Authors: Vivien Sparx
“The Devil’s Touch”
Copyright © 2012 Vivien Sparx
All Rights Reserved.
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Throughout the course of this story I reveal a secret sexual technique to pleasure a woman called ‘The Devil’s Touch’.
I leave it up to readers to decide how much of the technique I describe is just fictional…. and how much is fact.
“Lucien. I just wanted to congratulate you personally on your acquisition of Rancorp,” a soft husky voice said. “I hope you see other things that appeal to you just as much.”
Lucien Lance looked around quickly and realized a woman with a thick glossy mane of dark curls was watching him. She stood by the table’s edge. Her hair was long, tumbling down over bare shoulders, and she was older than him, with a womanly heaviness in her hips. She was eyeing him over the rim of her wine glass with a steady appraisal that was unashamedly inviting and sensual.
Lucien drew his lips into a thin smile and nodded, but the smile never touched his eyes.
“You must be very excited,” the woman licked her lips. He looked at her. Her eyes were brown and her teeth were white. There were tiny lines at the corners of her eyes, and he guessed she was in her early forties. She wore a low cut dress, he could see the crinkled texture of the pale skin in the deep cleft between her heavy breasts.
“Thank you,” he said. He sipped his drink, standing with the sleek insolent grace of a big predatory cat, and then once again he turned his head away and surveyed the room beyond in a clear gesture of dismissal. The woman made an uncertain faltering flutter of her hands and faded back into the crowd.
Lucien’s gaze swept across the large oil paintings and nautical items that decorated the room, ignoring all attempts to catch his eye. He was restless and bored, and the people gathered around him offered no interest whatsoever.
He glanced around the restaurant again, then back to the foyer – then out past the full-length glass walls that opened onto the marina beyond where sleek white yachts nosed and bumped against their moorings in the fading dusk light.
“Twenty minutes,” he muttered to himself grimly. “I’ll stay just twenty minutes longer.” He snapped his wrist and the sleeve of his suit rose to reveal gold cufflinks and a Rolex. He frowned.
His eye was caught by a brief flurry of movement near the yacht club exit and he glanced up to see a young woman standing in the foyer. Lucien watched her with idle curiosity, recognizing the nervous uncertain expression on her face as she stared into the milling crowd of bankers, investors, accountants and lawyers who had gathered in Lucien’s honor.
He eased the set of his broad shoulders and reached for another glass of wine from one of the immaculately dressed catering staff that circled the room carrying silver trays piled high with glasses and food. He took a sip of the wine and his eyes flicked away from the woman to acknowledge a short stocky man who was edging his way closer.
Lucien was aware of female eyes from all parts of the room openly assessing him but he ignored the attention.
He had rules – and the first rule was never to mix business with personal pleasure.
It was a lesson he had learned from watching his father’s demise and ruin. Thirty years earlier old man Lance had founded Lance Corporation, building it single-handedly into a sizeable investment company with a vast property portfolio – before succumbing to the expensive charms of ambitious women who cared more for the old man’s money than him.
Over the years that followed Lance Corporation had suffered, its influence dwindling as Lucien’s father had become diverted and distracted by a procession of glamorous young women and greedy bankers seeking a share of the family fortune.
Lucien remembered discovering his father, dead in his study on his eighteenth birthday, the shotgun close to the body, the note in the old man’s withered hand spattered with blood.
Now, with his father long passed and his memory fading, he was rebuilding the company and he was doing it with a single-minded determination that did not allow for distractions. No matter how tempting the woman, no matter how alluring her charms, he was ruthless about keeping business and his pleasure separate.
The stocky man stepped closer to Lucien and suddenly thrust out his hand, smiling broadly. He was heavily built, with hair that was cropped short and grizzled. He had bright bird-like eyes. His hand was warm, but dry and firm.
“Way to go, you son-of-a-gun!” the man grinned wolfishly. “It’s the deal of the century.”
Lucien forced a smile and clapped the man’s shoulder. Bob Friedman was one of the key investors in the Rancorp deal. Lucien knew him well – but that didn’t mean he liked him. Friedman launched excitedly into a pitch about a complex financial arrangement that involved the purchase of a shipping company on the west coast. Lucien nodded, attuned to the conversation, but his eyes still roaming the room until they finally came back to the young woman he had noticed in the foyer.
In any other circumstance Lucien would not have given the young woman a second glance, but he was jaded from a week of endless financial meetings as the deal was finalized. Now he welcomed the distraction and he followed the woman as she moved into the room.
She came in from the afternoon blinking owlishly in the sudden gloom, her eyes wide and her expression uncertain.
She stood for almost a full minute, biting her bottom lip and clenching dainty hands into anxious fists, and it seemed to Lucien that she must be either lost, or looking for someone.
He knew these people; they were all bankers and investors – high-flyers in the corporate and financial world with their over-dressed middle-aged wives. Unless the woman was someone’s mistress, she was at the wrong function.
For Lucien this was the last of three gatherings held in his honor since he had arrived in the city. Each of them had been a collection of the same faces with the same food, the same wines and the same conversations. Only the locations had changed.
He’d had enough. The deal was done. He didn’t need to shake hands with any more bankers, and he didn’t need any more financiers. He didn’t need to charm any more brokers or fund managers.
