"Your punishment lies within this box." I told her, as I handed Melissa the package that the courier had delivered to my office the previous day. She nervously tore off the wrapping, and seemed rather surprised to find revealed a shoebox. In it was a pair of black patent high-heeled pumps, with double ankle straps. They were half a size smaller than the strappy sandals that presently dressed her pretty feet.

"Those off, these on, and you're going to wear them until I give you permission to remove them. That's your punishment, in essence. Of course there will be some additional aspects, which I will reveal in time." Melissa had her sandals off and into her shoulder bag, and was reaching for some black pantyhose.

"No. You'll wear them against your bare skin."

Melissa began to flush as she tried to wriggle her left foot into the shoe.

"Oh, Paul, please no ... they're too ... tight." But she managed to get into them slowly, and secure all four ankle straps without my having to tell her to buckle them tighter. I could see the straps were biting into her shapely ankles as she gingerly stood up.

"Now listen carefully. I will zay zis only once..." which made her laugh - my imitating her favourite t.v. comedy. I reached down to take the sandals out of her bag, and thought to myself that she probably wouldn't be laughing any more for the rest of the day. "Now, you won't be slipping into these when your new shoes hurt you too much." Melissa's laughter stopped abruptly. "You won't have time for breakfast. You'll be walking to the train, and walking from the station to work - no bus. You'll make sure and take a full hour for lunch, during which you'll walk up to Malcolm Street to meet me at Frank's pie cart. You'll walk back to work after eating your lunch standing in the street. And you'll walk home the same way as you got to work, except you'll get off the train two stops early. I figure that you'll have walked ten or eleven kilometres by the time you get home." Melissa seemed to be taking this quite well so far. "And above all, you will not take off those shoes at any time. No band-aids, no pantyhose, and especially no loosening of the straps. Got all that?"

Melissa replied with a meek "Yes, I understand," before picking up her bag and tottering out the door.

I could see that Melissa was trying to walk normally, although it was obvious that her feet were killing her. She was still a hundred metres down on the other side of Malcolm Street, and men were looking back at her as she passed them.

"Oh, Hi Honey. God my feet hurt sooo much. Can I please take these shoes off, just for a minute?"

"What do you think? What did I tell you this morning? Now buy your lunch and I'll walk back with you. And you'll walk normally, as if you're not in any pain," I told her, but I knew I was going to have trouble walking normally myself.

"My friend at work, Cara, asked me why I'd suddenly decided to wear 'FM's'. I had to ask her what that stood for, which was embarrassing. She meant 'Fuck Me' shoes! She wears really high heels every day, and now I know how her feet feel."

"Cara's probably used to them, as you'll be by the end of the month. No, just joking! I will let you take them off before that, but you've got a long way to go yet. What did you tell Cara anyway?"

"That I liked her shoes, and I thought they made her legs look great, and that I wanted to try really high heels myself. She liked these a lot, and wanted to swap with me for the afternoon. Paul, I had to tell her the truth; that I wasn't allowed to take them off. Then I told her what you're making me do. I'm sorry, Paul, but you know I'm a lousy liar."

"So what did Cara say to that? She must think I'm a monster."

"Actually, no. She really wants to meet you, would you believe?"

"Yeah, I can believe that," I laughed. "Now, shut up, and walk twenty metres in front of me the rest of the way back. And walk sexy, like you wear high heels all the time. I want to watch you, and I want to see men looking at you, and women as well."

Melissa's legs looked really great. The heels made them look longer than usual, and her calf muscles stood out superbly as they worked. Her altered stance made her back curve more so that her butt stuck out cheekily, and I watched it wiggle tantalisingly inside her tight black leather mini as she walked. Men and women did look at her, and she got a few wolf whistles from passing drivers. After the twenty minute walk she entered her office building without even turning to acknowledge me.

"I'm home, Darling, and I did as you said. That three-kilometre walk from the train was agony. And I've been on my feet at work all afternoon. That bastard McDonald got me to help him move to his new office two floors up. He wouldn't even let me use the lift! Hell, I made so many trips up and down those goddamned stairs. Why today?"

"I think I know why, Honey. Now, come and take your shoes off. I want to check your feet."

