Court Shoes Ch. 02

The shackles fastened around her wrists, trapping her hands behind her bare back. Michelle wriggled and struggled as the courtroom staff brusquely pulled her down from the witness stand. She almost fell several times, as she struggled to regain her balance in her ruined stilettos. One of them fell from her foot as she stumbled down the steps.

"Take her away," the judge muttered dismissively, waving his hand in the direction of the side door. Michelle was being escorted there by two guards, while one more from behind fussed and fiddled with her skin-tight skirt, swerving to avoid it as it finally unfastened and fell to the ground. The lingerie she was wearing underneath was now obvious to all.

"Restrain him!" the judge continued, pointing to Michelle's husband. Yeng's expression had turned from anger to sorrow, as if he too was about to begin crying. He was defenceless, and could do nothing to aid his beautiful wife's dire situation.

Michelle shrieked as several men grabbed handfuls of the satin around her thighs, until it tore and came away from her bottom. Within a few more seconds, she was out of the courtroom, and the screaming stopped.

Everyone in the courtroom looked at the steel door as it slammed shut; a ripped pair of pink lace underwear resting on the floor in front of it. Their heads turned to the shiny black leather skirt next to it, and finally to the five-and-a-half inch red high heel shoe a few inches from that. And back. And back again. They were shocked at what had happened, but could not imagine what Michelle was about to experience on the other side of that door.

"Let m-me go! Please! Please!" Michelle shrieked through her tears, as the hostile entourage of men accompanied her down the cold, grey hall.

With one heel on and one off, she had no chance of escape, limping as the guards held her delicate body tightly. Michelle wrestled against their strong arms, but it was a futile effort, and she succeeded only in exhausting what little energy remained. Against her stomach, she could feel the bulge in their trousers, as they manhandled her nude body and silky-smooth skin.

"Where are you-" Michelle ran out of breath mid-scream, and threw her long hair around in fury. "Where are y-you taking me?" There was no response from the guards.

Her destination was a place, according to the open door, known as 'Room 351'. Inside, half a dozen plain-clothes men were chatting. They stopped when they could no longer hear themselves, as Michelle's yelling becoming louder and louder as she was led toward them.

When the guards finally pulled her into the room, Michelle almost wet herself. A colossal table, dark red stains soaked into its wood, took up the centre of the room; a device like an old-fashioned stock was fixed to the end.

The men awaiting her began making some sort of preparations. Things were being picked up and moved around. Michelle had no idea what was going on. The guards, meanwhile, looking tired and unhappy from enduring Michelle's near-constant screaming and struggling, lifted her limbs up onto the table, despite her vocal protests. "No! No! What are you-"

She was shoved into the centre of the dirty table; the rough, filthy wood pushing splinters into the delicate skin on her back.

"Stop moving," a gravelly-voiced man calmly said; he sounded as if he'd done this routine thousands of times.

Michelle thrashed harder than ever. Her feet, with one remaining stiletto from the courtroom still on, flew in all directions, and clattered against the thick, heavy wood in fury.

She felt her foot hit something soft, and immediately froze. In front of her, a guard clasped his finger to his mouth, blood dripping from it. He held one of his teeth in his other palm. It suddenly dawned on Michelle that she'd just kicked him in the mouth during her flailing around.

Much to her surprise, the man did not retaliate. Instead, another guard stepped over to him, and placed his hand on his shoulder. He muttered to him, too quiet to hear, and gesticulated with his hands, pointing at her feet, followed by a narrowing-of-the-hands motion. This seemed to placate the injured guard, who turned and left the room, his face a little red from embarrassment.

Michelle's fear of hurting one of the guards had given the others a few seconds to finally restrain her. Straps bound over her shins, securing her down. Her red stiletto was pulled from her foot, and thrown to a dark, dusty corner of the room.

Suddenly, two large hands were caressing her vast cleavage. One of the guards, unable to resist staring at her naked chest as she lay on the table, enjoyed his fill of her body for a few moments.

Panic was now setting in. She was terrified; she knew she looked terrified, and the men around her just loved the fear painted on her cute little face.

A man with pointy cheekbones and thick glasses smiled as her looked at her, his eyes travelling from one end of the table to the other. "I wonder if her husband will still want her when we've finished with her feet?" Some of the others chuckled.

Her breathing became quicker.

As she looked around for something - anything - that could help her, out of the corner of her eye, Michelle noticed something strange. A pair of high heels stood on a shelf, next to a box with a first aid symbol on it. They were the kind of heels she liked; tall, sexy, midnight black, ankle straps, with a razor-thin stil-

* Crack! *

Michelle's train of thought was interrupted by the sharp-boned man hitting the table, inches from her curvy hips, with... something. A stick? No, it was more like... a whip. She could only see the rough leather poppers at the end.

He looked at her, and scratched his nose. "Are you ready, May-sheele?" He seemed to struggle with pronouncing a modern, Westernised name like hers. The other men stood back against the wall. The guards moved outside to the open doorway.

Before she had chance to understand what he meant, the whip flew against the bare sole of her right sole.

