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Wedded to Her Heel

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Written by Arian Mabe (Amethyst Mare)

Commissioned by anonymous

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The wedding was beautiful – all of Qiao's design and vision, of course, even though one may have well enough have been forgiven for thinking that maybe it had not come together as she'd planned. She had been a bridezilla to the extreme but he'd done everything and everything that he possibly could have done to provide his older wife with every last thing that her little heart desired, the dress that showed off her body, keeping her breasts prim and perked, right up in position where they belonged. Qiao wanted for nothing even when her husband, or finance, at that time, was left running around after her, cleaning up her mess very often the best he could too.

But the drama was over and the rest of his life stretched out ahead of him – and what a glorious life it was going to be! After the wedding came the reception and he could barely believe his luck in making his way there with such a radiant beauty on his arm, the glow of her impossible to miss. Her nails dug into his arm, the fine manicure, for the moment, pristine, but he barely noticed, his heart swelling fuller and fuller with love for her even as eyes locked onto him, the smiles of others curves of white that were a little too fixed in strange faces for a man's measure of comfort.

They were supposed to be looking at them though: they, or rather Qiao, were the stars of the show! And, so, Matt smiled as he walked into the reception proudly with Qiao on his arm, although his Chinese wife stepped out ahead of him in a gorgeous pair of white heels that, somehow, managed to stay looking pristine despite the ceremony. That was the problem with white, in its essence: it never managed to stay pure for too long.

“Have you seen her?"

“She's a MILF!"

“Shush, don't say that!"

“Well, it's true!"

“How old is she?"

“At least he's happy."

“What's gotten into him…"

“Is he though, really?"

He recognised some of the voices but not all of them, flinching away even as his smile remained fixed on his face. Let them laugh, let them mock: they would be the ones to be proven wrong in the end. His Qiao loved him dearly and it too was high time that the rest of the world understood that. After all, they were married now and there was nothing at all that the rest of the world could do about that, regardless of what they did or didn't think about their marriage.

“Maaatheeew?"

She dragged out the vowels in his name and he could not help but smile a little more widely at her voice. Had she always sounded that whiny and plaintive though? No… No. It had to be a trick of the room, some weird kind of acoustic effect that was going on in there.

“Yes, my love?"

“Maaatheeew, I'm hungry!"

He smiled more widely, laugh lines crinkling lightly at the corners of his eyes.

“Then we shall make sure you are fed, darling!"

Ah, the spring in his step was to be believed even if those around had not fallen for her tricks. It didn't matter to him that she was so much older than him, only that he saw her outer beauty and her inner beauty, claiming sweet Qiao for who she truly was. And just how could he possibly think anything at all bad of a woman who had swayed his parents so much and made such a good impression with them that they had even re-mortgaged their house to satisfy her desire for an expensive wedding, one that would be remembered by all attendees?

However, that impression was about to change. The dress had been of the finest cut and quality, designed to push her breasts up so high that she looked like a much younger woman in that department – something that Qiao had been adamant for her second wedding. Matt's heart had sunk a little when she'd selected one that was too small for her from the shop, but that in itself had not been anything in comparison to the destruction she'd rained down. No matter, he'd thought. He'd just give her what she wanted and then everything would be perfect again. He didn't consider until it was too late that the very fact that she stretched out the chest of that dress so much was because she knew that, after the fact, the dress could not be returned as a hire garment, ruined for any other body besides hers beyond any hope of repair.

Matt gasped as she unhooked her bra, fingers grabbing like claws behind her back, scrabbling and scraping. But he was too late to lunge for her, to stop her, as her breasts suddenly lurched forwards and down, sagging in huge, rolling mounds of flesh, the dress that had looked so stunning on her ripping at the seams. It just couldn't hold the weight of her unrestrained breasts – it was never designed for that, what with the baby weight that she'd never quite managed to work off pushing out her stomach too.

That would have been bad enough in itself with the guests gasping in turn and reeling (some, however, leaned forward as if to enjoy the show), but Qiao spun as Matt grabbed her wrist, striving to stop her. Like he had every single time she'd unleashed her destructive tendencies in private before, however, he was too late, the woman that he loved so dearly squealing as she caught her dress on something – a sharp corner of a chair? Whatever it was, it tore through that dress as she walked on, a bounce evident in her step even with those heels to hold her to a slower pace.