Melissa flumped down onto the couch rather ungracefully, and proceeded to unbuckle the ankle straps. "Oh, thank Heavens." she sighed as she gently eased the shoes off. All the veins on her feet were standing out, but her toes were white and crushed bloodless by the pointed stilettos. The ankle straps had left strong impressions, and there was blood on both of her heels from the rubbing and biting of the cruel shoes. The skin was rubbed away where her feet had entered the toe section of the shoes, and her left foot (the slightly larger one) was bleeding there as well. Expecting this, I already had the cotton wool and antiseptic out, and some Band-Aids. I carefully cleaned up the wounds and applied three Band-Aids.

"Oh, Paul, please give me a foot massage! I've earned it, don't you think? My poor little feet are just sooo sore, Darling..."

"You haven't earned that yet, Melissa. Now, put the shoes on again, right now! Get a move on, before your feet swell up too much!"

"Ooh, do I have to?" she groaned, but she started to work the shoes back on, stifling her exclamations of pain.

"Right, we're having Chinese take-aways for dinner tonight, and guess who's going for a walk to get them."

Melissa's obedience at this point surprised me. If she had refused to wear the shoes out again I wouldn't have made her. From the games we'd played in the past, she knew that she could stop when it got too much for her. It was obvious, therefore, that she was really enjoying this particular role.

"Oh, Paul, by the way," she said as she was leaving, "I'll get enough for three, because Cara's coming over soon."

"What?" I said, but the idea of meeting this high-heel loving woman instantly excited me. "Yeah, right. That's great. Uh ... make sure you walk back quickly, so the food doesn't get too cold."

Cara arrived before Melissa returned. She was stunning; a tall, athletically-built brunette. She wore an ensemble in red PVC, with skin-hugging trousers and a top that laced up across her ample breasts so tightly that her nipples seemed to want to puncture the material. Her five-inch red stiletto pumps were held on tightly by a series of four straps and buckles across the top of each foot. Now I really knew what she's meant by 'FM's. I made her the scotch and soda she had asked for, and poured a straight scotch for myself. She'd brought a large leather shoulder bag, which she'd dumped on the floor; I wondered if it was her overnight bag.

After the normal introductions and 'so what do you do at work?' enquiries, we got down to talking about Melissa. Cara described how Mel (as she called her; I had never been fond of shortening the name) had laboured all afternoon with Brian McDonald's office stuff, and how she'd enjoyed watching her suffer in her uncomfortable new high heels.

"So, do your shoes hurt you that much when they're new, Cara?"

"Maybe not so much. I always wear brand new shoes with stockings, for a day or two anyway, (cruel of you not to let her do that), and I'm more used to high heels than Mel, but yes, they do hurt. A lot. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"Well, I admit, the thought of really gorgeous women wearing shoes that hurt them, and other uncomfortable clothing for that matter, just so as they can look and feel sexy, does turn me on quite a bit!"

"So, do you like what I'm wearing, Paul?"

"Yes, I really like it. Melissa tells me that you wear high heels - 'FM's - every day at work. Is that true?"

"Well Mel doesn't lie. We both know that, don't we? Brian really likes me wearing them, and I like that he likes it, if you know what I mean."

"That you and Brian McDonald are ...?" I held up my crossed fingers.

"Yep. But let's talk about Melissa. Now, I suspect that you and her like to play these kind of games, so what about including me in this one?"

I could feel my excitement building as Cara outlined her idea of what we could do to Melissa. She also revealed the contents of the curiously bulging bag she had brought with her. When we could hear Melissa returning from the takeaway shop Cara hastily stuffed her 'equipment' back in the leather bag.

"Melissa, Cara and I have decided to continue this little game for a bit longer. We've decided that you're going to be our waitress for dinner. Now, I want you to go and put on your white blouse, and then set the table and serve the meal. If there's any left after we've finished, then you might get something to eat."

We made Melissa stand at the dining room table for the whole meal, which we deliberately took our time over. She had done some waitressing as a student, so she was quite proficient, and I could see that she was entering into the spirit of the game by giving us very good service; keeping our wine glasses topped up and so forth.

"Now," I said, feeling a bit overly sadistic, "when you've cleared the table and done the dishes, you can eat what scraps we've left. Cold, of course."

Melissa looked like she wanted to stop the game; I could see it in her face, but she kept it going for Cara's sake. She was obviously having a lot of trouble just standing up in the high heels now; the extra two kilometre return walk from the Chinese take-away must've been excruciating. Anyway, Melissa didn't voice any complaint, and did as she was told. Cara enjoyed as much as I did watching her stand at the table, stooping to finish the few cold leftovers.

