Emma's Stiletto Seduction Pt. 08

This is a continuing story, please see :

Emma's stiletto seduction 01 to Pt. 07

Comments welcome

As I caught my breath, I replied to his question...

"Yes please." I responded, "Breakfast would be nice."

Today was a special day. A day of firsts. I had been seeing David for a few weeks now, but only recently we had become an official couple. To celebrate, and to see how compatible we are, we had arranged today to be a day for David relaxing, and to have sex without feeling guilty.

He was a good looking man for his age, thick set and rapidly approaching tubby, but his six foot three frame helped him carry it well. He still remained the only man I'd ever fancied.

The main problem between us was that he is still somewhat sexually repressed, the last of the group of men who had found a partner in school and became trapped in a caring but sexless marriage. Meeting me over the past two months had certainly changed that, especially so last week when I received a note to wake him with a blowjob.

But not only that, he had taken a risk, and allowed my tongue to explore his hole for the first time. He had also dared to do something completely and utterly forbidden, taboo and wrong. He had touched my clit.

Both of these moments were currently rushing through his mind as a wave of heavy guilt washed over him... "Did she want to lick me there..." and "Did I touch a cock?"

Even though he had only traced the outline of my clit through the black plastic of my leggings, this seemed to be the last taboo that he had left to experience.

He worried that it would change him, that he would have to find a new label for himself and his sexuality after over 50 years on Earth. It was a lot to compute, and he decided to push it to the back of his mind and busy himself with more mundane but immediate matters.

My own concern, with the day only just beginning, was being thankful that I had managed to avoid having an orgasm and I hadn't brought a change of knickers.

David showered whist I brushed my teeth and I reapplied my make up in the mirror of the bedroom dressing table. The winter sun had broken through, winning its battle with the curtains. It seemed much later than the 9.04am currently displayed on the clock-face. If only all Saturdays went this slowly and started in such fun.

To continue the firsts that had occurred so far, it was telling that this was the first time we had had sex without David apologising for something and saying "sorry" afterwards. The constant guilt of a sexually repressed British gentleman of a certain age.

David had showered quickly, and appeared at the door of the main bedroom of his handsome detached house, dressed in a shirt and boxer shorts. He grabbed trousers that were hanging over the back of a chair and a tie from a top drawer which he then placed casually around his neck.

"Are eggs ok for you?" He said, looking at me through the reflection I was making in the mirror.

"Great." I responded. "Could I get a coffee too, I'm a bit sore."

My lips were usually sore after giving oral sex, but this time David had definitely gone the extra mile.

"He must have been watching porn again." I thought quietly to myself. There was no way he had thought of tilting my head over the bed and pushing his penis in my mouth all by himself. He just didn't seem the type, but had I encouraged him?

"We had better get a move on anyway." Said David as he left the room and made his way downstairs, "We have an appointment at 11.30."

"An appointment?" I thought, my mind racing. I hurriedly applied my lipstick and brushed my jet black hair back into its sleek symmetrical bob style. I adjusted my large silver hooped earrings back into place. Thankfully my false eyelashes had remained.

I wanted to investigate further, "where are we going?" I mouthed to myself in the mirror.

I made my way downstairs and pulled on my short black leather jacket that was hanging over the bannister. Just wearing a basque with my fake leather leggings was making me chilly as we waited for the central heating to warm the house.

David was dressed now and in the kitchen standing over the Aga stove. I sat on a high stool at the kitchen island, facing across to him.

"Where are we going?" I asked inquisitively.

"You will find out." David says, nonchalantly.

"Am I dressed appropriately?"

David finished pouring a kettle of water into a pan on the stove, and turned to face me.

"You look great as usual Em," he said smiling, "I love those shiny leggings."

"Thanks."

I resisted checking my phone and concentrated on David. I hate it when people are more interested in social media than in talking or indeed playing with me. I watched as he gently poached two eggs he had taken from a box of ten that was sitting on the counter top. He handed me a latte from the Sage Barista machine, made just as I like it. I took it to my lips, but it was too hot to sip.

