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Under Her Heel

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Written by Arian Mabe (Amethyst Mare)

Commissioned by anonymous

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Qiao had always been a trying woman to be around but was the kind of woman that would hook a man and never let them go. Her husband had died, though Matthew had never dug too deeply into the cause. After all, his death must have been terrible enough for her and her family, her children, to bear without him prying and poking his nose in where it didn't belong. And, of course, Qiao didn't give him much of a chance anyway for the younger man to do anything that she didn't approve of, controlling every aspect of his life with her almond skin and the ever-constant pair of high heels she wore.

The heels the Chinese lady, older than Matthew by a good fifteen years even to a person who was not aware of the age difference, wore on a daily basis changed as rapidly as her mood, her husband rushing to keep up with both her and her speedily changing moods at every turn. And there were many changes to be had. Nothing seemed to please her more than shoes and he'd lavished attention on them with her in the early days, their shape and heel hypnotising him as she drew him further and further into her web, entrapping him as she'd presumably ensnared her first husband too. Even when they were off her soft feet, aching from a day of walking and simply being a goddess, they didn't lose their appeal, Qiao flinging them off with brutal, uncaring force as she stomped into the downstairs hallway, her dominating, commanding screech alerting him that, again, he'd displeased her in some way.

So, why did he stay with such a woman, his eyes locked onto her heels and lust well and truly caught up in her wiles? He was in his early twenties, a good first job that was, of course, never going to be good enough for her, no matter how far through his career he boosted himself. He had a good life or, at least, would have had a good life by popular opinion if she had not been so dead set on controlling him. Qiao's lips seemed to be set in a perpetual pout, ever quick to twist in disdain and Matthew walked on eggshells so frequently that it was a wonder indeed that his own feet did not ache in shared sympathy.

No, everything had changed for the better and the worse since he'd met his Chinese beauty and he wouldn't have changed anything for the world, not even in the worst of her tantrums, as others would call them. It was hard to explain just what the humiliation of her screaming at a bank teller did to him, flinging her arms about and ranting in her mother tongue while no one understood a word she was saying. It didn't matter to her what the problem itself was as long as she made a scene and, oh, she was ever so good at making a scene. Why, some would have said that it was a personal talent of hers and Matthew always knew when a doozy of a scene was coming when her eyes narrowed sharply, lips popping together into a thin line, the moment of quiet and calm in the prelude to the storm to come.

Truly, no one but he understood why he was with her, why he'd married her and, above all, why he stayed with Qiao despite everything she did to him. He remembered the first time he'd taken his wife-to-be to meet his parents. Of course, as it had all been under her direction, their relationship had moved quickly, lightning fast when it came to most modern couplings. And everyone had noticed, including his parents. He had seen it in their disapproving looks, the side-long glances they gave her when they thought she wasn't looking. Qiao knew though and made sure they were looking when she embarrassed him, mocking his job openly and flicking her long fingernails with every sentence as if she needed to put particular emphasis on everything she said. Whereas Matthew was hanging on her every word, she was not the kind of person to draw in everyone without, well, drawing a little extra special attention to herself.

“No, he has no money, no money to spend on poor me," she declared, swinging one leg over the other as her crimson heels flashed in the light, a sultry gleam that could not help but draw in the eye. “Look at these! Last season! And he won't take me out shopping for new pair! Shame! Shame on Matthew!"

He flushed heavily and turned away, eyes sliding down her legs, slender and shapely, to those heels, five-inch pumps drawn to a daring point at her toes. He knew every detail of those shoes intimately and not because he'd had his face up close to them on more than one occasion, cleaning up the destruction those beauties left in their wake even as she continued on her ruthless path, a war that only she was engaged in fighting against the rest of the world. No, she had stated every last nuance of those heels to him over and over again even while he went through the process of ordering them, his arousal stirring with increasingly greater need as she leaned over his shoulder, moving the mouse for him as if he was not capable of that simple action among everything else.

And he'd only bought them for her last week. Matthew half-closed his eyes, swallowing hard. It did little to resolve his inner strength but there never seemed to be any of that while she had her claws in him, the young man well and truly under her heel.

“I... Don't worry, sweetheart," he mumbled, putting on his best fake smile, though it was hard for another part of him not to smile as he enjoyed her shoes, lost even then to her wiles and whims. “I'll buy you a new pair on the way home, anything you want, I promise."

