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Dear Readers, |
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Please send in some comments to Tom |
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Hello everyone! |
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Hi, In the end I have a question for you: are there among your readers any dominas who live in Italy? If yes, is there any way to contact them? Thank Dominas in Italy please write to Riccardo. ED Tom |
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From Toe |
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Tom, Thanks for taking the helm of Patent Letter. I have been a reader ever have been addicted to High Heels since I was 11 years old, when I tried on my sisters black pumps in her closet. I worked in a shoe store during high school, so was able to get heels to wear in private until I went in the service. My first wife wore very high he |
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Being a TV, |
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Hi there |
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Highs and lows of my childhood (C) Jennifer 1995 - London(UK). We used to have a quarry-tiled kitchen floor and I guess it was the sound that first attracted me. In a short while, I had lost interest in my dolls and was staring through the doorway, listening to the tip-tap of mum's shoes as she went to and fro getting tea ready. I was able to observe her rhythmic movements from ground level as she passed by the doorway. I moved closer. As I watched, I developed a game where I tried to guess when she would appear through the doorway by listening to the clicking of her high-heels on the tiles. I had to get closer; I picked my doll and crawled into the kitchen. I pretended to play with my doll, but really my attention was focused on Mum. I got a good view from down there. Mum was exceptionally good looking. She always dressed immaculately as well, in smart skirt suits with pretty short sleeved jacket and blouse or beautiful dresses. She wa "Jen !", said Mum. "Get back in the lounge. I've nearly tripped over you three times- can't you see I'm trying to make the tea ?" Sullenly, I obeyed. I went back into the lounge where my older sister, Joan, had come home from school. When we sat down for tea, I tried to get a glimpse of mum's high heels again when she brought the meal in but she had taken them off in favour of her slippers. What a contrast! She was just an ordinary mum again, but still beautiful and special to me. From then on, what had been a momentary fascination turned into a real interest for me. Sometimes after lights out, before going to bed, I would walk around on tip-toe pretending that I was mum. I would swivel and twirl, but without the shoes, my feet and legs soon got tired and it wasn't the same. When I was picked up from school, I used to watch all the other mums and give them marks out of ten for how high their heels were and how good they were at wearing them: little girl's minds work in strange ways! Mum was the best, there was no doubt. Some of them were useless: tripping and teetering along with about as much grace as a lame giraffe. "Sarah", said a friend to my mum one day, " How do you manage to walk so smoothly in such high heels. They must be well over 4"; I could never balance properly in those and my feet would ache". "Just practice, I suppose, Janet", confided mum, "There was a time when I wore nothing else for three years and your muscles adapt to them. After a time your heels feel such a part of you that you can wear them all day and hardly feel they're there. I suppose I wear them out of habit now. They're as comfortable as flats; I've even got some pairs over 5" high." Janet looked a little sceptical at this: I thought out of envy, but I knew mum was telling the truth. I made up my mind to be as skilful as mum one day. I loved her and wanted to be just like her. When I turned eight, mum stopped wearing her high-heels. Fashion changed a bit I suppose. She threw most of her old shoes out. I asked why but she just said, "time for a change". There w One day mum found me stumbling around the front drive. "What are you doing trying to walk in those old things?", she demanded, "You're making a fool of yourself and you'll only break your ankle." With that, she took them off me and chucked them in the dust bin. Of course, I sneaked them out when I thought she wasn't looking, but mum was too wise for that. "Jen!", she shouted as she caught me with them, "Will you do as I say?". She lifted me up, brought me and the shoes indoors, and threw them onto the fire. Tears filled my eyes as I watched the leather start to smoulder in the grate and I realised that they would be ashes, long before my feet ever grew to fit them. "Mum!" I sobbed, "I was only dressing up!" "First learn to grow up, Jennifer, then you can dress up", she retorted. "Life's not fair", I thought, but there was no arguing and that was that. The years passed. I was eleven. I wished my mum's old shoes were still around as I could probably get more of a feel for them, even though size 5's were too big for me. My sister Joan was eighteen- she was nice, but she didn't share the good looks of my mum as I was lucky enough to do. Joan always wore such frumpy clothes and never high-heels, so I couldn't secretly borrow some from her. I used to beg mum to buy me a pair "just for the house" when we were in the shoe shop, but she always said "Don't be silly- you're not old enough.", or, " I've hardly enough money to buy you shoes for school- your feet grow so quickly." How I longed so much for a pair that fitted me- just so I could try out the feeling of walking in them properly. The memories of my childhood were strong. One day, when I was gone thirteen, I was at a car boot sale with my sister and I found a pair of high-heels under a pile of clothes. They were black suede courts with 41/2" stil " One pound those, sweetie", said the stallholder, noting my interest. One pound ! My pocket money would stretch to that. I handed over the cash and he put them in a plastic bag for me. I was too embarrassed to try them on. "Don't let mum see those, Jen", advised Joan. "She'll chuck them out". "You wont tell, will you ?", I asked. "Of course not", she replied. "But hide them in your bedroom or something; mum will only go on about wasting money if she sees them." My sister was so helpful- some sisters could be very spiteful, but never her. I couldn't wait to get back home and up to my room. Upstairs, I stripped off my trainers, socks, and jeans and stood there in my T-shirt holding the