The toaster popped up and two slices of wholemeal toast were placed on a plate, with perfectly runny eggs sieved from the pan placed on top. A grind of black pepper topped them off. David carried the plate and sat on the stool opposite me at the kitchen island.

He tucked into his breakfast, taking care not to drip egg down his freshly laundered shirt.

I sat there, quizzically. No breakfast had been prepared for me. David drank from his tea.

"It's ok, but I thought you were making some for me?" I asked.

"Oh sorry yes," said David, "you said you wanted an egg too?"

"Please." As I sipped on my coffee.

David reached over to the box of large eggs. Two had been used and he took one egg and placed it on the marble island between us. We sat in silence.

"Oh sorry," David said, "allow me."

David picked up the egg and reached over the island to me. Being a tall man, it was easy for him. He cupped the egg in his hands and cracked it over my head.

Quickly the large yolk ran down my hair, hitting my right shoulder and dropping on to the floor tiles.

I opened my mouth in astonishment but did not say anything. David smiled and continued to eat.

Looking up, "Oh did you want another?" He said, wryly.

"Yes, may I have another." I responded.

David reached across to the container and took out another egg. This time he didn't crack it over my head but reached over, held it on my head and squashed it.

The yolk broke this time, and skipped quickly down the back of my hair, onto my leather jacket, tracing a line of albumen until it reached the wooden seat of the stool.

"I don't have a change of clothes you know!" I informed David, who looked like he was thoroughly enjoying himself.

"Another?" He asked.

"Thank you." I replied.

David took a third egg and again, reached over and cracked it on the top of my head, breaking the yolk once more.

He smiled as it slipped down the sleek black hair of my bob and onto the right sleeve of my jacket.

"Oh where are my manners?" David asked with a grin on his face, "Would you like to serve yourself?"

"Yes, thank you."

David handed me an egg. Keeping eye contact with him, I reached up above my head and pierced the shell with the long black varnished nails of my thumbs.

Slowly the albumen leaked from the shell and poured onto my hair. It ran quickly down my face and pulled out the yolk whole and unbroken. It made its way to my right thigh and settled on the wooden stool between my legs.

"That's disappointing." Said David, I was hoping that it went down your back!"

I returned the most obnoxious smile I could muster.

"I see you have four left." I mentioned, casually, taking a sip of coffee.

"That's true I have," said David, "do you want another now?"

"Sure why not."

David took another egg from the box, and looked at me with a child-like grin. An hour earlier he was in the middle of deep throating me for the very first time, and a few minutes later I had my tongue rimming his hole. It seemed a lifetime ago.

He reached over and placed an egg into the left front pocket of my black leather jacket.

"I see." I responded.

"Break it." Said David.

I slapped my jacket pocket, and the egg crunched as the shell cracked around it.

David rolled his fingers into a fist and raised it to his mouth, failing to disguise a smile.

"I like this much more than I thought I would." He added. "Do your leather trousers have pockets?"

"They are not leather, but leatherette." I replied dryly. "And they are leggings not trousers."

"You smart ass," He laughed, "with your posh cut glass accent and your perfect hair."

I crossed my legs on the stool, took out a small make up mirror from my handbag and touched up my lipstick, pursing and smacking my sore lips towards him.

"Well, do your leatherette leggings have any pockets, _princess_?" He asked, with a broad grin on his face.

"Yes, at the back." I said, nonchalantly.

"Please stand up, princess." He instructed.

I'd always been submissive, it came naturally to me. But being called "princess" was a first. It had always been 'whore' or 'slut' that suited me, and I respond well to them, especially the latter.

I didn't quite know how to handle it, but clearly David was rising to his challenge and I didn't want to disappoint him, especially not today. Perhaps he felt better punishing or, in this case, humiliating me if he considered me a sexy posh brat? I was happy to indulge and experiment...

I got off the barstool and stood in-front of him. At 5ft8 now in my 4" high spiked stiletto shoes, I was still very much in his shadow by at least 8 inches. He loved this about me.

"Now turn around."

I turned around with my back to him. He could see the egg that was still coating my hair, and the remnants of the yolks I had been sitting in.

He took an egg from the box leaving two behind, and hooked his index finger into the rear pockets of my leggings. I felt the egg being placed carefully inside the stretchy material.