It was Cara's turn to take over directing proceedings now. She led us back into the lounge. "Now, Melissa, Paul is going to give me a long, sensuous foot massage, and you're going to stand by and watch. And to make sure you do," Cara reached into her big bag and pulled out a pair of handcuffs and a length of rope, "you're going to wear these."

Melissa obediently held out her wrists and Cara put the cuffs on her, tightening them quite firmly. "It would be a shame not to use this lovely strong beam for something," Cara said as she threw the end of the rope over the heavy wooden support that ran the length of the lounge. She quickly had Melissa's arms stretched up over her head. Melissa was breathing more rapidly now, obviously fearful of what Cara might do.

"Did Melissa tell you what I do for a night job, Paul?"

"Um, no, she didn't, but I think I can guess. I gather that you do this sort of thing professionally. Do you mind me asking; what name do you work under?" I realised that Melissa had known as well, and that if she invited Cara over something like this would probably happen. My excitement started to build from the already fairly high level it had been at since Melissa had arrived home.

"Mistress Melissa, actually, by co-incidence," she laughed, more than the joke was worth, really. She threw her head back and really laughed out loud. This scared me a bit, and Melissa even more. "I've always wanted to have you like this, Melissa my darling, since I first met you!"

"Um, what about that foot massage, Cara?" I suggested. It felt like the situation was going to get a bit beyond my control.

"Oh, yes please Paul. My feet are sore too, you know, though not as bad as hers!" she said as she gestured toward Melissa with a flick of her head.

Cara had nice feet, about the same size as Melissa's, but a bit worse for wear from all the tight high heels she'd worn. Her toes were somewhat scrunched together, and she had built up quite thick skin in some places. Nonetheless, I enjoyed massaging them, and I worked on them long and hard, much to Cara's delight.

"Paul, you're gifted! You should chuck in that insurance job and become a professional foot masseur."

"That would be great, as long as I just did women's feet. And only young, beautiful women at that."

As I massaged Cara's feet, I was keeping one eye on Melissa. She looked like she was really suffering now, with her arms having been pulled up tightly for nearly an hour. Her face was quite red, but she was maintaining her composure and not crying. I felt really hot for her now, and if Cara hadn't arrived, I would've let her take the shoes off when she got home from work. That's when the game - her punishment - would've ended, and the serious fucking would have begun. But now it seemed we'd begun to exceed Melissa's pain threshold and tolerance level.

"Melissa, I think you've had enough now. Do you want to come down, love?"

Cara shot a look at Melissa, then frowned at me.

"No, honey. Really, being tied up here for so long is making me feel really hot. I'm dying to find out what you and Cara have in store for me next."

I was starting to wonder if the two of them hadn't cooked this whole thing up between them at work. My suspicion was confirmed when Cara reached into her bag again and brought out a riding crop, a vicious-looking leather paddle, and more rope.

"I'm glad you want to suffer some more, Melissa," Cara said, "because up until now we've only been playing with you."

I felt out of my depth, but this was getting exiting.

"Paul, be a love and put my shoes back on for me. It's not right to go to work without my heels on."

I gladly obliged, and enjoyed doing all eight buckles up good and tight, as Cara requested.

"Now, I'm ready," she said, as she stood up authoritatively. "Paul, we need that set of folding steps from the kitchen."

I brought it in and set it up, and saw that Cara had removed Melissa's skirt and knickers. Cara placed the steps in front of Melissa, and told her to lift her left leg up onto the top bar, which was over a metre high. Melissa obeyed instantly, and Cara lashed her ankle tightly to the bar with nylon cord, then carefully removed Melissa's shoe.

"Now, Paul, I want you to work on Melissa's left thigh and buttock with this strap, while I do the sole of her foot with the whip."

I was getting really hard now, in expectation of the task I was about to undertake. I was a bit tentative with my first few slaps. I'd given Melissa a spanking before, but only lightly with my hand. Cara, though, really set about Melissa's foot with great swishing strokes of the riding whip. I responded by landing some full-blooded blows with the strap. Melissa's left buttock was bright red now, and she was starting to howl with the pain, pleading for us to stop. Tears were streaming down her cheeks.

"You remember the code word I gave you this afternoon, Mel?"

What code word? What's going on here, I thought, but kept strapping after a momentary pause.

"Yes. Yes, I remember it, Mistress. Ow! Oooh! Oh God. Please, no."

"Right, its time to change legs," Cara said. "Are you enjoying this, Paul?"

