Girlfriend By The Hour

Girlfriend By The Hour

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica


Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica


When Imogen accidentally interviews to be the social companion of Andre Lachlan, she never imagines what the job will entail.


When Imogen accidentally interviews to be the social companion of Andre Lachlan, she never imagines what the job will entail.

Chapter13 (v.1) - The White Room

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: May 02, 2015

Reads: 1354

Comments: 3

A A A | A A A

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: May 02, 2015



This was the moment that scared Imogen. The pain was fleeting, the sexuality was mere physical reaction, the aftermath was...

Oh, shit.

Imogen couldn't stop trembling. Was she cold? Maybe. That had to be it. Cold and tired and aching horribly. She couldn't be scared for it to end, that was crazy. No one willing to be hit with a riding crop fifteen times would be scared of not knowing what to do when it was over.

Did she limp down to her suite and curl up in her bed and try to sleep? When they met in the kitchen tomorrow morning, did she pretend this hadn't happened? Maybe she could slip out in the middle of the night and wait for their next date to deal with this.

Maybe he'd carry her to her suite. That would be nice, but she'd never ask that of him. Not when she only made it to twelve.

Fifteen made sense. It was a goal to reach, one she'd missed. If she could have held herself together that long, she could've proven herself worthy of being carried down to her bedroom.

"Shh," Andre whispered, and only then did she realize she was still crying. She didn't attempt to hold it back, though. She was far too weak.

And he was so strong now, as though in his wicked game he'd absorbed everything that made her powerful. He effortlessly supported her weight with one arm as he grabbed a velvet blanket from the back of a chair. "This might sting for a second," he warned her.

He wasn't lying. He was careful as he tucked the blanket around her, but it felt like sand paper scraping across her back. She needed to transfer the pain through her hands, really dig them into something, but they were still bound.

God, even now they were tied together and immobile. She couldn't even get down because her arms were around his neck and there was no way to lift them over his head, and she just needed to get away from him and be alone in her bed with her dolly because dolly looked over her when bad man was gone but she was just a dolly when--

Andre's grip tightened. "Hey, hey, breathe!"

She heard the fear in his voice, but it was detached from her, some far off thing worried over the unstable economy or pollution or overseas conflicts. No way was he reacting to the panic boiling inside her.

"My hands!" she sobbed. "Oh God, I need my hands!"

"Shh, soon, okay? I just need to lay you down. Take a deep breath for me, Ima, okay?"

She did, and it burned but she felt better for it. He lifted his arm to support her better and to pet her head gently as he walked not toward the hallway, but toward a discrete door on the opposite wall, a door she assumed led to a closet. She probably should have been concerned, but it didn't matter where she was as long as it wasn't this room.

With her head on Andre's shoulder, she saw the room in reverse: the door they'd just passed through, black when it was open and stark, pristine white when it closed. The walls were nearly that same white, but there was a swirling grain in the plaster making shadows that hinted at clouds. Warm, plush carpet speckled in pale grays under Andre's feet.

A large mirror reflecting an opulent bed laden with dozens of pillows, all enrobed in white and flanked by two white birch nightstands. They were decorated with potted white lilies but were otherwise empty.

Also reflected back was Imogen, but only her tear stained cheeks, her damp bangs clinging to her forehead, her silk-bound hands, and her bare legs. The rest of her was covered by Andre and the blanket. She dug her eyes down into his shoulder so she couldn't see anything at all.

Andre sat on the bed and eased her down onto his lap. "I'm going to lie you down on your stomach. It's going to be uncomfortable for your breasts at first, but the pressure will help."

Imogen tried to respond but couldn't coordinate her lips and her breath.


She lifted her head enough that she could meet his eyes. "I said, 'How would you know?'"

He cocked his head in confusion for a moment, then grinned when he realized what she was asking. "Oh, because it always makes my breasts feel better. Obviously."

"Stupid," she breathed.

