Girlfriend By The Hour

Girlfriend By The Hour

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Details

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Summary

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

Summary

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

Chapter16 (v.1) - The Feet

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: May 22, 2015

Reads: 1231

Comments: 5

A A A | A A A

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: May 22, 2015

A A A

A A A

Sal was really mad about it. She refused to even talk in front of Andre, making it an awkward trip Imogen spent plotting how she’d plead her case while resisting the urge to take either of their hands for support. Thankfully, Andre didn’t try it this time, instead maintaining a respectful distance from both of the girls. He only touched her when they arrived at the apartment complex, to hold her back while Sal and Branson dealt with the luggage.

“If you need a place to stay tonight, my door’s open.”

Imogen shrugged, hopefully pulling off an air of nonchalance. “Don’t worry about it. I might have misjudged things, but I’ll be fine.” She darted away before he could attempt any affectionate displays.

Sal was waiting just behind the front door, her arms crossed and her foot tapping furiously. Before she could say anything, Imogen blurted out, “We didn’t have sex!”

“Seriously? That’s what you think I’m mad about? I know you didn’t have sex.” She raked her hands through her hair. “What did you do?”

This was a much easier conversation with Amanda. She was sure what she’d done with Andre paled in comparison to anything that happened between him and Amanda. Now she felt the need to screen it heavily. “Just, like, bondage stuff.”

Sal snorted. “Yeah, I picked that up from how you greeted me at the airport with, ‘Andre and I are trying a BDSM thing.’ What exactly does that mean? Did he hurt you?”

“I could have stopped him. There’s this thing, a safe word, and if I—“

“Did. He. Hurt. You?”

Imogen looked away and crossed her own arms, hugging herself. “Ten thousand dollars.”

Sal grabbed her dress and pulled it up roughly, causing one of the straps to rip. “Are you serious?! You have bruises all over your body.” She jabbed Imogen’s side, causing her to cry out involuntarily. “You did this for money? What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I liked it!” Imogen sobbed. She grabbed her hem back and buried her face in it. “I felt better than I ever have before. I can’t even—he made me come, okay? He made me come. Do you know what that was like?”

“Obviously not,” Sal said coldly. “You never let me. Do you have any idea how fucked up this is? You can’t keep doing this.”

“Why not? Am I not allowed to feel good? Am I supposed to live my whole life unable to feel good just because—“

“Because your dad tortured you for ten fucking years?” Sal roared. “Yeah, I think that means you shouldn’t let a man whip you to get his rocks off!”

Imogen froze. Her dress slipped from her hands, leaving her to stare back at Sal. Time held static in that gaze, each girl willing the other to make the next move.

This didn’t have anything to do with that. Andre couldn’t possibly be compared to that man. Maybe Amanda was right and he’d overstepped his bounds, but he was the one who ultimately stopped. He’d done the right thing by Imogen, even when she’d pled for him to keep going. Yeah, he’d ignored her when she told him to stop in Heaven, but if she’d panicked, if she’d been in a state of distress, he would have stopped then.

Right?

And despite the fact that she must have looked like she was crumbling, Sal didn’t let up. “What was the point of this? Of us? I thought we were making a safe place for ourselves. I thought we were making progress. But you haven’t at all, have you? The first opportunity for you to go right back to the hell you grew up in, and you took it.”

“That’s not what this is at all,” Imogen said, but she wasn’t able to put any voice behind it. “And all that money, I thought you could pay off—“

“Don’t you dare say this was for me,” Sal hissed. “You did this for yourself. You said you wanted to break the cycle, that you’d never put yourself into another abusive situation. And you know what the worst part of it is?”

Imogen knew, but she couldn’t say it.

But Sal could. “He’s actually a decent guy. I like him. And he doesn’t know he’s abusing you, does he? You didn’t tell him about that monster, so he thinks this is some kinky fetish game, and whatever. I don’t have anything against bondage between normal people.”

“But I’m not a normal person.”

Sal shrugged. “We’ve never lied to each before, right? And I’ve never told you you can’t do something, because it’s your life. And if I told you not to go back to him, you wouldn’t listen to me.”

“No. I just wish you’d believe me if I told you you were wrong about this.”

Sal pulled Imogen into her arms and hugged her harder than she ever had before. “I wish you’d prove me wrong, but I don’t see that happening. And I can’t watch you fall apart. I’m sorry. I love you too much.”

It was the first time Sal had ever said she loved Imogen, and its meaning was obvious. “I can’t live here anymore, can I?”

“I really am sorry.”