A bright red line appeared on the underside of her foot. Michelle squeezed her fingers together as she tried to bear the pain, her knuckles turning white. As the whip flew against her foot again, she flung her head pack in agony, and recoiled in pain as it hit the unforgiving table.

* Crack! Crack! Crack! *

The man enthusiastically whipped at the underside of her feet, while the others in the room looked on with glee.

Fresh burgundy claret drizzled from the cuts, soaking into the wood of the table.

A piece of white flesh dangled from the sole of one of her feet; it was the blister, now prematurely-inflamed, that had been burnt into her earlier in court. From it, serum leaked into the deep, dark lines slashed within her feet. Another crack from the grinning man saw the bubble of skin fly off to the ground; red, raw flesh exposed underneath it. The remains of the blister soon turned purple, as the whip - its strokes increasingly brutal - tore through the skin, ripping and pulling flesh from her feet.

In between screams, a few syllables could be understood from Michelle's soft lips. "-op! Ple- Ahh! No-ahh!"

Michelle's blood was now dripping onto the floor; the pools of it on the table had begun to spill off the sides. Fragments of beautiful, porcelain skin from her soles, torn at the edges, dropped to the floor and fell into the puddles, mixing with the liquid.

After what felt like an eternity, the beating stopped. The soles of Michelle's feet were in tatters. The black high heels, one each in the hands of the two guards, advanced towards her. As they moved the shoes close to her feet, Michelle realized how small they were. They were far too tiny for her feet.

"No! N-no, I don't want - I d-don't want them! No!"

One of the guards splashed clear liquid into the shoes, from a bottle that appeared to have an alcoholic label.

"Don't p-put... d-don't them on! No, please! I'll do any-anything!"

The guards pressed her toes into the front of the stilettos, her foot feeling as if it were being deformed as they did. They bent her little toe over the others; they crushed her big toe under the others; anything they had to do, to get those shoes on her tortured feet.

As the soles of the shoes made contact with the ruined bottoms of her feet, Michelle jolted in pain, and screamed. The deep cuts in the soles of her feet were being doused in alcohol, inflaming the wounds, and increasing the bleeding.

The two men took different approaches to the heel. The left shoe was stretched until the back began to fit over the curve of her heel; they pushed it as hard as they could until it was all the way on. The right shoe was simply pulled back, almost breaking her toes, until it slipped up over her heel. Michelle's feet looked as if they were about to burst out of the stilettos.

"Oh, oh God - my feet... my feet are exploding!"

Desperate to relieve herself of the agony, Michelle kicked her heels together in the air, trying to get them off her feet.

"Uh, uh!" said a shorter man, shaking his head.

The thick leather anklets that had, so far, dangled aimlessly, were now being wrapped around her forelegs. But there was an additional accessory Michelle hadn't noticed on them: padlocks. The men hurried to fasten them shut.

Those hurting her still seemed to find the whole situation amusing. "Her feet won't be pretty for long if she keeps wearing those shoes!" joked one of the men. As he said those cruel words, Michelle could feel the pins in the lock falling into place; the clunk of the steel vibrating right up through her tibia.

The metal bracelets on her ankles felt so tight, that Michelle wondered if she could stand-up at all. But these thoughts soon disappeared from her mind, when her feet touched the floor for the first time.

Everyone jumped back. Hands covered ears. Michelle's scream, from the very bottom of her throat, surprised even them. The pain was unbelievable. She desperately needed medical help. Every nerve ending on her tortured soles was being inflamed by the stinging alcohol on the soles of the stilettos, and as the guards pulled her back up to a standing position, the unforgiving height of the heels almost crushed her toes.

She collapsed, almost to the ground. The guards held her back up again. Nods were exchanged between the guards and the men. "Enough - for today," one of them said. The half-a-dozen combined muscles of Singaporean prison guards dragged her forward out of the room and into the corridor.

"Walk! Walk!" the guards deafened her with their furious yells. She tried to take a step, by placing her left foot back on the ground. When she did, blood trickled out of the sides of the stiletto heel.

"Kill me!" Michelle begged the guards. Her legs buckled; her knees gave way. They mercilessly pulled her along the ground. Faint swearing could be heard when one of the guards slipped on the trail of red she was leaving behind on the stony floor.

By the time she'd arrived at her destination, Michelle's heels had been scuffed and scraped, as the guards dragged her along during her frequent collapses.

Her feet were numb. Her right ankle had turned pale. "T-take, t-them... off! Plea... p-please!" She was close to passing out from the pain. But there was no respite; it was time for Michelle to become more acquainted with her new environment.

The cell was more like a cage. Michelle thought she was about to be sick from the stench of stale urine past victims had left behind. Both her body and her feet now had new - permanent - homes.

Her handcuffs were forced upwards, and fastened to one of the many bars above her head. "N-no! No!" Michelle tried desperately to escape from the grasp of the prison guards, as she felt her handcuffs being bolted to one of the bars on the ceiling.

When the guards turned around and began leaving, she skidded on the blood leaking from her high heels, and fell. The pressure on her feet, however, never stopped. Tied to the ceiling, her body could only drop down only a few inches. She hung, screaming in pain, suspended by her wrists, while her toes were almost ripped from her feet, as her body weight compressed them into the toe-box of her tiny five-inch stilettos.