Tested by Her Web Master (Web Master #2)

by Normandie Alleman

  Those evil taps from the ruler went on and on and on. Usually I would focus on my breathing and managing the pain, but in this instance I was also concerned about not falling back on my feet, or shoving that hook any farther in my anal passage than it already was. Trying to think about all those different things at once had my head swimming.

  Just when I was starting to consider complaining, or even using my safeword, he stopped.

  I exhaled and tried to hold my hands up in the air. They were growing tired and as I stretched them a little, the ball in my bottom rubbed up and down inside me. Despite myself, I moaned a little.

  “I knew my whore would love having that up her ass,” he rasped against my neck before nipping at my delicate skin with his teeth.

  “Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”

  “Do you think you can stay up on your toes if I let you come now?”

  “Can I rest my calves for just a minute?” I wanted desperately for him to let me come.

  “I don’t know, can you?”

  God, he sounded like one of those teachers who used such language as a prompt to get their students to say “may I” instead of “can I”. I’d always hated teachers like that so he made me want to slap him. But, of course, I couldn’t do that with my arms bound above my head. So instead I just groaned and picked up one foot at a time, stretching it, bending it, trying to relieve the muscle tension that threatened to turn to cramping.

  As he moved in front of me and knelt again between my legs, I experienced the fresh realization that he was wearing the clothes he wore to church, minus the jacket and tie. He’d removed those when he rolled up his shirtsleeves and went to work, but seeing him on his knees in his clothes, playing with my naked body, sparked a fresh spike of lust between my legs so that when he pressed his lips against mine, it took everything I had not to let go and hang limp from that rope above.

  Of course I couldn’t or I might wind up with puncture wounds in my feet that would probably be difficult to manage so I didn’t. Instead I locked my legs, pretended I was a sexy ballerina on pointe and this man between my legs was the dominant dance director who was so taken with me that he couldn’t resist tying me up and devouring my pussy.

  His appetite was voracious, and so intent with his cunnilingus he only stopped for a moment to mutter, “Did you know that there are eighty-one different parts of the clitoris? And they’re all designed exclusively for pleasure?”

  “Mmmm,” was all I could manage as I swung my head from side to side, relishing every moment of his attention as his tongue lapped at my most delicate parts.

  Then he shoved a digit into my soaked pussy and then another. My eyes flew open and roused me from my reverie. He laid one hand on my rear end and pressed me to his mouth, while the other hand began to rapidly fuck me.

  Hard.

  He worked me like a professional, fingers fucking, tongue flicking across my now-swollen clit. Back and forth, in and out, up and down. My nipples strained against the air, and I could feel the earth beginning to crumble underneath me.

  “May I please come, Sir?”

  “Come now!” he barked then went back to pleasuring me.

  It was one of the most delicious orgasms I can remember. Maybe because it was a special night. Maybe because of the crazy bondage situation, or maybe because Quentin’s technique was so good. For whatever reason, I felt like I’d been released from a spaceship into an atmosphere that consisted entirely of glitter and stars and pink puffs of air that let me float and glide along—the queen of the realm. The rapturous waves of heaven washed over and over me until finally I could feel him untying my arms.

  Suddenly I realized I was on my feet, my flat feet, and it didn’t hurt. At some point he’d moved the forks out from underneath me. He held me now and plucked the hook from my butt. I grimaced, might have groused a little, but I was happy to have that thing out of there. He walked me to the sofa and sat me down on it.

  “You look so beautiful here, tonight, bathed in the light from the tree.”

  The Christmas tree shone in the corner, providing a silent witness to our shared depravity on that holy night. But I should have known not to expect reverence from my Master. Just moments later, he smacked me on the bottom with his bare hand. “Now go in the other room. Get up on that bed of yours, on your knees. Ass in the air. Then I’m going to come fuck the shit outta you, girl.”

  It was a Merry Christmas indeed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The brunch the next morning with my parents went well.