He kissed the tip of her nose. "There you are. You scared me for a minute there, you know."

"Which is ironic, as you were the one with the riding crop."

His grin faded infinitesimally. "Yes, and yet I was the one who safetied out of it. You're like one of those asshole tanks trying to dual wield and dying when all she has to do is equip her shield."

"You're such a dork," she said. She shot him a quirky smile. She could banter gaming all day. "A great tank should have enough mitigation she doesn't need to shield, just keep herself up until the end."

Andre laughed and scruffed her hair. "Was that mitigation you were doing? Because on my end it looked like a wildly uncontrolled orgasm followed by dry humping my leg then having a bit of a meltdown."

Imogen dropped her forehead to his shoulder to hide her crimson blush.

"You ready for me to lay you down?"

She pushed back after a deep breath so he could lift her arms away. He laid her down carefully, easing her weight slowly down as she pressed her face into the fluffy pillow and breathed in its clean scent. The pain wasn't so bad, and she felt her entire being sink into the plush cocoon of the duvet. Andre unbound her wrists and went as far as folding her elbows down against her sides to unlock them. "I'll be right back, just rest for now."

She thought that would be impossible but immediately began to fade. When he sat back down on the edge of the bed, she stirred, unaware she'd dozed until she was awake again. There was music playing softly and an assortment of unlabeled bottles were lined up on the nightstand next to her. She glanced back to see Andre pour a small amount of clear gel onto his palms and rub them together. She buried her face back in her pillow.

At first, she wasn't even sure he was touching her. A light, cool brush along her shoulders, down her sides, and down the back of her thighs. Everything that had been kissed by the crop, now tingling with the barely there sensation of whatever the gel was.

"It's aloe and lidocaine," Andre explained as he laid his palms more firmly on her thighs to massage the gel in. "The aloe soothes, the lidocaine numbs. Most of my girls prefer to forego the lidocaine, but you...well, I'm not giving you the option. I was pretty rough on you in Hell. May I pull your panties down? Just to apply the gel? Or maybe take them off entirely...they're in, ahh, pretty rough shape."

Imogen managed a nod, too numb and exhausted to be mortified at Andre's subtle attempt to clean her off with the dry part of the cotton as he pulled her panties down. He was all sweetness and sensitivity then, kissing each reddened cheek before adding more of the gel to his hands and carefully working it into the burn.

Imogen let herself drift off on the sensation of his hands massaging in a rhythm to match the soft music, a soprano vocalizing wordlessly over a slow, sensual drum beat. It conjured for her what she thought it would be like to spend an entire afternoon making love in the rain. She wanted to ask who they were listening to but found herself breathless again.

Andre slid one hand lazily up her spine all the way to her neck, and she rolled against his touch. He traced her jawline, snagging her bottom lip with his thumb. A soft moan rumbled in her throat.

"I'd take you to heaven," Andre murmured, his breath as shaky as hers, "if only you'd let me."

"What is this if not heaven?"

"This is aftercare."

He pressed his lips down between her shoulder blades. She squirmed languidly, her skin feeling tight on her bones. The second kiss on the nape of her neck caused her top lip to curl back. "Stop!" she gasped.

"I'm not doing anything. Just a kiss."

"God, is it the gel? What the hell's in it?"

When he laughed, his breath danced across her shoulders, chilling the gel deliciously. "Aloe and lidocaine, that's all."

"Then why do I feel—oh, Jesus. My skin is on fire. You have to...stop touching—aah!"

"Not gonna lie, some mixed signals here."

"Please," she whimpered. "Please, if you don't stop, I'm gonna come again."

"Then I absolutely will not stop." He tugged the ponytailer away so he could dig his hand into her hair. He pulled it gently by the roots as he planted kisses all over her neck. “You are so amazing,” he said, his lips so close to her ear she could feel the vibration, another mind-erasing layer of sensation. “So. Fucking. Amazing.” His other hand moved back down, firmly rubbing the expanse of glowing skin below the small of her back.

