Seduce: A Cariad Romance Three Book Bundle (Cariad Collections)

by Stein, Charlotte

  Imogen giggled. ‘My, my. Perhaps I will but only if you agree to let your stick wear my silk stocking.’

  Speechless, Michael watched her take his swollen shaft and straddling his hips she unwound the stocking and pinning his arms above his head she stared into his eyes.

  ‘I bet you never wore a condom silk stocking, Michael.’ She glanced at him contemplatively and blew gently over his face before outlining each of his eyes and his lower lip with her finger. ‘You have nice lips. They’re very sensual.’ She kissed him gently and Michael’s body seemed to liquefy as he watched her, spellbound.

  ‘And, this is my little fantasy,’ she said, winking at him as her delicate pink tongue darted out and caressed his cock. Imogen stretched open the stocking and began rolling it over her hand. Next, she smeared the nectar droplets from his weeping cock on her breasts before she tugged the silk stocking down along the head of his penis.

  ‘There you see. I knew all along you were a whore, a silk stocking whore,’ Michael said. ‘How else would you know how to make a silk condom out of a silk stocking?’

  Imogen massaged the sensitive skin of his cockhead before folding the silk stocking over and over, she twisted the fragment of material over Michael’s turgid shaft and balls. Then, seizing his ramrod hard dick and pulling aside the silk stocking of the chastity belt, she lowered herself with agonising slowness onto the silk stocking condom. God, it felt so good she could scream and she almost did. The only way she could stop herself was to bite her tongue and clench her teeth.

  ‘You have to admit, the silk stocking gives great friction. Did you ever feel such a fabulous condom, Michael?’ She moaned, as she bounced gently up and down and Michael’s penis slithered into the tight constriction of silk stocking heaven. No sex for so long had made her needy and her cunt, indeed all of her, cried out for it. In that instant the powerful narcotic which was sex made her forget everything, it made her forget the danger, and the strict rules she’d set herself and it even made her forget Louis. Michael was gentle and soft and he was careful. He allowed her to take the lead, he enjoyed a woman’s dominant sex, but more importantly she could tell he understood women and how their minds worked. Momentarily, she felt a piercing pain, an aching tenderness. She was aching as much for him as herself, because tomorrow when she said no - which she knew she’d have to - it would feel as powerfully intense as the petit mort which would soon send her into a rapture.

  Michael grabbed Imogen’s neat little hips and sliding his hand beneath the wet silk, he tugged on the chastity stocking and fucked the silk stocking whore, while she cried out and beat his chest with her fists.

  She didn’t have an orgasm because it was too fresh and new and the shuddering pulses were like small snarl ups of traffic on the boulevard; things rushed forward too quickly for a moment – her emotions knotting up – then came to a grinding halt. It was continual stop and start, the smooth climb would come later. For now the surges of intense pleasure were enough.

  Michael bound her wrists and ankles with Cervin and he gently massaged her all over with the wet condom sheath of the silk stocking. This was good, she thought, as she lay with her arms above her head watching him. It was endearing how much like a child he was, exploring something he’d never had, but probably dreamed about. The fantasy was giving him pleasure; she could tell that from his ramrod hard cock which kept weeping moisture from the tip and which she ached to take in her mouth.

  Then Michael lay down beside her and kissed her. ‘You didn’t say you’d marry me?’ he said sadly. ‘I think you’d be crazy not to. However, until you agree, I’ll hold you captive.’

  ‘There’s just one thing,’ she said, as she rubbed her legs together and he heard the hiss of the silk stockings. ‘I still have one last fantasy.’

  ‘And what’s that.’ Michael smiled.

  ‘In my fantasy, from the day I get married, my husband becomes the one who always dresses me and puts on my silk stockings. Every day he buys me Cervin. He takes the silk stockings out of the packet and he says, “darling, it’s necessary I do this one thing for you”.’ She pouted coyly. ‘It’s a lot to ask a man to be a slave of the silk stocking and I’m not sure many would agree to it. But, those are the terms of the agreement.’

  Michael untied the stockings so he could hold her and Imogen could place her arms around his neck and stroke her fingers through his hair. ‘My darling,’ he whispered. ‘I think that could easily be arranged.’ He then eased his finger beneath the saturated silk stocking and rubbed it back and forth over her agitated slit. It burnt with a satisfying heat like fire and she felt the throb of orgasm return. Next, gathering her up in his arms, he kissed her lips and trailed his fingers down the length of her spine. She couldn’t help it, her hand came around his cock and she squeezed it gently and taking some of his juice she smeared it over her lips. She really was behaving like a whore.

