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.

Chapter19 (v.1) - The Re-Education

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: May 31, 2015

Reads: 1136

Comments: 4

A A A | A A A

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: May 31, 2015

A A A

A A A

There was an odd new addition to Hell that evening: a small library strewn across the room. Books were scattered across the bed, the floor, the shelves, even nestled into the hooks hanging from the ceiling.

“What is this?” Imogen asked, too distracted to be embarrassed while Andre pushed her feet out slightly to string some rope between her legs.

“This is training,” he said as he tied a knot in the rope at her clitoris.

She shifted at the odd sensation then blushed at the much more pleasant sensation that triggered. She took advantage of the new rule and glanced down at Andre, knelt in front of her. He was still focused on his knot work, though. No response at all to the flitter of pleasure his work had already given her. She frowned but shrugged it off. He was really into ropes.

Plus, he’d already tied her breasts up, but he’d managed to keep them supported yet shapely. He’d created a perfect, underwired bra without any of the fabric. So he was obviously putting a lot of thought into making sure Imogen felt comfortable in front of him.

“So are the books on, umm, bondage? Or…” She glanced at the one closest to her. The room was brighter than usual, and she was able to read Man of La Mancha clearly. Definitely not bondage.

Andre rose and brought her forearms and palms together. He slid around them a long cuff of supple leather with corseted laces. He tightened it to the point where there was only a small gap between her elbows. It was a little awkward, but she could move her arms up and down and her hands were free.

“You’re going to read me a book,” Andre said.

Weird, but okay. She didn’t think she could hold a book, but she could turn the pages at least. She was about to agree to this, but Andre walked away, sitting himself down at the black, wingback chair that resided in the corner by the bed.

“You didn’t grab a book,” Imogen pointed out.

“You’re going to grab one.”

Hmm. Man of La Mancha looked heavy. She didn’t know if bending would work well, either. Squatting was definitely out of the question, no matter how considerate Andre was with his ropes. She selected instead a thin tome lying on the bed and brought it over to him.

Andre looked bored, which would seem right if he hadn’t chosen this task for her. When she set it on his lap so she could open it she expected some affirmation over completing the task. Instead Andre said, “It doesn’t go there. Sit and read it to me.”

She wouldn’t have minded sitting on his lap, but his tone told her this would also be unacceptable. She should be below him. She winced as the knot rubbed roughly against her—this was a much coarser twine than before—while she knelt down. She had to keep herself upright to prevent the rope from snagging painfully on her hood, so she had no choice but to set the book on the floor and peer at it from a distance to read.

“They called him Moshe the Beadle,” she began, but Andre cut her off.

“No, no, that’s a horrible choice. Very depressing. Get something else.”

She averted her eyes to keep from glaring at him as she struggled back up to her feet. She studied the selection more closely this time, but most of what she saw was dry, dense literary fiction. Of the ones easiest to retrieve, the most exciting was a collection of Poe stories, so she returned with that. He stopped her two words into the first story, so she flipped to the second story.

“Don’t get an attitude with me, Ima.”

“I wasn’t,” she said, doing her best to prevent that attitude from entering her voice. “Why don’t you tell me which book you’d like me to read.”

He smiled—his first since entering Hell—and said, “What would be the fun in that?”

Fun. Right. He wanted her to work for this. She checked the books stashed in more awkward spots. The selections weren’t much better until she saw the one on the hook, just barely within her reach. The Kama Sutra. Duh.

She attempted to reach her arms up over her head, but the cuff made that impossible. The best she could do was get up on her toes and tap it with the tips of her fingers. It swung wildly before dislodging, nearly hitting Imogen in the face. She was so startled she lost her balance and landed hard on her rear.

Andre remained impassive. In fact, he looked as irritated as he had when she set the book in his lap. If this had happened on Sunday, she was sure he would have rushed to her side or at least asked if she was okay. If it happened on Friday, his hands would have been all over her body. Today he only cared that she wasn’t graceful.

“I don’t like this,” she said hoarsely.

“Then don’t fall.”

“I mean the whole—“

“Are you arguing with me?”