"Ok Posh Emma, why don't you sit down again?" He asked.

I turned again and stepped up to the stool. As I sat down, the crunch of the breaking egg, although quiet, filled the kitchen. Albumen and yolk leaked slowly from the top of the pocket.

"So I have two left, a shame to waste them." Said David, clearly having fun now.

"Well you haven't missed anything out!" I exclaimed.

"Oh haven't I? He smirked. "Describe those shoes to me."

I knew David had a weakness for high heels on a woman. They were central to my plan to seduce him all those weeks ago, and it had worked very well indeed.

"They are black leather pointed toe court shoes with spiked 4" stiletto heels and a hidden platform. They have a Mary-Jane strap with a silver buckle fastener." I replied, "And they are box fresh."

"I like them," David replied, "now take them off."

I knew what was about to happen as soon as only two eggs were left in the box. I didn't want this, especially as we had a mystery appointment to attend later this morning, and I hadn't got a change of clothes or shoes with me. I made a mental note to always keep a spare outfit and casual clothes in the car boot in future, as I placed my heels on the kitchen work surface.

They were still perfect, and had only been worn to get from my apartment to the car and the car to David's house.

I wanted to say "are you sure you want to do this?" But I knew that couldn't happen. Being humiliated in this way, 'wet and messy', was my personal kink that I had asked David to take part in. Now he seemed to be genuinely enjoying it with the added interest of ruining a posh brat.

David took my heels and pretended to examine them. He turned them around to face me on the work surface.

"Now where are those eggs?" He teased, knowing full well they were next to him.

He took one in his hand, and tapped it on the counter, it cracked. Pulling it apart, he tipped the unbroken yolk and it's contents into my left stiletto shoe. It started at the heel and quickly slid down the steeply angled insole and pooled at the toe.

"You do the second one." He suggested.

I took the final egg, and cracked it into the toe of my remaining high heel. He looked pleased.

"Now place them on the floor and put them on your feet."

I took the shoes and placed them into the tiled floor, each metal tip made an echo in the silent kitchen. Steadying myself, I placed my left foot back into my shoe. I could feel the cold yolk break and the egg ooze between the toes of my fishnet stockings. The right foot did the same. I sat back on the stool and buckled them both to my feet.

The prior eggs hadn't caused me too much trouble, they had quickly slid from my hair to the floor. I was trying not to think of the one currently inside my jacket pocket and the one in the rear of my leggings, but both could not be felt on my skin. This was not true of the ones hidden in my shoes. As I flexed my toes, the albumen squished inside them. At least they had warmed up now. A small mercy.

"Anyway we have to go now or we are not going to be on time." Said David.

"Where are we going?" I asked, "at least give me a clue."

"It's quite a drive down the A27." David admitted.

"Brighton?"

"As good as," David replied, "I thought that you wouldn't want to do it locally."

"Do what locally?" I asked, my mind quickly racing. "Do I look ok for whatever it is?"

"Well just to let you know, it really does look like you have a lot of sperm in your hair!"

"Well it feels like I have a lot of sperm in my shoes too!" I exclaimed, "And my jacket, and my arse."

Upstairs., I quickly ran a wet brush through my hair, trying my best to get the albumen out that had stuck my straight black hair together in clumps.

"I'll have to wear it up," I shouted downstairs, "In a ponytail or something."

"Bunches?"

Using two bands I had in my bag, I put my hair in bunches as requested. It was a good look especially with the large hooped earrings that had somehow survived this mornings under-cover operation.

I removed the slime from my pockets, thankfully it had not penetrated the waterproof plastic material of my leggings or the soft leather of my jacket. A few pieces of tissue later and it would be ok.

A quick wipe of my jacket and the back of my leggings with a damp cloth also removed most of the dried semen look I had been rocking for the previous 30 minutes.

I grabbed my bag and squelched down the stairs. "If I get egg in your car then that's your fault!"

After a few minutes of driving, David soon found the A27 but would still not tell me the nature of our trip.

"You can always say no." Was the only thing I could get out of him.

As we approached the Polegate bypass on the Lewes road, David signalled off the traffic island and pulled the car into the services.