So easy... Even Matthew understood just how easily she swayed him, bending him to her will as she scooted up beside him to choose her new pair of heels, which they would pick up in person to make sure that he wasn't sneaky and backed out of his promise to her, on his phone even while his parents were still there. She didn't seem to notice or understand when she was being rude, oblivious to the world around her unless something cropped up to serve her needs.

Or if that something was shoes, skinny heels or chunky ones: anything to attempt to sate her clearly insatiable need for them. There was nothing that made her happier and nothing that she tossed away as quickly as she received them, moving from one to the other as if called by the lure of something new. She never paid for them with money from her own purse, taking Matthew's credit card and racking up the bills as he made himself poor trying to pay off her high maintenance needs and desires.

His parents had exchanged a certain kind of look that day, their eyes having seen much more in their longer lives than their son, but they had no standing in which to object when his mind was set on one woman and one woman alone. There was no talking him out of the marriage, Qiao having cunningly trapped him with the children who, of course, absolutely adored him as their stepfather, and they were stuck with her, whether they liked it or not. And the consensus was that they very much did not like her.

That was why his parents had not been particularly enthused when he told them about the big family holiday he had planned for them. All of them. Including Qiao and the children.

It probably went without saying that his parents were less than pleased with the arrangement but she'd shrieked and thrown her heels around the house, smashing photo frames and shattering a vintage lamp that had been passed down through his family for a good few generations. He'd be sorry to have to explain what happened to that lamp, eventually, to his parents but, for the moment, Matthew had gotten away with not having to explain its mysterious disappearance because his parents simply had not visited his house since she'd moved in.

“Do they not want to see me?" She shouted, lips twisting her delicately pretty face into something grotesque. “Are they ashamed of me? They hate me!"

And, no matter how much Matthew tried to shush her, assuring her that it was nothing to do with her and his parents were just being silly, so very silly, she was not to be soothed nor quieted. With a shriek, she stormed into her walk-in closet that held racks upon racks of designer clothes but, of course, her true love and infatuation was the heels she stored there, loathe to give up even a single pair even as he purchased more and more for her with every week that passed, striving to please her above all else.

Therefore, he had had to persuade his parents to put on a happy face, regardless of how difficult it was for them to do, and look pleased for him. It was certainly a testimony to their love for him that they were willing to put their differences aside and do what they could to welcome his wife into their family, although Qiao wasn't all that keen herself on becoming perfectly integrated into a family that did not care to cater devotedly to her every whim. No, that was for Matthew and Matthew alone to do on bended knee, head bowed against the onslaught of her will.

And she was unstoppable. So much so that she even got an upgrade to first class on the flight – all on his dime, of course – to kick off her heels and relax while he was stuck in economy class with the children. Everyone was as wild as they'd ever been, of course, and she was the one who fought and bitched at the air hostess while she kicked her heels into the centre aisle, pretending not to understand the language until they gave up on her and merely scooted her shoes respectfully to the side. Qiao was satisfied with that, sating herself with champagne and top-shelf liquor cocktails while she relaxed well and truly in the lap of luxury.

“Everyone looks after me," she told everyone and anyone who would spare her the time to listen, giggling as if she was sharing a secret held exceptionally close to her heart. “My husband, he is no good but he looks after me too."

To be cared for was a need that every human had in them but Qiao especially needed her every last desire taking care of. She even dragged her husband through from economy – he'd had to beg and plead and lie through his teeth to get up there, although he was not, of course, allowed to stay for any length of time – to bring her a fresh pair of heels. Although she'd only worn them since leaving the house to boarding the plane, she simpered and claimed that she'd grown tired of them, that they made her feet sore and they weren't right for air travel. What shoes, bar the most comfortable of trainers, could be right for air travel, however, Matthew could not have said, but he brought her one pair of shoes after another, presenting them for her approval.

One, two, three, four: she turned them all down. He sweated and suppressed his groans, digging his teeth into his tongue with such viciousness that it bled, marking the inside of his mouth with a metallic crimson.

“No! Not that one!"

She thrust the shoes away, the heels jabbing into his chest as the air hostess hovered. Clearly, she just wanted him to hurry up with her so the whole display could be quelled for bodily removing Qiao from her seat wasn't much of an option while they were in flight. Matthew, on the other hand, was quite sure that they wished they'd removed her while they were still on the runway but she was far too clever to let her wicked sideshow when others had any sort of power over her. No, where they were above the clouds, she held every card in her hand and she laughed mockingly, nails tapping her jaw as he tried desperately to placate her.

“But what about these?" He said, thrusting another pair at her, hardly looking at them as he hoped against hope that she would like them. “They're pretty..."

