands and knees. Let's see those cute little buttocks high in the air."

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She moved unsteadily, her body shaking and still struggling to adjust to the unfamiliar sway, like a fawn taking its first, unsure steps as she clipped forward on the stilettos. The bed loomed ahead, and she collapsed onto it, crawling forward on her hands and knees, her chest heaving.

A soft sound came from behind her, followed by the unmistakable scrape of something heavy being dragged from beneath the bed. Her breath caught in her throat, and before she could even process it, something solid landed with a weighty thud behind her near her feet. Still gasping for air, she didn't dare look back, her gaze fixed on the bedspread. Obedient and subservient to her mistress's whims.

She felt the unmistakable press of leather around her ankle. First one, then the other, the soft but firm straps pulling tight, binding her in place. The sensation of the leather, smooth and unforgiving, sent a shiver up her spine, and she tensed instinctively. Then, a cold, metallic bar slid between her legs, its chill contrasting sharply with the warmth of her skin. The weight of it, solid and unyielding, locked her in place, restricting her movements, ensuring she was helpless, vulnerable.

Alison then stepped towards her head. Millie was breathing heavy now. This was partly due to her recovery from the throat fucking, but mostly out of the fear of what was coming next.

"Open wide my little pet."

Millie dared a glance to her right, her eyes landing on a strange strap with a large, gleaming red ball at its centre. The realisation hit her like a jolt of electricity--it was for her mouth. A mix of nervousness and anticipation swirled inside her, but she couldn't deny the pull to obey. She opened her sore mouth wide, surrendering herself to the command. Alison's fingers were gentle yet firm as she slid the ball into Millie's mouth, its weight and texture foreign yet strangely filling.

With a swift, practiced motion, Alison tightened the straps around the back of her head, securing the ball gag in place. Held fast, Millie felt the weight of the restraints, the silence that followed. She was utterly helpless now, bound in both body and mind.

Alison moved a pillow under her tummy and asked Millie to bend over and reach out her arms. Both wrist were quickly fastened. Now she was on display. Her behind up in the air, legs wide, arms locked in place in front of her, mouth gagged from calling for help. She wondered what was next. She'd never felt so vulnerable.

Crack!

A sharp hard pain hit her backside as she was made aware of something hitting her hard and sharp on her bare flesh.

She grunted and squealed, the gag muffling any protest or cry of pain.

Crack! Crack!

Another hit, then another. She tried to wiggle away as the sharp pain radiated through her body. Soon tears started to fall down her cheeks as she sobbed and shook.

Why was she doing this to her? She thought she had been a good girl? Obedient to whatever she wanted? It seemed so cruel and wicked to treat her this way.

She took about twelve hits, she couldn't be sure, before they suddenly stopped. As she shook and shivered, still sobbing, she felt a soft hand stroke her hair.

"There, there, my pet," Alison's voice purred, a soft edge of finality in it. "This is for your own good. Do you understand why you're receiving this medicine?"

Millie hesitated for a moment, her thoughts tangled, but then she nodded, the weight of Alison's words sinking in. Now, every threat from Alison would be more than a warning--it would carry the undeniable certainty of consequence. The logic was cold, calculating, and perhaps cruel, but it was clear. Disobeying her mistress wasn't an option, and the price of defiance was something Millie would now carry in her bones.

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Chapter 10 The final test

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As Alison stroked her hair and whispered sweet words of control to her, Millie felt her other hand reaching down. Across her arched back and then over the soft round mounds of her tortured behind. She winced as her touch stroked across one of the welts from the whipping she'd received.

Her hand moved between the crack of her bottom, running a finger up from her tiny testicles, between the crevice and over her soft, vulnerable, puckered hole. Millie shivered with pleasure and fear as she did, her touch was light and teasing, almost tickling her.

Again she stroked her finger. Softly, but every now and then she could feel the sharpness of her nails as it touched the softest and most private area of Millie's body.

"Hmmm you like that don't you my sissy girl. Every touch, every move... it's exactly what I've been waiting for. Isn't it?"

Millie nodded, her senses heightened, every inch of her skin alive to her mistress's teasing touch. The pain that had once gripped her faded into the background, replaced by an overwhelming surge of sensation, an electric pulse that thrummed through her with each caress. What had been cruel now shifted--her mistress's touch no longer felt punishing, but intoxicating, sensual, stirring something deep within her, making her crave more.

Alison pulled away for a moment, before returning back to her side, close to her punished behind. She felt something cold. A liquid. At first she wondered if it was some sort of soothing cream for her skin, to calm down the welts from the whipping. But no, this was applied to one area of her behind. Her virgin hole.