When she came, it was a smooth, passing wave that left her lightheaded and drowsy. In Hell, both her orgasms were rough, setting her teeth on edge. This one was a perfect, blissful completion. The clouds were moving, thinning, and then they broke and the sun was again upon her.

She dozed off, waking intermittently to deep massaging and feather light kissing. Only when those sensations left did she open her eyes to find Andre lying next to her, staring back at her and smiling peacefully.

"This isn't..." she started, but she didn't know how to end it. She struggled to find the right words, finally settling on, "You were so gentle. Why were you so gentle?"

"Did you think I couldn't be? That I could only hurt you?"

"I don't know. I guess I figured it would be one way or the other."

He pushed her bangs away, absently letting his fingers dance down her cheek. "That's crazy. How can you have hell without heaven?"

Imogen shrugged, pleased to find her shoulders not nearly as achy as they were when she'd first been lain down. "There hasn't been a whole lot of heaven in my life. Hell I'm used to, but heaven?"

She should have been able to touch him, but she couldn't. Not now that she was calm and level headed and able to contemplate her decisions. Instead, she moved her hand into the empty space between them. Not a commitment, but a possibility.

"Next time, I promise I'll do better."

This time it was Andre who wasn't sure how to respond. "I...hmm. Okay, you did great this time. You’re so bad at taking compliments, but I always thought you were really modest. Now I'm thinking you truly don't know how incredible you are."

Imogen flushed brightly. "I'm not. I couldn't even make it to fifteen."

Andre rolled his eyes. "If I had known how hung up you'd get on that number, I would have set it at five and called it a day."

She knew the words she wanted to say. They were difficult—she was taught, above all else, to never never speak of what happened when her clothes were off—but she forced the most playful tone she could manage. "I don't know, I didn't much care for eight but twelve was kind of nice."

He pulled her closer so he could kiss her lips.

"You shouldn't do that," she whispered. "It makes this feel real."

He frowned. " love. What's wrong with it feeling like that?"

"It's not love. I want a contract next time. If you want to do this again, of course."

"So I did hear you right when you said next time. And will the contract need to state no kissing? I won't lie, I've enjoyed kissing you as society has dictated as well as at my leisure in the sexual arena."

"No, I just need to know I'm kissing you because it's in the contract." She looked down at her hand, closer to him now that he'd moved her. "What happens when this hour is up? I...I think it has been for a while."

"Do you want it to be up?"

She closed her eyes and shook her head.

"Then it's not. What would you like to do with it?"

She bit her lip, unable to vocalize her thoughts.

"We're past this, Imogen. The contract will state that you must always reply when I ask you a question, and I'd like you to get used to it now."

She swallowed as she formed the words in her mind. "Can I fall asleep to the sound of your heart beat? I've always wanted to try it, but I've never been with anyone who would let me. You, umm, don't have to stay the night or anything, Just...stay with me until I fall asleep?"

He pulled her up onto his chest, and she nuzzled against the supple, caramel skin, still flanked by his unbuttoned shirt. This was nice. Firm and warm and constant and reassuring. The heartbeat, the even rise and fall of his chest, the rumbling within it when she finally gave in to the urge to touch him, no more than a rub across his smooth stomach.

"Of course I'll stay the night with you."




Imogen woke alone. That was okay—perfect, in fact. She stretched out across the bed, unashamedly grunting as she worked the kinks out of every single joint that still sang from the night before. The pain lingered, but so did the euphoria. Without Andre here to make her self-conscious, nothing held her back from basking in it.

What the hell did I do last night? Oh God, I humped his leg. I came on his leg.

She sighed and sat up, scanning the room for a clock. The décor in this room—Heaven? Yes, this was definitely Heaven—was minimal and lacked any sort of art on the wall, including a clock. The only way she'd get the time was if she returned to her room for her phone.