~..~

Imogen drove around for hours. She told herself she couldn’t go to Andre’s. She needed her own space separate from that house. She had a room there—shit, once Amanda was gone she could even move down to Pretty Pretty Princess and be right across the hall from Andre—but it was too much. She didn’t want to be there if she wasn’t in Hell, and they wouldn’t return there until tomorrow.

There were plenty of apartments out there, though, and she made enough money now to offset her mediocre credit. She drove through several complexes, methodically forming a list of places to call when she’d had time to think. Thinking wasn’t happening tonight.

When she couldn’t stand it anymore, she found a hotel near the office, only to realize she hadn’t packed any toiletries or clothes for tomorrow. She tried to convince herself to run to the store and pick up essentials, but she was exhausted. She couldn’t go any further. And there were exactly two places where she had everything she needed.

And then it started raining.

She called Tina.

~..~

Andre normally couldn’t hear the front door open, but tonight was different. He was halfway up the stairs already, having seen on the security feed the truck pull into the garage.

He’d had the feed playing on his monitor for several hours now.

And there she was, rain water dripping from her hair, her dress torn, her eyes so incredibly sad. An angel, one who’d been pushed from heaven but didn’t deserve it. One who needed to be in Heaven right now.

“I asked Tina not to tell you I was coming over,” she said with a sniffle.

He smiled. “She didn’t. Come on, let’s go downstairs.”

“To Hell?”

“Looks like you’ve already been there today. How about Heaven instead?”

“I’d, umm, prefer Hell. Just…be gentle, okay?”

“Whatever you’d like.”

~..~

"Keep in mind, you'll never hear me say this again in here—I shouldn't even be saying it now—but I apologize."

"Wuhh foah?"

Andre glanced up from Imogen's feet. There were plenty of devices on the market specifically designed for binding toes and ankles together, but Andre preferred to begin every session in Hell with ropes. He was using a satin ribbon now, folding it in half to maneuver between her big toes and locking them together, unfolding it at her ankles to make a bind that was sturdy but soft on her skin.

Her toes were still pruned from rain in her sandals, which made him smile. As did her relaxed calves and thick, toned thighs. He was a bit dismayed that she was clean shaven between her legs—as much as he preferred that, he still imagined soft, fluffy gold there.

Keeping true to his promise, he didn't want her to do anything too strenuous, so her full breasts were unbound and draped naturally toward her arms. He'd already chastised her thrice for pulling her biceps in to add some loft. He wanted to keep her hands free, but she was making that challenging.

The non-stop questions had to be stopped, though. The small, black ball gag—a green one had already been ordered but wouldn't arrive for another week—had been only marginally more effective than his commands of silence.

It did look good on her, though. Enough so that he didn't have the heart to reprimand her this time. "For Friday night," he said instead. "I shouldn't have...it shouldn't have happened like that."

What an understatement. Now that they’d been apart for a few hours, it had really sunk in. Everything had been wrong, starting with why it had happened. It was okay to blow off steam with Amanda, who knew how to control a rough scenario. Amanda would have probably refused to even go into Hell until he'd calmed some. It churned Andre's stomach knowing he'd done what he had to Imogen. Too tightly bound, too firmly slapped, too much enforcement of rules she couldn't possibly understand yet.

And out of anger. It came back to that. He wanted her, he had since he'd turned to see her in that ugly pinstripe suit looking woefully uncomfortable about refusing a cocktail. So why did it have to be out of anger? So fucking stupid, so fucking inappropriate of him.

The corners of Imogen's lips pulled up and away from the gag. Her eyes bathed him in a cool, soothing calm. A mother-goddess, all forgiveness and compassion and empathy. No matter what he did, she understood. No matter how horrible he treated her, she didn't mind.

He didn't want her in this room at all, he wanted to already be in Heaven. He wanted that moment when her diaphragm finally stopped trembling as she fell asleep to the beat of his heart against her cheek. He wanted her fingers running along his waistband, hinting at what could happen if she wasn't so tired. He wanted her lips brushing against his stomach in what might have been a kiss if she'd been lucid.

Only when she reached up to caress his jaw line did he remember himself. He grabbed her hand firmly and said, "You don't touch me unless I tell you to. Do you understand?"

She nodded, but her lips pursed and her eyes fell.

To keep himself from scooping her up in his arms and spending the next hour apologizing for being so firm with her, Andre rolled Imogen onto her stomach. She needed to learn her place here, and she never would if Andre kept breaking his own rules.