bag, my heart thumping. Gingerly, I took my treasure out and placed them on the floor. They were nearly new, hardly worn, a real bargain. I just looked at them for 10 minutes on the floor side by side. Gosh they were high- but really graceful. My stomach was light. I felt hot. Suppose they didn't fit or I couldn't walk in them ? There was only one way to find out. Heart still thumping, I raised my self high on tip-toe and slipped one bare foot into the soft suede. It snuggled in perfectly, as did the other, the heel rocked slightly from side to side as each foot settled in. I stood there for a full minute, breathing deeply, my hips forward and body adjusting to the new posture. It felt so good- the frustrations of years were released. I was becoming wet down below. I took a couple of hesitant steps towards the mirror- the feeling was indescribable- so blissfully feminine. I felt like a real woman. It was like growing up ten years in two minutes. I examined my shoes in the mirror, rocking back on the heel like mum used to do. They were so high that I could barely walk. They would take some practice, but they were mine. My first pair of real heels. I would prac If mum was out for the day then it was time to venture father afield. As soon as the door closed, I was brushing my hair, putting on some make up and digging a pretty summer frock out of the wardrobe. Then, it was down to the kitchen and lounge to pretend to be mum. I used to spend hours in the kitchen strutting back and forth. pirouetting around, going about the housework. It was better in there: there was plenty of room to walk and I got used to the full height of my shoes instead of the heel sinking 1/2 " into the soft carpet. The only trouble was that I would end up by doing the washing up, cleaning and housework a hundred times over during these sessions. Sometimes Joan would be in the lounge reading a book and she would call out. "Jen, you're mad ! You've been tip-tapping around all day, the whole house is absolutely spotless and you're still cleaning it ! Added to that you're dressed to kill. You're so pretty, yet so crazy- pretty crazy I'd say". Then she added, "Just like mum". She didn't know it but it was the finest complement she could have paid me. Once I saw mum coming back early. I raced upstairs, whipped off my heels and hid them away. I was about to change my dress when I heard her call me. "Jennifer, come down here." Oh no -no escape- not even time to take off my make up. Had mum caught on ? I went a I was. Mum however, was in a good mood. "Jennifer, the house looks like new, I never seem to have to do the housework anymore." And then: "Darling, you're dressed up like for a night out. You look six years older- go and wash that make up off at once." And then: "Anyway, I've bought you some new clothes and some make up for doing the house for me. I know how you like dressing up. Darling, you do look beautiful ". She gave me a hug. Typical of her! She would discourage me with one breath and encourage me with the next. It was as though she didn't want me to grow up but was gradually accepting the fact. She had brought me a smart skirt and matching jacket just like she wore. It was a good thing that I had taken my shoes off. She might have flipped if she'd seen them. I wouldn't have fancied watching clothes, shoes, and make up going up in smoke. Anything might happen with mum sometimes. We made a right pair! One time mum went away on holiday for a week with a boyfriend leaving my s Joan loved going out with me when I was dressed up. My fourteen years looked more like nineteen and we could go anywhere together. She always dressed a bit like a fellow in jacket, trousers, and loafers. I suppose that we were both role playing in a way. She enjoyed the company of some one feminine and pretty while I looked up to her superior years and steady masculine qualities- almost like the dad I'd never had. Whatever the reasons, we were inseparable. I was nearly seventeen and had just done well in my exams. It was a long hot summer- I was out in town with mum when she said: "Do you remember how you always used to ask me to buy you some high heels when you were younger". "I suppose so", I replied, not quite sure where this was leading to. "Well ", she said, "let me buy you some today- you're old enough now and you're allowed to wear them in the sixth form." "That would be nice". I tried not to show my true feelings of joy. We visited some shoe shops and I tried on a pair of lace up courts- good for school. They were well over 4" high but easy to wear after my years of secret practice. As I walked smoothly back and forth turning and walking without so much as the slightest teeter, mum was a little surprised. "Jen", she laughed, " You're a natural in heels. You bring back memories of when I was younger." Mum bought the shoes for me and amazingly, bought some others for herself. "They're back in fashion now, " she said, " and I haven't worn them for years ". Then she continued, " Jen, come on ! let's wear them now ". Mum's eyes sparkled. She looked ten years younger. I'd never seen her quite like this before. We slipped into our new shoes in the shop and set off together through the shopping malls. We walked along like two best friends, sometimes holding hands. I felt so good as our laughter mingled with the clicking of our heels on the marble. I'd grown up like mum at last- it was a long time coming but worth waiting for. It was the happiest day of my life. The End Images from the CD "High Heels on CD Vol. 1". A gift from Rolf Weiss by rowe stilletto |
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Here's a link about used shoes in an excellent photographic quality. No nudity - just shoes. |
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Thanks to Steve from Janet's Foot Tease http://www.foot-tease.com |
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And here is a special Link for all highheels fans: The free site ASFF form George Gerez is back again! He has a excellent search engine, try it! |
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Please send in new good HighHeels Link's .. Tom |
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Patent Letter is a irregular appearing internet e-zine for the enlightened amateurs of high-heels. The content is created by input from our readers via e-mail. |
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delete all content with explicit sexual or racist content. It's similar to the Compuserve problems in Germany. Most of these people talked about the so-called "Sexual Revolution" since 1970 or so, but they remain in the Middle Ages. 