Matt sweated, all eyes on them. Just what was he to do? It was their wedding day for Christ's sake! As Qiao dragged her hand from him, the dress unravelled, sliding down her form, shreds hanging where it had torn, yanked from her as she was left half-exposed and rapidly showing an ever-increasing amount of skin. Not that she clearly cared, of course, acting like it was the most normal thing in the world to have a ruined dress just barely hanging on her, caught on her brassiere, which was built into the sexy babydoll that was intended for his eyes only, and sagging further and further, showing more and more with every step she took.

Nobody dared say a word, not even Matt, as the pulsing heartbeat of the room rose up and up, all eyes locked onto Qiao. A man that Matt didn't know held up his phone, recording events, and Matt scowled, about to stop him. But it was his not so sweet anymore wife that stopped him, picking up gifts from the wedding gift drop-off table (there were several tables, in fact), shaking some of them violently as if she was a child trying to deduce what was inside before she opened them.

Laughing nervously, Matt tugged at his collar and shrugged as if the whole thing was one great big joke that he too was in on – and just who didn't have some kind of craziness at a wedding, after all? Qiao could open all of the presents herself if she wanted to, maybe that would calm her down, she deserved the best… One thought chased the frantic tail of another through his head over and over again as he tried not to pace, twisting his hands together as Qiao ripped the paper off present after present, inspecting what had been bought for both of them but, really, just for her.

“Ohhh… This niiice!"

She squealed and jumped, landing with a sharp crack of her heels on the floor, but that was not what drew the most attention as she laughed and lobbed gifts over her shoulder…straight into the chocolate fountain! Chocolate splashed from the lightly rolling fall and she spun around, laughing and making faces as she took pot-shots at the fountain itself as if she was trying to knock it over, the stand wobbling even with the heavy base to pull it down against the table where it had been displayed. Expensive glasses shattered as they struck it, spraying chocolate everywhere, and each careless throw added to the destruction, floor littered with gifts that people hoped they would enjoy even if they did not quite know what it was that Qiao really liked for her tableware and the like.

“Mathew… So many gifts! You join, yes?"

“Oh… No, no, dear," he said feebly, holding up his hands. “You…"

But she wasn't listening to him anymore as he stood there, his lower jaw slackening off with shock, a porcelain figure that was from his parents to commemorate their wedding day, a disembodied head spinning away with a fixed, serene grin that did not match his in the slightest. He couldn't look at his parents, avoiding the gaze of everyone in the reception hall studiously as even the staff gathered and gaped, unable to resist pointing as they, no doubt, wondered at the shocking mess they had to clean up.

All because of him and his wife, Qiao.

Maybe then he should have been thinking that he'd made a terrible, terrible error in judgement but, despite her past treatment of him, he wilfully put it down to wedding nerves, the jitters that could accost anyone at all on their big day. Could he really blame her for that, as much as her humiliation of him made him break out in hot, flushed patches and his skin crawl with embarrassed prickling?

How could she be so cruel? The chocolate flowed and flowed, full of bits of glass and crystal, the presents that should have gotten them so far into the start of their marriage and in memory of their big day broken beyond repair and causing further destruction to the mechanisms of the fountain too.

Thankfully, Qiao seemed bored at that point and Matt shakily seated himself with his parents, heart pounding.

“Well, that was something," he tried feebly to assuage the looks of horror around him. “I think things went to her head a little… She's been so stressed about this."

“Yes, but, dear…" His mother placed her hand on top of his, eyes softly cajoling. “Where has she gone?"

As if on cue, Qiao burst through the double doors to the main hall, kicking them open with one heel as if she was performing some kind of high force martial arts move. Of course, she didn't know anything of the like but that didn't stop her from sauntering in like she owned the place, strutting dominantly with a short, choppy stride that drew attention to every abrasively click-clacking step.

The problem was, however, that her dress was gone. Wearing only the babydoll, suspender belt and white, sheer stockings, she swung her hips as if she was performing a striptease, her gaze grazing that of a young man than even Matt, manicured finger brushing her lower lip suggestively.

“You… I like you!"

Matt bristled but the moment passed as swiftly as it appeared, Qiao making her flirtatious way over to him. On a second look, however, her wedding dress was there still, a tube of white silk tight around her waist, highlighting just how slender it could be. Of course, it hid the bulge of her stomach and his heart turned over for her right then and there, the sound of it pounding much louder than the obnoxious note in the back of his mind that told him that he really should be trying to control her, to do something about the woman that he was, now, going to spend the rest of his life with.

