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Broken by Her Heel

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Written by Arian Mabe (Amethyst Mare)

Commissioned by anonymous

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“Maathheww..."

Qiao's wheedling, high-pitched tone grated against his ears as the younger man blushed and tried to focus on his dinner, seated at the round dining table with her children. The kids seemed to know what was up, a girl who looked just like her mother with her Chinese features and hair pulled back into an impressively tight bun looking up with a sparkle in her eye that promised trouble.

“Yes, dear?" He said, although he tried not to let his voice sound as pained as it did. “What is it? Is the food not...okay?"

Ah, it was so easy to fall for her whims, simpering and trying to please her at every turn. His older wife smirked and pouted prettily, pushing out her lips, shiny with gloss. He'd probably bought that gloss for her only a week or so ago and Matthew knew that it would be in the bin again soon, if not already, her wasteful manner of living taking quite a big hit on his wallet. Her curled and primped hair, not natural by far, was another thing that had come off his credit card, the debts and bills racked up by his older woman absolutely sky-high. He didn't know how he was going to pay them off but, then again, he was due for that promotion at work...and everyone knew just where that money was going to go.

“Bad!" She wagged her finger at him as if he was a naughty child who'd put their elbows up on the table. “Very bad! You bad man, Matthew – serving me this!"

And, with that, she swung her legs up on the table, a pink pair of pumps cupping her delicately small feet as she cackled like a madwoman, her faith in her own sexuality and sensuality as complete as always. He could see the train wreck happening before his eyes, before it even happened, and lunged for the plates, a fork flying in a splatter of gravy. However, it was far, far too late to save anything as the children squealed and shrieked, Qiao laughing and shaking her head, curls bouncing unnaturally, as she shoved everything off the table with her heels, making sure that not even the salt and peppers shakers were left untouched. His glass of red wine she made sure to jab at pointedly with the chunky pump, sending it spiralling off to spatter the wall in crimson droplets that would surely be a pain to actually get out.

“Qiao!"

The children screamed, everything in chaos, and Matthew himself couldn't stop a curse from passing his lips, however muttered it was. It wasn't that she had not done it before but no one would have been able to keep their composure with a glass of lemonade in their lap, surely! The children were sticky and he tried to comfort them as she stretched out her legs, taking advantage of the luxurious space she'd cleared on top of the table, a look of pure evil shimmering up from the backs of her eyes.

“Matthew," she crooned, fluttering her mascara-laded eyelashes, the makeup too thick and full for a woman of her age to be wearing. “Matthew... Everything's dirty. Clean it! Clean it now!"

And, like he had so many times before, he could only obey. Trying to hustle the whining and crying children – they were still hungry, of course, but a quick call to the pizza place took care of that problem – away from the table, Matthew soothed and calmed them, showering everyone off and bustling them more happily into fresh and clean clothes. Their clothes, even his own, stained with potatoes and meat and gravy, went straight into the washing basket to be washed later – by himself of course. It wasn't as if he would ever expect Qiao to lift a single finger on her own when she had him to look after both her and the house.

Little did he know that, while he was taking care of the children that she'd upset so, Qiao was putting the second part of her devilish plan into place, scurrying from the upstairs to the downstairs with heels clutched in her claw-like hands. Kicking everything off the dining table with her sexy heels had not, of course, been the bulk of her plan but merely the first step in a destructive tease that would leave a trail of devastation throughout the entire house. Giggling to herself girlishly, Qiao tucked a pair of heels behind the sofa cushions, a strap poking out jauntily as if to say that it was there, it could not be hidden. If her husband had known what she was up to, he wouldn't have been able to contain himself!

After all, who didn't enjoy a striptease?

With a heavy sigh, stomach devoid of pizza that he had sacrificed to his step-children, Matthew headed, slowly, back downstairs, each step seeming to come laden with responsibility. Ah, no matter now: whatever damage had been done had been taken care of and that was all there was to it. There was no sense in stressing and worrying about things that simply were not in his control but he could very well plop himself down on the sofa, kick his feet up (if only for the time before his darling wife, once again emerged) and catch up on the game or whatever wasn't news on TV.

His fingers had barely brushed the remote control, however, before her wheedling, cajoling steps could be heard, an ominous clack-clack-tap-tap of a totter in heels that were, quite possibly, rather a bit too tall for her.

Something jabbed him in the back and he winced, sitting up straighter as he pulled out a pair of slinky purple strappy sandals that had seen better seasons, the dirt on the underside attesting to the fact that they had actually been worn and were not merely a glowingly immaculate addition to her collection. But what were they doing shoved into the sofa? And his back?