  Truly, I couldn’t have asked for anything better. My boyfriend (because I wasn’t about to call him my Master to my family) and I had a lovely time making nice with them, but we were even happier when it was over so we could go back to my house and get into more naughty trouble together.

  “I think my father likes you,” I said on the drive from my parents’ house to mine.

  Quentin grinned. “I like him, too.”

  “I think he’s starved for the chance to have another guy in the family. More testosterone to keep him from being outnumbered by Bunny and me.”

  “I can see that.”

  I tucked my hand under his arm and hugged him to me. “It’s really nice—you spending all this time with my family over the holidays.”

  “For me, too.”

  I didn’t want to think of what Quentin would be doing if spending time with me and my family wasn’t a possibility. Would he have just worked through the holiday, acting as if it were any other day?

  When we got to the house he made slow, leisurely love to me on a blanket in front of the Christmas tree. No hitting, spanking, caning, flogging. Nothing but simple, vanilla, white bread sex and as I looked into his eyes, it was perfect.

  Our mouths on each other. Me opening my legs to accept him. Hands caressing each other’s skin. Him entering me and pulsing inside me with leisurely strokes that built slowly to a fire that could only be quenched by our love as we clung tightly to each other, wringing the pleasure from our bodies.

  Because all we needed was each other. We needed to join our bodies, to move together as one, but the most essential thing was being together.

  There would be plenty of time for him to play most creative Dom of the year. Plenty of time for him to impress me, and do new and exciting things to me. But that afternoon I didn’t miss his inventive scenes and his magic tricks.

  All I wanted was his soul.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Shelby’s face had that cat-that-ate-the-canary look and I could tell she was about to bust open with her news. It was the middle of January and she and Bryan had asked me to brunch. Always a sucker for a mimosa, I was happy to join them, and now it felt like the meal was turning into an occasion of sorts.

  “What is it?” I asked, feeling the corners of my mouth turning up already. My friend’s happiness was infectious.

  Her left hand shot out toward me, and the enormous hunk of ice on her ring finger threatened to blind me.

  “Shelby, it’s gorgeous!”

  “Isn’t it?” When she finished admiring the pear-shaped bling-fest, she tucked her hand back in the crook of Bryan’s arm.

  “I’m so happy for you.” I leaned over to hug them both. Neither of them could stop beaming. The pair were shooting out rays of sunshine almost as bright as that ring. Was this what Spencer and I had looked like at one time? It seemed impossible.

  “We wanted you to be one of the first to know.” Shelby tilted her head to Bryan, then back to me. “After my mom of course. We told her last night.”

  “And is she happy?”

  “Thrilled! She loves Bryan.”

  “That’s great. I’ll bet she’s hoping for some grandbabies.” As soon as I said the words, I wished I could take them back. Though she’d never mentioned it, I knew Shelby had probably dealt with the whole “all my friends have babies except me” thing that plagued girls in their late twenties in our circle. When Spencer and I’d been married, I’d grown ti
red of being the only married woman without kids. Having to listen to people say “it’ll be your turn soon” and the like got on my nerves. I was sure Shelby felt the same way, and now here I was sounding just like one of those baby-pushers. What was wrong with me?

  But Shelby just shrugged and grinned sheepishly at Bryan. “She is!”

  “Oh my God! You’re not pregnant already are you?” My stomach clenched. I seemed intent on stepping in it.

  “No, silly. But maybe one day.” Shelby’s entire demeanor was different. My wild, party girl chum appeared the picture of placid domesticity. Could Bryan actually have tamed Shelby Carr? It didn’t seem possible. Perhaps her new state would only be temporary. But for her sake I hoped the insane happiness I was observing would last.

  “And,” she tugged at my arm, “we want you to be my matron of honor!”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, and we’re getting married in Hawaii!”

  “Hawaii? Sign me up! When?”

  “June. Bryan has a break in his racing schedule so we’re taking a few days to go down there. It will be a quick honeymoon, but we’re looking forward to it.”

