Court Shoes

Michelle loved playing with her adorable little daughter Kim's sweeping black hair; it's a shame she was in the possession of child kidnappers.

Stroking Kim's baby sister - Fann's - ponytail just wasn't the same. She used to cry when her hair touched her face because it irritated her skin. As much as Michelle wanted to untie her dark locks, she knew Fann didn't like it when her mother fiddled and fussed with her hair. Instead, Michelle settled for just spooning Fann from behind; her soft, caring motherly hands squeezing her daughter's tummy; her sharp, leather stiletto heels digging into her daughter's thighs.

They hoped she would be all right. Michelle, and Yeng Phua, her husband, spent the night attending to their one year-old baby boy, Chan, praying Kim would return home, and making love - in that order. When the panting was over and she'd pried his fingertips off her bulging chest, Michelle woke up in his arms. A neatly-wrapped grey package awaited them outside in the morning. Inside, a video tape.

There she was. Sweet Kim, a four year-old girl; her eyes puffy from tears, while someone's delicate fingers crudely scribbled down a demand for more than ten times Yeng's salary.

He turned pale. For a brief moment, he thought of their two other children, and was glad he'd closed the door before watching the tape. Not only did he not want them to see their older sister on the screen, but he didn't want them to see their mother, in a state of shock, pass out and strike her head on the coffee table. It was too much for her to take.

It would be several days before Michelle came to. The memory of seeing her daughter on that tape had seemingly vanished. Whether it was amnesia or a sub-conscious mechanism by her brain to preserve her sanity, it was surely for the best.

Michelle was sweet - and trusting - she never imagined her friends would lie to her. They weren't close friends; relationships of deep confiding had weakened to nothing when she dedicated her life to home-making and motherhood, but they were the only people outside of her family she could rely on, and she trusted every word they said. How could she have known the crisp, fresh Singapore dollars in their pockets had slipped through the fingers of a corrupt state official?

Her friends told her she may have done it. They visited her at home to help look after the house, and reminded her how much she liked to drink. It was true; on the rare occasions the kids were with a sitter, Michelle did always drink far too much wine by herself. Could she have really done that to her own daughter? She didn't know what to believe.

Now, the court case was in full swing. A prosecution desired by the police. A jail sentence desired by the media. Michelle shivered with fear; it was her turn on the witness stand.

The prosecutor slowly paced the polished, tiled floor. "Mrs Teo," he proudly announced. Michelle looked up at his cruel face; he confidently stared straight back straight into her eyes.

"You're Mrs Michelle Teo, née Lim?" He paused, waiting for her answer.

"Ye-" Her timid confirmation was rudely interrupted as the prosecutor continued. He was deliberately trying to intimidate her.

"Wife of Yeng Phua, mother of Kim, missing, Fann, and Chan. Is that correct?"

Michelle's eyes darted to the left, as someone in the back of the courtroom coughed. She looked back at the prosecutor, repelled by the sizeable bags under his eyes.

"Three children? That's a lot for a young couple, such as you and your husband." His words were confident. "Don't you think, Michelle?" he smirked.

She wasn't prepared for such a personal question. Wasn't he putting words into her mouth? Why was he calling her by her first name? Michelle wasn't sure how to reply, especially in front of so many people. "I... I guess so." Her voice was kind, as if not wanting to judge anyone else in her position who might be listening.

"Another child probably wouldn't be very prudent for you, then, would it?"

She looked at her husband in the rows of wooden benches ahead, hoping for some sort of help. Alas, Yeng's lips were pursed in confusion, staring at the back of the prosecutor's balding head.

The villainous man sensed her uncertainty, and pushed Michelle harder to say what he wanted her to. "After all, your husband couldn't afford the ransom for your poor little daughter, could he? You could hardly afford another child, right now."

Michelle seemed apprehensive; she didn't want to answer, but her court-appointed lawyer had warned her not saying anything could incriminate her further. "Y-Yes," she said, he head bowed down with shame. For the first time, her voice began to waver. When she looked up, the prosecutor had something in his hand: a video tape.

