Toy Boy Ch. 04

Continuing the story of teacher Jenny and her ex-student Michael. Things really heat up as Jenny finally gets what she wants from her ex-student.

Chapter 4 – Dinner and "Coffee"

I had used the two days wisely, I hoped. I had been to the hairdressers in the morning of the day Michael was supposed to take me to dinner. My usually long, straight, mousey-brown hair had been extensively highlighted, and of course I kept it long, but I had had it styled into a gorgeous "Farrah Flick". If I say so myself, I thought it looked fantastic, although if we ever went swimming again it would be ruined. I had also had a professional Brazilian bikini wax. Ouch! But the end result was worth it.

I knew wanted to look my absolute sexy best for when Michael arrived. I'd found out at the beginning of the week (was it only that long, it seemed like we'd been seeing each other for much longer?), that Michael was a very visual person. So tonight I hoped to give him a real visual treat.

I bathed, cleansed, and moisturised very carefully, and then dabbed my favourite and most expensive perfume in several strategic places. My neck, wrists, under my breasts, between my breasts, and a dab in the small of my back. That done, I put my favourite girly CD in the player, and with the music playing softly in the background I sat at my dressing table to start putting on my makeup. This had to be spectacular, and I had watched several YouTube videos for inspiration beforehand. I loved to experiment with makeup, trying different looks and styles. To me, anybody who wore the same makeup and hair style day-in and day-out showed a distinct lack of imagination. I considered it as one of the great pleasures of being female - the ability to be a complete chameleon with some simple changes in clothing, hair, or makeup. I had never understood why anybody would want to look exactly the same every day, day-after-day, when it was so easy to "ring the changes" as the saying goes? It was like playing "dress-up" every day - a game I had played constantly as a child; raiding my mother's wardrobe, and clumping around in far-too-big high-heeled shoes. I just loved being female in that respect, and in a way I felt sorry for men generally, as they don't seem to have nearly the same amount of flexibility for changing their appearance as any woman with an imagination does. With some simple makeup, a plain girl could be transformed into an attractive one; and an attractive girl into a real stunner! I flattered myself into hoping I was in the latter category.

After some concealer, foundation and powder, so much lighter and easier to use these days than they used to be, I started with my eyes. I wanted an extremely dramatic smoky look, but with some colour. I went for purples, mauves and dark blues. My lids I did a very deep, almost black, purple that I extended out in a very wide flick to the side. Then along the crease-line I blended the purple into just a flash of navy blue. Then between this and my brows I put a pale mauve colour that extended out to meet and blend smokily with the wide flick of purple to the sides of my eyes. To add some excitement, I put the same blue I had used before in a thick line under my eyes to really make them stand out.

My eyeliner was a deep black kohl that I applied all around my eyes, a thick line on top blending softly into the purple on the top, but kept as a sharp distinct line just on the lash-line on the underside of my eyes inside the blue. Of course I went onto the waterline with my black kohl eyeliner to give that extra depth to the colours, and to make my eyes the focal point. At the inner corner of my eyes I extended the liner into a sharp point, and smudged the outside corner into the purple eye shadow to really give the strong and dramatic smoky effect that I was looking for. I finished it all off with a set of naturally shaped, but quite long, false lashes. These I blended into my own lashes carefully by adding several coats of mascara, allowing each coat to dry before adding the next, being extra-careful to avoid any ugly clumping.

My lips I lined carefully in a very dark purple that was almost black, then filled in with a deep metallic purple colour lipstick that was a nearly exact match for my eye shadow. Going almost, but not completely over the top of the liner gave my lips a distinct sharp edge that I was proud of, but also softened the otherwise harsh colour of the lip-liner. This was topped with a protective lip-gloss that I let dry very carefully so that hopefully my lipstick would stay put and not wear off too much during the meal. I made sure I had spare lipstick, lip liner, and gloss in my handbag - just-in-case. The final touches were a very subtle mauve blusher under my cheek bones, and a matching deep metallic purple nail polish on my fingers and toes. I was done, my makeup was very dark and very dramatic indeed, and I hoped Michael liked it. I wanted to take his breath away.