The silk tube of the wedding dress was left with only two tiny, useless straps to hold it up, her breasts on show through the babydoll but, thankfully, that didn't reveal any of the flesh beneath, however they were apt to spill out and forward. He could deal with that. And yet he still did not dare to even kindly and gently suggest to his ever-loving wife that she might want to go back to the bedroom to tidy and smarten herself up again. He could only imagine the horrors that would arise if he dared to suggest such a thing and, well, he was not so much of a man who made the same error twice, even though he had already made the biggest mistake imaginable simply by being with Qiao herself.

Nobody at the table said anything, his mother's hand pressed to her clavicle in shock, fingers spread. Instinctively, he wanted to comfort her, reach out to her, but Qiao's cruelly sharp gaze locking onto him kept him in place, still and steady and right where she wanted him to be. In her 'lingerie', for that's all that it could reasonably be considered to be, she lounged back against the chair, tipping it lightly up onto two legs, her veil pushed up over her dark hair, which was dyed for the ceremony. Naturally, there was a little grey in it but Matt had been paying for her dye jobs for long enough to know that it was not something that he should ever, ever mention ever again. That had been one of his bigger mistakes. She'd dye her hair, or not, when she felt like it.

Leaning forward over the table again, Qiao smirked like a demon as her tits nearly fell out of her dress, veil hanging off at a jaunty angle. Unable to help himself, Matt tried to cover them with his hands, keeping a respectable distance between her flesh and his hands, although it was hard enough as it was with how much she shook and jiggled around, making his job in shielding her spilling-out breasts more and more difficult by the moment. There was no real bra, of course, to hold her breasts up and the chest part of the babydoll was woefully inadequate when it came to providing any real support. No: that was just what the too-tight wedding dress had been for, although all of that had been lost in its destruction, the fine garment nothing more than a silken slip of lingerie that may have been far better suited to the bedroom than anything so gaudy out in public.

“Ah, dear, if you could possibly…"

As always, she was not listening. She never listened. The straps strained to hold her breasts and the woman of his dreams and nightmares scoffed, flipping a hand even as she grabbed the veil off her head and, with casual cruelty, threw it back over her head. It landed on another table in the aperitifs and someone squealed, leaping back from it as if it had touched them, stung them, personally affronted them in some way.

Matt's father made a strangled noise, his mother's expression stricken – but he could not look at them directly as his face flushed heavily with shame, the veil sinking into a spider web of condiments, lacing it like accents filtering through the sliver of fabric.

Matt's lips parted but he had no words for the travesty that had occurred. That veil had cost ten-thousand pounds. And, now, that was ruined too.

Yet…he stared. And something stirred deep in the pit of his gut, his cock rising to the occasion, although he, thankfully, had the fall of the, so far, pristinely white tablecloth to hide his shame in that regard. There was nothing there to concern his exposure but Qiao flaunting her stuff, spinning and kicking up her heels, called on a deeper, more primal need in him, knuckles turning white too as he clenched them around the edge of the table.

So selfish… Yet she had him well and truly, knowing how far she could go to turn him on and, sometimes, not caring just what she did to him at other times, destroying his life in every cruel way possible. Getting turned on by all of it surely had to be a crime of sorts in itself but all he could think was how sexy she looked in that moment, silhouetted against one of the pillars in the wedding hall, posing there with her fingers very lightly brushing the faux vines as if she was, even then, going to rip them from the display, a smirk pulling at her perfectly made-up lips.

Soon, very soon, everything would be right again. The honeymoon was, of course, still to come and there would be a sleepless wedding night of bliss with his sexy, hot, older wife, a woman with the experience to truly please him. And just why would he have a younger woman when his olive-skinned wife had all the pleasures in the world at her fingers, even if it was him that had, ultimately, paid for them?

Just calling her 'his wife' in the sanctity of his own mind had him hissing through this teeth, others at the table thinking that, finally, he was losing his cool: he was going to get her under control at long last! Of course, that was not to be as his eyes followed Qiao, the orbs of a wanton little puppy dog who knew who his mistress was, sashaying across the floor, from pillar to pillar, a Greek goddess in her divinity, setting foot and heel amongst mere mortals.