Her breath came out jaggedly. “No, Andre”

“You’ll address me as Master.”

It had been in the contract, and she hadn’t protested it, but this was the first time he’d mentioned it. “Yes, Master,” she replied, but it felt heavy on her tongue. She got back up and carried the book over, but it was hard to keep her shoulders back. She felt deflated.

The book began with a lengthy forward, so she skipped ahead to the illustrated section. The drawings were rough but obvious in their depictions, and the first few she came across were positions that would never happen between her and Andre. She tried not to linger on them as she flipped in search of something more useful, but it was hard. Some of the positions looked impossible, but many were things two normal people in a normal relationship could do. They looked…nice. Happy.

Then she found one where the more womanish figure had her head in the man’s crotch. That looked better. In fact, if Andre positioned himself just a little differently in his chair, she could—

“No, Ima. I don’t want you to read me that.”

She bit back her protest and flipped to another page. The look Andre gave her told her if she tried this passage, things would not go well.

He wanted fun. Imogen wasn't sure if that was a hint or not, but she had nothing else to go on. Clearly there was one specific book somewhere in the room for her, but most of them were likely on Cordelia's AP English recommended list. Imogen had spent enough time in college and attempting to escape reality that she'd read most of them, and nothing stuck out. No lady Chatterley's lover, nothing by Marquis de Sade, not even a battered paperback from the dungeons and dragons pantheon. The Kama Sutra had obviously been a decoy, but there was nothing left that would be even a little interesting.

So it was hidden. She glanced around, her eyes first landing on the cherry chest next to the stand which held Andre’s collection of whips. She had her hands on the lid when Andre said, "Do you recall the story of Pandora?"

Imogen swallowed. She couldn't trust him right now, and she didn't like that at all. She'd spent her entire life trusting only the impossibility of escape.

Like now. She didn't like this game, but if she walked away she didn't think he'd let her back. He was unhappy with her for some reason, she was positive of that. This was a really elaborate punishment to make her grovel, and it was working.

Sal had taken her back. It could be that. She lived across town whereas Amanda had lived across the hall, and the two days rule seemed to be more of an idea than a law. So she just had to prove she was as devoted to this as Amanda had been and he'd be happy with her again.

He'd touch her.

So he'd want her to do something totally demeaning to prove herself. Something that would cause a great deal of discomfort to her and please him at the same time.

The book was under the bed. It had to be.

She could drop down to the floor on the opposite side and flop onto her side to get it, but that wasn't the point of this.

No, she walked right up to Andre. His eyes were finally on her, intrigued but slightly distracted by the sway of her hips. This was better. And there was just enough space she thought she could drop her arms around his neck and settle down onto his lap. Rest against him, feel his heart beating against hers through his silk shirt, maybe press her forehead into the divot of his shoulder and breathe in his scent even though she'd never admit that--he'd never stop smelling her then, and it was weird.

And then she reminded herself this wasn't why she was here. She wanted to cuddle—the full hour with Dr. Thorn had left her raw—but that wasn't supposed to happen here.

So instead of settling on Andre's lap, she turned around and dropped her hands to the floor. When she'd decided on this, she'd only considered the view Andre would get—and appreciate. She completely forgot the knot, which slammed hard into her clit. She cut her gasp off as quickly as possible, but there was no way Andre missed the way her core pulled up against the rope.

If he responded, it wasn't vocally.

She steadied herself before lowering her knees. She tried to drop her chest down but it was awkward and the knot had nestled into the void between her clit and the top edge of her hood. Every breath, every movement, scraped it against the most sensitive spot on the nub, which caused her to clench and rub again. She found herself trapped there on the floor, her ass high in the air and her face buried in the cuff, unable to resist the shadow of the pleasure Andre's nimble fingers could give her.

"Don't you dare," he growled.

She was glad he couldn't see her face or her scowl. He made her come when she asked him not to but wouldn't let her when she wanted it. What sense did that make?

