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.

Chapter21 (v.1) - The Dance

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: June 03, 2015

Reads: 1025

Comments: 2

A A A | A A A

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: June 03, 2015

A A A

A A A

It was the way his muscles coiled every time she touched him, the way he remained still when it was so obvious his body screamed to lunge at her, consume her. It was the way he held her, not here so much as in Heaven, the way he didn’t let go for far too long and lingered at the door before finally leaving her. It was the way he kissed her, a starved man refusing to break etiquette by devouring the meal, instead savoring every rare, meticulously counted bite.

“I do,” she said without any hesitation. She couldn’t tell him everything yet, but that wasn’t a trust issue. Things would change between them, that was incontrovertible, but she was now positive she would tell him; she just needed to experience life without that truth for a little bit longer.

“Will you prove it to me?”

“However you want me to.” She just prayed he didn’t ask her to tell him her worst secret. She wouldn’t have a choice. If she didn’t, it would destroy whatever this was the moment she finally did.

He released her to remove her cloak and dress and hang them on a hook. He didn’t undress her further, though. He simply stood there and studied her like he hadn’t in far too long.

Like a man who desired her and knew it was time to claim what was his.

And she felt desirable for the first time in ages. The corset was similar to the lavender one, but this was pale, shimmery gold with a matching thong. The corset accentuated the good curves and smoothed the bad ones away, and the gold heels she still wore kept her upright and proud. She never minded Andre looking at her—proof of her trust—but now she wanted him to look at her.

He sat down in his chair and used a remote to turn on some music. She snickered at the song choice, expecting something romantic or intense and getting club music instead. It had a good beat, and if she was alone she’d definitely be shaking her rear to it.

It wasn’t surprising, but it was definitely horrifying when Andre said, “Dance for me.”

Her eyes widened. Her throat dried out. The gods were cruel. She’d chosen for Dare over Truth and been punished. Self-awareness washed over her, bringing her back to the old struggle of needing to cover herself. “Andre, I—“

At the flip of a switch, the sleeping beast within Andre roared its awakening. He scowled and narrowed his eyes into a cruel glare. “Don’t you dare argue with me, Imogen.”

Her gut hollowed. She wasn’t Imogen in here, she was always Ima. When they were alone, when he whispered something in her ear to make her blush in front of a crowd, she was Ima. Imogen was an introduction to strangers, just another employee in the basement of LE. “I can’t dance!” she squeaked.

He smashed his fist against the arm rest hard enough Imogen flinched. “I cannot believe you’re lying to me right now.”

“I’m not!” Maybe it wasn’t the whole truth—she couldn’t dance when people were watching and she didn’t have something to distract her—but she wasn’t lying.

Andre rubbed the crease out of his forehead. “Jesus. You dance all the fucking time!” he roared, standing so quickly his chair slid on the floor. He didn’t approach her, though. He stomped toward the door.

Imogen’s knees buckled. She’d seen him mad enough times before to know this was different. This wasn’t irritation with work or frustration that she wasn’t obeying. He was furious with her, a fury so pungent he was going to leave, and she didn’t know for how long. She didn’t know if he’d cool off in a couple minutes or if he’d be gone forever.

It couldn’t be forever. She couldn’t go back to playing house with Sal. She loved Sal but only as the most amazing friend she could ever have. It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t…fuck. This. This beautiful mess Andre had given her.

She stumbled forward, tripping on her heels and being saved from a rough fall only by Andre’s quick reflexes. “Don’t leave me!” she begged, her knees refusing to cooperate as she tried to right herself. She fought desperately to keep from panicking, but her diaphragm seized up and it felt like she couldn’t breathe. This couldn’t be it, not when it was something so stupid as stage fright.

Andre grabbed her arms and pushed her back onto her feet but didn’t let go. “You have no idea how badly I need to stay, but I can’t do this with you. For you to say that, now, of all goddamn times—you dance at work with everyone watching you. You dance when you cook dinner. You dance in the Engine all the fucking time when you think no one’s watching. And I know you’re self-conscious, I get it, but how can I possibly think you trust me when you lie to me about something so stupid?”

She buried her face in her hands. He was right, and on a logical level it really was the stupidest thing ever. Dance. Just dance. Swing the hips and shake the ass. So simple. And she knew he wouldn’t reject her for it, no matter how bad it was. But she also knew a cockroach couldn’t hurt her and still flipped out whenever one scurried by her. No matter how much she told herself to start swaying and the rest would happen, she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t dance unless the person she was with was—

“Dance with me?”

Andre tilted his head slightly.

“Please. I’ll dance if you dance with me. That’s all I ask.”