But the destruction was far, far from over as she tottered past a stylish marble statue, designed in theme with the reception hall. It was taller than her but he knew in the very instant that that evil smirk planted itself upon her lips that she had worse things in mind for it, trailing her finger across the shoulder and stretching up even in her heels, calves defined subtly, as if she was going to plant a kiss on the statue's lips. However, the statue held no appeal or allure for her and she swung away, gripping the shoulder and spinning it away. It must have not been entirely made of marble for the small woman managed to, with shocking strength either way, toss it aside, the marble rocking back and forth before toppling with an almighty crash to the floor and shattering into a million little pieces.

The hall gasped but all eyes had already been on her, Qiao giggling as she tottered away on her heels. The sharp clack-clack-clack of her shoes was the only sound resounding through the hall as she shook her backside for him, knowing that her husband was watching. And, oh, how he was, watching as if it was only the two of them in the room and he was not going to be the one stuck paying for everything. His wallet already ached and he patted his pocket instinctively, expecting somebody to rush up and ask him to write a cheque right then and there: the fact that he was ready to do so spoke volumes about the effect that their relationship and her cruel dictatorship of lust had had on him so far.

Bits of broken statue littered the floor, a devout mess in hail to the glory that was Qiao and her heel, all the broken hearts that one woman had left behind in her past. Matt had said, of course, that he was not going to be one of them but, as he stared at the statue, locking eyes with the hollow, empty ones, he saw what his life was to become – what his life already was. It may have been flawed within but there was a beauty even in the breaking, the smooth, marble 'skin' touchable and kissable, fingers itching to touch someone else entirely even as he took in its shattered sensuality.

“Ooopsie!"

She laughed in a baby-like tone, fluttering her eyelashes, which were laden with far too much mascara for a woman of her age, although others looked away from her. No one, in all honesty, knew where to look except for Matt, his eyes never once leaving her as she set her sights on the next target.

A member of staff stepped forward, smartly dressed as if they were a waiter, but Qiao brushed past the younger man with a coo and a pat on his shoulder. What did he think he was to try to stop her? No, no, no – that would never do!

For such a transgression, she would have to think up something extreme, truly extreme! The opportunity for such a heinous act, however, lay directly before her in the traditional mountain of wine glasses, all containing the liquor that her guests were duly supposed to enjoy. Frowning at the tower, she tipped back and forth, scraping the point of one heel disapprovingly across the floor.

“No… This no good, no good! Why you no like!"

If no one was going to enjoy the drinks that she had so painstakingly laid out for them, then no one was going to enjoy them! Qiao's eyes lit up with wicked glee and she squealed as if she had well and truly been taken by madness, picking up just a single glass with surprising delicacy. She pursed her lips, swilling the pale liquid around the glass (there was a second mountain, of course, for the red wine Matt had selected) before bringing it to her lips. Her loud lipstick smeared over the edge of the glass, leaving a mark as she took a gentle sip. And, for a moment, everyone surrounding her display of destruction relaxed.

That was the wrong move.

“Eugh!"

Clearly, it was not to her liking as she tossed the glass away back over her shoulder, not caring to watch the fragments shatter on the floor, sharp pieces flying off in all directions, lunging for the stack with lethal, brutal intent. It took a moment for the tinkling shattering to begin but, once it had begun, there was no rescuing even a single wine glass from the monstrosity of destruction that was to occur. A swathe of wine flowed across the floor, splattering everywhere as people scarpered to try to get out of the way, spreading further and further as glasses shattered in singles and multiples. One could not lock their eyes onto one single occurrence in the storm of happenings and even Matt's head whipped back and forth, arousal tight and locked away in his core. Where should he go? What should he do to help? Alas, there was no holding back Qiao's discourse in destroying all around her and the glasses rolled away on what curved surfaces remained, glinting in the overhead, twinkling lights as if they too were now, somehow, part of that decoration.

It was beautiful, in a way, he had to admit, although maybe he was caught up in her spell and could not be held accountable for his actions, his thoughts and beliefs, at that time. There was so much that lay ahead of him and yet he could not find what he needed to do, all that he needed to be for his darling wife, seeing her through rose-tinted glasses as she beamed but not at him. It was never for him.

Treat them mean, keep them keen…

All the while, the orchestra at the side of the room had been trying to play and Qiao blew them a puckered, wet kiss as a cellist sweated nervously, his aged face plump and red with glistening sweat. No one there wanted to become her next target but she was not all that interested in them beyond turning her heels on them, flicking one of the sharp 'weapons', for that was just what the wine glasses had become, at the orchestra. It flashed through the air, a direct strike off the Louboutin heel, but it didn't go very far, the jagged shards left pointing and spinning, a failure to make any sort of lasting impact to the wedding of her dreams.

