Tested by Her Web Master (Web Master #2)

by Normandie Alleman

  “Take a nap if you want, pet. I’ll work on my project.”

  It seemed ridiculous that I was tired just from a few orgasms, but I was. I’d probably used up a lot of nervous energy stressing about Quentin coming for this visit. In the way they say that some happy events, like marriage or having a baby, are stressors. That’s probably what it was, I’d taxed my body with too much stress.

  So I fell asleep dreaming of what Quentin could possibly be up to.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “O Come All Ye Faithful.” The richly textured baritone that filled my ears belonged to my impeccably dressed Master standing next to me, sharing his hymnal.

  The past four days had been a whirlwind of last minute holiday errands during the day, festive parties at night, and incredibly intimate encounters in the wee hours of the morning culminating in a Christmas Eve celebration with my parents. When I mentioned to Quentin that our family tradition was to attend late-night church services on Christmas Eve, I expected him to balk. Instead he easily put on his suit and went without a moment’s grumbling.

  I’d never heard him talk about religion so I assumed he was agnostic, but when I asked he gave me a somewhat sad smile. “Lapsed Believer.”

  “Lapsed? Meaning you used to go to church but now you don’t or meaning you used to believe but now you don’t?”

  “Yes.” He grinned and tucked my hand in the crook of his elbow as he led me into the church where we sat next to my parents. Earlier that evening he’d survived dinner with my mother and father, and now he was singing next to me with the voice of an angel.

  As we knelt on the kneeling rail for prayers, my father looked behind my mother and gave me the sort of nod in Quentin’s general direction that let me know he liked him. He might as well have given me a thumbs up.

  Bunny hadn’t weighed in yet, but I had faith that if he hadn’t won my mother over already, he would soon.

  During the sermon, my thoughts wandered to Quentin’s and my relationship. The relationship was expanding. At the beginning Quentin had only functioned as a Dominant with me, orchestrating scenes, running them through with me, then creating more scenes. Now he was functioning as a boyfriend or a partner in parts of life that he wasn’t able to orchestrate. I knew that was out of his comfort zone. He liked to have control. Needed it in some ways.

  Having him here, functioning in my world where everything was out of his control, was an unusual situation. A few minutes later, I found out how he intended to get back that control.

  After the service, Quentin hissed in my ear, “Tell your parents we’ll see them tomorrow. I can’t wait to get you home and make you earn your pleasure, my dear.” He punctuated his words with a nip of his teeth. I flinched, but kept a smile plastered on my face. We were in public after all.

  I hugged my mother and father. “We’ll see you around noon tomorrow for brunch.”

  My father shook Quentin’s hand and clapped him on the shoulder. “Good of you to come, Quentin. Good of you to come.” I hoped Quentin wouldn’t mind my father’s “good-ole-boy” treatment.

  Fortunately he didn’t seem to and he enveloped my mother in a hug. “Now, Quentin, you must promise to come to the opera with us while you’re here,” Bunny cooed.

  He looked at her with interest, but I interjected quickly to save him from being put on the spot. “Mom, we have a lot of things planned to do while he’s here. I don’t know if we can do opera, too.”

  Bunny put on one of her injured looks. “But I just thought, him being a musician and all…I just thought he might like it, that’s all, Sophie.”

  Oh brother. Bunny was such a piece of work.

  As if on cue, Quentin responded, “I’d love to come, Bunny.” Then he gave me a pointed look. “That is if our schedule allows. I’ll have to let Sophie handle the planning.”

  I saw what he did there—made nice with my mother while subtly giving the power back to me. Damn, he was good.

  “I guess that will be fine,” Bunny said because there was nothing else she could say. She hugged me and we all said our goodbyes, promising to see each other the next day for further Christmas celebration.

  In the car on the way home, I complained, “And did you see how she tried to manipulate you into going to the opera with her? She just wants to show off her daughter’s boyfriend, the composer. I can’t believe her.”

