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.

Chapter9 (v.1) - The Bunda

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: April 10, 2015

Reads: 1416

Comments: 2

A A A | A A A

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: April 10, 2015



"This no me! I no here!"

Andre had no idea what Volda was talking about. Her words flowed in a cacophonic jumble of Portuguese, broken Spanish, and even worse English while she jabbed her monitor so hard it threatened to topple over.

What she jabbed at was a log of actions performed on her computer. Why this was open Andre didn't know. The log was tedious and pointless to peruse. It existed only in case critical files went missing, and that pretty much never happened.

Andre scratched the back of his head. The week had gone really well. LE's stocks had seen a major bump after the console they collaborated with announced an upgrade release date in less than a month—just in time for Black Friday. Despite being PC, not console, Terreign saw a jump in its expansion's presales, as well. Even better, the testing team working on the console version of Dragynfyre had finally gotten through a major glitch, thanks partially to its newest member.

Who he had fully planned on taking to lunch when he'd gotten Volda's emergency call.

"Why are you showing me this?" Andre asked calmly.

"Listen, sweet potato, I no do this. Or this."

She was pointing at two instances of the computer waking from sleep mode then going back to sleep five minutes later.

What he wanted to tell Volda was he'd rather not be called 'sweet potato' by a crazy Brazilian woman old enough to be his mother, but instead he said, "You are pointing at nothing." When she looked blankly at him, he pointed at the line and said, "Ici? Nada." His success rate at sandwiching what he knew of Spanish and remembered from high school French was dubious, but he ran with it.

"No!" Volda followed it with a string of rapid Portuguese containing what he was positive was at least a half dozen racial slurs. Thankfully she was the most self-sufficient level editor Andre had ever worked with; on the average day they communicated entirely via sketches and complex hand motions bordering on sign language.

"Volda!" Andre finally shouted over her rant. "Oh my God, shut up. Your cubicle," he said, shaking the wall, "is next to,"—running across the walkway to slam his hand against the metal door, "the elevator. Someone wanted to check,"—running back and jabbing the corner of the screen, "the time." Holding up two fingers. "Twice."

"Someone steal from me! Some buceta locca steal me computer!"

Andre rubbed the back of his head more vigorously. "How?! What are you talking about?" Yet again he pointed at the lines with the waking and sleeping messages. "Sleep! Awake! Nada between!"

Volda narrowed her eyes. "I know they steal."

Andre lifted his hands in defeat before pulling his phone out and calling down to the testing room, only to have it ring through to voice mail. "Fucking hell," he hissed before calling security.

"Where's all my testers?" he barked while he called for the elevator. "No one's answering in the Corral."

There was a pause, then the guard said, "They appear to be in the Arena, sir."

"All of them?"

"Looks that way."

"Does no one actually work here?"

"I do, sir."


Through the glass windows of the Arena, an employee lounge furnished with several multiplayer games for good-natured competitions, Andre could see at least thirty of his staff. This wasn't surprising; he could hear the cheers before the elevator doors even opened.

He shoved his way through the crowd to see what was so exciting everyone had thrown their deadlines out the window. Most simply shifted to let him through, but those who actually looked at him quickly fled.

Understandably so. The group had gathered around an old, arcade style dancing game. One platform was occupied by Kimi, who took the Asian stereotypes to a whole new level by styling her hair into at least six pigtails, wearing Hello Kitty clothes clearly designed for 6 year olds, and speaking in so high a voice it made dogs bark.

Kimi was born in Detroit and of Turkish descent, but Andre didn't call her out on that. Nor did he for her moves. She may have had the body of a pre-pubescent boy, but the girl knew how to dance on a gigantic controller synched to a video game. She was the undisputed office champ, and right now she was getting trounced.

By Imogen. Andre was positive she'd showed up to work that morning in casual pants, a basic blouse, and a well-worn cardigan, but now she was in yoga pants and a ribbed tank top. The outfit was form-fitting, leaving absolutely nothing to Andre's—or anyone else's—imagination.