Qiao scoffed and flipped her hand, nails glittering. Well, that simply would not do! No, no, no, no, no!

Her shriek of discontent could be heard out in the hallway, those inside covering their years as she bent over, tits rolling forward as if they were going to burst out of her babydoll this time, yanking off one shoe, the long, thin heel pointed like the blade of a dagger. Of course, it could not cause as much harm as one but that didn't matter to her as she took aim and lobbed it at the orchestra, the music cutting off abruptly in a squeal of terror. Whether that squeal, however, had come from a man or a woman was another question and not one that anyone had time to answer as the heel sailed serenely through the air, gaining considerably distance and height as it spun.

The long heel caught and hit true, slicing through several strings of an abandoned harp as the orchestra gave up the ghost, some leaving their instruments and others struggling to rush off with them, strides hobbling where it came to the heavier pieces. But the harp was one that could not have been taken along by just the one person in such a hurry and the strings twanged as they were destroyed, although the harp itself could be saved, at that point in time.

“Yay!"

Qiao leapt and clapped but stumbled on the landing, cursing and spitting language that she should not have done in such polite, seemly company. That damn second heel! Well, she was due a change of them soon and she lovingly stroked the shaft of it like a lover's cock, although it most certainly was not Matthew's that she was thinking of right then and there. No… There would always be others, others to stoke the fire of her need, her lust for annihilation of the tallest order, all from her hands.

The first heel dangled from the knotted strings and swung back and forth within the heart of the harp as she posed, heel held high for just a moment. That one, however, required no aim as she sent it flying, spinning and spinning and spinning until, finally, it sank itself into the lens of a camera – the very camera of the expensive photographer that she had insisted her husband hire for the wedding!

Gasping, the photographer dropped the camera and it thumped heavily against her midriff, swinging back and forth, tiny fragments of delicately thin glass dropping from the lens as the heel stayed there, driven in deep. A curse or two may have been said but it would have all have been well warranted if it had flown her way. Of course, Qiao's attention had already darted off in another direction entirely and there was no way that she was just going to cool her heels and sit around on the pleasure of some silly photographer that didn't know a good shot when she saw one.

Matt cleared his throat and made as if to stand up but that was the point where his father frowned and placed his hand on Matt's arm, staying him in place. Their eyes met, sadness and concern rising, although most of it was money for the expenses racking up before their eyes. No one at all could deny that Qiao was accountable for so very much of it and, well, everyone knew too that the payment for what she broke was not going to be coming out of her pocket.

“Son…"

He didn't need to say any more than that: everyone knew that Matt had made a terrible mistake. A terrible, terrible mistake. And yet he still wanted to leap to his wife's defence – that was what he was meant to do, wasn't it? He was meant to be her champion, proclaim her beauty, her perfection, declare that she couldn't possibly do any kind of wrong at all for she was his dear, dear wife and he did so love her above the cause of all else in the whole wide world. Such proclamations, however, were fine for poetry and no more than that when he had a wife to take care of in many more ways than a single one.

“Yooo-hooo!"

She waved as if to call attention to herself, ignorant entirely to the fact that all eyes were already on her, just as she wanted them to be and where they should have been anyway. When no one changed what they were doing, Matt frozen in place as if he had become a statue himself (although he was more of an ice sculpture, melting under the hot lights of humiliation), she frowned and stomped petulantly, like a child, sloshing through wine that had made its way further across the floor and under the legs of tables than expected.

“No! No good! I fix you now!"

But what she had in mind to fix things was hardly so as she stormed over to a table with a Chinese family that she didn't even know – her sister too had invited her friends, of course, on Matt's dime – and posed before them, assuming her attractiveness already spoke for itself. Giggling like a schoolgirl, she hefted her tits up and pushed them together, showing off her massive cleavage with her aged, sagging boobs, the young Chinese man at the table in particular not knowing where to look. Swallowing hard, he looked from those around him who must have been his mother and father, along with maybe a sister too if not a cousin, opening and closing his mouth repeatedly like a gasping fish out of water: what was he to do?

“Youuu… Come here! You like! I know you like!"