She eyed the door to Hell warily as a cold streak shot down her spine. She didn't want to go in there, not yet. There was another door next to that one, which she imagined led to the Ocean and on to the hallway, but she was naked. Her dress was still in Hell and she didn't care if Tina knew what happened last night; she was not running through the house naked.

It was just a room, nothing to be scared of. Messed up things happened in there, things she wasn't sure she wanted to do again even though she'd told Andre she would, but it wasn't the room that did those things, it was Andre.

She gathered the duvet around herself and stood, stumbling across the room on wobbly legs. The door knob felt too cold, biting her hand as she spun it.

She shivered and pulled the duvet closer. It took some time for her eyes to adjust to the dark cavern, but the sunlight pouring in through the windows of Heaven illuminated every single one of the metal hooks hanging from the ceiling. She averted her eyes, instead looking toward the bed. When she'd first seen Hell, she'd thought it was menacing with its wrought iron canopy and filigree head board. Now that she had a taste of the hooks, of the exposure of simply hanging in space, she wished she'd had a mattress beneath her instead.

But then Imogen's imagination ran off on a nightmare of purposes for the canopy. If she'd been tied to that instead, if she'd had to balance on the mattress, she would never have even made it to twelve.

Impulse carried her over to it. She brushed the smooth, black satin cover and pushed down on the mattress, testing it. Heaven's bed was like a bassinet made of clouds; this bed was firm, unpadded but supportive. There'd be no drifting off on a bliss in this bed. No, this bed wasn't for sleeping.

So she lay down on it. She curled up under her duvet and used the crook of her arm as a pillow and breathed in the cool air through her nose. She would get used to this room. She would sign the contract and confidently remove her own clothes and not shiver when he touched her. She wouldn't be embarrassed about how her body responded to his rough handling.

She would get used to this room.

"Hey, I brought—Imogen?" Andre called from Heaven. "Where did—oh, hey you."

Hell went considerably dimmer as Andre’s shadow cast across the doorway. He was wearing only silk pajama bottoms and a sleeveless undershirt, and he carried in front of him a tray heavily laden with breakfast and the usual assortment of electronic gadgets. His lips were spread wide in a goofy grin, a little boy preparing for a hefty amount of praise from mommy for bringing her breakfast in bed—which she'd give him even though she was dreading the state of her kitchen.

And then he saw her there, lying on the black bed, all cuddly in the white duvet and smiling drowsily, and he absently licked his bottom lip.

"You, ahh, switched beds."

She yawned. "I was looking for my dress and only got this far." She looked around for a swath of bright yellow against the oppressive black, but saw nothing. "Where did you put it?"

"I gave it to Tina to wash with the rest of the laundry. Why don't you come back to the other bed so we can have a comfy breakfast? Actually, stay right there." He turned away and came back a moment later without the tray. Before she could protest, he scooped her up in the duvet.

She giggled and wrapped her arms around his neck, much more comfortable now that she did it by choice. He carried her back to Heaven, and she kept giggling until she realized all her clothing was missing.

"Andre? Umm...where's my underwear?"

He set her down on the bed. "Laundry, obviously."

She gasped and covered her mouth. "Oh my God Andre no!" she choked out on a single breath. "How could you—why didn't you throw them out? Or burn them or just fucking leave them for me? Oh my God, we're gonna have to steam the carpet where you dropped them last night."

"I didn't get rid of them because that's crazy. And wasteful. And, you know, I'm rather fond of those panties now. Happy memories."

Her cheeks burned with those memories.

"You having second thoughts about making last night a regular thing? It won't always be so...rough." His tone was casual, but she caught an edge to it. He wanted her to know she could still back out, but he definitely didn't want her to.

And neither did she. This relationship—or whatever it was between them—wasn’t normal, probably not healthy, definitely not something she would have ever explained to the many psychiatrists she'd gone through before she gave up on therapy. She wanted this, though. She wanted a sexual...whatever...with a man who didn't know her past but had accepted her unconventional limits. Maybe it would help her figure out how to have a complete relationship with someone.