“What on earth…"

“Matthew…"

The purr of his name rolled down the stairs in a decidedly sensual tone that didn't seem to fit the lips the word came from and he was on his feet, darting for the doorway before she got too far. But what he saw stopped him dead in his tracks, jaws agape as Qiao posed at the top of the stairs, dressed in a slinky, overly sexual black dress with red sequins as if she was a much younger woman dressed up for the holiday season. It wouldn't have been a bad dress at all on a younger woman, the short sleeves making it just modest enough for an outing, but the lace front barely covered the sagging skin even above her breasts, which were by no means adequately supported by whatever manner of bra she had chosen to don underneath.

Still… She took his breath away, just as she always did. Something about Qiao broke Matthew each and every time, the younger man well and truly under her broken heel as she pursed her overly made up lips, the overhead lighting glinting wetly over them.

“Matthew… I got something niiiice for you…"

Nice? He'd like something nice. He'd like something nice very much, in fact. But Qiao was so rarely nice that the mere thought of it brought a smile to his lips, the pale slips pulling up at the corners as he was genuinely pleased. Of course, she took it just that way and slunk down the stairs, one by one, like a panther, a predatory big cat of some kind in a pair of party pumps that didn't quite go with the dress. It was kind of difficult to say what would go with that kind of outfit was his mind was all too busy coming up with lewd and ridiculous things to say and do, none of them breaking the barrier of mind to body to transform into actual movement or, heaven forbid, words.

Clack.

Clack.

Clack.

Smirking, Qiao dragged her nails down the bannisters, the soft wood scraped and dented by the long, fake claws. She'd only just had them done and, shockingly for once, the glue held firm, allowing her to giggle like the wicked woman she truly was and use them for her favourite activity of all: pure destruction. A scratch and a scrape was nothing to her when she was so used to frequently destroying anything that displeased her and, often, things that pleased her too, simply for the fun of it. As Matthew gasped, lunging for her hand, she let rip a screech of a cackle, eyes flashing as she rammed her nails right into the wood, denting it into a gouge that by no means would be polished out.

“Matthew! You want me…"

Ah, but it was not her end goal or even what her intention had been to begin with as she reached the bottom of the stairs and cupped his face in her nails, squeezing and pinching his cheeks in to push his lips out as if he was nothing more than a toy to her. But, if anything, it was Qiao herself that looked like a doll, although not a very alluring one with her overdone make-up and eyeliner so thick that it was a wonder that her small, cruel eyes could be seen at all beneath it. The dark eye shadow and overall effect was supposed to be 'smoky' but came off as 'trampy', so heavily done up was she, as she always was whenever she got her claws into her extensive collection of makeup. Make-up, however, was one thing that she too liked to smear over the walls and use on any destructive rampage that took her fancy, batting her eyelashes as if she truly thought herself to be the most seductive woman alive.

“I…"

But he had nothing to say as she giggled and sashayed past him, dancing to her own music as she flung herself onto the sofa with the aim to sort out her own music. After all, her husband wasn't going to do it for her! And what better way could there possibly be to show him than with her heels? The leather of the arm of the sofa squealed and squeaked indignantly as she dragged her heel over it, using the tottering pair of stilettos she had on, at least for the moment, to jab at the Hi-Fi system sitting on the side table beside the sofa: her prime target. She shrieked and flipped her hand at Matthew when he realised what was happening and rushed in to do it for her, but the damage was done as she kicked and jabbed and slammed her heel into the machine. He cried out, she laughed and the music kicked in, bursting to life and filling the room.

_“Hey, hey!

All the ladies tell the fellas we can do what they can do!

We can do it even better in broken heels!"_

“No!"

Her disappointment was palatable and Matthew groaned as a button popped off the system, scattering like those of so many she'd broken before. And it wasn't as if he could just afford to keep buying more of the things as she tried to play music! CDs were bad enough to get duplicates of when she insisted on flinging them around, even swinging one off the heel of a particularly pointy and jabby pair of shoes once to send flying into the opposite wall like a missile. But that was by the by as another artist warbled out through the speakers and then another, Qiao shrieking and scorning her resentment and distaste for each song that blared forth. Her heel cracked the screen and he flapped his hands uselessly and pointlessly as it jabbed all the way through the plastic, smashing buttons and cracking the case itself too. Oh, he had to do something!

