‘Mrs Streiber how is Anni?’ she asked breathlessly.
‘Anni has a little cold,’ Helga said.
‘Can you put her on the phone?’ Imogen’s hand were shaking as she waited, twisting the cord in her hands.
‘Mummy, is that you?’
‘Yes, darling it’s me.’
‘Are you coming to see me, this weekend?’
Imogen was tangling the cord so hard around her fingers she was cutting off the blood supply. ‘No darling. Mummy has to move house.’
‘But, Mummy!’ She snuffled. ‘You always come on a Saturday.’
It broke Imogen’s heart not to see her, but it was too dangerous.
‘When I do come I’ll bring you something special, how’s that?’
When she got back on the phone to Helga Streiber she lowered her voice, ‘Helga I need you to listen carefully. I think this time Louis really has found me.’
She heard Mrs Streiber’s sharp intake of breath. ‘God how?’
‘I don’t know. I’ve thought it for a while because someone’s been hanging around and following me. What should I do? I’m so worried I can’t think straight.’
‘Get out,’ Helga said. ‘Come here and stay a while.’
Imogen was still threading the cord through her fingers. ‘I can’t, I mean, he could follow me there. I dare not.’
Helga was silent. ‘I see your point. However, you can’t keep running away from this oaf forever.’
‘I realise that.’ She was biting her lip. ‘Just look after Anni. I’ll have to think.’ When she put the phone down she pressed her back to the wall and slithering down against it, she burst into tears.
Anni lived with Helga Streiber and it was a good arrangement because she was safer there, away from Louis. Louis had been a crazy man.
Imogen had been modelling lingerie at a classy hotel when she met Louis. She’d had a good job as a supervisor in a lingerie company and one day one of the models had fallen ill. Despite having no desire to be a model, Herr Faltermeyer had asked her to stand in and it had been good money and she found it easy to do. As she’d moved among the tables she’d brushed too close and a man with compelling eyes had touched her thigh. When she’d looked down she was met with a dark intense stare. It was Louis who was grinning at her and smoking a fat cigar. Instantly, she was scared of him, but she had a weakness for powerful men and Louis was sexually compelling. He had thick muscular shoulders and a thick muscular dick to match. After the show he waited outside the changing area and he tailed her until she gave way. She guessed she’d just been too weak and she’d given in to the barrage of flowers and jewellery. Imogen moved in to the fancy apartment he kept permanently in Berlin, and before she knew it she was pregnant with Anni. It shouldn’t have happened and it couldn’t have come at a worse time, because at last she’d relented and been promoted to be one of the house models.
Late one night, someone called at the apartment and Louis slithered soundlessly out of bed. The nocturnal visits weren’t unusual but this time there was a lot of urgent muffled talking. Curious, Imogen pressed her ear to the crack in his study door and listened. Louis was a crook as she’d suspected for a long time and there was muttered talk of a deal involving arms to some country in South America. Her blood ran cold.
Afterwards, she’d sat on the bed her fingers and toes freezing. Yesterday, she’d found out she was pregnant and she’d been about to tell Louis. Now when she heard Louis was evidently into something a bit sinister, she felt sick. How could she bring a kid up with a father like that? Worse still, Louis was so possessive he could be scary and he’d go nuts when he knew she was pregnant. He’d been married before and he loved kids, but his wife had been barren. He craved a large family; he’d often told her about it, held her hand and been very intense staring into her eyes and saying how much he’d idolise a son or daughter. That afternoon she’d packed her bags and left the plush apartment and gone to stay with a friend. Louis found her in no time though, he had contacts everywhere, worse still he’d found out about the fancy gynaecologist she’d gone to and dragged the truth out of him.
She sat in her friend’s lounge pleating her fingers whilst Louis strode around like a caged bull. Even when he was like this she still had a sexual weakness for him.
‘Come back, Imogen, I’ll give you anything you want. Name it.’
‘I don’t want to come back.’