Although she did not have to speak to him in English, she did anyway, the broken words more cutting and jarring than the flowing discourse of her native tongue. Gulping, he ran his fingers back through his black hair and shook his head, eyes worried even as he held up his hands, unwilling to say anything to incite her wrath but not wanting her there either – very much not. But Qiao had set her sights on him now and, truly, no other man would do for her. Not even her husband who was right there in the very same room, gaping and staring, his lower jaw slack, blood roaring in his ears. The dull beat of his heart pounded and pounded against his ear drums like a call to action, a battle drum going and going and going, and yet there was nothing he could do, rooted in place with his father's hand still on his arm, hopelessly trapped in more ways than one.

Blowing her newfound squeeze a kiss, Qiao hopped up onto the table with a shimmy of youthful times gone by, climbing up completely so as not to leave her legs dangling and crawling over to him. On her hands and knees, she dropped him a saucy wink, breasts dangling and swaying with the shifting weight of her body, grabbing the young man by his tie and yanking him forward. There was no denying her and she pressed her lips passionately to his in a long, deep, sensual kiss.

One could have heard a pin drop in the reception hall, everyone standing stock still. Not even a single article of clothing rustled and the heel still dangling humorously from the harp stilled its tap-tap-tapping against the wooden frame, beautifully crafted and polished. He didn't know what to do, eyes wide and hands raised but her breasts were there and there really was nowhere for him to sensibly grab her to shove her off him when Qiao was half-choking him with his tie too, yanking and forcing her tongue lewdly into his mouth. As always, she took control and did not even spare her dear husband a second glance or passing thought as he was forced to watch his new wife make out with someone else entirely…and quite passionately at that too.

“Oh…"

He flinched from the word, although he could not have said who said it. But the young Chinese man flailed and fought, red in the face, until she finally relented, leaving him gasping and reeling, eyes near enough bulging out of his skull. Sending off a rapid-fire stream of Chinese at him, Matt couldn't keep up with his rudimentary understanding, breath tight in his throat and trapped there as he tried, against all hope, to laugh.

“I'm s-sorry," the man in question said, looking around and holding his hands up. “I don't know what to think, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

His lips were still covered in Qiao's red lipstick, smeared around his face, and Matt shuddered, flinching from the sight. It was easy to cringe but, oh, how could she do such a thing to him? And on their wedding day? Their most special of fairy-tale wedding days?

Getting his phone out, Matt did the only thing he possibly could do and pretended not to notice the rising tide, the floodwaters lapping at his heels. He just couldn't, couldn't look for even a moment longer. Yet Qiao was not one inclined to acquiesce to a lack of attention and strutted back over to his table like the belle of the ball, as if nothing had happened at all.

He should have expected it but one moment the phone was in his hands and the next it was in his glass of wine, bubbles rising as the liquor within was disturbed. With a truly evil smirk, Qiao sat down opposite him, making sure that he had a good view of her, her fingers damp from the wine, her breasts spilling out, all on display. There was no possible way to ignore them as they loomed, ominous and staring, on the table – they sagged that low! The silk of the babydoll and remains of the wedding dress pulled tauter than taut just above her nipples, a hint of areola peeking out as if they could not wait to be uncovered.

And people noticed, averting their eyes at last, not able to watch such debasement. The straps slipped down her shoulders, hooking into her elbows, down her arms, and Matt stood, panicked and lunging. That was too much – if she stood again, she was going to lose everything and show, well, everything!

But he could not do anything but flutter his hands obviously around her, muttering something akin to helping her out a little as she eyed him up, taking a banana that was intended to be solely for display and placing it upright before her, clasped crudely in her hand. An errant shoe of hers had, very kindly, been placed on the table for her – probably the one that had shattered the camera lens. How thoughtful of them! It would help her nicely as she took a straw, dipping it into his mother's dessert, tits still dangerously on show, and then pushing it through the centre of the banana.

Hesitating, Matt's brow furrowed. Just what was she doing? The straw was full of custard but that could not be too destructive so…what? But all was quickly revealed as she cackled like a woman driven to madness, brutally shoving the heel of the stiletto into the straw from the bottom of the banana. Custard spilt out lewdly from the tip, each little jab of the straw making it spurt out just like…

Oh.

_ _

Inhaling sharply, his already red face turned an even darker shade, her eyes locked on his, eyeing him up seductively.

“You like, Matt?" She murmured huskily, still putting on her lewd show. “You like…later?"

Everyone stared and someone cleared their throat, which seemed to put the next stage of her plan into action, standing up while Matt was busy trying to regain some sense of himself. And, just like that, out came her breasts, the dress sweeping down as two huge lumps of boob came tumbling out without anything at all to restrain them, nipples on show and hard in the cool air of the reception all. With all his embarrassment, however, it was a wonder that the whole building wasn't a lot hotter than it actually was.