in a shiny Black PVC outfit, the half-top was just enough to barely cover the bottom curves of my breasts, cleavage spilling out, tight black shiny pants, no stockings just bare skin,and of course my beautiful 6 inch black patent leather pumps. 
he asked for my permission to cum and of course being the bitch I was, I said "No". First he would have to take off his boxers, which he did in a half- second.. Then i wanted him to masturbate, but not in his hand, in my shoe. So he took one of my shiny black pumps off and he placed it over his cock and balls,, and he started 'pumping' in and out of my beautiful heels. One thing he needs to work on is holding on to his load because I think it was less than 15 seconds of pumping when he started begging for me to let him cum in my shoe,, I was laughing so hard because he loooked so desperate for release, I loved it. So I relented and let him cum. He shot his load so hard and long all over the inside of my shiny heels and made such a beautiful mess. Needless to say all of this teasing had made my pussy dripping wet and wanting his cock so bad. But that's for another issue.
This love goes toghether with that of submission: a woman wearing high heels and sheer stockings has total power over me and I quickly become her humble slave. Of course, my favourite form of submission in trampling, which makes me feel the heels as tools of total domination.
but that she really thought it was great. We talked for minutes with me dressed in my outfit. Then she asked me why I did this and I told her that I love heels and that women wear heels so I should wear the under garments of a women to complete my transformation. 
tacy of cuming on the shoes of a pretty women while she was wearing them. I have cum on many shoes before but never with them being worn by the owner. She said she would be willing to do that. She took off her top and shorts and stood their nude as I proceeded to jack off in front of her.We continued to talk as I worshipped her shoes. I felt her up but did not do anything more then that. After only a few minutes I placed a large wad of cum on her feet and shoes. It was great.I asked if I could take some pictures of her. She agreeded if I would limit them just to her shoes. I took several pictures and have sent some of them to you. Erica was fantastic and a real joy to be around. I tried to give her some money for her trouble but she refused she said she just wanted to help an older guy out. What a gal!!!!!! 
els until after we were married, then stopped. When I revealed my desire, she lost it. We were married 20 years, and my high heel love was just on hold. 
I've been a high heel fetishist as long as I can remember. I recall my Uncle having many photos of Bettie Page and magazines that featured her in his workbench in his basement. I was a constant visitor and stayed days at a time. Being a snoopy kid, I always would try on my aunts nice high heels and wear them while they were both at worked. One day I found the "Mother Load".....6" high heels! And not just one pair, but several pairs, many of the same styles as Bettie Page was posing in for the magazines in my uncles workbench. I wore them as often as I could, becoming aroused and hating that my feet where growing. Now I can look back in hindsight an
d 
fternoons and she always dressed up very smartly for work. After she had collected me from nursery school, I was playing on the living room floor, but the double doors were open to the kitchen.
s always saying to my sister, Joan, "Make the best of yourself, love. You could transform yourself with a nice dress, shoes, and a decent hair do". Joan, however was quite content to clump around in Doc Martin's and baggy trousers. I watched transfixed, as mum's hair and dress flowed with her steps while her smooth white arms swung along with the tapping of her heels. She wasn't just my Mum, she was a Goddess, she was everything that I desired to be. As she stood by the sink she rocked her foot back and forth on the heel before gracefully gliding across the room, her stilettos ringing out on the floor with each step. I was entranced....I wished I was her.....
ere still one or two pairs of stilettos at the bottom of the cupboard. I used to try them on playing "Dressing up" but they weren't too much fun as my little feet only fitted into the front part and they felt just like flats. The heels scraped along behind me as I stumbled around. It wasn't a bit like mum's graceful tip-tapping. If I lifted them off the ground, my feet would only slip out of them. Still, they were better than nothing, but how I yearned for a pair that fitted me properly.
etto heels- a bit like mum used to wear. I held my breath and looked underneath - size 31/2 - perfect.
tice walking in my shoes in the bedroom and hide them at the back of a drawer afterwards as my sister had suggested. The bedroom wasn't brilliant because as soon as I got into my stride, I met up with the opposite wall. I did however have my mirror and I stood in front of it taking a few small steps, trying out different positions for standing and generally admiring my new acquisitions. Oh how my feet and legs ached during those first few weeks and months. But it was worth it..... I was happy.
ister with me. It really was open season then; I wore high heels all week- to the pub, the cinema, out shopping. I hardly took them off. I even wore them in bed! My months of practice had indeed paid off. My legs were strong and supple enough to allow me to walk around all day without too much discomfort- those shoes just became a part of me.
SEEKING : Aussie male seeks Australian Female ( any age!!) into high heels, leather, rubber, anything else that takes your fancy!!