  “She’s not as bad as all that.”

  “What? What do you mean she’s not that bad? She’s horrible. Snobby. Pretentious—”

  “Yes, and when she’s gone you’ll miss even those things about her.”

  My blood seemed to freeze in my veins. “Oh Quentin, I’m sorry.” I wished I could crawl underneath the carpet of the car. “I didn’t mean—I-I wasn’t thinking.”

  He laid a hand on my leg while he drove. “It’s all right, Sophie. You’re allowed to be mad at your mom. So your mom can be manipulative, intrusive, and I’m sure a number of other things. But relationships with family are like that. You have to learn to accept the person for who they are. She’s not who you want her to be, and she’s never going to be. The sooner you accept that, the sooner you can move forward in your relationship with her.”

  His words hit hard. He was right, of course. But what he was suggesting was easier said than done.

  “Where did you come up with that?”

  “I’ve lived a lot longer than you.”

  “Only eight years.”

  “Really? It feels a helluva lot longer.”

  I bristled. “You mean I seem naive to you?”

  He turned to look at me. “No. I mean that I feel like I’m about seventy years old sometimes.”

  That was weird. I looked at him funny. “What?”

  He gave me a wan smile and shook his head. “Nothing. When we get home I’m going to try out my new project with you.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  “Are you sure you want to do this on Christmas Eve? It’s kinda late…” I yawned. He would be staying with me for another whole week. Surely his new project could wait.

  “But this is what I want for Christmas. This is what I want from you.” One look at his face and I knew I wouldn’t deny him anything.

  “What?”

  “Your submission. You giving yourself to me to do with as I want.”

  I sighed. “All right.” When he put it that way, I couldn’t resist. I’d bought him one of those watch phones, but it seemed like he might like this better.

  “The first thing I need you to do is undress while I get things set up.”

  “Yes, Sir.” I went to my bathroom and stripped off my clothes. As I pulled a brush through my hair, I thought about how much money I saved not having to buy lingerie. It would have been completely wasted on this man. While I was in there I brushed my teeth. Fresh breath was always a plus. When I came out a few minutes later, I saw an interesting contraption in the middle of my living room floor.

  “Did you make sure the front door is locked?”

  “Yes, I did.” He knew that I was paranoid because last year my ex-husband walked in on me doing filthy things to myself while watching a porn video and doing things that Quentin, as my online Dom, had commanded. It was the single most embarrassing moment in my life. I’d changed the locks since then, but I was much more careful these days about maintaining my privacy.

  I approached Quentin and he grabbed me by the back of the neck and captured my mouth with his. I melted into his arms and realized I’d let him do anything he wanted to me.

  When he released me, he asked me to hold my arms out in front of me, so I did. Picking up a large coil of silky white rope, he neatly bound my wrists together. Then he asked me to come to the sofa and bend over it. I walked over slowly, suspiciously, and he pulled out a shiny metal gadget shaped like a “J” with a ball on one end of it and a hole in the other end.

  “What is that for?” I felt panic rising in my throat, but I squashed it down, telling myself I could trust Quentin, that he had my bes
t interests at heart. Always.

  “It’s an anal hook. Now bend over.”

  There went the panic again. “You’re not going to hang me by my butt are you? That sounds dangerous!”

  “Calm down, pet. No, I’m not going to hang you by it. But I am going to use it on you, so bend over.” With that he gave me a hard swat on the bottom.

  “Okay, okay. Sorry, Sir.” And I leaned over. Before I had time to fret over it any further, I heard the glub of the bottle of lube and felt the icy wet slurp of a big wet thing at my nether entrance.

  “Relax. It’s going to be okay, I promise.” His words did help me relax, pouring most of my weight onto the couch. Until he pressed that evil round thing inside my ass. Oh holy shit that hurt.

  “Ow! Ow! Ooow! Oooow!”

  I squirmed and started to fight, but he stopped me with a hard swat to the rear.

  “Ouch!” I complained again, but I held still.