“Qiao, I can –"

_“Well, you can watch me walk if you want to, want to,

I'll bet you want me back now, don't you, don't you?"_

_ _

“It's really no –"

_“I'm about to show you just how missin' me feels,

In my red high heels!"_

But that wasn't going to satisfying her: of course, it was not. He should have known better but she found just the song she wanted finally with a crow of delight that had her bouncing and clapping her hands together, leaping to her feet and spinning around with surprising balance considering just what she was wearing.

“This one! This one, Matthew! This one, this one!"

She was so excited that he could only pause and blink, staring at her blankly for a moment as she parted her lips and poked her tongue out over them, shimmying her shoulders as if she should have, in that very moment, perhaps had a feather boa draped around her. Juddering with static – oh no, her shoe had caught one of the speakers! – the speakers crackled out a tune that he knew well, even if he also knew that it was not one of Qiao's personal favourites and his beloved music system still definitely at risk if she didn't get just what she wanted through the speakers. And, when she broke that, who knew if she'd turn to both his desktop computer and laptop for her musical needs?

But…just what was it that she was doing to do? Qiao licked her lips and threw him a seductive look, sitting up tall and pushing her shoulder blades back.

_“When you walk in the bar,

And you dressed like a star,

Rockin' your f me pumps…"_

_ _

“You like this, Matthew?" She crooned as the music blasted, pressing her breasts together with her arms as she scooted them in close to her body. “You like watching me? You watch me now!"

_“And the men notice you,

With your Gucci bag crew,

Can't tell who he's lookin' to!"_

As if he had any choice in the matter of whether she underwent her entire striptease for him or not, as it quickly became evident. And yet it was a tease entirely of Qiao's own making as there had, very clearly, never been another like that ever before in the whole wide world. She pranced and danced, kicking off her heels as they flew across the room, one glancing off the flat-screen TV perched on a stand before the wall. He had thought that it was a better place – the one on the wall had, of course, met an untimely death with a heel embedded in it, blistering and sparking madly – but the glancing blow was enough for the set to wobble and, as if in slow-motion, topple back. No amount of lunging and scrabbling as she swung across his path, simpering and grabbing a pair of heels from the bookshelf over his shoulder would have stopped the destruction and, against himself, he let out a little whimper as the TV lay still and silent.

“Qiao! Oh… For Christ's sake, Qiao, you can't…"

“Caaaan't I?"

For, of course, she could, as the music played on, a new pair of red kitten heels cupping her feet as if they had been there all along. Even though anyone in the know also very well knew that they would not be there for long if her destructive streak and admission was anything to be taken account of.

_“'Cause you all look the same,

Everyone knows your name,

And that's you whole claim to fame,

Never miss a night,

'Cause your dream in life,

Is to be a footballer's wife!"_

_ _

She would have done better as a footballer's wife, he was sure. He may have had more money to spend on her, to dote on her, but then maybe she would have never uncovered her true love in life of decimating the lives and works of others with every pair of heels in her collection already and still to come. Grabbing the remote control in her claws, she giggled and kissed it, pursing her lips lewdly before hurling it down on the carpet, sending it to the afterlife with a well-timed stomp and sultry grind of that heel.

“You get me new one!"

And that was probably a symptom of just how lost he was to her, how far gone he and everything else in his life was that he did just that, woodenly fetching the other remote control, the one he rarely used as a lazy back-up for the now wrecked TV, from the entertainment unit itself. What did it matter if he gave it to her when she'd only find something else to kill and entertain herself with? It wasn't as if he could even watch the TV that he'd lovingly bought and tried to seclude away from her destructive tendencies anymore…

That too she giggled and pressed to her face, leaving a thick layer of foundation behind – really, that was rather a lot of make-up even for her standards – and crushed it with both heels, screeching as she jumped to pound it into the carpet. He'd be picking up little, crushed shards of plastic for weeks but that didn't matter to her as she gave an exaggerated shudder and shoved a bowl of cigarette ash off the coffee table, sending a spray of ashes across the floor too.

“Ergh!"

_“You don't like players,

That's what you say-a,

But you really wouldn't mind a millionaire,

You don't like ballers,

They don't do nothing for ya,

But you'd love a rich man six foot two or taller!"_

The cigarette dish was not something that she could break with her heels and she sat back to sensually slip off her shoes, swapping them for a pair that had been well known to destroy, the chunky heels still slender enough to have potent jabbing power and yet allowing her enough balance to truly go to town. Balance, however, was not something she actually needed to have to kiss and smooch the cigarette dish, the clear glass marred and stained before she hurled it with a surprisingly good arm across the room. He ducked instinctively, although it was nowhere near him, glass shards raining down over the TV.

“Qiao!"

“Whaaaaat?"

