A Seduction in Silk (Xcite Romance) Read online

  A Seduction in Silk by Constance Munday

  ISBN 9781908917225

  This story was first published in Silk Stockings

  by Xcite Books Ltd – 2012

  Copyright © Constance Munday 2012

  The rights of Constance Munday to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

  The stories contained within this book are works of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the authors’ imaginations and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publishers: Xcite Books, Suite 11769, 2nd Floor, 145-157 St John Street, London EC1V 4PY

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  Chapter One

  THE NIGHT IMOGEN MET Michael Levenstein, she was sitting at the bar wearing a fashionably short skirt, a pair of impossibly high stiletto heels and she was sipping a cocktail.

  It had been a bad idea coming here, because men frequently followed her out of the club; men and boys, who assumed just because she was an exotic dancer, they had a divine right over her legs. The boys followed her in groups sometimes with their hands in their pockets walking right behind her and talking too loudly and making comments and whistling; the older men, studying the back of her legs like a cat studies a bird in the grass, tensing up ready to pounce. Already, that night, some guy had come too close to her and put his hand on her thigh and it irritated her, the way they always seemed to be touching her up or thinking about touching her up. Just because she had these damn legs, yes, this curse of a pair of legs.

  Early on when she was 17 she’d learnt that, although not a show-stopper, she was a passably pretty fräulein and men gazed at her because Imogen had other more enviable attributes; she oozed sex, she oozed it from every pore. She’d always been a bit too fond of butterkuchen and when she was a child Imogen had constantly been caught with her fingers in the cake bowl, or stealing one of her grandma’s honey cakes to feed her insatiable appetite. This had given her an exceedingly attractive, softly rounded body with plump arms and legs, and ample hips. It was when she sat down or bent over though, that you really noticed that the show-stoppers were her legs, which she had inherited from her mother – the silk stocking whore. Guys had been known to jerk off on street corners looking at Imogen’s legs and simply the sight of her leaning against a park bench easing out the creases in a pair of her fine silk stockings was enough to get them panting like rutting dogs.

  On the day, quite some time ago, when she walked into the Blue Palm Club for the job, Luther said he’d never seen a girl like Imogen. He said she had jerk-off legs, a particularly powerful destructive weapon which were capable of some kind of erotic conjuration. Luther had seen a lot of women in his time but Imogen’s legs turned his insides to water.

  ‘Hitch up your skirt and put your foot on that chair,’ Luther asked. Imogen did so.

  ‘Now move around a bit.’

  She wasn’t a trained dancer at all, in fact, up until that point in her life, she’d never done a dance class but Imogen had an easy, show girl way of walking with a forward thrusting gait which was very sexy and she could pose exotically, not unlike a hooker, tantalising the audience by crossing and uncrossing her legs and occasionally touching them with her long red fingernails. When Imogen came along Luther’s takings went up by 70 per cent. Well, every guy enjoyed looking at a silk stocking whore. Often, men came up to her and whispered things in her ear such as, “hey, how about I cream your legs, your fabulous fucking legs,” or, “Liebchen, I want to get down on my knees and worship your hose and next I want to lick you all over.”

  Michael Levenstein wore a nice light wool suit and he didn’t have the hard-bitten look of most of the guys who frequented Larry’s bar and that was what captured Imogen’s attention. Now, if I wanted a boyfriend, that’s the kind of man I’d go for, she speculated. He had smoothly rounded Nordic cheeks and unruly hair which he kept running his hands through, it was his eyes though which melted her. Michael’s emerald green eyes were as much show-stoppers as Imogen’s legs.

  She stirred her drink with her finger. Goddamnit, now he was looking at her legs. Ah well, it was a fact of life. Her mama would have warned her about Michael’s kind. He was what Mama would have called smooth, as smooth as the best pair of silk stockings; a man too attractive and pretty for his own good. Well, it hardly mattered since she wasn’t in the market for romance. Imogen had learnt how to instantly size up men. It came from a strong sense of self-preservation and living when she was younger like a tramp and having men continually coming up to her and cornering her so that they could slide a hand under her skirt and feel her silk stockings.

  She stroked the stem of her glass in the suggestive way she might stroke a man’s cock and then she uncrossed her legs. Her heart was beginning to beat a little bit faster like a butterfly against the wings of a jar. That was another thing her mother had warned her about. Be careful you don’t beat your wings too hard against that glass illusion, ’cause one day you’re gonna hurt yourself. Christ knows she couldn’t afford the danger of a love affair although, a quick hard fuck to appease this gnawing frustration would be good.

  Michael Levenstein must have been thinking of something amusing, because he was smiling and the smile was crinkling the scattering of lines at the corner of his eyes. He had the look of a man who had been stung by a savage wasp and she knew the look well. It was as if his eyes had become magnets and they were attracted to the opposing magnet of her legs and now that irresistible force was steering him to look again. He was fighting it and it amused her to watch him resist that attraction, as he watered his scotch down a bit more and glanced at her in the mirror over the bar.