She pushed herself into the knot deliberately once more while she took a slow breath. She had to get used to it being there. And she got a little angrier when she realized she was stuck making decisions again. If she kept her butt in the air, it would tempt Andre. He would give in and touch her because he sucked at keeping his hands off her—especially now that he had nearly unlimited access. He'd make her come and maybe, if she made herself particularly tantalizing, he'd finally let her touch him. She wanted to prove she was good at something.

But keeping her rear exposed to him made controlling the knot difficult. She could hold it between her thighs if she lay down, but that pose wouldn't be nearly as appealing.

So she stayed perfectly still another few seconds to calm down before shimmying under the bed skirt.

Dead center under the bed was a small stack of papers clipped together. She had no idea what it was, but she was sure it was what he wanted. And it was in the worst spot imaginable.

Imogen gritted her teeth and slid under as much as possible, only to slam her shoulders into the wrought iron bed frame. It set off a chain reaction as she whimpered at the pain and immediately arched back. The scrape of the knot was far worse than before, and the entire crevice from her clit back to her rear came alive at the rope's strain. Hot stars flared in the cool dark. Need overwhelmed prudence. The bed which created the illusion of absolute privacy—she couldn't see Andre so he couldn't see her grind her clit into the knot. He couldn't see her cream dampen it, preventing it from hurting the sensitive skin and cooling it to a most delicious tingle. He couldn't see her thighs quiver or her—

"Imogen!" Andre barked. Anger was potent in his tone. He snapped his fingers, breaking her spell. "Here. Now."

She bit down on her trembling lip and slid back out, walking on her knees to him.

"Lie on my lap, stomach down," he told her. There was only one thing that could mean.

And for some reason it scared her today. She would have loved a spanking over his perusal last time, but it would have been playful then. He was so serious now.

She lay her head on his lap instead, whispering, "Please, Andre," against the tremor in her lips.

"What did you say?"

"Master," she corrected.

He pushed her shoulders away and leveled a seriously furious glare, made that much more terrifying by the way his topaz-ringed, jade eyes always seemed to reflect the faintest light in the dark. "Did you just lie to me?"

She closed her eyes tightly and nodded. "Yes, Master. I'm sorry."

"On my lap."

She did as she was told, wishing her arms weren't bound so she could brace herself better. Even more so, she wished she could feel his arousal beneath her, just to assure her this was all a weird, erotic game, but that prodding was conspicuously absent.

He rubbed one of her cheeks just as he had last time. It felt really nice and Imogen wanted to appreciate it, but it was impossible. She clenched hard. What if this hurt worse than before? No, it absolutely would. He'd already hit her with the crop to warm her up then. This time she was scared and untouched.

"I recommend you relax in the next five seconds," Andre said, confirming her thoughts.

Mountain top, she told herself. Mountain top mountain top mountain top. Mountain--

Her cry was entirely of pleasure, startling herself. It stung but perfectly so, triggering a soothing glow of contentment. The second spank was even more luscious. It wasn't quite an orgasm, but the reverberation lubricated her locked-up joints, reducing her to a puddle of relaxation on Andre's lap.

He rubbed the burn from her cheeks for no more than 10 seconds before his devil mode kicked back in and he commanded her to kneel on his thighs. It was awkward but she anticipated an excellent pay off. She squatted down, smiling at the cool air licking through her exposed lips, and leaned forward for a kiss.

"Up."

Oh. When she rose onto her knees, it put her breasts at just above Andre's eye level and her groin not too far below his mouth. Her breath hitched in mild panic when he leaned down, but it was only to examine the knot. She watched his fingers pull at its ends, loosening it. They were so close to her, just an inch from finishing her, but they wouldn't. They were removing her only source of pleasure just when she was finally comfortable again.

She dropped her arms around his neck and laid her cheek on the light prickle of the top of his head. "Please, Master. I don't know if I can keep going like this."

He brought his hands around her arms to the sides of her cheeks and looked at her—really looked at her—for the first time. "You can," he said gently. "You're so strong. If I can do this, you can do this."

She didn't have time to think about that before his lips found hers. He was demanding with it, his tongue forcing its way through her teeth when all he needed to do was give her a second to adjust to the change in pace. She had no complaints, gladly siphoning his explosion of need even if it bruised her lips. The happy knot at her clit was gone, but now she felt it more inside her, pressed into her chest. The knot was nice, this was better. She could lean into him and he'd hug her tightly and smush the clench right out of there, and then maybe he'd carry her to Heaven and apologize for being kind of a dick.