He dropped to his knees in front of her and he put his hands on her silk stockings, searching under her panties, his finger tickling her in the way she loved. She was wet already.
‘You see, babe you can’t resist me!’
‘No, Louis, I’m scared of you.’
His dark eyes leered at her. ‘Scared of me, what the fuck are you on about? Did I ever lay a finger on you? You know I’d never do that.’
Imogen glared at him. ‘No, Louis, you didn’t, but there’s no way I’m bringing a kid up with you.’
‘Well, we’ll see about that, this is my kid.’ He stood up stroking his fingers through his hair. ‘And, you needn’t try that running away act, ’cause wherever you go I’ll find you and I’ll find our kid. You two-bit silk stocking fuck whore.’
The words really hurt her. So, that was what he honestly thought of her, was it? There was nothing for it, she left her friend and she moved to Frankfurt. She had a few small savings from the modelling job but they wouldn’t last her for long and she’d have to lie low. The apartment block she lived in was a haven for whores. Not bad women but women down on their luck. It was then she thought about turning a trick or two. After all, men had a fascination with her legs and there was nothing guys seemed to like better than coming on her silk stockings, but she could never be a whore and Imogen knew it.
One day, she got a packet in the post and it was from Louis. “I’m following you, whore”, it said. “As soon as you have my kid you’d better watch out. I got the contacts and money to find you wherever you are.” That night she packed up again and she moved to Berlin. Berlin was huge and she thought she could lose herself there. She worked for awhile as a waitress and when she got bigger she took a job as a seamstress in a small atelier and it was here she met Frau Streiber. Imogen had confided in no one, however, she could confide in Helga Streiber because Helga understood. She’d had a mean husband and run away and made a good life for herself. She was now a woman of independent financial means and she had a nice apartment in a really tasteful suburb of Berlin near a beautiful park and good schools. She was the mother Imogen had lost and she was also her best friend. It was Helga’s idea to bring up Anni.
As soon as Imogen gave birth she fell in love with the little blonde bundle and she had to admit the apartment in the eastern sector was not an ideal place to bring up a child. For one thing it was far too draughty and whilst it was convenient for work, a lot of unsavoury sorts hung around the dark alleyways and corners and it was full of whores, even more than in the apartment in Frankfurt. In the summer when she wrenched open the windows her evening rang to the accompaniment of the muffled groans and grunts of the women fucking and she had to turn her radio up to drown it out.
Soon, she was living the life of a recluse but it was important to keep a low profile. She knew Louis would stop at nothing to find Anni and for some reason he scared her shitless and she didn’t know why. After Anni’s birth she got a job dancing and men went crazy over her legs in the silk stockings. She could do a neat routine and her limbs were flexible. Another dancer told her about Karl and Karl liked her and taught her good control over her body. Soon, she was earning reasonable money and Hermann continually began hounding her to apply for a job at a sassy Berlin nightclub. She couldn’t take it, of course, because Louis always used to hang out at joints like that and there was always the possibility he would see her, but Hermann did find her the job at the lower class joint, The Blue Palm club.
At the weekend she went down into Herr Eichel’s pastry shop and Herr Eichel would give her one or two cakes for Anni
. Imogen put on her best dress and her mother’s old fur coat and then when it got dark, she’d walk to the tram and take it right the way across town and out into the suburbs to Helga Streiber’s. There she stayed the night and the next day she’d take Anni out in her little cream coat and hat and they’d go for a walk in the park and feed the remains of the cakes to the ducks on the pond.
Anni was going to be stunning, Imogen knew that. She had inherited all that was best about the Heinemann line and none of Louis except for his eyes. She had Imogen’s thick hair, which she wore coiled up onto her head in two round twists, and huge brown eyes. Those were the eyes which Imogen had fallen in love with, in Louis. They were compelling eyes, eyes able to seduce. Her skin was pale and from the look of it she was going to have a fine pair of legs. One thing was for sure, though, Imogen was going to make sure she didn’t know how to use them. Already Anni liked stockings and she copied her mother pulling them on and off and stroking them. But it was child’s play and no way would Imogen let it happen. Silk stocking legs attracted guy’s like Louis. A silk stocking whore would never attract a good man.