"I'm not. I just wasn't expecting breakfast in bed. I don't think I've ever gotten this before."

He sat down next to her and set the tray between them. Pancakes, scrambled eggs, fresh fruit, coffee—no meat, making Imogen wonder if he planned to kiss her—and a small stack of papers.

The contract.

She selected the much less morally ambiguous strawberry.

He watched her bite into it as he sipped his coffee. "In the questionnaire section of the contract, it asks how you feel about being fed. Answer it however you feel most comfortable, but I'd prefer for you to agree to it." When she flushed and looked away, he said, "we're really gonna have to work on your bashfulness."

"It's pretty ingrained in me."

"That's why we'll work on it. This isn't just about you allowing me to satisfy my darker urges, you know. It's about testing your own limits. Breaking away from the taboo. You're going to be embarrassed for a while, and then one day you'll forget all that. Hopefully it won't be too far off in the future. I know it won't seem like I'm listening to you in there, but I am."

They ate in silence after that, comfortable except whenever Imogen's eyes fell back to the contract.

"It's just paper," Andre reminded her after the hundredth time she glanced at it anxiously.

"Is it weird that it's also kind of my life?"

Andre sighed. "Don't overthink this. Answer truthfully. What you like, what you don't like, what you won't do, what you've never done."

"There's a lot I've never done," Imogen admitted.

Andre laughed lightly. "I don't know, I've had lesbian subs before and they've surprised me."

"Really? Why would a lesbian do this? With a man, I mean."

"You're a lesbian, and you're willing to do this."

Imogen wanted to say she wasn't a lesbian, not really, she wasn't any more sexually attracted to women than men. She wasn't really sexually attracted to anyone because that implied sexual urges. As much as she'd proven herself fully capable of having orgasms, they'd never occur in a more traditional setting. She couldn't say any of that, though, as that would lead to a whole other discussion.

The one that would end this before it really began.

"What did the other lesbians like to do?" she asked instead.

Andre shrugged. "What do you and Sal like to do?" he asked before finishing off his coffee.

"She likes me to fuck her from behind with a strap-on."

Andre spit out his coffee. Tina would be doing laundry all day at this rate.

"What? I can't imagine that's the strangest thing you've heard. If I told Sal what happened last night, I'm sure she'd be totally scandalized."

"You're...not telling her? I don't want this to be an issue."

Imogen smiled and sipped her own coffee. "I'll tell her about our new arrangement, but she doesn't need to know specifics."

"So if that's what she likes, what do you like?"

She thought about it. "Fucking her from behind with a strap-on, I guess. I mean, I like seeing from the front is nice, too. She doesn't like having her chest touched so it's easier from behind."

"Just to clarify, strap-ons are a hard limit for me."

Imogen raised an eyebrow. "What's that mean?"

"I won't do it. I'll never do it."

He said it so seriously Imogen had to laugh. "I wasn't thinking it. Considering our roles in this, I was not expecting that sort of opportunity."

He leaned across the tray and delivered that kiss she’d been expecting. It was sweet and chaste, so it was surprising when he next said, "We should go over that contract now. I have some ideas for how we can spend the day."

Imogen huddled a little more under the duvet. "Umm, I'm still kind of sore from last night. I don't know if I can do that today."

Andre lifted her hand to his lips. "That's not what I was planning. Don't worry, you probably won't need a safe word."

Imogen took a deep breath and picked up the contract and the pen. "Do you mind if I look this over by myself? And I really need a bath."

"Of course. Let me go draw you one."

He kissed her forehead before walking off to the bathroom.

After a second thought, Imogen grabbed her phone from the tray. She had a feeling she was going to need to look up a lot of terms in this particular contract.

© Copyright 2018 chloecomplains. All rights reserved.


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