Claimed by Her Web Master (Web Master #3)

by Normandie Alleman

  Women really did get a raw deal most of the time.

  It was ironic that I was thinking about sexism when I heard the doctor ask Sophie, “Would you like to meet your daughter?”

  Sophie had wanted to wait to find out the sex of the baby, and I’d gone along with her desire for it to be a surprise. But, at the same time, I’d forgotten all about it because I’d been convinced we were having a boy.

  “It’s a girl?” I asked and moved to the bassinet where the nurse worked on the red, screeching infant.

  I’d been so convinced it would be a boy that it took me a few minutes to assimilate this new development. It was a girl …

  “Is she all right?” my wife asked, her wet hair plastered to her head. She’d never looked more beautiful. They were both beautiful, in fact. My heart swelled with pride.

  “Yes, she’s fine,” the pediatric nurse said. “You can hold her for a few minutes, and then we’ll take her and get her cleaned up.”

  The nurse laid our daughter on Sophie’s chest, and Sophie gazed at her. There was so much love in that one look. It was like the look she gave me. Only different. That little girl and I—we were the luckiest people on the planet.

  Then suddenly the world stopped, and he was there, standing next to me—Sam.

  I looked up to see if anyone else noticed him there, but everyone else seemed frozen. This moment was for me and Sam.

  “What do you think of your new baby sister?”

  “Pretty cool,” he said, and his voice was deeper than I remembered.

  He was older. So much older. He looked like a young man—old enough to be asking me for the keys to the car.

  And he would have been, my boy.

  “I think you’d really like her.”

  Sam nodded. “I do too. I’m happy for you, Dad.”

  “I miss you,” I whispered to the air.

  “I’m okay, Dad. You can let go of me now. They need you now. More than I do.”

  “Quentin, honey, are you okay?” Sophie asked, beckoning to me.

  I sniffed and came toward her. She reached out a hand, and I took it. “I’m fine,” I lied, and even though I’d promised to be honest with Sophie, this wasn’t the time. This moment was about her and our daughter. I would tell her about Sam later.

  I glanced over to where he’d been standing, but he was gone …

  So instead I stared down at the tiny, red-faced person wrapped in the hospital-issued white with pink and blue stripes blanket. Her eyes were closed, but I could already tell she had her mother’s rosebud mouth. “She’s beautiful. You did a fantastic job.” I bent and kissed both my girls on the head.

  “You helped.”

  I chuckled. “C’mon, I only did the fun part.”

  She laughed, “But still—you did it well.”

  “Do you know what you want to name her?” I asked. Sophie and I had agreed that if it was a boy I could name him, and if it was a girl she could name her. We’d been talking about names for months and there were a few girls’ names I like, but I’d stick with whatever she decided, especially after what I’d seen her endure the past several hours.

  “Well … since it’s the holidays, and since she was conceived the weekend you won your Oscar—the name Holly seems to fit. Do you think she looks like a Holly?”

  “She does. Good thing we didn’t have to name her Oscar,” I teased and Sophie pretended to punch my arm.

  I smiled. Holly—short for Hollywood, but not so obvious that we were naming her for the location of her conception, especially with a December birthday. It would be like a secret joke between Sophie and me. “I think it’s brilliant, and she looks like a Holly. Almost as pretty as her momma.”

  “I don’t feel so pretty, but thanks.”

  We fussed over Holly for a few more minutes before the nurse came back and whisked her away, eliciting a frown from Sophie.

  “They’ll bring her back soon. Don’t worry,” I assured her. The child was less than an hour old, and already my bride was fretting over her. Yes, Sophie was going to make a wonderful mother.

  32

  Sophie

  It had been eight weeks since I’d delivered Holly, and at my recent postpartum checkup the doctor told me that Quentin and I were free to resume our sex life. Up until now I’d been too exhausted to even think about sex. Holly wasn’t a great sleeper, and every second seemed to be taken up either nursing her, changing her diaper, or doing baby laundry. Occasionally I’d try to sneak in a meal or a nap for myself here and there, and a shower was even more of a challenge. Quentin tried to be helpful, but he was gone most of the day and he had the convenient ability to sleep through Holly’s cries at night. Since I was nursing her and she needed my breasts anyway I didn’t mind getting up with her, but I was jealous that he got more sleep than I did.

  Sex wasn’t something that had even occurred to me since our daughter was born, but the way Quentin had perked up when I mentioned the doctor’s “green light” warmed my heart. Even if I was too tired to actively appreciate it, I did like having a virile husband who desired me, especially when I felt about as attractive as an old French fry you’d find under the couch cushions.

  As far as my body went, everything seemed to have healed up pretty well between my legs, but I couldn’t help but wonder what our sex life would be like now that we had an infant.

  First of all, Quentin had watched me push a watermelon-sized human out of my body through his playground. I knew for a lot of men that dampened their sexual desire for their wives. Then there was the fact that he saw me not only as his submissive and his lover, but also as the mother of his child now. Would my taking on the maternal role change how he saw me? Would it be difficult for him to view me as a sex object the way he used to?