He rushed to cover her up but it was all too late, hands full of flesh that he tried and failed to push back into her clothing – anything at all to cover her up! Qiao laughed and shook her head, eyes alight, his humiliation music to her soul.

“You see why he marry me? He a dog, like the rest! He like this!"

Grabbing the shreds of the dress, all poor Matt could do was yank up the silken fabric, flowing between his fingers, as he held it over her breasts, cupping them as if they were in a much more intimate location to cover them up. As she boasted how much he wanted her, Matt let out a whimper, beaten and broken down, loving the feel of her breasts weighing heavily on his hands despite everything else, the public humiliation of it all. He couldn't get all of them contained between his hands… Maybe he was just a dog, after all, for wanting her so badly, so much so that he would grope her in public rather than doing something more sensible like offering her his jacket.

“Qiao, come with me, we're just going to take…a breath of fresh air, yes, that's it."

Matt didn't expect it to work but she followed him as obediently as he could have ever have hoped for as she even led her husband by his hand from the room, a flirty wave of her fingers back towards the trashed reception telling everyone just what she expected to happen, at least. But, instead of pausing outside to get her clothing back over her breasts, flesh still heavily pulling her forward, all on show, she instead led her husband down the hallways of the stately home that was a venue for so many weddings but never before one just like theirs.

“We go now… I relieve you, husband, before wedding night, yes?"

What? That wasn't what he wanted at all but she tugged him off into some room filled with extravagantly luxurious furniture, seating him down on a plush armchair as she went on about calming him down, helping him out. Unzipping his pants, she took his already half-hard cock into her hands, manicured nails grazing him as Matt could not help but let out a long, low moan, his need evident despite everything that had deigned to take place.

Closer and closer, it was near enough shameful just how easily she got him worked up and riled, a mere toy for her to use and abuse, humping and grinding up into her hands. Qiao didn't let him put his hands on her, slapping them away whenever he tried to touch her face, adore her in any other way than what she deemed acceptable. There was nothing like her touch, nothing at all that could compare, the squeeze and pump of her knowing exactly what he loved and what he needed, how many ways he could love her in. And, of course, there was much that she wanted too in her control of him, lust and desire colliding in cruel need that was never warranted and yet always presented.

“Matthew… Need relief, yes?"

Her hand kept right on working his cock as she talked, pumping him to full, needy hardness and making him want to cum right then and there, teased right up to the edge, the point from which there surely was no return from.

But then she opened her hand and stepped back, a grin on her face, at the very point that he was about to climax, grunting and heaving, mouth open and eyes wide with distress.

“That's all!"

Just like that, she shoved his cock crudely back into his pants and zipped him up, ignoring his flailing hands and the huge bulge still sticking out, obvious to anyone that was at all unlucky enough to bear witness. He tried to grapple with her, to fight the fact that she was calling quits to their hasty liaison so quickly, but it was no use as she pinned his hands back, a man unwilling to struggle with a woman when she was, after all, his dear wife. Maybe she was just teasing him?

Yet, of course, she wasn't.

“No, Qiao, that's not fair – please!"

But she only giggled and swung her hips for him, singing back over her shoulder:

“Lay-tah!"

That would have to do.

It took him some time to calm down and make his way back to the reception hall but he found Qiao right where his sad, forlorn heart expected her to be, clad in a pair of new, sky-high heels. They were blue, perhaps for her something blue, but stood out more for that, leaning over a table with her cleavage obnoxiously hanging down. It toppled some of the seated people's wine glasses over as her breasts swung back and forth, laughing obliviously and controlling the conversation while it was quite evident that those there were leaning away, a little scared and barely saying anything at all.

The awkwardness was palatable in the air and Matt rushed over, despite his need, interjecting less than smoothly as he put a hand on her waist.

“Dear, would you like me to get you a drink? You must be exhausted after such a big day!"

Qiao frowned.

“No, no… I get myself."

Well, at least she wasn't harassing them anymore, which was something at least. And Qiao had demanded an open bar, so that would occupy her for a time, surely, indulging her luxuriously delectable tastes as she always did.

He watched her from a distance as she grinned and ordered the most expensive bottle of champagne that they served – two of them, in fact, each totalling two-thousand-five-hundred pounds! That was not all of it, however, and a nine-hundred-and-fifty bottle of whisky followed, although he doubted that that was for him, despite being a brand that he had longed to have the luxury of trying for a long time.