  “I can imagine. It sounds wonderful, Shelby. Anything you need, let me know. I’ll be happy to help.”

  For the rest of the brunch I basked in the glow of Shelby and her new fiancé. I was happy for her, I truly was.

  But as I drove home, I felt lonelier than I had since Spencer and I divorced.

  A gray mood stayed with me the rest of the day, despite my friend’s news and the fact that it was a lovely January day outside—crisp but not too cold. I walked Felix, hoping the nice sweater weather would buoy my spirits, but that tactic proved unsuccessful.

  When I returned home I went to my default setting, which was logged into the internet. Occasionally I considered the fact that I probably needed more of a life than the online one I had, but I always pushed those concerns aside. I had friends…

  One who’s about to get married, a niggling voice in the back of my head hissed. I volunteered at the library during the summer helping adults learn to read. I spent a reasonable amount of time with my parents. Our weekly dinners might be too much time in fact. But I worked all week, and I flew to Seattle to see Quentin a couple of weekends a month. Or he came to visit me. I didn’t have time for much else, did I?

  But I hadn’t seen Quentin since Christmas three weeks ago and even though I was supposed to visit him the following weekend, if I was honest with myself sometimes it felt like we were drifting apart.

  My head felt heavy from the drinks I’d had celebrating that morning with Shelby and Bryan, so I decided to take a nap after I checked my email. I brought my laptop with me into the bedroom and lay down on the bed.

  A chat message popped up from BA.

  This made me prop up on one elbow.

  BA: Hey, what are you doing?

  Sophie: Nothing. Just got back from lunch. Was about to take a nap.

  BA: Want to fool around?

  This made me smile. And I typed my response lazily with one hand.

  Sophie: Not really in the mood.

  BA: What? Is that how a sub is supposed to respond to her Master?

  Sophie: Lol. You asked me a question. I answered.

  BA: Good point. Why aren’t you in the mood? That doesn’t sound like you.

  Sophie: True. I dunno. Just a little bummed.

  BA: What’s wrong?

  Sophie: A friend of mine is getting married.

  BA: Isn’t that a good thing?

  Sophie: You would think.

  BA: ???

  Sophie: I am happy for her. Actually, it’s my friend who was held hostage that time. Remember?

  BA: Yeah, I remember. Now she’s getting married. Wow!

  Sophie: Yeah. I guess that near-death experience really did a number on her.

  BA: Sounds like it.

  Sophie: I mean, whenever you almost lose something, it makes you feel like you need to guard it. Protect it. Appreciate it. You know?

  BA: Yeah, I do. I’ve heard of that happening to people. You know, they almost lost something so they vow to do whatever they can not to let that happen.

  Sophie: The whole “life’s too short” thing.

  BA: Yeah. So what is it about her getting engaged that bothers you?

  Sophie: I guess I’m jealous. As soon as I typed the words, I wished I could have them back. Instead I added:

  Don’t say anything to MC.

  BA: I won’t. But you want him to propose to you?

  Sophie: I’m not sure I’m ready for that, but I want him to want to. You know?

  BA: We all want to be wanted, Sophie. There’s nothing wrong with that.

  Sophie: It feels wrong. I think my feelings are stronger than his, and I’m not sure he will ever catch up.

  BA: You may be wrong about that. Anyway, you’re human. There’s nothing wrong with having those feelings.

  Sophie: The thing is— I’m not even sure I want to get married again. My first marriage was such a disaster. I wasn’t smart in who I picked. I don’t want to make that same mistake again.

  BA: I understand.

  Sophie: What about you? Are you worried you’ll pick the wrong person again?

  BA: Lol. I don’t think I could possibly do as bad a job choosing a partner as I did last time.

  Sophie: But when we picked those people we thought they were right. How could we have been so wrong?

  BA: That’s a good question.

  Sophie: It’s depressing.