Andre seriously considered this before his lips turned up ever so slightly. She didn’t like his look, but at least he was staying. “Fine. But there will be payment for this.”

She wasn’t going to argue that. He directed her toward a leather strap suspended between two chains, and she didn’t protest that either. She wasn’t sure what to do with it though. It looked like a playground swing except it was too high in the air. She’d have to hop to sit in it and her feet wouldn’t touch the ground.

From Pandora’s Box, Andre pulled out a sealed bottle and a black, silicone object with a shape like an elongated mushroom. “Do you know what this is?”

“I’m not retarded,” she said, although she was hesitant to name it. The thing was tiny really, not even an inch at the narrowest part of the stem and two inches at the flare, far smaller than any of the attachments for her strap-on. Then again, this little guy went elsewhere, and she’d never done anything like that.

Andre picked up on her concern. “Tell me what it is, then.”

“A butt plug,” she said with as much confidence as she could muster.

“Good, good. This is your payment. If you’re going to dance with me, you’re going to dance with this as well.”

She followed his instructions to bend forward over the strap. It caught her at the waist and was wide enough that she could drape herself over it comfortably. In this position, she was able to keep her heels planted to the ground, but her imagination ran wild with the possibilities of what could happen if Andre used this for spanking…or other things.

He pulled her panties down just enough for access. He rubbed her cheeks, digging his fingers deep into the pliant flesh, and Imogen wasn’t embarrassed by her sigh or the dampness she felt in the crotch of the thong still nestled along her slit. She didn’t think there’d be much pleasure in what he was about to do, but she was okay with that.

He kissed one of her cheeks, and that was okay too. Only when he kissed her inner thigh just below the apex did she tense up.

“Ima,” he growled, his voice thick with warning.

“I trust you!” she said quickly. “It’s involuntary, I swear.” She didn’t even know why she had such a fear of oral sex. Whenever anyone got close she panicked, and that was it.

“I will never break your hard limit, Ima.”

“I know. I promise you, it’s not that. It’s just me. Please keep going.”

“Okay.” She heard the lid of the bottle pop. A moment later, she felt a single finger, slick with some sort of oil, circle her anus.

That was a little embarrassing.

He moved in slowly, ringing the smooth flesh around it and then the puckered star before pressing the pad of his fingertip at the entrance. “You ready?” he asked, the thickness in his voice definitely arousal this time.

“Yes.”

He pushed in just to the first knuckle. Her eyes fluttered open as her back stiffened, lifting her up enough that Andre had to put a firm hand on her spine to keep her from going back too far. She clenched around his finger, locking it there as her body struggled over whether this was awful or amazing. Definitely arousing, the way her top lip curled back and her hips strained back told her that, but the bead of sweat on her forehead was a cold one, a thin veneer of panic threatening to ruin this.

When she’d agreed to this on the contract, she’d thought of it as a compromise. She’d seen him eat Amanda out and he hadn’t been subtle about wanting to have sex with Imogen. Anal seemed like a good surrogate that wouldn’t be pleasurable enough for her to freak her out. But this was the first time in twelve years another person had been inside her, and he was so far away, connected to her only by that finger and the hand on her back. She was alone, nothing more than a vessel.

“Kiss me,” she whimpered.

His lips brushed against her hip. “You need to relax,” he said, but the tension in his voice was gone. Not a command, just advice.

“No, kiss me.”

Where he touched her she felt a quick vibration of a silent laugh. Then his hand moved up her back to her ponytail, grabbing it and tilting her head up enough that he could lean forward and reach her lips.

That was it right there. His kiss was damp and frenetic, exploratory nibbles and playful licks and little journeys along her jaw, and it was exactly what she needed to pull her from that dark, dirty corner of her mind. This was fun and normal, and she could laugh and relax and even wiggle her butt to encourage him to go deeper.

And it felt really good. Definitely weird and restricting—she wanted to press her back against his chest but couldn’t get the angle right—but it triggered all kinds of happy jolts. Especially when he hooked his finger and scraped it along the wall, pushing against the place he absolutely could not go but allowing her to imagine what that sensation might be.

She wrapped her arm around his neck to guide him back to her lips but couldn’t control her mouth to kiss properly. He didn’t seem to mind, instead licking her tongue and flicking her teeth and sliding his finger in and out slowly. When he added a second finger she reared back, forcing him deep inside. He pulled back out to the second knuckles, holding steady at the rim and parting his fingers enough to stretch her further.

It wasn’t nearly enough. She squirmed back, attempting to create the thrusting motion herself, but Andre wouldn’t allow that. He let go of her hair and let her drape back down so he could rub her back soothingly, and oh that distance ached.