Millie gasped as a finger probed around her ring, before pushing in. Her stomach moved as her breath grew faster.

She felt her mistress get on the bed behind her. At this moment she felt more vulnerable than ever.

Alison's voice cut through the thick air, her tone both commanding and indulgent. "This is your final test, my pet. After this, there's no turning back. You'll be mine forever, and I'll be the one to shape you--every thought, every action, every breath you take."

Millie's heart raced in her chest, a mixture of terror and longing coursing through her veins. She could feel the weight of Alison's words settling into her soul, suffocating and thrilling all at once.

For a moment, the fog that clouded her mind began to lift.

She remembered who she had been--what a grey, empty thing his life had been. The boy she used to be, with his dull routines and unremarkable existence. How strange it felt now, to think of him, as if he were a distant memory. That boy would be horrified to see what had become of him. How she prostrated herself, dressed like a wanton slut. Willingly used and abused.

The girl kneeling, bent over, before her mistress now was a stranger, and yet, she wasn't. This new self... it felt like the truth, like the only path she was meant to walk.

But with that realisation came a flash of shame--that fleeting glimpse of the boy she once was, still fighting somewhere inside. His terror of what he had gotten himself into rushing through her, making her shiver in fear and humiliation. A realisation of the life sentence she'd agreed to with no escape.

She shook it off, desperate, willing herself to give in fully. This was her moment, her destiny. She would belong to mistress.

Alison leaned down, her fingers raking down Millie's back, her talons scraping at her skin as she knelt between Millie's legs, held in place by the spreader bar.

"What's it going to be, my sweet pet? You want to be mine, don't you? To be my perfect, obedient little girl? I can see it in your eyes--how you crave it, how you need me."

"But you know, once you surrender completely, you'll never be able to go back. You'll never escape me."

Her gaze darkened, lips curling into that cruel smile. "And that's exactly what you want, isn't it?"

Millie trembled, a soft moan vibrating in her throat, her body aching to obey. Everything inside her screamed to submit, to let go of the last shred of resistance. She could feel her heart racing, her breath shallow with anticipation.

And then she felt it. Her mistress's cock push towards her, squeezing between her tight cheeks, probing her tight bud.

The pressure grew, it was relentless. She breathed hard, spit falling from the gag down her chin. Her nose flared, eyes wide.

The pain started slowly at first. Not sharp like the whipping. Slow, but building. It radiated heat through her bottom, up her spine and across her body as her mistress stretched her.

She cried out, a gasp mixed with a scream, muffled though it was. As soon as she did she felt a hard slap on her arse cheek.

"Take it like the little slut you were meant to be. No complaints."

Millie nodded, even though she was sobbing into the sheet below her, her fingers clenched into a tight ball, pulling at the leather straps as they dug into her skin as the pain increased. She wasn't sure how much more she could take for her beloved. The pain was too intense, too overwhelming. Her body shook in an uncontrollable shiver. Her face frozen in a silent scream.

Then she felt something. A pop and the pain subsided for a moment. Not quite gone, but lesser. For a moment she tried to contain herself. To gather her feelings. To let this thing into her, to welcome it. She slightly shifted her position and tried to control her breathing. To welcome the pain, accept it. The last test.

She felt Alison push in further. Millie groaned as she felt herself filling up, stretched further than she felt possible. A wonderful agony.

On and on it went, pushing inside of her. Her body doing its best to accommodate this large invader.

All thoughts were gone. As if her conscious thought was turning to goo. All she could do was feel. To survive this thing stretching inside of her.

And then she felt Alison's skin against hers. Her thighs pressed against her own. The warmth of her body pressed towards her arse cheeks. It dawned on her she was fully inside of her. A strange sort of pride washed over her. She had done it. She was a good little slut for her mistress.

But she only had a moment to savour it, before she knew it Alison started to pull back before thrusting back in, slapping against her cheeks, making Millie grunt as the air was pushed out of her.

"Hmmm, what a delicious slut you are. So tight. So nice and fresh for your mistress. I may not be your last, but I will always be your first. Never forget that little pet."

The thrusts got harder, slow at first, but gradually increasing in intensity.

Then something shifted inside her.

The pain didn't just fade -- it morphed, twisting into a sharp, electric pleasure that surged through her like a cruel jolt. It started at the point of her restraint, then spread outwards in hungry, relentless waves, crawling up her spine, racing through her arms, her legs, until every inch of her was alive, burning, desperate.