"Loving it, Cara. I'm really having a good time back here. I wish I'd known Melissa enjoyed this stuff before."

Cara replaced Melissa's left shoe, buckling the ankle straps tightly, then untied her leg. Melissa tried to put her foot on the floor, but she winced and quickly raised it again.

"Come on Mel. That leg's going to have to take your whole weight in a moment. Now be a brave girl and put it down."

Melissa obeyed, but was reluctant to put any weight on her left foot until Cara roughly lifted her right leg and tied it up to the steps.

We both dealt out severe thrashings to Melissa's other buttock and other foot, and although she cried and protested, pleading for us to stop, she didn't use the code word Cara had given her (whatever it was), because Cara just kept on thrashing her. Finally she stopped and I did likewise. Cara let her right leg down. Both of Melissa's butt cheeks were really vivid red now, and she could barely stand on her poor agonised feet.

"Now, Melissa, you've been good, and taken you punishment like a grown woman, so we're going to free you soon," Cara said, "But in order to earn your permanent release from slavery, you have to complete a task successfully. You must change into my shoes, then go to the kitchen and make us a good full cup of coffee each, and serve them without spilling a single drop."

As Cara issued this command, I released Melissa from the handcuffs, whereupon she collapsed into a heap on the floor. She couldn't stand without the support of the rope and cuffs, and she was trying to rub some of the soreness out of her backside and her wrists, both at once.

"C'mon, you haven't time to grovel on the floor. Get to your task, slave!" Cara commanded, as she began to remove her own shoes. I helped Melissa get her shoes off, and was surprised at the state her feet were in now, even though I'd seen what she'd been put through. Cara was obviously highly proficient at wielding that riding whip.

"Oh, no. Please ... I can't even stand up! I'll never be able to do it," Melissa pleaded, but was cut off sharply by Cara.

"You'll do it, or take another thrashing that'll make your recent ordeal seem like a walk in the park! Now, hurry up and get these on, and give me your shoes. I've been dying to try them on all day!"

Melissa could barely get her feet into Cara's five inch heels, but Cara got Melissa's shoes on relatively easily and was strutting sexily about the room, still wielding the riding crop. She came over and gave Melissa a hard swat across the thigh, which almost immediately raised a red and purple welt.

"I don't know what you've been complaining about all day. These feel like an old pair of slippers after what I've been wearing!"

"They do not! They really hurt!" Melissa spouted petulantly from the floor, where she still struggled with Cara's shoes.

"Don't contradict me slave!" Cara reinforced her point with an even harder crack of the riding whip, raising a parallel welt. "And make sure those buckles are good and tight. Paul, help her."

I gladly complied, doing up the four buckles on Melissa's left foot as she did the right. She stood unsteadily, and tottered toward the kitchen, wincing in pain at every step. Five minutes later we could hear her coming back up the wooden-floored hallway.

"Don't spill a single drop, now, slave," I called out.

"Not if you want to be able to sit down anytime in the next fortnight or so," Cara added, and laughed in that unsettling way of hers again.

To Melissa's dismay, she spilled more than a drop. As she stooped to serve Cara her coffee, her ankle turned on its precarious heel, and most of the contents of the cup spilled over Cara's lap.

"Oh, my God, are you going to pay for this, girl!" Cara shouted, and looked genuinely angry. "You are going to get this shit off me, real quick!"

Melissa staggered out of the room and quickly returned with a damp cloth and some tea towels, and began to clean Cara's PVC trousers and top. Luckily the hot coffee didn't leave a mark, or burn Cara's skin, or I hate to imagine what would've happened. What followed was bad enough, for Melissa anyway.

"Slave, go to my bag and bring me the cane."

Melissa looked as if she was going to burst into floods of tears, but managed to retain her composure, somehow, and do as she was told.

"Now, give it to Paul, and repeat after me - at your hands I will willingly receive my due punishment, Master."

Melissa did so, and bowed to me before turning and bending over and grasping her ankles as Cara instructed.

"You'll receive twelve strokes from Paul, and you won't move a muscle. If you move from your stance, we'll tie you up and begin the punishment again, double. Now kiss the cane."

I held it for her to kiss, which she did, and even added a sensuous little lick, which turned me on no end. Melissa appeared to have moved beyond the fear of pain. She seemed quite resigned to what she would receive. I knew what the cane felt like, though, from my school days, and I didn't think Melissa wouldn't be able to stand it, even after having seen her bear the thrashing she'd just been given. My first stroke was a hard one, but evidently not hard enough for Cara.