“Kiss me,” she whined.

“Shh. You need to slow down. We have a long way to go, okay? You haven’t even danced for me yet. I think you’re ready for the plug, though.”

God, if the plug was like this there was no way she’d be able to dance. She wouldn’t be able to control herself. And she didn’t think the plug alone would make her come, but she needed Andre to dance with her and if he touched her in any of her sensitive spots, she was sure she’d explode.

The only thing that settled her was his fingers leaving her. She felt so hollow in that moment, so desperate to be filled again, that she’d gladly dance for it.

He drizzled oil directly on her hole, and the cool slick was divine. Then the pressure returned, this time the plug. He pushed it in only until he met resistance, giving Imogen a moment to clench her muscles and think about the sensation.

It wasn’t as warm as Andre, and the pliancy was uniform. No squishy, giving pad encasing solid bone, no firm curve of nail. The shape wasn’t so nice, either—she’d enjoyed the ripples at his knuckles. And it would go even deeper than his fingers, which sounded nice except the angle of it was a lot steeper than it looked. This was going to hurt.

She took a deep breath and nodded.

Instead of continuing, Andre startled her by yanking her back by her ponytail and claiming her lips roughly. She met his need, welcoming the bruises and forcing her tongue into his mouth this time and thanking the gods because this was the kiss she’d craved. This was what she’d missed desperately since he’d changed the terms of Hell.

In one smooth thrust, the plug was lodged deep inside her.

She cried out in pain, except there wasn’t any. It happened too quickly. It had definitely hurt, but by the time it registered in her brain it had already passed, replaced with an incredible sense of fullness. Completion. Not an orgasm, but a glow. Her eyelids weighed down as her body went limp.

“Don’t you dare pass out.”

“Mmm, kiss me.”

He chuckled. “You need to stand up.”

She shifted as the glow faded, bringing her awareness back to the plug. Such a peculiar thing. It felt good but foreign, something that shouldn’t be there and that her muscles should have been able to push out, but clenching only pushed it deeper—and not deep enough. “Kiss me and I’ll stand,” she murmured, ignoring the fact that in her limp position there wasn’t any way to even accomplish that kiss.

“Oh no. No more setting the terms for you. You won’t get a kiss until you stand, and you’re going to have to work way harder if you’re going to demand so many.”

That sounded okay. She straightened up, immediately collapsing against Andre as the plug grinded into…whatever…sending an explosion up her spine, into her brain, and liquefying her muscles. He coiled one arm around her waist, the other up from her bust to her shoulder, pinning her upright while her head lolled back on his shoulder.

“Are you fucking crazy?” he said, but she heard the laugh.

“Kiss me!”

He buried his face in the hollow of her shoulder, sealing his lips to her neck and sucking hard enough to leave an obvious mark.

“Oh my god, stop!” she squealed, even though it felt really good. In her current state, she couldn’t imagine anything not feeling good.

Even when he chomped down. “What did I tell you about that word?” he said as she squirmed away.

Her bottom lip jutted out. “Kiss me properly.”

Instead he spanked her playfully. “Don’t make me have to gag you. You’ve had your fun; now it’s my turn. Dance.”

She swung her hips as well as she could, but the tempo was too fast and it jarred the plug, making her wince. “A slower song?”

“Mmm, only if you ask properly.”

“Uhh, please may you…fuck, don’t make me grammar right now.”

He laughed and tightened his hold to a more proper embrace. “Not that. Use the magic word.”

Please. That was the magic word. But she’d said it already. And now he had her so snugly pressed against him his body was forcing the plug deeper, and he swayed to the most wonderful tempo and—“Master! Please, master.”

“That’s my girl.” He pulled the remote from his pocket and the music jumped to something slow and sultry, not the same song he’d played their first time in Heaven but maybe the same artist.

She found her beat and slithered in his arms in an ecstatic fog. Her hips undulated, her shoulders rolled, her head tipped back to invite Andre to kiss her neck again—preferably light pecks or even a lick to the hickey.

He did not oblige, but that was okay. He rumbled his approval, and she felt the vibration in her spine. His pleasure inside her, warming her as it numbed her system. She had to open her mouth to breathe and her arm involuntarily lifted. She dug her fingertips into her hair as her head rolled to the side, and even though it was her own hand, the sensation of it sliding down her neck and across her bare collarbones made her light headed. She felt along the lacy edge of her corset. Further still, the mounds beneath the sturdier material, too restricting to dig her fingers into but thin enough that if she swiped over her—

Andre batted her hand away. “You don’t touch yourself unless I tell you to.”

“Then tell me to!”