Opening up each bottle in turn, she sipped from the neck of each, contaminating them with her saliva, savouring it somewhat, swilling the liquid around her mouth in turn. She perched at the bar with her heels dangling like a child and it was childish indeed just how she destroyed the bottles, pouring a little of the champagne into the whisky and vice versa, ruining them for all before hopping off her stool with a giggle. The bottles, however, were left there, forlornly, their expense unable to be enjoyed by anyone else, idealistic in just how they had been so swiftly and quietly ruined.

The music coming from the DJ booth changed then, a song in Chinese that Matt had heard her demand he played in the car before and at home when he was listening to something that he liked rather a bit more too at the time. Of course, he'd let her get her way, as she always did, but he did recognise the song at least. Expecting her attention, he held out his arm to the Qiao he imagined was quite near, only to find that it was quite the opposite – she had returned to the table that she was only just terrorising!

Without care or consideration for their meal or their enjoyment of the wedding, she climbed up onto the table all over again and stood there, swinging her heels about to clear space. A heel went through a sponge pudding, glasses scattered and shattered, fine china broken on the floor like evidence left at the scene of a crime. The table was glass too and it cracked in sleek, slender spider webs beneath her shoes, everyone leaping back with due shrieks and cries. Not that Qiao cared, of course, dancing like no one was watching even though, of course, all she wanted and needed was for everyone in the whole wide world to be watching her and all that she could do at all times.

“Honey! Dear! Come down from there!"

But he couldn't persuade her and she turned her back on him, breasts swaying and wobbling, his humiliation all but complete. Surely there could be no more that she could do to him, nothing more that would ruin their wedding and the coming together of souls that he had longed for?

Thankfully, the song finished and, like the centre of attention she was, Qiao lay down to relax, her head hanging off one end of the table, which was circular, her heels off the other. Her stilettos dangled and she swung them back and forth, her body on show like a platter to be enjoyed, although there were few at the wedding itself that would enjoy their meals after her display.

“Ahhh…"

Maybe she was tired. Maybe she just needed some time to herself. Or maybe she was just planning her next move.

Bringing her legs up, she kicked a bowl of dessert – what was it? Some fancy trifle? – off the table, launching it like a missile where it splattered over another guest. The guest's shrieks rose and friends rushed to wipe her off, to help her clean up her expensive clothes before they were ruined beyond repair too. Like an angel, Qiao outstretched her arms and legs, waving them back and forth to clear the remaining space on the table, a serene smile fixed on her face.

She was right where she needed to be, doing what she needed to be doing to him: her husband.

Her nails pushed porcelain off the table cloth, delicately push-push-pushing it until it too hit the point of no return. Unlike Matt's orgasm, however, it toppled beyond that point and fell to the floor, shattering. Figurines had been intended for decoration there too and she fished one out from under her back to lob it too, just to see how it sailed and broke too into a hundred fragments, never again to be put back together.

Eyes fixed on her, her laughing drawing more and more attention, most of the staff of the entire venue gathered, whispering in hardly hushed tones.

“Has she lost it?"

“What's gotten into her?"

Her stiletto flew off while lying on the table, the grand finale, but she missed with the first one, forced to go for the second as she aimed for the item that would crush every last one of his dreams. Her husband had chosen the cake to please her, a towering, nine-tier beast of confectionary, and she struck it dead centre with her second and last heel, landing on the cake and skidding it off the stand entirely.

The whole room watched as the cake fell, splattering, icing flying, guests fleeing from the destruction. Clothes were ruined and the cake, whose expense no one would have wanted to log in any sort of catalogue, smeared blue and pink icing over the fine flooring, a stain seeping in even as Matt stood there, head hanging and eyes half-lidded, hardly even able to look. Someone tapped him on the shoulder but he was not about to answer them while the cake was still falling, on the floor as the tiers crumbled, broken without the support of the base layer, sponge crushed and smattered, everything that he had looked forward to in a state of destruction beyond any measure of compare.

“Matt? Matt?"

That was his name but he didn't want to answer, not yet. Let him take it all in for a while and try not to think about why his cock was so hard, wanting more even as Qiao danced and pranced before him, barefoot in the mess of the cake and spreading it around, all for the sake of creating evermore mess in the mess that was already his whole world. There was no point in stopping her when he already knew, with a sinking yet erotic feeling, that this, all of this… Well, it was his life now.

And his wedding night was still to come.