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My foot was being easily slid into the rigidly formed pirouetted-ballerina-shaped foot housing of the bootie.

Before I started buying it, she'd offered to loan me the money for my apartment, interest free. I would never before have let girls touch me as these girls were now. Again I tried to put my arms by my side and thereby stop them from touching me, but they each pushed my arms back onto the table even more insistently. I found myself now squeezing by thighs together, though not daring to cross my legs. In bed I fought and fought not to finger my girl-slit and clit. But there was more to me than an angel's face and deep dark brown eyes.

The heels touched the ground with minimal distance between toe-end and heel.

But were they heels: which was the heel and which the toe-end? As the heels, if they were heels, were twelve-inches, so the sole and toe combination must match that, and did. Those were no heels; but those were the toes: that was why the soles seemed to curve the wrong way: they curved the right way!! It was so clear to me now, the wearer would be put in the equivalent of ballet shoes with rigid soles to hold her foot constantly on tiptoe. They were not heels: they were a means for the wearer to stand.

I was ordered to keep my head up, though I wanted to die from the blushing shame of being ravished this way by the cameras. My mind raced as I was led to the dining chair in the spotlights. If the definition of a bootie's sole, as it surely must, necessarily dictates some contact with the ground, the sole of these booties was a sole in name only.

I was letting all this happen freely; yet I was a prisoner. I followed obediently as the girls took my hands with their own warm soft pretty hands and led me to the chair. The sole had no contact with the ground whatsoever. The soles of the booties curved back in the same way as a ballet shoe curves back when the ballerina pirouettes. Their intention was pretty certain; it was to hold the wearer in constant pirouetted tiptoe.

She would stand in the booties on the toe-ends, with the heels for occasional redress of balance and no more. As I imagined this, I gave a little girly fart of fear and excitement: sexual excitement. These weird reverse booties were incredibly cruel and incredibly sexy.

Only the one-inch wide contact with the ground from the flat-tipped toe-ends would give the bootie any stability at all, and that would be only on the split hairs breadth side of totally non-existent.

One of the two young girls asked me if I wanted to use the bathroom before filming started. Don't let her sit, ordered Jackie referring to me, We don't want to have to wait for any pressure marks to go. They then further brushed my rather wild brown locks till they shone and crackled with static, and gathered them into a ponytail.