"We are not stopping, but I just wanted to check something whilst we are here." David said.

It was a large filling station with plenty of parking for trucks, McDonalds, a restaurant called the 'Treacle Mine' and a 3star travel inn.

"Why are we stopping here?" I enquired.

"I heard on the work grapevine that it's a regular hang out for truckers and doggers." David said, casually.

"Doggers?" I exclaimed, somewhat alarmed. "You don't plan on taking me dogging do you, it's broad bloody daylight!"

For those of you unfamiliar to the term, it's a popular pastime in the U.K. amongst a certain demographic, who meet outdoors for sex hookups. Named as lots of participants used the excuse of 'taking the dog for a walk' if they were seen there.

David laughed into his fist as he drove around the site, slowly.

"No we are not going dogging," said David, "although I see from your response that it's only the daylight that worried you."

"Well that's problem number one..."

"And the second?" He asked.

"It would be opposite a restaurant called the Treacle Mine!"

I could see David typing in the postcode BN26 into his car sat nav.

"It was just a thought," David said, casually, "I don't know if I want to share you with strangers now you are my girlfriend, but I did like the idea of people watching me with you."

"Oh did you now." I replied with a scowl.

"Just for the record," David asked, " would you prefer doggers or truckers?"

"Shut up." I snapped. "Oh, you may find there is some egg on your upholstery!"

David pulled back on the A22, apparently very satisfied by his detour and my adverse reaction to his suggestion.

The sat nav said 32 minutes to our destination.

Men are strange creatures, take it from me. They want a trophy girlfriend, or trans trophy girlfriend, on their arm and start out wanting a porn star in the bedroom. They all want a "filthy slut" to suck their cock, a cheap whore in high heels to show off to their friends... but when their girlfriend admits they like sex, or want to be a whore, the guys quickly say no and lose interest.

So many of my former longer-term relationships have followed this pattern. The sex is casual, filthy and great.. and then they start falling for you as a person. They respect you too much to do those things you like in bed. Ask you to tone down how you dress... And the bright flame burns out. This is why I had taken a decision to stay single, until David came along.

"Let's stop talking about it," said David, "I'll just have to think about it instead."

I've been interested in sex with men since whenever I could remember. My first experience was like most people in the 90s, a public toilet with a much older man. Thanks to the internet, my younger days and the availability it became much more regular. But strangely in my youth I never did more than fantasise about group sex. I think the most I managed was sex with two different people in the same 24 hour period rather than at the same time.

And 8 years ago I found a guy who was. He was older, late 60s and he was very much into sharing his younger trans partner with other men. During meets at his house he would invite strangers he had met online and I would service them orally. Sometimes in-front of him, sometimes in a private room out of his view.

"The most men I have serviced orally in one meeting was four and the most penises that have sucked off at once is three."

"Wow!" Said David taken aback, where did that come from?"

"I've been thinking about it for the last 11 minutes." I replied, "Just like you."

"Why don't you tell me about it?" Said David, inquisitively.

"Are you sure you want to hear this?"

"Yes, I'd like to hear what I've been missing all these years."

"I'd been meeting the gentleman for a while. At first it started out as just the two of us."

"How did you meet?" David asked.

"I met him online as you would expect, just on fab really, not a specialised site for trans or cross dressers and their admirers. I was looking for an older guy to meet regularly and he fit the bill.

He was definitely older, probably late 60s when we first met. He was just retired and had suddenly found himself with a lot of time on his hands. He was still married, naturally, his wife was a little younger and was still working long hours. I think he just wanted companionship rather than sex, the sex just always seemed more of a bonus to him."

"And?" David assured...

"We had met a few times, it was usually the same. A morning meet at his place, you would have loved it. An elegant Victorian villa not too far from us really. He had been a teacher, a repressed one who was obsessed with spanking. That was his thing. He would take me into his study and bend me over his knee and spank me quite hard, though over my leather skirt."

"Did you like that?"

"Well not really, it's not my thing. But as I kept my skirt on it would sound like he had slapped me quite hard, but also not hurt as much as it would on bare skin. So I really didn't mind."

"Was that all you did?"