Millie whimpered, her breathing fast and shallow against the gag, eyes fluttering shut. She tried to still herself, to resist the rising tide, but it was useless. Instinct drove her to squirm and writhe, each movement dragging more wicked pleasure from her trembling body.

The fog in her mind thickened, swallowing thought and reason. She was no one, nothing -- only sensation, only need. A soft, broken moan slipped from her gagged mouth as her body betrayed her completely, edging her closer to a climax she had no control over, no choice in.

She was falling, helpless, into the arms of her own destruction. There was no stopping it now.

The pleasure roared through her, obliterating the last fragile remnants of who she had been.

Millie's body convulsed with desperate need, every trembling thrust drawing her deeper under Alison's spell. With each gasp and quiver, the last fragments of the boy she'd once been slipped further away. Somewhere in the collapsing corners of her mind, he gave a broken, voiceless scream--an echo already fading beneath the rising tide.

A final sob escaped him--soft, fractured, barely real--before it was lost to the thunderous roar of pleasure crashing through her. Mousie was drowning, dying, pulled under by the dark and the bliss, as Millie surged up to take his place.

Then there was no boy left. No more Mousie. His fate had been sealed as soon as he slipped on those stilettos. And now he was gone forever. He would be forgotten by all, mourned by no one.

No resistance.

Now what remained was a beautiful, eager pet -- aching, devoted, lost in bliss.

And as the wave crested and broke over her, Millie surrendered everything to her Mistress, mind and body shattering and remaking themselves in a perfect act of submission.

She felt Alison's shaft pushing in and out of her, faster and faster. Fucking her ever harder and ever deeper. The heat built inside her, unbearable, unstoppable. She whimpered around the gag, the sounds high and desperate.

Her body was no longer her own -- it belonged to Alison now, shaped by her will, driven to the edge and beyond. And she was ravishing it.

Pain and pleasure melded into one for Millie as she accepted her mistress's hard fucking. She knew her body would never be the same. That it would take ages to recover from what she was doing to her, but still she wanted it more than anything.

Their bodies slapped together. The bed shook as Millie felt the bonds around her wrists and ankles bite in tight as the air was pushed out of her with every hard thrust. She felt like she was about to split in two.

Then the climax, which had been building and building like a giant wave sucking the sea from the shore, tore through her like lightning--violent and blinding.

Millie shook, collapsed forward, her vision swimming with light and color.

She screamed into the gag -- a raw, helpless noise -- as wave after wave of rapture shattered her, remade her, claimed her. It was an orgasm like no other.

When it finally ebbed, she was left a trembling, gasping wreck at her Mistress's feet, ruined and reborn.

There was no going back. There was only Millie now.

Millie barely had time to catch a shuddering breath when she heard it -- a low, throaty moan, rising in pitch, dark and delicious as her ass was pounded with greater ferocity.

Her Mistress.

Alison's pleasure hit its peak with a sound that was almost feral, and Millie felt it, felt her, in the most intimate way.

A sudden, hot flood of warmth filled her, spilling deep inside, marking her, claiming her in a way beyond collars and leashes.

Millie gasped around her gag, her whole body shivering with the shock of it.

There was no doubt now, no escape. She wasn't just owned -- she was filled, branded, bred, completed.

Her mistress's breathing slowed, a lazy, satisfied hum escaping her lips as a hand stroked Millie's back. Patting her gently.

Millie stayed perfectly still, panting through her nose, heart hammering against the leather and steel that kept her so sweetly caged.

She belonged to her.

Mind, body, and soul.

A toy. A pet. A beautiful, broken thing, shaped perfectly for her Mistress's pleasure.

And somewhere, under the heavy, soothing fog in her mind, Millie found herself smiling.

Even now, collapsed on all fours, trembling and spent and ruined, the cruel, beautiful stilettos still clung to her feet -- the first chains she had chosen... and a spell she would never escape from.

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And now the boy is gone.

The stilettos have claimed him, just as they were always meant to. What slipped into them was a trembling little mouse; what stood tall and smiling in their cruel, perfect grip is Millie--obedient, beautiful, and utterly bound to her mistress.

Alison's trap is sprung. Her pet is dressed, broken in, and ready for whatever exquisite torments she has planned behind those mirrored doors.

The transformation is complete...

But Millie's training? That's only just begun.

Thank you for reading, my lovelies. If this story twisted a little thrill in your belly, I'd adore hearing from you. And as ever, my inbox is open for thoughts, chat, or wicked little collabs.

T ???? xxx