As if that was going to stop her as she leapt to her feet and, continuing her striptease with a wiggle and shake, danced through to the kitchen, the music following them all the while.

_“You're more than a fan,

Lookin' for a man,

But you end up with one-night-stands,

He could be your whole life,

If you got past one night,

But that part never goes right…"_

Qiao had the tin of treacle in her hands by the time he reached the kitchen, his lower jaw slack as he tried to watch what she was doing, stop her somehow, but could not take his eyes off her body. The softened, sagging breasts visible even through the fabric of her sparkly dress and brassiere, a strap of the latter showing rudely between her neck and shoulder, where it should have been tucked. Her legs were clad in pantyhose, a dark kind with a strong line up the outside, and he gulped loudly and noticeably even as she tipped her fingers into the treacle in, eyes wide and imploring.

“What now, Matthew?"

But he didn't know what now, couldn't do anything and most certainly could not possibly hope to control her in any sense of that word as she dragged her sticky, gloopy fingers along the wall, a dark trail left in her wake. She practically skipped as she danced through the kitchen, flinging the tin in a spray of treacle that would, undoubtedly, be a pain in the backside to clean up later. As with everything else, it wasn't as if Qiao was going to do it, not if it displeased her to do so in the slightest, of course.

Treading the treacle into the floor, she stalked by him with her nose turned up into the air, the sticky prints hardly fading – it was funny, in a distant sort of way, just how easily and quickly treacle spread when it was carried by fingers or even shoes – as she jaunted back into the living room, the main zone of her destruction.

_“In the morning you're vexed,

He's onto the next,

And you didn't even get no taste,

Don't be too upset,

If they call you a skank,

'Cause like the news every day you get pressed!"_

Ah, there was nothing that Qiao could not do as she brushed her sticky fingers over family photos, smiles and good times obscured by the coating of treacle until even that ran out from her fingers and she squealed, outraged. A picture flew off the wall into her hands, seemingly of magical and supernatural intent, and she hurled it to the floor, stomping and shrieking as she smashed the glass and frame to smithereens with her heels. Her rage was relentless, eyes flashing as she swung about and kicked it across the room just for good measure too, a photo of Matthew's childhood dog crushed and wrinkled out of recognition from where it had been previously kept safe and secure.

Even things like that clearly were not safe from his oh so lovely wife, who he still followed like that lost puppy dog, whimpering and flapping his hands for her to stop. Of course, everything he tried was to no avail – even taking her into his arms. Once only had that worked, Qiao turning her destruction to more lustful intent instead, but it had not worked since, despite his efforts.

Jabbing at the cracked and wrecked Hi-Fi system with her nails rather than her heels this time, Qiao squealed and cranked the volume up, blowing the sub-woofers as the floor and air around them seemed to vibrate. He cried out, although even that cry was lost as she laughed, mouth gaping into an ugly hole before she finally relented and turned it back down again.

_“You don't like players,

That's what you say-a,

But you really wouldn't mind a millionaire,

Or them big baller,

Don't do nothing for ya,

But you'd love a rich man six foot two or taller!"_

_ _

There was not much one could do when she was off on one but she turned about, teasing the back of her dress down her flesh, the zip clasped by her long, grabby claws.

“Matthew! Help me!"

It was a demand rather than anything of a true cry of help and he shamed himself truly with how quickly he leapt to her aid, thinking himself the white knight of the moment indeed with how he sensually slid the zip down. Why, even a little smile popped up onto his face as the dress fell slacker around her torso, Qiao afforded the luxury of delving into a striptease a little more on the sexy side. Maybe everything would be okay, said the bulge in his crotch, lust rising even as she turned about and batted her eyelashes at him. The bra she had chosen, oh, it was a nice one, just like he'd thought.

_“You can't sit down right,

'Cause you jeans are too tight,

And you're lucky its ladies night,

With your big empty purse,

Every week it gets worse,

At least your breasts cost more than hers!"_

Maybe Qiao and her heels could be nice after all.

But he doubted it.

_“So you did Miami,

'Cause you got there for free,

But somehow you missed the plane,

You did too much E,

Met somebody,

And spent the night getting cane."_

There was only so much that he could expect from a relationship like that as she donned her deadliest pair of stilettos yet – it was funny how different pairs were more suited to crushing and stomping than jabbing and poking – for the grand finale. For she did intend to have something of a regular striptease, after all, shimmying her dress down her chest and torso as the black and electric blue stiletto boots gleamed as if in anticipation of what was to come. The jagged point of the heel took his breath away and he hungrily raked his eyes down it, groaning deep in the back of his throat.