  I also had no idea what would happen to the BDSM portion of our relationship dynamic. Looking down at the gold bracelet that dangled from my wrist—the one that fascinated Holly when I dangled it in front of her—I considered the fact that our D/s dynamic had defined the majority of Quentin’s and my interaction during most of the time we’d been together.

  But now that I was the mother to his child, would he be able to hurt me? Or would it be too inconsistent a desire—to smack the woman who had brought his baby into the world and who nurtured her on a daily basis.

  Honestly, I feared he would wuss out and start treating me like a breakable doll, and I wasn’t sure how I would react if he did. I needed him to be rough with me. Wanted him to use his filthy, humiliating language with me, and I was afraid things would fall apart if he shied away from his role as Dominant.

  Being his submissive, and having him dominate me was one of my greatest pleasures in life, and I didn’t know how I would cope with it if he took that away from me.

  Turns out I needn’t have worried.

  One night Quentin hired a babysitter—an experienced baby nurse recommended by one of the engineers from his studio who had three kids. Apparently this woman was wonderful and had loads of experience. As much as I wanted to protest … after all, no one was good enough to stay with my baby—Quentin put his foot down and insisted that I go out on a date with him.

  He hired Mrs. Jordan to come early enough that I had time to take a shower and prepare for our date. Then he took me out to our favorite Italian restaurant. It had been difficult to say goodbye to Holly, but she did seem to like Mrs. Jordan and she did have our cell phone numbers so I decided it would be okay.

  During dinner I excused myself to go to the restroom where I texted Mrs. Jordan to check on Holly. During dessert I got a text back saying she’d just put her down for the night. All was well and for us to have a good time.

  Quentin and I were sharing a mountainous slab of chocolate cake when I read the text. Reaching his fork across the table into my waiting mouth, he deposited a bite of the decadent dessert. I wrapped my lips around the fork, closing my eyes to savor the velvet flavor, relaxing more than I had the whole night.

  When I opened my eyes
, Quentin wore a devilish expression.

  “What are you thinking about?” I asked.

  He held up the fork before dipping it back into the heap of chocolate between us. “Remember when we used to do other things with forks?”

  I nodded. It seemed like a lifetime ago, but I did.

  “Let’s get out of here. I’ve got something I want to show you.”

  We asked the waitress to bag up the rest of the dessert for later, and I imagined a late-night trip to the fridge to finish the cake between feedings. Quentin paid the bill and he was so amorous in the parking lot that I half expected him to take me on the hood of the car as he had so many times before. I was a little nervous about that possibility since it would be my first time doing it after having a baby and I wasn’t sure how things were going to feel … but he didn’t.

  Instead, when we got to the car he simply gave my bottom a squeeze and opened the car door for me. Hmm. Maybe the thing he had to show me was something other than his erection.

  Once he started driving, I realized I didn’t recognize where we were going. “Where are you taking me?” I asked.

  He grinned. “You’ll see. It’s a surprise.”

  Stifling a yawn, I sat back and tried to be patient and stay awake.

  After about fifteen minutes, we arrived at a small office building in a business district on the outskirts of Seattle. Quentin got out of the car, and came around and opened the door for me. He helped me out and led me up to the door of one of the buildings.

  “Is this what you wanted to show me?”

  “It is.” He unlocked the door, flicked on a light switch, and ushered me inside.

  I looked around what appeared to be an empty office space. “What is this place?”

  “This,” he said with a sweep of his hand, “is my new studio.”

  I was awfully tired to be doing this, but I knew it was important to care about his stuff too, no matter how exhausted I was. “It’s great,” I managed.

  “Come on, let me show you the rest of it.” He took me by the hand and showed me around. In one corner was the sound studio—complete with soundproof walls and all the equipment he would need. In the front there was room for a reception and waiting area.

  “It’s really nice,” I said. “But I didn’t know you were looking for a new studio. What was wrong with the one you had?”

  “Well, there was nothing really wrong with it, it’s just that I rented it and with the bigger contracts and such, I figured I should probably invest in my own. I can afford it. Plus, there’s an additional benefit I wanted to show you.”

  In the back, there was another room and when we reached it I couldn’t help but notice the mischievous look on Quentin’s face as he turned the knob and opened the door.

  I was about to ask what was in there when he flipped on the light, and I saw for myself. The room was filled with all of Quentin’s “dungeon” pieces—the table that reminded me of the gynecologist’s because of the stirrups, the spanking bench, the stocks, a new piece that looked similar to the spanking bench but was larger and made of leather with rings on the sides.

  “I thought you put all that in storage when we moved,” I said.

  “I did, until I found this place. This used to be another studio. Originally this building had a studio A and studio B, but since I only needed one I thought of another use for this soundproof room.”

  The implications began to dawn on me. “Ah, so no one can hear me screaming…” I giggled.

  He raised a brow. “Exactly.”

  “I have to admit,” I said. “I was worried that this part of our relationship would go by the wayside now that we have a baby.”

  “I could never stop wanting to dominate you, my pet. I’m sure Holly will keep us very busy, but I will always want you, need you, so I thought it best if we had a special place where we can sometimes go for a little grown up de-stressing. Date nights—at least once a week.”