He paused, turning them over in his hands. The rhinestones glittered. Not her usual style in a deep purple but the pump was the same cut as what she usually went for and it matched her outfit too. Thankfully, she did take those from him, mocking him loudly all the while for being so stupid as to not give her the 'right' ones to begin with – as if it was that difficult to guess what she wanted all the time! It really was a fine art to those on the outside of her mind but she still reckoned that people didn't do what she wished simply because they were trying to upset her. They knew what she wanted, of course, and were only playing dumb for the sake of it.

Skulking back to his seat with an armful of heels and a very watchful hostess ushering him on, Matthew avoided the eyes of every other passenger, although everyone in earshot and further knew what had happened, what was going on – at least in part. And they were curious, almost as if they were taking an active part in her humiliation of him, puppets on her strings as they poked and prodded, joked and wheedled to find out the truth of the sordid matter. When asked where he'd gotten so many shoes from, if she'd brought them all along with her in her carry-on luggage, his cheeks burned and he ducked his head away, far too ashamed to admit that it was his own luggage that was filled with pair after pair of her favourite heels. Even what he'd checked into the hold was stuffed full of shoes with only a little clothing for him, placed there with the excuse of 'padding' the suitcase to protect her most cherished possessions.

He could feel her smirk lingering on him, even back in economy with her children, through the rest of his flight, the hostess' ignoring him completely as they scurried back and forth, doing their very best to allow him no service at all. It was a blessing to land but that came with the added trauma of yet another shoe change – the same old charade only, this time, right down on the runway with security striving to hustle them along to no avail – and corralling their family all the way to the hotel itself.

“Is this the hotel?"

She flung open the double, glass doors, shades on and lips parted as if she was inhaling minutely, taking in every last shard of the venue's aura. She flung up an arm, handbag swinging, her heels clacking noisily across the tiled floor as she stalked to the desk. Although, she was clearly not done with making a scene as she stalked and drew every eye to her, tap-tap-tapping her way all the way up to the reception desk. Luxurious to a fault, the hotel had been the very best he could afford – not that he had any doubt that she wouldn't be satisfied with it. She'd so easily find some fault with her eagle-sharp eyes that could not be rectified and that would be that, the holiday would be ruined in lieu of the fault that only she perceived and he could not ever hope to redeem himself even in the slightest.

It was probably the only thing she loved about him.

“Oh, my feet!"

Crying out dramatically, though she had every bit of attention on her already by this stage, she kicked out a foot, sending her shoe flying so very gracefully over the hotel reception desk. As if she had perfectly aimed it, it smashed into the computer, sending the screen toppling in a shatter of electronics, the clerk shrieking and leaping away as if she'd been stung.

“Ma'am!"

“Whaaat?"

Qiao grinned, a flash of white teeth in lips kept full through repeated Botox injections. She didn't overindulge there but it was just another method through which she could retain the look she wanted and, undoubtedly, financial control over her husband. Qiao didn't work so she had plenty of time to adore herself, after all, while Matthew had his nose to the grindstone, making the money for bread and, truly, not very much better after all was said and done.

“I thought this was a full-service hotel?"

Spinning, she locked her gaze on Matthew, a deer frozen in the headlights of yet another disaster running amok before his very eyes. Even wearing only the one heel, she cut a formidable figure.

“Is it not a full-service hotel?"

“I, uh... Qiao!"

But he was too slow – not that she would ever have allowed him to stop her from continuing on her rampage though. Bending down, she clawed off her second shoe with a flourish, giggling like a little girl as she whirled and hurled it over the desk.

“Whoopsie!"

Her fingers flew up to cover her lips but her eyes danced with cruel mischief. The carnage before her was obvious as a potted plant, some kind of palm, swayed and toppled over as if in slow-motion, spilling dirt and dead fronds everywhere. Her heel spun across the floor in its wake, slowly coming to a stop as someone gasped, though Matthew could not bear to turn to see just who it was.

As ever, true to form, all Qiao did was giggle and swing her hips as if she did not truly understand what she'd done. But, of course, she knew better than anyone else the pain and hurt she was causing, all for her own evil pleasure above all else.

Always above all else.

“Ma'am! You cannot behave in such a manner here!"

The clerk bravely stepped up to the desk, though her hands trembled, her hair pulled back into a tight, professional ponytail. There was a steely shimmer to her eyes, however, that told a different tale to that of her shaking fingers and, against himself, Matthew wondered briefly if Qiao had, in fact, met her match. He hoped he did not live to see that day.

“Oh, sure I can!"