And in case anything was up for question, she dropped her hands down onto the platform and managed a running bounce on the balls of her feet. Andre was pretty sure the game had intended for her to anchor one foot in the front and toe tap back and forth, not twerk for her coworkers.

And holy shit, could she move that ass.

"Negros gostam de grandes bundas, eh?"

Andre craned his head back to find Volda directly behind him. He didn't respond to her, though. He really wasn't in the mood to file an HR complaint against his Lead Level Editor. Not today.

He had to end this, but Kimi was already trying to mimic Imogen's move and the stupid, caveman part of Andre's brain refused to cooperate. Both girls had their hands down and their bundas up and, well, there was a reason this position was mentioned so frequently in dance music.

And then everyone except Kimi and Imogen realized he was standing right there and simmering in what could have just easily been rage or jealousy as lust, and everyone quietly backed away.

Imogen looked up to see why the room had fallen silent. Her cheeks were flushed from exertion, her whole body still swayed with kinetic energy, and the quirk to her lips was every bit as devilish as Andre's glare. Oh, she knew exactly what she was doing.

Volda elbowed him in the ribcage. "E mamas grandes, eh?" To clarify, she patted her chest.

"Fuck's sake, Volda."

She winked at him and walked away.

Andre motioned for Imogen to come over, but she pretended to ignore him in favor of bending down to grab a bottle of water. "Imogen, my dear," he said through gritted teeth.

Her smirk spread further. "Andre, my...lemmikins."

Several of Andre's employees snickered before dispersing.

"May I ask what you're doing?" Andre said when only a handful of stragglers remained. "I thought we had lunch plans."

Imogen used the hem of her shirt to wipe the sweat from her forehead. It didn't seem like a deliberate show this time, but the only thing keeping those stragglers from seeing just as much of Imogen as Andre had in the Engine was her pastel sports bra. "I know, I'm sorry! I've been going to the gym after work, but we have that thing tonight and I didn't want to break the habit. I was just gonna get some cardio done here before lunch, but then I ran into Kimi and lost track of time."

"And your clothes?"

She nodded toward a duffel bag next to the game system. "I changed. Not like I was gonna work out in a cardigan."

Andre noted that the stragglers who had been making their way to the door now hesitated. The majority of his staff was, predictably, lacking in finer social skills or experienced with dating. Andre felt like a lion hunting a gazelle in front of a National Geographic film crew. He closed the gap between them and forced a smile on his face as he said, "Then you take the cardigan off. I don't want you in here in tight clothes again."

Imogen grabbed her bag and his arm and dragged him to the ladies' restroom, where she locked the door behind them before closing herself into the handicapped stall.

"Christ, how many rumors are you trying to start?" Andre grumbled.

"None," Imogen called through the door, her voice muffled as she pulled her shirt off. "There are literally no rumors left to start. Benji thinks you have a sex swing specially designed for us to use during raids, the entire Moderator crew is trying to figure which private server we use for kinky role play, and Kimi has suggested several costumers who can make me conduit costumes with easy access to, you know, my goods."

Andre had known bringing Imogen in as a tester would put her directly in the line of fire, but he'd figured it would be more than a week before she was actively shot at. "And what did you tell them?"

"That we prefer your sex dungeon to sexy gaming." When Andre made a sound of distress, she peeked her head out of the stall. "Why, was that not the right thing to say?" Then she grinned and locked herself back in. "Anyway, I just brought you in here so I could ask about the jealous boyfriend thing. I didn't realize you were gonna play it that route. Do you want to push that persona? Because I can do more things like that if you want. Or if you just want to keep the boys away, I'll tone it down. Up to you."

The jealous boyfriend persona. Is that what just happened? No, he was acting like a normal boyfriend whose girlfriend was deliberately flaunting her goods. Imogen was out of line. "I'm not jealous! I just don't get why you're antagonizing me."