He nodded down absently at Bob Friedman’s excited shiny face and took another sip of wine.
“Fifteen more minutes,” he told himself. Then he would have the limousine brought to the front entrance and escape to the peace and quiet of his hotel suite.
Maybe ten minutes…
Lucien smiled enigmatically at Bob Friedman and suddenly shook the man’s hand again, cutting off the stream of chatter.
“Call me about it on Monday, Bob,” he said. He smiled and eased himself away.
Working his way around the glass wall of the restaurant, he moved a little closer to the foyer. He was a tall man and he picked out the young woman’s long blonde tumble of hair as her head turned to search the room. He took another step sideways and the crowd of dark-suited businessmen parted for a moment.
It was long enough.
She was prettier than he had first thought. She had long blonde hair that cascaded in lustrous curls down past her shoulders and enormous eyes. She was nibbling on her bottom lip anxiously, standing on tiptoes to see around the room. Lucien was taken by the long shapely length of her brown legs.
The woman was wearing a simple black dress that should have looked sexy and sophisticated – but on this woman it looked wrong. Rather than accentuating the curves of her body and the slimness of her figure, it only made her appear featureless and bland.
One of the catering staff came out of the crowd and Lucien saw her grab eagerly for a glass of wine. Then she turned her attention back to the glittering throng of guests and took a few halting steps towards the restaurant doors, her expression glazed but betraying a sense of determination.
Lucien smiled to himself. The woman seemed so out of place. She looked very young. Couldn’t be more than twenty, and there was an awkward gangling nervousness about the way she carried herself.
His taste in female companions was much more refined. He was thirty-five now, and whilst the woman’s youth gave her a certain appeal, the sheer awkwardness of her made him feel somehow sympathetic rather than sexual. Lucien preferred sophisticated, refined women – and because of his particular personality – women who were experienced lovers were more likely to experiment with the ideas he found most arousing. They were also less likely to create emotional complications.
This girl was wrong for him in every way.
Lucien nodded his head and a waiter appeared. He exchanged the empty wine glass in his hand for a small crystal tumbler of whisky. Then a man in a dark blue suit stepped across his line of vision, his hand extended.
He was at least thirty years older than Lucien. He was prosperously overweight, but his bulging flesh had sagged beneath the expensive waistcoat, and his cheeks and forehead were speckled with skin blemishes and liver spots. Wine had turned his complexion florid, and his face glistened with shiny beads of perspiration. His hair was thin and vainly swept across a large balding head, but behind the spectacles that hung from the bridge of his nose, his eyes still glittered with cunning awareness.
“Lucien,” the old man’s voice was a growl through fleshy jowls. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you, Phil,” he had no choice but to shake the man’s hand and return the smile.
“Could I impose on you to make a brief speech? I know the troops would appreciate it.”
Lucien grunted. He took a deep breath and sighed wearily. “Of course.”
Over the old man’s stooped shoulder, Lucien saw the young woman join the fringe of the crowd and then slowly weave her way through the press of people, gasping embarrassed apologies as she bumped and jostled closer to a group of men and women near the glass doors that opened onto the marina’s boardwalk.
He lost her for several minutes in the milling press of guests and the persistence of the old man. Lucien finished his whisky and the waiter appeared at his elbow with another.
He stole another glance at his watch. His eyes narrowed. He’d been here long enough. He stepped onto a low platform.
The crowd hushed to a murmur as the old man tapped a spoon against the side of his glass to call their attention and they turned towards Lucien in anticipation.
He stared out at their eager faces, and felt a small shock as he recognized the pretty young blonde woman standing near the front of the gathering. She was standing next to a man and beside his bulk the girl looked dainty and delicate. Her head was tilted up to catch the man’s whispered words in her ear as her gaze fastened on Lucien. Her throat was long and smooth as marble, her eyes green as emeralds. He realized with a startle they were discussing him. The man’s lips were almost touching her ear and as he spoke he saw the woman’s expression fill with shock and surprise.
Lucien felt his stomach clench suddenly under the impact of the girl’s glittering green eyes. For an instant they stared at each other, and then the girl jerked her head away and dropped her gaze in confusion.
She had small perfect white teeth beyond unpainted pink lips. He stared at her for a moment longer, and then he felt the old man gently tugging at his sleeve. Lucien blinked. He cast a sweeping glance around the room – and then he began to speak.
He spoke with elegance and passion, mentioning key people in the crowd and singling them out for glowing praise.
It was a beautiful, natural performance from a gifted orator. Lucien Lance, cultured, handsome and articulate, standing with the setting sun glittering off the water at his back, holding their attention, pausing dramatically to emphasize a point with an elegant gesture of strong smooth hands, then picking up the thread of his speech once again effortlessly. He talked for just a few minutes, watching his audience and noting their smiling faces and the way they seemed to lean forward towards him, but in the brief time he spoke he included them all in the success of the deal and gave his gratitude generously.
His voice was clear and deep and confident with a faint lilt of accent that seemed to enhance the cadence of his words. An educated and cultivated voice, speaking in careful modulations that wove an enthralled spell around them all.
When at last he fell silent there was a long pause, and then a thunder of cheers and applause.
Lucien stepped off the platform and the crowd came to him with a sigh like the tide, moving close to shake his hand.