Chapter Six
IMOGEN SAT ON THE bed biting her nails, and then she slipped out to get a bread roll from Herr Eichel’s because there was no food in the apartment. When she came back she trod on the envelope which had been slipped beneath the door and she froze. It was the same plain brown envelope she’d received before and she recognised Louis’s writing immediately.
Michael sent her flowers although she’d told him not to. They arrived that afternoon as she lay on her bed; a dozen red roses threaded through with baby’s breath. Michael had asked her to meet him for coffee and cake at a sweet little café he knew about, but she couldn’t, of course, it was out of the question and breaking all the rules she’d set herself about boyfriends. She didn’t know what to do.
It came to four o’clock and she stood by the window, considering with her finger to her lip. By now, she could have been having coffee with Michael their legs pleasantly rubbing beneath the table and she felt a sharp pang of misery. She wished he’d forgotten it, not pushed her like this. Why couldn’t he have left it at a quick fuck last night? She took the picture of her mother off the mirror and was just putting it in the case and straightening the bedclothes when a knock came at the door.
‘Imogen, this is Michael, open up because I know you’re in there.’
Imogen sighed. This was the trouble with love; it followed you around like a bad smell. She opened the door a crack.
‘Didn’t I make myself clear?’
‘Sure you did, honey. But I’m Michael Levenstein.’ He stuck his foot in the door. ‘Open up and let me in unless you want this conversation on the landing.’
She opened the door and closing it behind her she locked it and leant against it. Michael sat on the bed. He made her heart stop and start with that tender way he had of looking at her.
‘I figured it out,’ he said, patting the bedcover. ‘Come and sit here and tell me all about your secret.’
‘Michael for heaven’s sake,’ Imogen said sighing and coming and sitting down so close their arms rubbed together.
‘And, what the shit! You going somewhere? You running out on me?’ He indicated the cases.
‘You don’t understand me,’ she said, peering at him doubtfully.
‘After the way I fucked you last night I think I understand you well enough. As shit crazy as it sounds, I’ve been and fallen in love with you.’
Imogen felt a warm flush of happiness. ‘Oh, that’s a big statement.’
Michael took her hand. ‘I didn’t think I’d ever fall in love so hard. Now, I have and I’m not about to let it go. I’m nearly 38 and love doesn’t bite that often.’
‘No, no I don’t guess it does.’ Imogen stroked his finger, which was inching up her hem. She was unable to prevent the warm rush and she wanted it. He feathered her cheek and turning her face towards him fondled her lips with his own and slid his tongue along the inside of her bottom lip, while beginning to unfasten the buttons on her top and running his other finger around the edges of her frilly brassière. She ignited in rapid pulses and her arms came around his neck, Her nipples were alarmingly erect and she was so primed, one touch and she thought she might explode. He got to his knees and pulling down her panties and opening her legs he moved aside the silk stocking chastity belt and began sucking vigorously on her clit.
‘Michael don’t. I can’t think straight,’ she objected as she felt the warm spurt of liquid between her legs.
‘I don’t want you to think straight. I want you to make some kind of rash decision.’ He was kissing her face again, hot wet sexy kisses. ‘I want you to forget whatever shit stupid idea you have of running out on me and come back to the States so we can get married.’
‘Are you crazy!’ She tried pushing him away with her hand. ‘This is the real world.’
‘Yes, honey and I’m not kidding, life’s too short.’ He pushed her back on the bed, fumbling with his shirt buttons as his hands dropped to his flies. She could see he was already erect.
She lay on the bed with her legs trailing over the side as his hand came under her skirt and he stroked her feverish warm flesh. Imogen’s heart was thundering. She felt confused as she touched his face and hair and he closed his eyes.
‘Oh, my God.’ She gasped as he placed his finger under the stocking chastity belt and winding it, pulled it deliciously tight.