"What on Earth are you talking about? I was just playing DDR in work-out clothes. What's the big deal?"

"Why do you think everyone was watching you? Because they wanted to see who won? You're not stupid, Imogen."

"No, I'm not. Kimi's skirt is so short I saw her Hello Kitty panties every time she jumped, but you didn't care about that." She suddenly gasped. Again she peeked out. "Oh my God, you were actually for-real jealous! Aww, that's so sweet. Completely unnecessary, but sweet. I won't use the DDR here anymore, okay? But seriously, even if you had anything to worry about, you wouldn't have anything to worry about. Does that make sense?"

"We're not dating, and you're a lesbian. Got it."

Imogen shrugged and closed the door to finish dressing. "Uhh, yeah. That's it."

There was that awkwardness between them again. Every time he said that she closed up like he'd said something wrong. It wasn't like he mentioned it frequently, and every time he did it was because she'd somehow brought it up. It certainly wasn't a taunt or said without context; even a reference to her relationship with Sal elicited a negative response.  He sighed and rubbed the back of his head. "Hey, you wanna blow the rest of the day off? We'll get lunch and catch a movie or something before the Piedmont auction?"

She was silent, which was uncomfortable. Despite being a handful, he enjoyed having her around. He didn't know if her silence meant she was put off by his work ethic or irritated that she was now expected to do spontaneous movie outings with him.

Then she said, "Uh, yeah. I finished testing my board already. I was gonna start on Monday's board, but I guess I can do that Monday. What did you want to see?"


Imogen didn't realize how late it was until she pulled into her parking lot and saw Sal's car already there. She cringed and parked in the first spot available, then yanked her heels off and sprinted up the stairs. She found Sal in her room, reading a book.

Imogen frowned. "I thought we were raiding tonight."

Sal glanced over the pages. "Hon, the raid started an hour ago. You said you'd be home before midnight and it's nearly two. It's cool, though. I wasn't really in the Terreign mood tonight."

Imogen sat down next to her. "I'm really sorry. They had this, umm, bachelor auction thing. I was supposed to buy Andre, but then this bitch kept outbidding me so I bought her date instead. We all ended up going out for drinks afterward and it turns out--"


"Two," Imogen said firmly. "One at the auction, one at the club. Just so my hands weren't empty."

Sal leaned in close. Imogen didn't bother to act like she didn't know Sal was smelling her breath and checking her pupils. Sobriety had been a hard fought battle, returning to a point where one drink didn't turn into ten drinks was just as challenging.

"Well, you look sober enough," Sal decided with a quick kiss on Imogen's cheek.

Which wasn't nearly as satisfying as the kisses she'd received from Andre at every possible moment that night. He may not have considered himself a jealous boyfriend, but Imogen couldn't imagine Sal ever marking her territory so blatantly. Not that Sal would. Even if things were more conventional between them, Sal wouldn't have been so threatened by a silly charity auction.

Imogen grinned and leaned closer to Sal. "You know what else I am?"

Sal's gaze lowered to the swell of Imogen's breasts over the fitted bodice of her dress. She'd packed a casual sundress for the evening, but Andre had insisted on buying her something more flattering. He'd picked this dress to prove he was okay with her in snug clothing as long as it wasn't at work, but Imogen suspected he wanted to see as much of her cleavage as possible.

As had Morty Sharp. Hence the pissing contest at the club.

"You had at least two men ogling you all night," Sal said with a lick of her lips. "I can guess."

This was a good sign. Imogen leaned in a little more, stopping a breath away and waiting for Sal's nod before kissing her full, plum lips. Sal kissed back, so Imogen took the initiative to squeeze her bicep gently through the sleeve. Only when she dropped her hand down and touched bare skin did Sal shake her head and lean away.

"Sorry," Imogen whispered.

"It's okay. Rough day at work. But if you want to have fun, I'll have fun."

"Your fun?" Imogen asked, using their carefully crafted code language. They’d made many attempts—mostly at their therapists’ requests—to be direct, but it never worked.

