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Standing in these booties, the wearer would be teetering murderously tiptoed with the weight of her whole body on the very tips of her big toes within them and only the very barest minimum of contact with the ground.

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.

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

It opened like a bellow, and was lined with velvet-like white material, with support for the arch of my foot within it.

She would be a complete prisoner who must beware every step and even her standing in fear of a fall.

Constantly self-conscious of her legs formed in permanent incredibly sexy and deeply sexual en-pointe pirouette, she would at all times have to balance herself against the slightest stagger.

My foot went in easily enough, though I found it decidedly uncomfortable as the rigid sole of the bootie bent my foot backwards to ensure my big toe would point straight down when I stood.