No, no - he couldn't, surely? He was going to make her watch the tape of her daughter? Yeng had warned her, as gently as he could, about what was on that tape, and why she could never watch it again.

For the first time, the courtroom's piercing gaze was directed at something other than the make-up on her face. Their necks were swivelled at the white screen beside the judge's raised bench. A few old men in the jury fiddled with their hearing-aids in anticipation.

"Do I ha-" Michelle's words were so timid they almost remained in her mouth. She only got part-way through her question before the prosecutor prodded a clunky button on the video apparatus beside the projector.

Much to her surprise, her daughter's terrified face was nowhere in sight. Instead, an image of she and her husband's bedroom was beamed onto the courtroom wall. Michelle wasn't sure if it really was a video or just a continuous still photograph, until she recognized herself and Yeng stumble in front of the camera, their bodies pressed against each other's as they made out. It was a recording of last night, somehow covertly made.

The dozens of onlookers stared intently at the playback. Michelle's long, bare legs sauntered toward their bed, the dull thud of her heavy shoes on the bedroom carpet audible on the tape. She didn't even notice the prosecutor pausing the tape. It stopped abruptly, focusing on her spiky high heels.

"Would you kindly remove your shoes for the court, Mrs Teo?"

Michelle couldn't image what was he trying to do; catch her out, embarrass her? He stepped a little closer to the witness stand where she sat, with considerable discomfort. "Today, please, Mrs Teo."

She kept her eyes on his, worried about his intent, as she reached down to feel the smooth bare skin at the top of her feet. Slowly, and carefully, she unfastened the ankle straps of her five-and-a-half inch stilettos. They were Michelle's favourite heels; she could never forget lying on her honeymoon bed, those shoes pressed against Yeng's legs as he made love to her for the very first time. They were the kind of high heels most girls would only be seen wearing during nights-out around the city, but Michelle loved to wear them everywhere she went, even at home; they made her feel feminine, and attractive to her husband. She gently placed the first high heel, followed by the other, on the wooden counter.

The prosecutor gawked at the overly-high metal stiletto spikes. "My my; rather innapropriate for court, don't you think, Mrs Teo?" He pressed his cigarette against one of them.

"Ah, no-!" Michelle cried out. She reached out to grab the shoe, but the prosecutor instead pointed the lit end at her hand.

The judge made his feelings clear. "Do not touch evidence on the stand, Mrs Teo."

She gasped, eyes watering, as the prosecutor pushed the filthy brown cigarette further and further between his grubby fingers. The scarlet plastic of her favourite stiletto heel gradually turned darker and darker, smouldering just a little. Eventually, he removed the butt from her shoe.

Just as she thought the torment was over, the prosecutor tapped the tip of his cigarette into the insole of her high heel. Bright red ash fell into it. The prosecutor almost seemed surprised when the ash slid down the inside of her shoe, from the heel to the toe-box, leaving a black stain; the heels were so high, the sole at such a steep angle, that nothing would have remained immovable inside them. When, at last, the prosecutor moved away from the witness stand, Michelle grabbed her ruined shoes back. Inside the stiletto were live cigarette embers.

"The court will wait for you to put your shoes back on, Mrs Teo."

She yelped in pain while sliding her pretty toes back into the shoe, the now-amber ash searing her feet. Everyone in the courtroom could hear the remains of the cigarette (butt) sizzling and burning her. Michelle knew she'd be enjoying an agonizing blister there for the next few weeks. Her eyes closed, wincing in agony, her overly-tight leather skirt constricting her movement.

She finally secured her dainty feet into her ankle-breaking stiletto shoes. The tall metal heels clunked against the wooden flooring, louder even than the prosecutor's footsteps, drawing faces to her and her alluring footwear.

Everyone's attention slowly diverted back to the picture on the wall, while Michelle quickly tried to fasten her stilettos around her lower legs.

The prosecutor suddenly cleared his throat and snarled at her. "Let's continue."