“Are you sure you don’t want fun?” Sal asked just as carefully.

Imogen shook her head. “Not…not now. Maybe later?”

Sal hugged her briefly. “We’ll decide later, then.”

Imogen kissed Sal once more before getting out of bed to close the bedroom door. She was about to grab the necessary supplies from the cabinet when she felt Sal’s hand on her back between her shoulder blades. She rubbed Imogen’s neck in gentle circles as she pulled the zipper down and let the dress pool on the floor.

“He took you shopping for lingerie?”

Imogen laughed lightly. “I couldn’t wear the bra I had. I was just gonna buy a strapless one, but Andre gave me his credit card and he pissed me off at work, so I got this instead. That’s what girlfriends do when they’re mad at their boyfriends, right? Buy overpriced lingerie?”

“Mmm, I’m just glad I’m the one who gets to see it. I don’t think most boyfriends would consider this a punishment.”

Sal ran her fingers along the finely tailored seams of the exquisite corset. The sales lady had tried to talk Imogen into one in crimson or black, but she was pleased with her choice in lavender. Sal spun Imogen around, her smile sultry as she continued her tactile inspection. Her fingers danced down the boning and around the underwiring, cupping Imogen’s breasts and squeezing just enough that Imogen couldn’t resist closing her eyes and leaning against the door.

Sal brought her lips down to the soft, translucent swells while she took her time unclasping each of the hooks running down the center. Imogen fought back the urge to touch Sal by lacing her fingers behind her back, but her skin was burning up.

It wasn’t fair. She wanted to dig her fingers into Sal’s hair and rub her neck and kiss her collarbone and gently suck on her breast, just like Sal now did. And she wanted to stretch Sal out on the bed and explore her body properly, as lovers did. But she couldn’t now and she never would, and it was ridiculous to expect it. She was sure Sal wanted to do more, too. They were lucky to have found each other, two people who couldn’t possibly explain their limits to someone who hadn’t lived their lives.

So she touched herself instead of Sal, rubbing the silk covering her thighs as she released the stockings from the garter, appreciating the soft lace before the corset fell away, squeezing her own breasts while Sal kissed them. This worked. It was as good as Imogen was ever going to get, and it was pretty fucking good.

Until it wasn’t anymore. Until she needed something she couldn’t get and there was only one solution. “How do…how do you want it?” she gasped on shortened breath.

“Just a minute,” Sal murmured, dropping to her knees to run a trail of kisses down Imogen’s belly. She lingered there, nudging with her nose the slight swell Imogen could never get rid of before sliding over to the dip of Imogen’s waist. Her hands gripped Imogen’s thighs, and she looked up and said, “You really are amazing, you know that?”

Imogen didn’t agree, especially when Sal’s thumbs skimmed the bottom seam of her panties. She tensed up and dug her nails into the door, telling herself she could do this. This was okay. Sal wouldn’t go too far, she was just rubbing Imogen’s hips. And Imogen’s panties were boys’ cut; if she was in bikinis, Sal’s thumbs would have been on exposed skin.

She was fine.

She was fine.

Sal’s thumbs slid further up, along the crease leading toward Imogen’s center. Her knees buckled, her toes curled, her brain lit up in painful flares.

She wasn’t fine.

But she didn’t say no, either. She could do this. She just had to make sure Sal didn’t hear her whimper.

And then Sal said, “My brave little toaster,” and let go.

“You’re such a bitch,” Imogen breathed out, but it ended with a laugh.

Sal kissed her belly one last time. “You’re really working on this. I’m proud of you.”

Sal flicked the light switch, plunging them into dark. By the time Imogen's eyes had adjusted enough to see the silhouettes of the furniture, she heard the squeak of springs as Sal landed on the mattress.

They'd done this enough times Imogen didn't need any light to make it to the armoire. She pulled the bottom drawer open and grabbed her harness while she felt around for the various attachments.