‘You didn’t take it off, after all.’ He winked at her. ‘You must have thought I’d come back because you wouldn’t go against my wishes, I’m master of the silk stocking and you knew if you did, I’d be mad.’
‘I guess I did hope you’d come back, I was being selfish.’ She threaded her fingers through his hair.
‘Shit, you’re something.’ He kissed her again and then reaching behind her he loosened her brassière and taking it off he began to kiss and bite her nipples. Imogen groaned and sprawled back against the bed, it was just too good, she thought, as his tongue licked, and began its slow journey south towards her pubic triangle. He began licking it all over and sliding his tongue in and out of her, and she raised her legs and wetting her finger she pulled aside the silk stockings and began to massage her clit. She’d only taken the stockings off to wash and dry them and then she’d put them straight back on for some reason. He was right, she enjoyed the sense of control he had over her and she liked to fantasise over it.
God, his tongue felt good and he took his time, licking and stroking until she felt that first spasm, then he stood over her and she raised her knees and before she could caress him he was using the tip of his cock to gently tease around her hole, wetting himself with her come, lubing himself up. He slid inside her in small controlled increments a little at a time teasing and rotating.
Her hands came into fists and she arched her back. ‘That’s good, so good.’
Michael began to piston back and forth intent on her pleasure, intent on not just the fuck. ‘Open your eyes,’ he said.
She did so and as he thrust he kept eye contact, it was deep passionate; it wasn’t simply sex. ‘I’ll prove I love you,’ he said.
‘What? You’re not just in love with my fucking silk stockings then?’
‘Imogen, for God sake don’t talk like that.’ He pressed his finger to her lips. ‘When you talk like that, it only makes me hornier.’ She came with her muscles flexing around him, pushing up and grinding his tool inside her, then she flopped back aching for it and Michael slid out. He took the silk stocking she’d given him out of his pocket and he wound it tightly around his stem, squeezing the blood into the bulbous tip of his cock to prevent his ejaculation before opening her legs wide and holding his tool in his hands, he began rubbing it back and forth up her silk clad thigh. She watched him mesmerised with her finger in her thatch, bringing herself to orgasm again but slowly this time, grinding her teeth as she enjoyed the sensitivity of the second rollercoaster ride of pleasure. Michael watch
ed her finger and as it moved he moved his cock so she felt like she was fucking him in lots of ways.
‘I’ve got a better idea,’ she said. ‘I’ll sit on you and you can fuck my legs. I’ll open them just enough like this and you can go up and down. Lie down, Michael.’
Michael lay down on the bed and Imogen sat on top of him holding herself above him with her arms. Spreading his legs, she grabbed his cock and pulling it up between her own she squeezed her thighs around his meaty tool. Michael shuddered and said, ‘Oh shit.’ He gradually began to raise himself up and down enjoying the friction of the silk stockings and Imogen watched his penis head, wet and ripe now moving up and down. When he couldn’t bear it any longer she tumbled off him and ripping off the silk stocking cock ring she brought her head down and fucked him with her mouth.
Michael’s cheeks were pink and beads of perspiration were standing out on his forehead, he gasped and shook and eventually cried out, ‘Dear shit, Lord.’
Imogen laughed, it was the first gut laugh she’d had in ages.
She didn’t leave, she lay curled up with Michael, one hand under her cheek while he stroked her hair. The air was heavy with sex.
‘So, babe, what are you running away from?’ He ran his finger under the silk stocking chastity belt.
‘It’s a long story, Michael.’
‘OK, however, I think it’s about time you told me, don’t you?’ Michael touched her lips, her teeth and she closed her eyes and vibrated.
He was silent for a while, then his hands came up to her nipples and she held them there and moved his fingers over them, encouraging him to pinch her gently.
‘Start at the beginning.’
She rolled over and Michael ran his fingers along her wet silk stockings as she parted her legs inviting him into her thatch. His constant fiddling seemed to take her mind off what she had to tell him.
A Seduction in Silk (Xcite Romance) Page 6