“F-fuck, Qiao…"

But she only smiled and lit a cigarette, blowing smoke in his face as he quailed, adjusting the angle of his hips just to make it look, at least a little, as if he wasn't sordidly enjoying every last second of her abuse.

_“Without girls like you,

There'd be no fun,

We'd go to the club and not see anyone,

Without girls like you,

There's no nightlife,

All those men just go home to their wives."_

“See… You be good to me, Matthew," she breathed, smoke pouring as she exhaled. “I be good, yes? You like watching me."

It never was a question as she squealed and stubbed out the cigarette on the sofa, grumbling and muttering to herself in Chinese when it did not go out immediately, the scorch marks remaining evidence of her destruction and abuse of mere, innocent household objects. As it was, there were many more places to get rid of her cigarette and a drag only taken for effect and her own little nook of power. The picture on the wall, a painting that Matthew had commissioned while on holiday abroad, took the brunt of her force, Qiao rubbing and smearing the ash along it as the white stick of the cigarette crumpled and broke in her fingers.

Done with that, she flicked it aside with a giggle and squirmed the top of her dress into a bundle at her hips, a red lace bra catching his eye that, again, didn't seem to go with anything she was wearing. Did underwear have to match? He swallowed and closed his mouth, only seeing those heels, how they gleamed in a reflection of her power, dominant and all above the law.

It went without saying that a striptease had to come with a dance and, oh, how she danced, leaping up onto the coffee table itself as if wings had suddenly sprung to her heels. The magazines scattered as she stomped on them and dug her heels in to tear the pages, not even needing her fingers for such a delicate task. A cabinet housing a trophy the children – one of them, at least – had won, he thought for swimming, took the point of the heel directly through it, Qiao kicking off the unlaced boots with a shriek of delight that could hardly be considered anything else. Although she was far from out of her mind as she shoved over a forgotten cup of tea, catching the mug on the point of her remaining heel's toe and launching it with a cackle that sent a heated shiver down his spine.

The bra dropped, revealing the wrinkled skin of her breasts, large areolas dark and wanting. They perked up into the cold air and he groaned, eyes riveted and yet still wavering as she booted some of her children's toys out of the way, clearing her path even as a tiny, happy star – it could have been a plastic toy, he wasn't sure what they were into at the moment – shattered into tiny plastic pieces under her shoe. The bra landed elsewhere, hanging and dangling off a lamp as the light in the room juddered askew, on edge and breath-taking in how she cast her own shadow.

She was exhilarating.

_“Don't be mad at me,

'Cause you're pushing thirty,

And your old tricks no longer work,

You should have known from the jump,

That you always get dumped,

So dust off your fuck me pumps!"_

The song had ended but Qiao's domain and dominion surely had not as she giggled and swayed, her sagging breasts wobbling about as she hung off him, crooning and layering kisses up his throat and chin. As much as he tried to hold himself back, Matthew simply could not, gasping and moaning as she clung to him, her top half on show and the dress hanging off her as if it could, possibly, slip down her hips at any point despite the roll and tuck she'd put into it.

“Matthew… Oh, you want me! You want me! You always want me!"

And that was true as much as it would always be true. But Qiao was not done quite yet as she slipped into her favourite pair of smooth suede pumps, running her fingers as if lovingly over the blue fabric. They had an open toe and showed off her painted toenails but the whole end scene of their caress, however sweet it was, was hardly dramatic enough for her was she blew him a wet, puckered kiss and stalked to the front door with a mission in mind.

He raced for her but, as with so much else, he was too late to stop her striding from their home – his home, his money had bought it – with her chin up in the air with that defiant air she always held when she was just coming to the edge. For how much could she actually push him and have him go along with it, adoring her all the while?

Ah, but she had planned so much and the tin of red paint was already by the door. She giggled and darted outside into the dark of the night with only the glare and glow of old, buzzing street lights for illumination, cold air whipping at her skin. As much as Matthew chased after her, begged her to be quiet, to come back inside, anything to spare the sickening throb of his humiliation, there was no sating her insatiable need for high heel destruction as she finished off by hurling the can of paint over his car, the paint glistening in an arc as her breasts bounced in time with her own jumps, jiggling off in all directions without the constraints of a bra to tame them. She shrieked and leapt and lights went on in neighbouring houses as even Matthew's strength failed him, head spinning and spinning and spinning as lust gripped his soul. Anyone else would have fled her control and her domain but there was something that Qiao had that no one else did – and no one else did it for him just like Qiao and her tirade of heeled abuse.

Qiao was the mistress of his life. And he loved every bit of her and her high heels.

That would never change.