"Are you gonna be a brave little toaster, too?" she asked.

Silence, and then, "no."

Imogen sighed and set the rabbit back down, selecting a smaller, simple dildo instead. By the time she returned to the bed, she had secured it and fastened the harness around her waist. Sal had already taken her pants off and was in position, so Imogen decided not to push it and spread the lubricant on the attachment herself.

"Are you ready?" she asked.

Sal gave her assent before Imogen knelt between her legs and probed her carefully, spreading her folds and feeling the slick dew pooling there. When she slid her middle finger into the depths and scraped it along the swollen inner mound, Sal reared back.

"Fuck, now!" she begged.

Imogen smacked Sal's ass playfully, took one last swipe to make sure she was wet enough, then slammed into her, sliding the dildo deep inside.

"Oh God, oh God!" Sal squealed as she pushed back. "Hard!"

Imogen grinned and grabbed Sal's hips firmly, knowing Sal wouldn't protest now. When she felt the rippled patch of grafted skin on Sal's right side, she adjusted. She didn't mind touching the scar, but she didn't want Sal mad at her for it later.

After a couple rough grinds, they found a deep, rapid rhythm, interrupted only when Imogen realized Sal had a hand between her legs. She buried the dildo deep enough she could reach around and grab Sal's wrist.

"I got this," Imogen snapped. She needed this. She hated to admit it, but she couldn't stop thinking of Amanda. The girl's feet had been bound to her knees, she'd clearly been on the brink of an orgasm, and yet she'd had enough control over herself that she could balance over Andre, even pleasure him. If she could do that, Imogen could at least make her girlfriend cum.

And she did. Suddenly Sal was pushing back with all her might and then shimmying away, but Imogen gripped on and thrust twice more to prove her point. She could do this. Maybe not as a woman, but as…something not dead.

And then she let Sal collapse. She lay down on the other side of the bed, wishing they could cuddle. Sal touched her arm and Imogen thought maybe, finally, they could sleep in each other's arms, but then Sal said, "Your turn."

"What? No."

"Yes." Sal unclasped the harness and let the strap-on drop to the floor before she maneuvered herself between Imogen's legs. "Come on, you have to."

Imogen swallowed hard. Sal was right; she did have to. Even without the egg she could attach to the inside of the harness, she'd worked herself up enough she wouldn't be able to sleep if she didn’t at least try.

Sal rubbed her shoulders and kissed her jaw just below her ear. "Come on, baby. You can do this. You can do anything."

Well, that was a lie, but she could do this. She allowed Sal to take her hand and guide it to her waistband before releasing it so Imogen could go the rest of the way herself.

She bit down on her lip as she reached down just to her clit, wet and swollen, awaiting release.

"Go on," Sal urged.

Imogen stared up at the ceiling, doing her best to shut her brain off to everything except her finger worrying the sensitive nub and Sal's mouth back on her nipple. If Andre could trust Amanda with his…whatnot…in her mouth while she came, Imogen could certainly trust Sal when she was merely being helpful.

It all felt good, absolutely. Great. Like something Imogen should do way more often than she did. And she was oh, so close. She was alive and real and her body was her own and the stars behind her eyelids were beautiful and…

And then she felt a flash like the smack of a hand on her face. "No!" she choked, fighting it off, but once the phantom nightmare grabbed her it was impossible to shake off.

Sal put her hands on either side of Imogen's face, forcing their eyes to lock. "Don't you do that, baby," she snapped. "Don't you let him in. You deserve this, okay?"

Imogen nodded, but it was too late. She wasn't going to get her orgasm tonight. Thankfully, she was used to that. He was always there, hiding in the periphery, making sure she couldn’t ever be real. Making sure she was only ever his good little girl.

She waited until Sal was asleep before grabbing her dress and corset, returning to her bedroom, and logging in to Terreign. It wasn’t like she was going to find rest tonight.

© Copyright 2018 chloecomplains. All rights reserved.


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