  Imogen experienced the stirring of something she hadn’t felt in a long time and it was real jaw-crunching desire. The more he looked at her, the more she was considering how much she’d like to fuck him and to hell with the consequences.

  As if making a sudden decision, he loosened his smart tie and the top button of his crisp, starched white shirt and, slithering off his stool, Michael Levenstein walked unsteadily and as if a little drunk across the room towards her, before passing directly by her and through the door at the end. That room led to one place and one place only, it led into the men’s washroom and she wondered if he’d gone in there to jerk off. Men often jerked off after they’d spent a while or so considering her legs and she found it crass and a little unbelievable how shallow a man could be in that respect. You never saw a woman eyeing a man’s cock and then slithering off a stool and going to the powder room for a gratifying orgasm, or – she pressed her hand to her mouth, to stop a giggle – perhaps you did.

  Imogen picked up her packet of cigarettes and turning it around in her hand she shook one through the tiny hole she’d made in the end of the packet and she watched it ease out like a kind of “hard-on” cigarette, before pushing it back with the tip of her finger like she might a man’s belligerent cock. ‘Hey, get back in there where you belong. I sure as shit gave you up and I’m not reneging on that promise to Anni.’ She’d promised a lot of things to Anni and somehow she meant to deliver. For instance, a nice apartment overlooking the park, pretty clothes and shoes and a little holiday.

  By now Imogen hazarded a guess that Michael was in the washroom splashing water on his face, loosening his tie a b
it more, even taking it off maybe and putting it in his pant’s pocket, and next unfastening the top button of his shirt as he stared glassy-eyed into the mirror above the wash basin. “Yes, I know,” he’d say to his reflection. “It’s crazy to be so turned on and seduced by a woman in a pair of silk stockings and there’s no logical explanation for it. But boy I never saw a broad who could wear a pair of stockings with such panache and make them such a powerful sexual tool.”

  She hoped Michael would go to the john right at the end of the row, because then he’d have the big surprise that all the guys remarked over. He’d see the picture on the wall done by the famous artist, Jake de la Mare, who took a great interest in painting the more intimate parts of a woman’s body. Yes, that Jake, the one that only six months after saying he wanted to fuck her all over her pretty legs had boldly gone to New York with his unique portfolio and been offered a first exhibition on the strength of it and was now doing illustrations for some big time magazines and PR companies. Jake had never tried to fuck her but he liked her and Jake was a decent guy. He’d never said he loved her per se, however, he’d been the first guy she’d connected with since Louis and she’d had good times with Jake. When she turned down the job as his model, Jake said he would leave the world an enduring memento and he’d painted the picture and left it on the john wall – so as he put it – the whole of the male population of Berlin could share the dream boat pair of legs and not have to fantasise so hard about her when they jerked off. She’d liked Jake, Jake had been nice to her and he’d talked about her legs like they were assets, which in a way they were, and he’d joked about her job at the club, which made her feel better for doing it.

  Larry hated guys dirtying up his john and he boasted he had one of the cleanest johns in Berlin, but this time when he went in with his bucket and scrubbing brush he came straight back out again. ‘I’m not scrubbing it out, Imogen, ’cause it’s a rather fine piece of work. Come and look at it.’

  ‘I already did,’ she said. Imogen knew about the painting, because Jake had sneaked her into the john and he’d showed her the picture before asking if he could have a last feel of the silk stockings for old times sake. For some reason it never aggravated her that Jake wanted to see a show of the stockings, and putting her foot on the seat of the john, she’d done a private striptease in the cubicle for Jake, peeling the silk stocking down ever so slowly while he took out his dick and fiddled with it. Then, she hung one of her silk stockings around his neck and carefully tied it like she used to tie Louis’s tie when he went out to work, tapped it with her finger and kissed him on the cheek. Jake had laughed. ‘I got to confess, baby, I have wet dreams about your legs. I’d like to press my nose up to those silk stockings and eat my way into your pussy, ’cause you’d have to experience sex with the girl in the silk stockings to know what sure as shit ecstasy is.’

  Was Michael Levenstein fiddling with his dick right now? Did he have his pants down around his ankles as he conjured his cock into life, fantasising about her and wondering how to engage the cold dame with the hard eyes into life? Well, it wouldn’t be easy. Imogen had built a mighty fine wall around herself and it would take a lot of constant chipping at the brickwork to get through. Perhaps if he made her upset her glass of wine, the wine would stain those fine stockings and she’d go to the powder room and remove them? It was unlikely she’d throw them in the trash because they seemed expensive, but, probably she’d place them in her purse and if she did and she left that purse lying on the counter – he was sure he could dream up some way to open it and steal them. My God, by imagining he could even stoop as low as to steal a pair of women’s hose, he’d have dropped to the sleaziest level possible and he’d be thinking like a pervert, but all men were perverts in one way or another, and especially if they were crazed by sexual obsession. Imogen would have easily given him a pair of the silk stockings though, because she liked him. When she went home that evening she might even open her chest of drawers, full of silk stockings, and think which of them would suit him and how best he would choose to use them.