"That one doesn't count. It was just his warm up. Now, you may proceed in earnest, Pauly," (as she had begun to call me).

I did, but I couldn't raise the yelps and screams I'd expected from Melissa. Instead she moaned like she did when we fucked.

"Ohh, OHH! Yes, Paul, Yes! Don't stop, please! Oooohhh! God, that hurts so good, honey."

She kept this up during the remaining strokes, and begged me to keep going. I could hardly credit that this was my Melissa, this glutton for pain. What had we turned her into? Or, rather, brought out of her?

"Now, your Master has finished with you, slave. Show your appreciation to the cane again," Cara commanded.

She did, even more sensuously than before. I handed the cane to Cara.

"Now, you will feel some real pain, slave!" Cara began to administer her half of the caning. Now, Cara obviously isn't as strong as me, but she was able to raise even more pronounced stripes on Melissa's tortured rump than I had managed, and I hadn't been holding back.

"It's technique, Pauly. And practice, lots of practice. Watch and learn. You might even get a chance to improve your technique, if Mel's appetite survives this."

Melissa was certainly drawing in sharper breaths, but she was still moaning with pleasure, perhaps even more than before. Cara laid down her twelfth devastating stroke, the hardest one yet, and Melissa gasped, but managed to say "Please don't stop now, Mistress. Please can I have some more?"

I could smell Melissa's sex, the moistness of her delicious cunt. I had an erection that couldn't possibly be concealed by my clothing. Cara was clearly aware of it when she handed me back the cane.

"My arm is a little tired, slave, so your master will finish you off. Paul, cane her until she cums!"

And I did. It only took five more strokes, though, before Melissa started to shudder into an orgasm. Cara signalled for me to keep going, which I did. The six strokes that followed each brought a beautiful quiver from her entire body, and a moan of delight. She had obviously peaked, but I laid one final hard stroke against her beautiful, and now deeply lined rump.

She cried out, and shouted what must have been the code word, "Stilletto! Stilletto!"

"O.K. Pauly, that's it. She's really had enough now. Melissa, you may stand up now. You've taken your 'punishment' well, my dear."

"Omigod, that was amazing! So intense! But my butt is really, really sore now. The pain is only just coming home to me. I don't think I'll be able to sit on this for a month!" Melissa said, as she desperately but futilely tried to rub some of the pain away.

"Well," said Cara, "I really enjoyed that, but I have to go see my Friday night client now, would you believe! I guess I'll have to leave you two to it."

I was disappointed that Cara was leaving. I'd imagined the evening developing into a threesome in bed. As it turned out, though, there was more than enough go left in Melissa, even after her terrific thrashing, to keep us both going for the rest of the night. Cara had left with Melissa's shoes on. Melissa didn't take off Cara's high heels either. She kept them on all night, in fact, and most of the next day. Saturday morning was our house cleaning time, and although Melissa was too stiff in her body to move normally, she managed to struggle through her share of the housework. She dusted and vacuumed all morning, still wearing Cara's high heels.

At about three that afternoon she finally eased the shoes off, and to reward her I gave her a long, sensuous foot massage.

"You know, Paul, I think I'm going to wear high heels more often now. Perhaps you could show me where you got that pair from, and we could go shopping for more. What do you say to a different pair for each day of the week?"

Sunday was a rest day for Melissa's feet, but on Monday she set off for work in Cara's shoes, and they swapped back during the day. On Tuesday we both went to the shop that I'd first ordered the shoes from, and Melissa spent nearly an hour trying on all of the highest heels in stock. The young salesman had been entranced by her seductive walking around the shop, and I imagine he would have found it hard to get to sleep that night. He took obvious delight in helping Melissa put on the various shoes, easing her exquisite feet (still marked from their ordeal) into their tightness, doing up straps and buckles for her. I envied him his job. In the end I spent a small fortune in that shop, and Melissa elected to walk out of it wearing an enticingly erotic pair of very high-heeled sandals, with narrow black leather straps criss-crossing the tops of her feet, and her ankles.

"I'm going to wear these all day tomorrow, Paul. I just want to walk and walk in them, walk for miles, and feel the pain of the straps chafing and biting into my feet until I can hardly bear it...then you can handcuff me to the beam so I'll be forced to stand up in them all night ... Oh, I can't wait to show them to Cara!"