  “I think that’s brilliant. I love it, and I can’t wait to have many nights of pleasure and pain in this room with you.”

  “How do you feel about starting tonight?”

  “I mean, we are already here …” I teased.

  “Take off your clothes.”

  As I disrobed, Quentin went around the room lighting candles. When they were all lit he turned off the lights and suddenly the room took on a warm, romantic glow, much sexier than the fluorescents overhead.

  “Music?” he asked.

  “You pick.”

  He turned on some new-age tunes and I dropped my clothes in a pile on the floor. I was even more self-conscious about my body now that I was no longer pregnant. I wasn’t sure how some women lost all that weight so quickly after giving birth. I guess some of them had good genes. The rest must have good personal trainers. But I’d been too busy just taking care of Holly to be worried about what my body looked like.

  Quentin didn’t seem to notice. “Go lie on that bench.”

  I did as he asked, and the leather felt smooth against my skin and there was just enough cushioning that it was actually comfortable. My legs and arms hung off the sides, but Quentin soon took care of that, clapping cuffs around my ankles and attaching them to the rings on the bench. Then he did the same with my wrists, saying, “Since this is your first play time after having the baby I’m going to start off with toys to gauge your reaction.” He paused. “If I feel like you can handle my cock I will give it to you.”

  My nipples hardened and I felt a rush of heat in my groin. I couldn’t wait to feel his hands on me, and suddenly I realized how much I’d missed the weight of his body on top of me, his cock inside me, the electricity of feeling his skin against mine.

  “I’m going to blindfold you. I want you to pay attention to every sensation. Focus on yourself, on everything you feel. During this session, I want you to remain present, here with me. Put everything else out of your mind.”

  “Yes, Sir,” I answered and he slipped the blindfold over my eyes and tied it behind my head.

  All I needed was him to give me permission to let go, and I did. The next thing I experienced was the tails of a leather flogger swishing down my body, zinging my skin and releasing endorphins into my bloodstream. The repetitive brush of the leather strips sent me into a trance-like state. My whole body relaxed.

  And suddenly I became aware of my milk coming in. Wet droplets ran down the sides of my breasts. For a split second I began to fret—my baby needed that milk. But then I reminded myself that I’d pumped for two days to be able to fill the fridge with enough milk for me to go out tonight. Holly would be okay. She was at home with plenty of milk, and my body would make more …

  I calmed myself.

  “God, that’s so fucking hot,” I heard Quentin rasp, then he licked the lost milk from the sides of my body.

  The cold head of something, most likely a dildo, pressed against the opening of my pussy.

  “Relax,” he chided.

  I took a deep breath and released it.

  He pushed the phallic-shaped object inside me.

  I began to moan despite myself and my hips tried to meet the intruder halfway. Unfortunately, because I was restrained, I had little room to move.

  Quentin slowly moved the cock in and out of my cunt, fucking me with it. He toyed with my clit, torturing me with his fingers—pulling, pinching, rolling. All the while the pressure inside me built and built until I thought I would explode.

  Finally I did.

  It was a full-body orgasm complete with shaking limbs and rolling eyes.

  It went on for a long time—wave after wave of pleasure. As it started to subside my clit became too sensitive, and I tried to close my legs against intrusion. Usually Quentin reacted to those signals and stopped what he was doing. This time he only chuckled.

  “Quentin, stop,” I said.

  His mouth covered one of my breasts and he began to suckle. His hands still worked the dildo, pumping it inside me. I wriggled underneath him as best I
could. I was experiencing sensation overload. My crotch desperately begged to be left alone, and the attention he was giving my breast only complicated matters.

  “Quentin!”

  “Are you using your safeword?”

  What? It took me a minute to understand through the haze—he wanted to force me to have another orgasm—against my will.

  Yes, I could use my safeword, but for some reason I hated to wimp out like that. Silly as it was, I prided myself on being able to take whatever my Dom gave me.

  Unable to form words, I shook my head.

  He latched on to my other breast and every nerve ending in my body felt like it was on the outside of my body on fire.

  The more he played with me, the more sensitive I became. Whimpering, I didn’t think it was possible to have another orgasm. It felt like I might simply die, the feelings were so intense they blocked out everything else. Until finally, the unbelievable happened—I felt the crescendo of another climax building.

  This time I lost all control. My hips bucked like crazy, I pulled with both arms and legs against my restraints until finally he fucked and rubbed me and my body jerked and contorted in the strongest orgasm I’d ever experienced.

  This time, he slowed his fingers, and removed the dildo. It took several minutes for me to stop shaking.

  Finally, when I thought I couldn’t bear any more, I felt the shackles on my feet being released.

  He then unfastened the ones at my wrists. My limbs were rubbery to move, but I could move them.

  “I know I’ve worn you out, pet. Feel free to just lie there—my victim. Or fight me if you like,” he teased. Sometimes, we liked to play where I fought him and he overpowered me. It turned me on knowing that he could take me if he wanted, that he was bigger and stronger than I was. Sometimes I tried hard, and it awed me how much stronger he was than me. All he had to do was grip my wrists with one hand, and I was powerless to get free of him. The wicked smile on his face as I struggled told me he liked that game as much as I did.