The curve of her back was just as lovely as it had been before, although now it was shadowed with patches of faint blue. Bruises perfectly matched to the crop and his hand. Despite the white cotton briefs she'd worn, he could count every one of his fingers on her rear.

Definitely too rough for her first time.

He kissed one of the bruises, a brush of his lips across her right cheek, and Imogen shifted.

"Good squirm or bad squirm?" he asked, and Imogen passed the test by wiggling her butt happily instead of speaking.

"Excellent," he murmured before running a line of kisses down her thigh. She jerked at his touch on the inside of her knee.

Andre didn't normally go for anything as banal as ticklish spots, but he couldn't resist pinning her legs down and terrorizing the sensitive patch with his tongue.

Imogen bucked against him, screeching loudly and grabbing onto a bedpost to wriggle free, but he was too strong and she didn't have enough focus. Just as he was about to move on, she yanked the gag from her mouth.

"Fucking hell, Imogen."

"I'm gonna pee myself!" she protested breathlessly.

"I swear to God, you touch that gag one more time and I will never leave your hands unbound ever again, do you understand?"

"Seriously? I was about to pee all over you."

He grinned and flicked his tongue over his canine while he skimmed his fingers down her calf. "Oh? Was that a hard limit?"

She glared at him, but her staggered breath and curled toes betrayed her. "You know it is."

"Fine then. Gag in, face down."

She rolled her eyes at his brusque tone but obeyed him. Grabbing her wrists earned him another dirty look, but then he straddled her waist and led her hands back up to the wrought iron frame. She didn't have enough room to turn her head anymore. He bound her wrists quickly, alleviating her of the risk of disobedience. He grabbed a small, chained bell and strung it to Imogen's hand.

"No matter how light the play, there should always be a safe word. Since I've had to tie up your hands, you can no longer remove your gag to communicate this to me, so if I absolutely have to stop you will shake the bell three times. Shake it once if you understand."

She did.

"Good. Now I did tell you that I would remove the gag when we were done, which I thought implied you were not to touch it unless you had to use your safe word. Did you understand that?"

She hesitated, taking a deep breath that lifted her off the bed for a moment.

"One for yes, two for no."

She sighed before shaking the bell once.

"Thank you for being honest. Does this mean you also understand why I'm going to punish you now?"

She nodded into the bed mattress.

"No, no, Ima. You will communicate as I've instructed you."

The bell rang once while he considered the feel of 'Ima' on his tongue. He'd only ever heard her called Imogen or Gen, and she hadn't responded negatively when he said Ima. No flinch, no tensing up, not a ripple of reaction. It was safe, and it was his.

His Ima.

He swung his leg around to sit next to her as he massaged the already bruised cheek. "Do you know what your punishment is?"

She shook the bell once, and he spanked her lightly but soundly before she could prepare herself. Just as she had the night before, she clenched up at the contact but released it with a subtle, sultry swivel of her hips.

He leaned down and murmured against her ear. "That wasn't it. That was a light reprimand for presuming to know your punishment. This is your punishment."

Again without warning, he flipped her to her side and bit into the fleshy curve of her hip.

From the odd angle, he had a unique view of her profile. The proud chin, the creamy white underside of her breasts, the firm ridge beneath her bicep as her instincts took over and she tried to drag herself up to the wall.

The single tear welled at the scrunched bridge of her nose, the quiver in her lip, pulled back from the gag as she sucked air in around it.

Oh right, this may have had something to do with how rough he’d been. Imogen may not have been comfortable enough with her sexuality to realize this was normal—and exactly what Andre needed—but she was completely aroused by pain. By the time Andre decided he'd left a solid mark on her hip, her tension had melted into heavy eyelids and a soft, deep rumble in her throat.

He nudged her back onto her stomach and took his time going down to her feet. He would never cross her limits in this room, but as he massaged her thighs he slid one hand into the crevice, a casual pass over the mound. His hand came back slick.

He finally returned to her feet and was pleased to find them a natural pink, not the deeper red that indicated he'd tied too tightly. He wanted her feet contained, not constricted and overly sensitive. Imogen had a hair trigger—already he'd seen her come without any genital contact several times—and he wanted her aroused, not sated.

He picked up a small, handled tool with a spiked wheel. They weren’t sharp enough to puncture skin but could roll out a tingling path. She jerked when he ran it gently over the pad of her big toe.

"Stay still. This is about controlling yourself."

She shook the bell once, and he continued up across the delicate arch. She squirmed again, but it was tempered. Instead of kicking violently, she contained the motion to a clench in her thighs and a curl of her toes.