She waved her hand dismissively, flouncing across the lobby in her bare feet. So easily did she turn her back on those that she had pretty much just attacked physically – if flinging heels in a fit of exhaustion counted in the holiday court of law and he was sure it did – that Matthew had to blink and look twice as she found a sofa to flop onto, kicking her feet up over the arm. She yawned, making herself comfortable, and grabbed a magazine that surely would not hold her interest for very long at all.

He had to move quickly! Luckily, she left him the perfect opening through which to interject, taking over if not all that smoothly.

“My husband will sort this!"

And so she left him at the desk to placate a very upset cluster of hotel staff, all with very valid concerns over the actions of his wife. Who would like having shoes thrown at them, after all? Not him, of course, not, that wasn't something that made him whimper and swallow a moan, regardless of where they were, but he could at least understand why others didn't want to be treated in the same way. Qiao played on her phone, huffing and puffing out her cheeks with air as her children clustered around Matthew, knowing well enough at this time that he was the one to bother if they wanted something rather than her. She would have said that she had them well-trained but a casual observer may have used the word 'unruly' without being in the know.

“Matthew?"

He spun and his heart sunk into his boots, pounding dully at the sight of his parents standing there. He couldn't help it: tears welled up in his eyes and he blinked furiously to keep them down, although the anguish surely showed on his face. He could certainly see the disappointment in theirs but, as his eyes dropped, all he could take in was her heels, the point jamming down into the foyer floor as if she was stomping purely to make a particular point.

“Matthew, I think it's better if we holiday separately this year," his mother said, a look of quiet sadness prickling in her eyes. “This isn't going to work. I'm so very sorry but..."

She cast Qiao a look as his wife smiled and fluttered her fingers gaily at them, oblivious to the fact that she may have upset anyone or caused any harm at all. But not even those uninitiated to their particular brand of relationship could have possibly failed to notice the tension crackling in their air, the power disparity tipping very firmly in the favour of the wife above all else.

“But..." His mother faltered, turning from him in the ultimate shame and betrayal, at least to his heart. “No... It's just...too much..." She lowered her voice. “She's too much."

“Mom, dad – please!"

But they weren't willing to negotiate, stepping away with their luggage and shaking their heads.

“No," his father added, though he was shorter and surlier in tone, refusing to meet his son's eyes. “It's not going to work."

“Matthhhhew!" She whined, cutting through his conversation with the clerk with which he was desperately trying to check in with as quickly as possible. “My feet hurt! I need a new pair! Bring me my shoes!"

He sighed and gave a pained look, pinching the bridge of his nose between his finger and thumb as the clerk smiled frostily. His mother's sigh, although minute, rose like a thunderclap between them all, a triangle that was forever separated on each side.

“I believe she needs you...sir."

It was strange to be so dismissed by someone other than Qiao but he did as he was bid as obediently as ever, presenting her with another assortment of shoes until she deigned to make her way up to the hotel room. His parents left behind his back, murmuring to themselves while not even sparing Qiao a second look – a fact that would, later, become further ammunition for her flung words and poison, heels arcing through the air between them like well-placed missiles. It was not as if intimacy would ever bridge that gap, after all.

Of course, getting his wife up to the hotel room was another spectacle in itself with Qiao delighting in spinning in her best shoes, smashing the heels into potted plants and slamming them down into the carpet with enough force to make dents and wear holes that really shouldn't have been present in such a hotel. For all its finery, the decoration was delicate and she caused a considerable amount of destruction before he managed to get her into their room, the children going into the one next door with shrieks of glee to explore and unpack.

“What is this?" Qiao pounced on the phone beside the bed, wrinkling her nose at it as if it had personally offended her. “This isn't the class you promised! Where is my class?"

He wasn't even sure she fully understood what she was upset with but that didn't matter as she screeched and ripped the cord out of the wall, the phone tumbling to the floor with a clatter. But that sound was nothing in comparison to the subsequent shatter as her heel crashed into it, breaking the admittedly last season device beyond all repair as she whooped and leapt up and down on it, breasts bouncing lightly where her brassiere failed to support the passage of time on her body.

But she was not done yet – not by a long shot. She squealed and swept off everything from the bedside tables and the desk before the mirror, going back again to get the mirror, although that took a little more work to claw off the wall. He lunged for her but it was too late as she danced atop of it, arms in the air as the glass cracked and splintered beneath her, continuing her reign of destruction one piece of the hotel room at a time.

“Qiao!" He set his jaw. “Stop this right now! I mean it!"