His hands slid down well past hugging range, passing over her ass and down her thighs. He dragged his index fingers back up her damp inner thighs then broke the kiss by jamming one finger in her mouth while he licked clean the other.

Her eyes widened, unsure if she was okay with him tasting her even this way, but she couldn't stop herself from sucking the digit clean. She hadn't expected it to taste like that, assuming any bodily fluid to be salty or metallic. This was...not good, exactly, but unique.

And the look in Andre's eyes told her she would lick his fingers clean of anything just to get that reaction.

"Do you like how you taste?"

She nodded.

"Say it right."

She deliberately dragged her tongue along his finger as she pulled away. "Yes, Master."

"So do I." He kissed her once, briefly. "Okay. Go get those papers and read them to me. Then we'll be done."

Just like that he was all business again.

"Yes, Master."

She eased herself back down, calmed by his kisses. Maybe he wasn't so mad at her. She still didn't understand what the hell the point of all of this was, but he'd been sweet with her for just a moment and that was all she needed. He still wanted her.

It was much easier to crawl under the bed without the knot. She grabbed the print-outs and returned to Andre.

"Now read it to me."

She held it up close to see the small print in the dim light. "It's an email," she said questioningly. It was a business one, but even that seemed too personal.

"Is that what it says?"

She sighed. If that's how he was going to be, she'd do exactly that. "From Cipex. Parenthetical, Cipex at LE dot com." She paused for him to complain that he hadn't meant the header, but he was silent. "To Andre Lachlan, CEO Dre at LE. CC Benjamin Midas, Private Midas at LE. Subject, damage report. Date...this is from Saturday."

"Are you deliberately disobeying me?"

"No, I just don't get—"

"Do you want me to punish you again?"

She seriously considered this. If it was a spanking, absolutely.

"You won't like this one nearly as much as the last one, trust me."

Her eyes snapped back down. “Physical losses—stolen or damaged. Four computers, one monitor, two electronic entry pads, one door. Estimated value under ten thousand dollars. Of the four computers, only one contained…” She read through the lengthy report detailing the theft, which covered not only losses but possible scenarios which could occur because of it. The message was well-written and easy to follow, but Imogen didn’t get what it was. If there had been a break-in recently, Imogen would have definitely heard about it. Most of her coworkers didn’t have particularly exciting lives, so any morsel of intrigue would have been dissected ad nauseam. It could have been some sort of test; it was sent Saturday, so no one was even working. Well, she and Andre sort of had, but there wouldn’t have been any security drills happening. She glanced up to make sure it wasn’t tagged as a forward.

She reached the end of the dry missive. “That’s everything I caught so far. I wouldn’t be too worried about yesterday’s theft, but we should meet on Monday.”

On Monday. Sal had mentioned she’d interrupted a meeting. One of the men she’d seen in Andre’s office was definitely Midas, but there were so many vaguely squirrely, greasy-haired guys Imogen hadn’t thought about it. It could easily have been Cipex, though. She’d only met him once, in passing on Monday, in fact, but he was particularly memorable.

She set the papers down and looked up at Andre. He was staring back at her, but his eyes were unfocused, lost in thought. “Did this really happen? On Friday?”

Andre crooked his finger, beckoning her toward him.

Fuck, Imogen thought. She really didn’t want a bad punishment. There was a lot of pain out there that wasn’t pleasure. She didn’t hesitate or argue, though. At least he’d be touching her then. And then they’d be done.

He didn’t look angry, though. His grip on her arms when he lifted them was firm but not painful, and instead of punishment he simply untied the laces on the cuff. Then he hooked her from under her arms to guide her to her feet with him, but that was only so he could untie her properly instead of cutting the rope. He didn’t even reprimand her when she crossed her arms over her chest. His eyes left hers only when he was behind her, and she was pretty sure she would have felt every bit as naked if she’d been fully dressed.

And she didn’t understand anything at all.


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