My jewellery I kept elegant and simple. Earrings were very long gold single chains, perhaps twelve full inches long, that dangled well past my jaw to rest down my bare shoulders half-way to my breasts. As a touch of the exotic, I slipped a gold-coloured slave-bangle up my right arm to fit tight around my bicep, and a slim black-velvet choker went around my neck, secured by a short gold chain and clasp at the back.

My makeup had taken me longer than I had expected, and suddenly I found I needed to hurry as time was getting on. I scurried off to quickly get dressed. I had my dress chosen already - I had previously sworn that Michael would never, ever see me in trousers - it was one of the several purchases I had made in London the other day. Underwear was to be my favourite black lace basque, strapless, and boned very tightly to bring my waist in as much as possible. I then hooked a pair of very sheer black lace-top stockings to the four slim suspenders that were dangled from the basque. I finished with tiny black lace g-string knickers that just covered my freshly trimmed pubic hair, making sure to wear them over, not under the suspenders of course, and my underwear was done. I went and got my brand new dress out of the wardrobe. It was a very soft, supple, matt-black leather strapless dress, that when I did up the back-zipper it hugged my body like a second skin. It was very tight-fitting indeed, with an extremely slim pencil-skirt, almost a hobble-skirt it hugged me so closely. It stopped just above the knee, so not exactly a mini-dress, but instead it had a zipper that ran up the skirt over the front of my right thigh. The zipper ran from the bottom edge of the skirt all the way up to almost hip-height, and allowed me to slide it as high or low on my leg as I wanted. It gave a little freedom of movement in the otherwise almost hobble-skirt, and I could then decide just how much leg to flash through the zipper-slit with each step.

I experimented walking towards the mirror a few times, and decided to open the skirt slit just high enough so that there was the very tiniest glimpse of lace stocking-top with each step. Then with the sound of Michael's car pulling up outside, I barely had time to put my new shoes on before I could hear him walking up the path to my front door. My shoes were also a London purchase, and were immediately my favourites. Simple black leather court shoes, or "pumps" as the American's like to call them, they had a slim ankle-strap and a full six-inch high needle-thin stiletto heel, with no trace of a platform. Taller than any heel I had ever worn before, they felt absolutely fantastic on. It gave me a thrill just sliding my feet into them and doing up the tiny buckle. I had never felt so utterly sexy as I threw a very sheer black tulle wrap around my shoulders, grabbed my little black leather clutch handbag and tottered down the stairs to the front door as Michael rang the bell. I had had to practice walking in these new shoes a little yesterday, but I had quickly got the hang of it, and they gave my hips and bottom a wonderfully sexy wiggle that I loved the feel of, and that I knew would look good too. I knew I would be wearing these shoes a lot in the future, I loved them so much.

I opened the front door to Michael with a warm smile. He was clearly freshly shaved and showered, and he was even wearing a suit and tie, the darling. In his left hand he held a large bouquet of flowers that rested in the crook of his arm. He looked very handsome, but I had obviously caught him by surprise with my appearance, as he almost immediately lost all coherence for a few seconds.

"Hi Jenny..." he started, and then trailed off. I could see him having to stop himself gaping as he looked me up and down slowly. Eventually he managed to pull himself together. "Oh wow, Jenny! You look amazing! I had no idea you could be so... glamorous. You're just beautiful. Your makeup, your hair, your dress, those shoes... I... I... Oh, Wow!" Clearly completely lost for words, he gestured meekly up and down my body with an expression of awe and admiration. I took this as a compliment, and did a little twirl for him to allow his gaze to see the full effect. He didn't seem to know what to say next, so I let him off the hook.

"Thank you." I said simply, and leaned forward towards him. He needed no additional encouragement, and we kissed deeply, tongues twirling around each other's. His free hand went to my waist and pulled me close before dropping to caress my bottom. I could feel my suspender clips standing out proudly under the skin-tight leather of the skirt, and his hand found them easily. I was glad they showed – what's the point of wearing stockings and suspenders if people don't realise? His kiss intensified as I felt his fingers feel the clips and along the suspender straps. I pushed myself into him, my arms around his neck. In the very high heeled shoes, our height difference was much less than in the pool yesterday, and it made it much easier for me to reach without craning my neck. After a couple of minutes we pulled apart panting slightly, the scent of his aftershave in my nostrils.