  Michael kissed her again and his hard cock pushed between her legs. She slithered down the bed and she began licking his balls and Michael vibrated like a piano wire. He was curious in love. He curled into a foetal ball and as she fucked him with her mouth, lips and tongue, he stroked her hair and massaged her scalp, fast and slow, soft and hard and she worked her mouth accordingly, sliding her tongue up the underside of his rod to the tip and then seducing it with kisses before taking it in and biting it, running her tongue around it and sucking it.

  ‘God, I’m sorry.’ Michael shuddered and sighed and for a moment his hands were still. He tugged her hair and she came back up the bed and he stared into her eyes. ‘Roll over, honey.’ He obviously didn’t lose interest after orgasm like most men did. Imogen rolled over and he worked her slowly and for a long time, pinching and stroking her nipples, as he held her snuggled back up against him with his hands caressing her breasts. She ached between her legs for satisfaction as the stocking cut into her cunt and with her finger she wriggled it aside and slid her finger up her slit to relieve herself. He brushed aside her hand and put his there instead and he did it for her. He was very good, she thought, as she came, pushing out her hips against his hand.

  Imogen set her alarm for four o’clock. Then she watched him sleep for a while and she gently kissed his cheeks and lips. The warm surge of love was painful but she had to cauterise it. Sitting up, she frowned into the mirror. She knew what she had to do and it was better not to think about it. She gathered up his clothes and began folding them and putting them on the chair and then she opened his wallet. Inside the wallet he had a card and on it he had his address – a fancy address in Manhattan – just as she’d thought, and there was a small picture of a woman she supposed was his mother. She peered out with steel grey eyes from a posed photograph; she looked like a WASP, a socialite. Imogen had a hatred of such women, but her eyes were soft and kind. She pressed her mouth to Michael’s shirt to smell his cologne and put it down. When she turned around he was awake and watching her.

  ‘This is my alarm call, is it?’

  ‘Yes, Michael I’m afraid so.’

  He stretched and sat naked on the side of the bed. He had a fine body. It was perhaps a little too slim but it was as she liked her lovers, muscular and covered with a scattering of fine blond body hair. He was erect again, however, so, she tried to ignore it.

  ‘You’ve still got it on.’ He laughed.

  ‘What the chastity belt? Oh yes, I told you I wouldn’t take it off, didn’t I?’

  He stood up and coming to her he grabbed her and holding her close he kissed her neck and cheeks. ‘When can I see you then?’

  ‘I told you earlier, when we were making love, it’s impossible. We can’t see each other again, this was, how do they say? A one off.’

  Michael was frowning. ‘But why? I don’t see it. You’re single, aren’t you?’

  She stared at him and her eyes were dark. ‘This is just what I didn’t want, that’s why involvement’s better avoided.’

  Michael dressed. She could tell he was angry by the way he pul
led on his clothes. When he’d finished and was combing his hands through his hair he took a pen and he wrote something on a piece of paper. ‘This is the address of the place where I’m staying.’

  ‘Michael I told you there’s no point.’

  ‘Yes, there is. Because I don’t believe you can hold out.’ He touched her cheek. ‘I love you.’

  She followed him to the door naked, aware as she did so that she looked absurd. ‘How can you say that when you only fucked me once?’

  ‘I knew when I first laid eyes on you.’ And reaching down he put his finger through the chastity belt and drawing her close he stuck his finger in her cunt. ‘Besides, you got the nature of the game wrong. This is the thing about any kind of mental bondage; the guy has the key to the device.’ He bent down and as he feathered his tongue in her ear he wrapped the silk stocking chastity belt around his finger, drawing it deeper into her crotch. ‘I got the keys to this and remember you said you wouldn’t take it off.’

  Imogen was experiencing a weird churning, it was half excitement and half fear; she wet her lips as she opened the door.

  ‘You haven’t seen the last of me,’ Michael said as she closed it.

  Chapter Five

  Imogen was afraid and Adele Weinberger only added to her nervousness by knocking on her door that morning to say she’d seen a man on the corner of the street. Imogen leant against the door with her lips pinched and her arms crossed defensively. ‘Are you absolutely sure?’

  ‘I saw him once or twice before.’ Adele nodded her steel grey head.

  ‘And what was he like?’

  ‘I think it’s him, Imogen, he was a broad man built like a wrestler and he had a dark coat and a hat, just like you said.’

  ‘Did you see his face?’

  Adele paused. ‘Yes. He had a mean face with one lip twisted up, like he had a permanent grimace or something.’

  Imogen sagged against the door. There was nothing for it, when Adele left she tidied up the flat and she put all her clothes into her old suitcase and took the steamer trunk off the top of her wardrobe. Then she went downstairs to the telephone in the hall and she called Helga Streiber to say she wouldn’t be along to see Anni that Saturday because there had been a storm. This was a prearranged message for the reappearance of Louis.

  ‘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.