She jumped in panic, tearing the ankle strap off her right shoe. Her eyes were now beginning to well up. Without the support around her leg, the back of her high heel slipped off her foot, the sharp heel denting the floor. By the time Michelle looked back up at the wall, a nude Yeng was kissing her neck faster and faster. In the video, she carelessly flung the stiletto she was wearing off her toes. The shoe smashed through a variety of ornaments on the bedside table.

As the pair were about to fall onto their bed, the image on the screen got closer, as the prosecutor zoomed in. It focused on a framed print on the floor, the glass cracked by a long, black, needle thin stiletto heel, lamentably stuck through her daughter Kim's face in the photo.

"And here we can clearly see the heel of Mrs Teo's shoe through a photograph of her family," he boasted, turning to face the audience. "What kind of a woman would do such a thing? Are these the actions of a woman who loves her children?"

Those in the courtroom didn't seem to know how to react. Hums of castigation, grunts of anger; everyone's breathing seemed louder now. There were wry smiles on the faces of the all-male state prosecution team, and even a subtle nod from a bespectacled man among them, presumably of approval, in the direction of the prosecutor.

He fumbled like an old fool with the video machine, before the tape started running once again.

Yeng could be seen, romantically nibbling on Michelle's neck, her eyes closed as she experienced his familiar touch. They were kneeling on the bed, while his hands caressed his wife's giant sagging lumps of cleavage. She placed her fingers, obvious from the long fingernails, on top of his, as she threw her hair around while he kissed her more deeply.

"I think we need to confirm your identity just a little further, Mrs Teo. Let's rewind the tape." Michelle thought she wanted to die. The embarrassment was almost too much for her to take. Those closest to her, the ones she depended on the most, were sat staring at her bare breasts projected onto the wall.

"Take off your blouse, please, Mrs Teo."

She gasped at the prosecutor, her mouth agape. No; surely he wasn't going to make her do this?

"Mrs Teo," he repeated, this time a little louder.

Michelle trembled as she unbuttoned her silky emerald shirt. She dared not look at anyone; instead staring down at her jiggling bust and ravaged stilettos.

"And now, your brazier, please," the prosecutor asked. Michelle froze.

Growing frustrated at her lack of movement, the prosecutor looked at the judge, who immediately intervened. "The court was assured of your full cooperation in this matter, Mrs Teo. May I remind you that you are under oath, and obliged to do as the prosecution requests, should you wish to prove your innocence." Michelle complied.

Tears flowed freely now, her mascara, eye-liner and eye shadow mixing together; into her lips, onto her chin, down her neck. The prosecutor wasn't done yet. "Look at the court, Mrs Teo," he ordered.

Suddenly, a moaning noise from across the room was heard by all. The court attendees looked toward the jury, who stared, astonished, at a seedy-looking man with his hands in his crotch, obviously masturbating over what he was leering at.

"Ahh!" Michelle screamed. Her eyes were crimson and swollen from crying. She reached out for her bra, but it was no longer on the witness stand. Noticing Michelle's anxious stares in search of her underwear, the prosecutor smirked and motioned toward the state prosecution's bench; a familiar lacy, satin, bubblegum pink bra dangled off the edge of the table, far out of her reach.

She grabbed as much of her voluptuous mounds of chest flesh as she could, but Michelle's hands were nothing like Yeng's; her fingers were small and thin, and so much colder than his. She shivered. Concealment was futile, as her cleavage escaped through her grasp, spilling out for all to see.

Seizing her fragile state, the prosecutor pounced with more questions. The prosecutor was convinced that sooner or later, he'd shatter her into pieces. His intention was only to cripple what remained of Michelle's dignity. "Do those enormous breasts lactate during sex, Mrs Teo?"

She could barely concentrate or focus on his wrinkled face; Michelle couldn't believe what she was hearing.

"Does your husband ever lick the milk off your nipples?"

Michelle gasped, louder than before, and huddled herself into a ball in the hard wooden chair. This was torture. For a brief second, her mind relapsed to memories of making out against high school lockers with the cutest boy in class, before he became her husband. She wanted the Lord to take her alive, and let her be in eternity with her memories and absentee daughter.

The prosecutor resumed playback of the secret recording. Michelle could no longer watch; her hands sliding around her face as her make-up ran; she just listened to the panting and moaning. It soon became too much for her to bear. She masked her ears with her hands, revealing the image on the wall to herself for just a brief moment, and wailed in dismay as she saw another glimpse of Yeng making love to her from behind. Unable to face what was being displayed to the court, Michelle ducked down underneath the wooden stand she sat behind.

Tinny speakers spewed out the sound of her husband's kisses on her skin, his lips smacking against the back of her head. Everyone could hear the bed groaning as the couple's movements became more hectic.

"Ah!" she shrieked in the video, panting quickly to calm herself down. Yeng let out a long, deep hum of satisfaction. Michelle could be heard murmuring to him, "Please, suami, get me... " The heavy breathing continued. "I want ano - another baby; you promised, " she whispered, almost, but not quite, inaudibly.

She could hear Yeng, as he came in her. Every last drop bursting out of his dick last night, echoing around the courtroom. Her friends, her husband, her remaining children, her parents, they were watching and listening to it all.

"Plea-Please s-stop!" Michelle wept out to no-one in particular. Her stutter was now in full swing. She folded her arms tightly across her chest; her knuckles turning the colour of ivory. She turned to the judge and tried again, "Stop, s-stop it, p-please!" but the words were just a mumble compared to the sound of the video.

"You asked him," the prosecutor briefly paused, "to make you pregnant, did you not?"

Michelle burst into tears.

"Mrs Teo!"

His shouting was making her uncontrollable. Her wailing had now become almost as loud as his voice.

"Mrs Teo, answer the question! Is this recording accurate, and if so, did you, or did you not, beg your husband to make you pregnant?"

She struggled for breath and pressed her chin against her torso, trying to stave off a long-overdue panic attack or nervous breakdown. "Y-Yes," Michelle could only meekly reply, her vision blinded by tears.

"I see. So that was a lie you told the court earlier, was it?" Michelle froze in horror. Her face was a picture for all to see; lipstick on her fingers, blush on her lips. "Might you be pregnant already, Mrs Teo?"

"I... " The sobbing overtook her. She snivelled for just a few moments more. "I, I, m-maybe."

The prosecutor immediately blew a toxic cloud from his cigarette into her face; it was, after all, perhaps the cruellest thing a person could do at that moment. Her favourite uncle placed a restraining palm on Yeng's shoulder as he tried to get up. Michelle spluttered, her high-pitched girlish coughs ringing throughout the courtroom as she inhaled the drab smoke.

"Frankly, I don't see how any woman deserving of her freedom, especially one who lies under oath, could enjoy such gratuitous sex after the kidnapping of her daughter." The prosecutor's leathery skin and gravely voice seemed to add credence to his soapbox opinion. Michelle looked up at the rows of people in front of her; stares of fury and disbelief emanated back at her. She could sense the atmosphere in the courtroom. The judge didn't believe her, the jury didn't believe her; in her distraught state of mind, she was no longer sure if her own family believed her now.

Michelle was desperate to stop this; she was willing to do anything to stop the barrage of questions and the torrent of abusive glares from the courtroom attendees. It wasn't fair how the prosecutor had done this to her. He'd broken her down, and he knew it. "Just confess, and the questions will stop."

"Stop! S-Stop!" Michelle cried.

"You confe-"

"Stop!" She interrupted the question he'd barked at her.

The prosecutor sensed his chance for a confession was slipping. She couldn't possibly become more hysterical than this. Angrily, he repeated his attempt at asking her. "You confess? Say it, you whore! Yes?"

"Stop it, p-please!" her voice warbled, "Yes, stop! J-Just stop!"

Her eyes looked out beyond the prosecutor, for her husband's handsome face, as she started to realize what she'd said. "W-Wait, stop! N-No!" But there was nothing he, nor anyone could do now. As the prosecutor slyly smiled to the state officials, the bailiffs and their rattling handcuffs were already marching toward the witness stand.