  Lover’s fantasies, Imogen thought sadly, as she snapped back into the present. They were as easy to slip into as slipping on a shoe, but dangerous just for that reason. She wondered if sex came back to you like riding a bicycle or if a woman’s insides dried up like a poorly oiled machine from lack of use. What was it they said? “Use it or lose it!” Either that or it would be better for the period of abstinence, and when a man began to fuck her, she’d be so much fire she’d scorch him to a crisp. Her mind waded into deeper and progressively more dangerous waters. Michael had sexy lips and those type of lips made a man good at kissing, they were fine cunt kissing lips. Firstly, he’d kiss her on her lips and then on her nipples and a little bit later on when she was more relaxed and warm, he’d perhaps kiss her on her secret places; between her ample but firm butt cheeks and in her cunt.

  Chapter Two

  IMOGEN WAS THINKING OF all these things when Michael came out of the john and with a curious shiver she realised he must indeed have been in the one at the end, because he was very flushed and perspiring a little while his eyes gleamed with a feverish light.

  Michael returned to his stool at the other end of the bar and then thinking for a moment he dragged it closer to hers until he was almost within touching distance. Of course, it was essential he got closer so he could look at the silk stockings, which were gleaming enticingly in the dim light of the bar and which Imogen had now boldly crossed.

  It wasn’t unusual to see a woman in stockings – but there was something about the way she wore them. It was as if she was made to wear a pair of hose in the way some girls are made to wear gloves or pearls. There was no doubt the silk stockings and the woman were a uniquely erotic combination and no other woman on the planet could carry off such a stunning partnership.

  Imogen watched Michael for several minutes and before she realised what she was doing, she speared him with her cheeky gaze and raising her glass she invited a toast. It was something she never did and there was a steely determination in her glance, not unlike a whore’s invitation, but in a way she was a whore. She was, as Louis had so quaintly put it, the silk stocking whore – a cocktease in Cervin.

  Michael smiled at her. She hazarded a guess he was doing what most men did, he was wondering if she had a boyfriend or if she was a high class whore waiting for a punter since she seemed expectant and her gaze kept continually darting to the door. The truth of the matter was, though, Imogen couldn’t get rid of the irrational fear which seemed to be mounting up inside her day by day, the fear Louis would walk right back in and blackmail her.

  After awhile Imogen fished an olive out of her drink and popping it between her lips she dried her finger on her thigh. She didn’t mean to do it, but the action of the finger drew Michael’s attention to the silk stockings. She rubbed her finger up and down suggestively and then she drew several small circles on her thigh before hitching her skirt skilfully up her legs. She didn’t want to tempt him but she couldn’t help it, she liked him. She liked his wide-eyed innocent look and his slim sexy physique and narrow hips. He was American, she’d guessed that immediately because he talked with a bit of a twang like Jake, but Jake had a broad Brooklyn accent and Michael’s accent was soft and husky as if he’d just had sex and rolled out of bed. Even that voice was enough to get her going for some reason. It sent shivers all the way up her spine.

  Michael travelled the world in his high powered job as top sales executive in his sister-in-law’s cosmetic firm. He was a rebel like his father and he’d been groomed to walk in Abel Levenstein’s shoes, but when he left law school Michael found, although he had a certain genius just like his father for law, he didn’t want to be a facsimile of a legal Levenstein.

  Being a famous Levenstein wasn’t easy and when he dropped the bombshell, Abel didn’t talk to him for six months, but the family were close and a compromise was reached. He now employed his skills to good use in Marta’s employ. He enjoy
ed selling useful products and he could put his legal skills to good use. Furthermore, he loved the job because he was constantly meeting and able to appraise stunning women, women of incredible and outstanding beauty. He’d been to many exotic countries and he’d shared a bed with a fair quantity of fascinating girls. Girls he had to admit, who were exceedingly enchanting and sexually provocative and sometimes had eclectic and surprising sexual repertoires but whose beautiful flawless looks became in a while just a little bit repetitive. In all those bars, in all those hotels, he’d never seen a dame as exciting as Imogen, the woman in the silk stockings.

  Michael was also not a hustler and he didn’t behave like a lot of guys who hopped in out of bed with every broad who approached them. No. He liked to experience some kind of enchantment and be attracted to a woman in more than the base physical way before he went to bed with her. What’s more, he’d never gone for orthodox beauty. He enjoyed having his interest piqued by something exceptional. This time, shockingly, it was the enchantment of Imogen’s incredible sex tools in the silk stockings.

  Michael was astute, he’d been trained as a lawyer after all, and in a few seconds he’d sized Imogen up. He liked her thick natural blonde hair, which Imogen had piled stylishly high on top of her head and which was fastened with two tortoiseshell combs, and he liked the way the hair which was swept away from her cheeks, accentuated her lustrous blue eyes.

  At that precise moment Hermann Meier, who was fresh out of a club with his latest mistress, came into the bar shaking raindrops off his coat and then, taking his hat off and shaking that too, he left the woman sitting at a table and noticing Imogen came over to her. ‘Looking good as always,’ he said gruffly. ‘Boy, you were so hot tonight you were sizzling.’