"Are those for me?" He had clearly already forgotten that he was carrying the flowers in his other hand.

"What? Oh, yes? These are for you." He was still flustered, so I took the flowers from him and gave him a good view of my rear as I trotted off to the kitchen on my new skyscraper-high-heels to quickly get a vase and put the flowers in water. I left them on my kitchen table for now as Michael was still waiting in my hallway.

As I walked back to the front door, I quickly glanced at my reflection in the hall mirror. My lipstick seemed to have survived our kiss, and I flicked at my new hair for a second. I saw him watching my legs and how the skirt moved and exposed the merest hint of lace stocking-top as I walked towards him.

"Shall we go?" I asked. He nodded, and automatically took my hand as he led me out to his car.

"I know I've said it before already, but you do look wonderful tonight. Beyond my wildest dreams." Michael was gushing, and I let him. "Those shoes are especially sexy! And your hair... and your makeup... just fantastic..." Again he trailed off.

"Thank you again." I said, squeezing Michael's hand as he opened the car door. My skirt rode slightly higher up my legs as I sat down in the passenger seat and swung my legs in, revealing almost all of the lace stocking-top through the slit in the skirt. "I hoped you would like this, I chose everything especially for you my darling." It was the first time I used an endearment on him, and I waited to see what his reaction was. He didn't let me down, as he leaned low to kiss me briefly on the lips.

""Oh jenny, I am just stunned at how beautiful you look tonight. I feel very, very lucky to be with you." He said, and then closed the car door to dash around and get in the driver's side. It was a bit over-the-top I thought, but he clearly meant it, so I wasn't going to puncture his composure. As he sat down, I gently laid a hand on his thigh, and he looked at me with such longing it was all I could do to not jump him there and then. I smiled at him and leaned over to give him a quick-ish kiss, my tongue darting out for a second or two, my hand behind his neck.

It was only a few minutes drive to the restaurant, but parking was bad. We ended up having to park more than two blocks away and walk the remaining distance. It was the farthest I had walked in such very high heels, despite my small practices at home the day before. I instantly could feel how the shoes made my hips and bottom wiggle and sway – "imagine you have a string pulling you up from the top of your head" was what my mother had taught me when I first started wearing heels as a teenager, and it had stood me well as very good advice; it helped both my posture and gait, making walking in heels much easier. Walking so high on the balls of my feet wasn't the most comfortable thing in the world, but I was quite used to wearing high heels frequently, so the difference wasn't that much, and after a little while I got accustomed to the extra height and found my walking getting easier. "Practice makes perfect" was another saying that blundered through my mind, and it applied to so many aspects of life!

Michael had taken my hand again and I snuggled close, our hips bumping as we walked, my heels click-clicking on the concrete. I was feeling extremely sexy, tingling with excitement as I walked along in my new shoes, hidden lingerie, and skin-tight, figure-hugging dress. With one hand entwined with his, my other hand went naturally across to clasp his arm as we walked so that I was almost clinging to him. He was clearly going out of his way to try and be the perfect gentleman. When we got to the restaurant, he opened the door for me, in fact for a moment I thought he might even bow, but thankfully he didn't, and the maître-d led us to our table. The table was small and intimate, with only room for one person per side. A candle burned in a little brass ornamental nest in the centre, and the restaurant lights were romantically dim.

I sat down as close to Michael as I could, across a corner from him so our knees touched under the draped tablecloth. I made sure that Michael was to my right so the slit in the skirt was next to him – I wanted him to have as unobstructed a view of my legs as was possible. The table cloth came down to just touch our thighs, and as I sat, the skirt rode a little higher, again exposing almost all of the black lace stocking top through the slit in the skirt. I took Michael's left hand in mine and gently placed it on my knee under the table. He needed no more encouragement, and as we looked through the menu I could feel his fingers slowly caressing my thigh, feeling the texture of my sheer black stockings up to the lace-top and then slowly down again. My skin tingled under his touch, I wanted his hand to wander much higher up my thigh, but I left him to his own devices for now.