He thought on it before saying, "Good girl." He didn't normally give praise for simply following instructions, but he'd never trained a girl before. She needed to be rewarded.

And she would be. Immensely.

He focused on her feet for some time, rolling the Wartenburg wheel over her heels and between her toes, the whole time resting his free hand on her calf. It was incredible how much he could feel in that single muscle, how with just that touch he knew the exact moment when Imogen's discomfort melted into warm pleasure.

He ran the wheel over that calf the moment it relaxed. The sudden rush of breath along Imogen's gag made a raspberry. Andre grinned but withheld his chuckle; it would undoubtedly embarrass Imogen, no matter how adorable it was.

He ran lazy trails up and down her back for what felt like hours even though no more than a couple minutes could have passed.

Every new spot the wheel crossed linked another piece of the Imogen puzzle. She went boneless when he rolled it up her thighs, but along her waist was a wealth of squirms. The gag muffled the squeaks where he'd bitten her but did nothing to mute the low moan at the soft expanses that rose to the sides of center. And the small of her back, the melodious keen as her long neck lifted her head off the bed. It was impossible to resist running the wheel up her spine, her song breaking into something like words he had no interest in muting. Her mindless babble told him she was exactly where he wanted her.

Tears sprang from her tightly shut eyes when he spun along her strained neck and dipped into the exposed hollow where her collarbone came together. Andre fought the urge to rub his free thumb along her lashes—he wanted her to feel nothing but the trail of pin pricks—but he couldn't resist licking the tear away.

Because she probably needed to know he had a habit of following his weirder impulses, especially when he was struggling to reign in his body's most basic reaction. He had excellent control, but every shift, every gasp was pushing him to the limit.

Imogen didn't recoil, but she did open one eye. That eye looked to his lips meaningfully before she closed it again and craned her neck in his direction.

For a kiss.

He leaned away and rolled her onto her back so he could complete his Imogen puzzle. No kisses yet.

Andre considered straddling her the first time she curled her knees up to her chest, but no. Her feet were bound to each other, keeping her from getting too crazy here, and she'd already done so well at controlling herself that she deserved this bit of freedom.

Also, the curl exposed her swollen, glistening core to the cool air, intensifying her pleasure enough that every single tick of the wheel pushed her toward the edge.

Andre leaned back and contemplated her flush, pulsing slit. The nub peeking through the lips was his. The puckered star below was also his, although it was rare for him to take it.

In between that, hmm. The hard limit. Easy enough, he'd told himself in the Ocean. Their first time back in Hell and already this test was proving itself a challenge. He just wanted a taste, totally harmless. Just dip his tongue in and run it down the smooth divot below her clit and over the fleshy rise at the mouth of her—

He withheld his curse as his cock nudged against his flannel pants. Before he'd been stupid and reckless and lost control. Today he had no excuse. This was absolutely Imogen's fault—in telling him he couldn't have something he'd never before been restricted from, of course it made it that much more tempting—but he’d never say that to her.

And then her body curled up even more and she shook the bell furiously. Andre was about to reprimand her for having the audacity to interrupt his appreciation of her, but her eyes were wide, wild. She didn't look irritated that he'd stopped touching her, she looked terrified.

"Are you okay?" he asked, knowing she would shake the bell twice but waiting for it before saying, "Do I need to release you?"

He was careful to keep his hands off her and his eyes trained to hers. He didn't want to further irritate this unexpected response. But she didn't answer his most important of questions except to bury her face against her bicep. She tipped onto her side and pulled herself into the tiniest ball she could manage, but the bell remained silent.

"Listen to me, Ima," he said in the calmest voice he could manage. There was no doubt what he needed to do, but he couldn't trust Imogen to communicate properly if he didn't force it from her. Today he knew, but tomorrow he might not. Tomorrow he might hurt her because she was too proud to tell him she'd had enough.

"I'm not touching you, I'm not looking anywhere but your face, I don't know what's wrong but I'm not going to do anything to make it worse. But I can't let you go until you tell me to."

Her whole body quaked, making it nearly impossible for Andre to stay true to his word. Fear crept into the far reaches of his mind, clouding his judgment until he had to jam his hands in his pockets to keep from stroking her.

"Ima, please. You gotta do this right."

Finally she shook the bell.

Once.

Then twice.

A painful sob escaped the gag.

"Ima, do it."

Thrice.

Immediately Andre freed her, quickly ripping the gag away and sawing through the ropes on the headboard with a switch blade he pulled from his pocket. In one fluid motion he had her in his arms and was already in Heaven when Imogen broke.


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