“What's the matter?" She giggled, flinging her arms out as her heels cracked down on the room service menu, breaking the spine. “This a problem for you?"

Her tone rang out mocking and wheedling, daring him to say anything, anything at all, about her antics, although they both knew that he wouldn't. Matthew had, perhaps, in the early days thought that he could tame her, quell her demonic side that played with her heels and those around her like so many disposable toys, but that had never come to fruition. All he could do was sit on the bed and watch helplessly, fingers tucked beneath his thighs as they twitched anxiously to stop her, as she took it upon herself to destroy every last inch of the room that she could with her heels.

And, oh, she had many things to destroy. So many, in fact, that she surprised him yet again, although he had thought that no further humiliation or high heel destruction she put him through could have possibly ever surprised him ever again.

The bed sheets were not much of a target but she ripped them off anyway and screwed them up into a ball, laughing and giggling with such raw joy that she would have surely frightened anyone not already used to how her moods dipped and rose with the ebb and flow of a rhythm and pull that only she knew and understood. Stomping on them with apparent relish, she bent her knees and sprung onto the bed, demonstrating surprising agility for her age as her breasts shivered, a little saggy now that her age was progressing.

“What are you..." He couldn't help himself, leaping off the bed with his lower jaw dropped as she leapt and danced, arms flung as if a woman crazed as her heels crashed down over and over again. “Qiao!"

But, of course, she was caught up in her own lust for heel destruction as she wrecked the springs, the points of the heels driving through the cover of a mattress that was never intended to take such abuse. The springs groaned and creaked, cracking beneath her weight and torment as she used her body and the tools of the heels to the very best of her strong ability to wreak havoc. Holes popped through the cover as she drove down, shouting her triumph as she flailed her arms for balance and grinned, littering it with complete and utter mayhem.

The room bill was going to be considerably higher for this stay, Matthew feared...

“Such bad quality!"

She shook her finger at the destroyed mattress as if it had personally affronted her and slipped off a heel, plopping back onto her buttocks as her eyes danced. Matthew only got out of the way in time as she bounced and flung her heel at the overhead light, shattering the bulk as a hail of filament and glass showered down, barely missing him as he forgot himself, if only for a moment, and swore, heart hammering.

“Qiao! This has to stop!"

“Oh, come now."

As if she was going to be swayed by such a feeble-minded attempt at control! She pounced onto his suitcase with single-minded determination, hands flashing by pumps and kitten heels as she sought one thing and one thing alone. For, despite his best efforts, she knew it was there, regardless of how hidden he may have thought it would be.

“Qiao, you can't..."

Oh, what was the point? He knew it and she knew it too – that was why she abused him each and every time because she knew she could get away with it. And she would continue to do so as he mumbled and lowered his head, adjusting the front of his trousers as her control seeped into every last part of him, deeply sordid and viciously heated right through to the crux of his very soul.

She had him.

Giggling in her final defeat and control of him, Qiao rummaged through to the bottom of his suitcase, tossing his clothes out onto the floor, until she found the possession she'd been looking for: the collection of CDs and the player that he had hidden and coveted for years on years. He'd given up on an iPod since she'd destroyed each and every one of them, the devices becoming swiftly even more expensive to replace than her constant lust for shoes; at least she didn't demolish those when she grew tired of them, though that was little comfort in the worst of times. The CD player was the only thing he had left in his home with her from his childhood and, with a sinking, sickening feeling in his gut, he knew that he'd made a mistake in not leaving it with his parents.

It smacked into the floor like a dead weight, CDs scattering around it. They were old bands, bands that he hardly liked any more, but they were still important to him as she laughed and danced to a beat that was only in her head, giddy with cruel joy as she stamped on the CDs, one by one. The player did not escape her wrath, shattering in a crack of plastic as the inner workings spilt out onto the carpet, just another vehicle through which she could exercise her insatiable need for destruction through her beautiful heels.

And, like it did every time, something inside Matthew tightened, breath catching just as his Adam's apple bobbed. He swallowed hard but it did nothing to clear the lump in his throat, the front of his trousers bulging out obviously as his arousal grew. It was hard to resist her and even harder when she brought a flush to his skin, neck patchy with heat and need rising more and more strongly in the pit of his stomach.

He'd never been able to resist her. And Qiao, like with so many things, knew it too, smirking as she paused before the bed, one hip cocked as her hand landed on it, elbow jutted out at a jaunty, defiant angle. Yet she didn't need to say anything to demonstrate her need, wanting something more from him even as Matthew's lips parted to say the words she'd been waiting to hear.

“I need you!"