That earned her a much firmer, far less pleasant swat on the ass. “One more comment like that and you’re muzzled. So now that I’ve got you dancing, I’m going to sit down and watch.”

She felt cold the moment he let her go, but she closed her eyes and told herself she was alone in her room. With a butt plug. That made sense.

Thankfully, no more than a minute passed before Andre said, “Now come here and give me a lap dance.”

She approached him slowly, swaying her hips for show, the whole time trying to figure out how lap dances worked. She’d seen them in movies a couple times, but she watched pretty tame stuff. She’d never in her life been to a strip club, so she was flying blind.

And she certainly wasn’t going to say she couldn’t do it.

She recalled a scene where the dancer pulled the man’s tie and jiggled her breasts in his face. It seemed fun, but Andre was in a proper tux—Imogen didn’t even know how to unknot the bowtie. Well, it was called a lap dance for a reason, so she decided to start there. She turned and dropped her rear down on his thigh for exactly two seconds before she felt a squelch in her panties and hopped right back up. “You have to take your pants off!”

“Gag. Now.”

“No!” she whimpered. “I just mean, you’re in really nice pants and I’m all, you know, and I don’t want to…” Ulk. She wasn’t ashamed of what she was concerned about, she just never knew the appropriate words.

She exhaled in relief when Andre grinned broadly and stood up. “I don’t know what it is with you and laundry—seriously, it’s called a dry cleaner—but fair enough. Undress me.”

She blinked. She’d only seen him naked once, when they’d taken a bath together, but he’d let her be bashful and didn’t force her to look directly at him. There was the failed blow job, too, but that whole night was blurry.

He stood perfectly still as she pulled his jacket away and unbuttoned his vest. He spoke only when it was clear she was closer to strangling him than removing the bowtie, and then only to give instruction. They both held their breath as she unbuttoned his shirt. She was pretty sure the proper order would have been his belt and pants next, but she wasn’t ready for that. Instead she tugged his undershirt up, and he leaned forward so she could pull it over his head.

He straightened up, and she took a moment to appreciate his firm, defined chest. She reached out to touch his abdomen, and the muscles quivered in response.

She’d done that. She touched him, and he weakened for a moment.

She leaned forward to plant a soft kiss on his chest, but he held her back. “You know better than that. Now keep going.”

She unhooked his belt confidently, but her fingers fumbled on the zipper of his pants. She reminded herself there would still be another step, but the male body was weird and foreign, something she’d avoided for a long time. Despite the plug, this delay had quelled her some. She put on her brave face, dropped to her knees to tug his pants down, and looked up.

And grinned even as she blushed.

“Does something amuse you?” Andre asked, knowing damn well what had caught her attention.

“You’re hard,” she said, feeling very stupid over that but not sure how else to respond.  She’d worn boxer briefs herself for a time before the more feminine boycuts had come out, but now she saw they were wasted on her. Clearly they were meant to make an aroused male irresistible to the female.

He shrugged. “I work out a lot.”

“Not that! Your…you know.”

“I think it’s time for big-girl words, don’t you?”

She refused to agree with that but didn’t want to be reprimanded, so she rose to her feet and prayed he wouldn’t push the issue.

He grabbed her by the waist, pulled her to him, and pushed the issue against her stomach. “What’s hard, Ima? There are plenty of suitable words, pick your poison.”

There were plenty of words, but they were all crude or childish or scientific or stupidly euphemistic. And unnecessary. She was positive she could banter genitals for hours and never name a single part. But she had to say something, so she closed her eyes and squeaked out, “Cock!”

“Mmm, that’s a good one.” He nudged it against her again. “And how did you describe it?”

Damn him, he was going to draw this out. She steeled herself against her embarrassment and looked him right in the eyes as she said, “Your cock is hard.”

This earned her a kiss, too sweet and too short but a kiss was always nice.

“And now, that little guy that’s been making you squirm so much, where is he?”

She deflated slightly. He was drawing it out to the bitter end. “My ass.”

“Is it more comfortable than it was when I first put it in?”

“Yes.”

“Why is that?”

She didn’t know the answer immediately. She’d gotten used to it; that was all. Stimulation faded over time. Her body had accommodated it, giving it—Holy crap, she’d never before considered the purpose of a plug. “It stretched my ass.”

Another kiss. “That’s right. And do you know why my cock is hard right now?”

Because she was mostly naked and now he was, too, and because she danced all sexy for him and because she was aroused and there were pheromones at work and because they hadn’t gotten close to this in too long and…but she had no idea what to say.

He leaned down and whispered in her ear, “Because it wants to be in that tight little ass of yours. Do you want my hard cock in your tight little ass?”


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