  BA: It doesn’t have to be.

  Sophie: How’s that?

  BA: You could view it as an opportunity to do it right the next time.

  Sophie: Ah, so you’re a glass-half-full kinda guy?

  BA: Maybe. I just know that Quentin cares a lot about you. Maybe you’re just not to that place in your relationship yet. You said yourself you weren’t sure if you wanted to get married. It doesn’t sound like you’re one hundred percent ready for that step.

  I sighed. He had a point.

  Sophie: You’re probably right.

  BA: Of course I am.

  Sophie: Lol. Thanks for talking me down from the ledge.

  BA: Anytime.

  Sophie: But what about you? Have you started dating anyone?

  There was a long pause before he responded.

  BA: Not yet, but I plan to soon.

  Sophie: What are you waiting for?

  BA: My confidence to come back.

  Sophie: How’s that going?

  BA: It’s improving, working with you. That helps. Makes me feel worthy of a good woman, I guess.

  Sophie: Awww. That’s sweet. Thanks!

  BA: No. I should be thanking you. Why don’t you let me thank you? I can walk you through a pleasure session.

  I didn’t know how to respond. I’d already said I didn’t want to, but now there seemed no real reason to say no. Why not? He just said I was helping build his confidence.

  Sophie: Okay.

  BA: Go get your favorite vibe, a pair of clothespins, and a spatula.

  I retrieved the items he requested.

  Sophie: Got it.

  BA: Now I want you to get naked. Play with those ample breasts of yours until your nipples are hard and aching. Then I want you to clamp those hard little titties with those clothespins.

  Sophie: Ouch. Yes, Sir.

  BA: Now I want you to spread those legs wide. You may play with your pussy with your fingers until I say stop, starting NOW!

  I had no idea how long this was going to be so I hurriedly worked myself into an aroused state—fingering, stroking, rubbing until I was nice and wet. Ready for whatever else he wanted me to do.

  BA: Stop.

  Sophie: Yes, Sir.

  BA: Now, I want you to spank that pussy with that spatula. Do it ten times, thank me after each one. Let me know when you are finished.

  I took a deep breath and began. It took me a few swats to get the right angle and the right amou
nt of pressure. I knew it should hurt, but not too badly. Each strike felt hot against my pussy. It smarted, but there was something arousing about it as well.

  BA: Spank that little clit. Do it!

  I smacked my crotch again and again until I got to number ten, saying, “Thank you, Sir” after each one.

  Sophie: Done. Thank you, Sir.

  BA: You are such a good girl, Sophie. What color is your pussy now?

  Sophie: Pink.

  BA: I love that. Smack it again three times and see if you can make it red for me.

  I whimpered, but did as he asked, swatting myself harder and deepening the color of my skin several shades.

  Sophie: Yes, Sir. Done. Thank you, Sir.

  BA: Is it nice and red?

  Sophie: Yes, Sir.

  BA: Good girl. Now you’ve earned your pleasure. Unclamp those nipples then shove that vibrator in your cunt. Turn it on. Use whatever speed you choose. Play with your nipples, your clit, your ass, whatever you want. But make yourself come.

  Sophie: Thank you, Sir.

  I turned my vibrator to my favorite setting and soon lost myself in the rhythmic sensations of my battery-operated mate. It only took a few minutes for me to climax.

  Sophie: Thank you for the task. I came hard for you, Sir.

  It was a quick session. But I loved every minute of it, and it did the trick. When I lay panting on my bed afterward, my mind was cleared of all the things that had been bothering me.

  Sophie: Thank you, Sir.

  BA: You’re welcome, Sophie.

  Sophie: Did you come?

  I felt a little shy asking, but since we’d done it through chat I wasn’t sure and I wanted to know.

  BA: Yes. You do that to me.

  I blushed.

  Sophie: Thank you, Sir.

  BA: You’re welcome. Goodnight, Sophie. Sweet Dreams.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR