Cruel Shoes

Today's story is an experiment. I hope it goes well.

Do you remember Cinderella? The story of the girl whose evil step sisters make her clean up after them, but whose fairy godmother gives her a dress and lets her go seduce the rich guy, only to leave him with only a glass slipper to find her. When he does find her, the slipper breaks, but she has the other one, and that one fits. (could be a con; ever think of that?)

Well, what if we changed things, just a little. What if it wasn't just that no one else fit the shoes... what if they couldn't wear them?

Cindy and The Shoes

They were the cruelest of shoes. Like other ballet boots, they forced the foot into a painful angle, stretching the tendons until they felt like they were going to snap. The rings around the feet pressed the bones of the foot together. Not enough to break them, though it would feel like they would.

The nubs inside the ankles would press against the pressure points, causing pain without damage.

The boots ran up the leg with a steel string that wrapped around and around, digging in without piercing flesh. The knee pads were claws, pushing the knee cap up just enough to be excruciating.

They were beautiful. Works of sadistic art.

Now it was just a matter of finding someone who could wear them.

Percival put the picture online, in all the forums. Anyone who could wear them would be his, and he would take care of her forever. All she had to do was put the boots on and walk across the room.

From most people, this would be met with laughter. One look at the cruelest of shoes would turn even the most hardcore of masochists away. No one would want to risk the kind of damage that wearing those boots for any length of time could do. The boots put the foot at a sharper angle than other ballet boots; wear them for too long, and tendons would snap from the strain.

But when the offer came from Percival, things were different. When other people offered to take care of you forever, it was a sentimental offer. When Percival, one of the richest men on the planet, made the offer, you took it seriously.

He had commissioned the shoes; he knew they were the most cruel any boots had ever been. He knew that the steel balls in the inside of the sole would dig into her feet like the worst bastinado. Anyone who could put them on, zip them closed, lock the steel strand around them, and walk across a room would be able to take any tortures he could come up with. Anyone who could willingly put them on and walk across the room would have to be a masochist of the highest orders. Would have to enjoy pain to a level that would match, or at least be able to keep up with, his most severe sadistic tendencies.

There were a surprising number of applicants. Some of them had feet too big for the boots. Those who would fit the boot usually broke down crying before they could stand. Those who stood usually fell as soon as they put weight on their feet. As time passed, Percival began to wonder whether or not he'd ever find someone who could wear them. Were they too cruel?

He had nearly given up when he was contacted by the House of Malice. They boasted to him that the girls there would be able to take whatever he could dish out. There were several such houses out there, girls who made a living suffering the pain of those willing to pay for it. Professional submissives.

Percival took the boots there to meet with the two bravest girls in the house.

Cindy met him at the door with a smile. She was wearing pretty severe heels, but nothing really fetish worthy. She shook his hand. “Right this way,” she said.

He followed her down the hall. “And who are you?”

“My name is Cindy,” she said. “I keep things tidy in here.”

He smiled at that. “Tidy?”

“Sometimes messes are made,” she said. “Evacuated bowels, blood, that kind of thing.”

“And you clean up?”

She nodded. “I scrub the floors. Sometimes the walls.” She shrugged. “I do what needs to be done. Right this way.”

The door opened, and a very stern looking girl in a hideously tight corset smiled at him. Then she turned to Cindy. “What the fuck are you doing talking to him?” She slapped Cindy across the face. “You're the help. Go help someone.”

Cindy didn't respond. She just nodded, biting her lower lip and holding in a gasp. Percival noticed the smile she was trying to hide.

He followed the stern looking girl into the room. Her feet were bare. She offered him a drink. Showed him to a very comfortable chair. “Is there anything else you need?”

He shook his head and put the briefcase down, popped it open. “Just put on the shoes,” he said.

She couldn't bend over with the corset on. So she called Cindy in to help. Slapped her again when Cindy tried to look at Percival. Grabbed Cindy by the hair and threw her down onto her knees. “Just put the fucking boots on,” she said.

Percival smiled when the severe girl started to whimper. He laughed into his hand when she stood up and fell down immediately.

When she begged to have the boots removed, when she limped away with mascara running down her face, he was not sorry to see her go.

There was only one other girl. She was quiet, mousy. Skinny. Bony. Her body was already bruised. Or still bruised.

She took a deep breath and looked at the boots. “I think I can do this,” she said. She stretched out her legs and cracked her neck. She reached for the boots.

“Do you want to do this?” Percival asked.

The girl looked at him and gave him a weak smile. “Sure,” she said. “Of course I do.”

She gingerly slipped one foot into a boot and bit back a sob. She zipped it closed and tightened the wire around her leg. Put the claw around her knee cap and started to cry. She shook from the pain, took a deep breath, and started to move her hand to the other boot.

“Wait,” he said. “It's okay. Take them off.”

She whimpered and shook her head. “I'm okay,” she said. “I can do this.”

“No. You don't want to. You aren't enjoying it.”

“I have to.”

“Why?”

She shrugged. “I need the,” she whimpered in pain. “I need the money.”

He smiled at her. “I need a secretary,” he said. “One with that kind of commitment. I'll give you a job. Just take the boot off.”

Then he turned to Cindy. “You put them on.”

She looked at him with surprise to match the relief of the girl pulling herself free of the one boot.

“Me?”

He nodded. “If you want to.” He gestured at the boot. “It'll hurt,” he said. “Pain like you've never imagined.”

She tried to hide her smile at that.

Then she put the boots on.

They fit around her foot. They stretched her tendons, separated her knee caps, squeezed her bones, dug into the soles of her foot. She whimpered, she moaned. She shuddered and groaned.

Then she stood up. Gasped from the pain, then bit her lip from the pleasure. She took a step. Then another. She bit her lip hard enough that there was blood running down her face by the time she took her fourth step.

The mousy girl looked up at her in awe. Percival looked at her with a sadistic smile. She was feeling the pain. He could see it in the strain of her muscles, the look on her face, the gleam of agony in her eyes. But she was doing it. She was walking. Step by step, she made it across the room.

She fell down against the other wall. Collapsed into a heap, barely conscious.

Percival turned to the mousy girl. “Help her get those off, will you?” He said. “We're leaving. All three of us.”

The mousy girl nodded.

Cindy looked up at him and smiled. “That was fun,” she said, her voice breathless.

“We're just getting started,” he said. “I'm going to take you away from all this, show you pains and pleasures like never before. You can live with me as long as you like, and you will want for nothing.”

“And in return, you'll torture me?”

He nodded.

She laughed. “My own personal prince charming,” she said.