We ordered wine, I let Michael choose, and I suspect that he did the only sensible thing you can do when you're not a wine connoisseur - I guessed that he looked down the left side of the menu where the prices were and stopped when they got too expensive. It's a simple method that's always worked for me in the past. It appeared to have worked for Michael as well. Delicious, and it gave me something to do with my hands, as I was having difficulty from stopping myself caressing his crotch under the table I so wanted to feel his erection in my hands again.

Knowing he had to drive, Michael very sensibly took it very easy on the wine, sipping it slowly, and after the waiter had poured both our glasses, he took our orders. Michael was much more relaxed in my company now, and we talked easily. He even joked, and I laughed at his jokes.

Between courses, his hand now dropped almost automatically to my thigh, where he would continue his slow, gentle caressing – I could feel myself slowly getting quite damp, and I encouraged him by letting my hand fall on his leg also. I casually let my fingers wander up and down almost aimlessly, just brushing his crotch for a split second with my deep-purple fingernails before moving down again. Even with that brief touch I could tell he was rock-hard inside his trousers, and a quick glance confirmed what I had felt, the bulge was quite noticeable, even though he was sitting down.

As each course progressed, I stealthily reached down when Michael wasn't looking and millimetre by millimetre pulled the zip that dictated the length of the slit in my skirt very slowly higher and higher by increments. By the time we had finished our starters, the very top of my stocking-tops and the merest glimpse of bare thigh above was available to his fingers. After the main course, my suspenders were fully exposed, and by the time dessert arrived I had slid the zip on the slit high enough that he was practically touching my knickers with his gently wandering fingers. It was a pleasure to feel his hands upon me, feeling his way across my stocking-tops, across the bare skin of my inner thigh and up my lacy suspender straps. I tingled with every caressing touch from him.

After dessert was over I couldn't wait any longer to let him know how I felt, what I wanted, and so I excused myself to go to the bathroom. Knowing this would give him the opportunity to pay the bill politely whilst I was away from the table, I also knew I probably needed to touch up my makeup after the meal. As I walked across the restaurant I was suddenly acutely aware of how high the zipped-slit on my skirt now went, flashing my right stocking-top, suspender, and some bare thigh openly, brazenly even, with each step. I revelled in the glances of the other diners – furtive admiring and leering glances from most of the men, open jealously from the women.

In the bathroom I slipped into a cubicle for a couple of minutes, before coming out to examine the damage to my makeup in the mirror. My eyes were still absolutely fine, but my lipstick had almost completely worn off during the meal, as I had thought it probably would. I took out my lipstick and lip-gloss from my clutch and spent a few minutes carefully reapplying both; allowing the lip-gloss to dry to protect my lipstick again. I knew I wanted to do a lot more kissing tonight, so the more I could do to stop my lipstick from wearing off, the better.

I trotted lightly back to the table and sat down next to Michael. My heart was beating fast, and I could feel exhilaration through my whole body. At that moment I was feeling as aroused as I ever had in public, and was relishing the feeling.

"That's better." I said, "I feel naked without lipstick. It is straight?" I knew it was, I had been very careful when applying, but I wanted him to look. As he did so, I slipped my hand into my clutch bag, and surreptitiously retrieved my knickers from it. I had removed them whilst in the bathroom, and now the lining of my skirt was rubbing erotically against the bare skin of my behind. I leaned over, and gave Michael a gentle kiss on the lips. At the same time, I took his hand in mine, and pressed my black lace g-string into his palm.

"Let's have coffee at my place" I said, blushing slightly at the obvious cliché. Michael looked down, his eyes widening slightly as he realised what he was now holding - and what it signified! He closed his hand again, clutching them tightly, and looked up questioningly into my eyes. I could see straight away that he was speechless, not knowing how to reply, so I answered for him. Looking straight back into his eyes with a small smile, I said just one word "Yes."

Strange how such a simple word can be so powerful – in the right situation.

His hand came up to my cheek and his fingers caressed my skin so gently they barely touched me. I leaned into his hand and softly kissed his palm once; twice. Then he took my hand and led me from the restaurant. Suddenly I felt very slightly giddy, perhaps it was the wine I told myself, but I knew I hadn't drunk that much, and I held Michael's hand tightly as we wove our way through the tables and out into the cool evening air.