  “You have a hook in your ass now, girlie! Unless you want to hurt yourself, I’d be still if I were you.”

  I was silent for a minute, then I begrudgingly said, “Yes, Sir.” But I didn’t apologize. My bottom was still feeling the brunt of that invasion and I wasn’t happy.

  “Stay still and I mean it. This will only get worse for you if you do not cooperate. You know I mean business, don’t you?”

  I sighed heavily. “Yes, Sir.” So I stayed in one place and let him do whatever all he was doing back there. I could tell it had to do with rope.

  A few minutes later he said I could stand up. I did, the muscles in my rear tightening around that strange little ball inside my anus.

  “Keep that hook in there.”

  I nodded, forgetting to say, “Yes, Sir,” but he let it slide. Probably because he was distracted with setting up his scene. Quentin was truly in his element when he was prepping for a scene. Or during a scene for that matter. Even afterward he was good. I swooned inside—he was just an overall great Dom and I felt a surge of happiness. I was lucky to have him.

  “Hold this between your teeth.” He placed a length of rope in my open mouth and I bit down on it.

  “Good girl. Now take a few steps over here.” He walked me to a spot in the corner of the room under a hook in my ceiling I’d never seen before.

  “Sir, did you make a hole in my ceiling without asking me? What am I going to say when I sell the place?”

  “I didn’t know that you were—selling the place,” he said, not answering my question.

  Of course I’d thought of selling the place. Selling it and moving up to Seattle with him. But he hadn’t asked me yet. I just hoped he would, so yeah, I’d thought about it.

  “No need to get your panties in a twist. I can remove it before I leave and repair the hole if it’s a problem.” He pressed his clothed body against my naked one and inserted a finger in my pussy. Swirling it about, dipping it in and out, rubbing my clit with his wet digit as he pulled it up to his mouth and sucked my juices from it. “I’d rather spend my time here on this hole of yours, but it’s up to you.”

  He stepped away, leaving me trembling at his absence and craving his hands on me again. His warm breath in my ear, the warmth of him. I wanted it all back. But Quentin always said for every ounce of pleasure, a price must be paid and that’s what I must do. Pay for it.

  “Arms over your head.”

  I did as he requested and he ran the ropes that hung from my wrists through the eye hook in the ceiling. Then I could feel him attach the hook in my ass to some rope. It tugged and I felt it go farther up my ass and I groaned.

  “Tell me if it hurts. I don’t mean if it’s uncomfortable. I mean if it hurts.”

  I groaned again. “Yes, Sir.” The thing with anal play for me was that it always involved as much pain as pleasure. It was a wicked double-edged sword and my Master knew it. No, it didn’t hurt like it was injuring me, but it hurt all the same. The good thing was my body usually adjusted to it after a time and it began to feel good. But before it happened, it was a lot of fucking “unpleasantness.”

  “All right. We’re almost set up. The next thing we need to do to get ready is I need you to stand up on your tiptoes.”

  I lifted myself up onto the balls of my feet, unsure why he was doing that.

  “Spread your legs farther apart. I need access to that delicious little cunt of yours.”

  My heart beat faster, but I shuffled my feet a few more inches apart.

  “That’s it. Now hold still. I’m going to rig these ropes.” He tested the ropes a few ways, and I could tell by what he was doing that he was going to have me stand on my tiptoes, then make the rigging so that when I had to drop down on my heels the hook in my rear slid farther inside, making me fuck myself with it. Bastard.

  But I was willing to play his game, or at least try it. I did have a safeword. I’d never used it, but Quentin knew it and I trusted that if I ever wanted to stop, he would. I believed that with my whole heart. I had to.

  “Okay, so stretch your feet out, take a minute, then I want you to get back up on those toes and I’ll set the final tension on the ropes.”

  Pressing my toes into the ground, I exhaled and lifted my heels off the ground. When I was a kid I’d spent a lot of time walking on my toes, so this shouldn’t be too hard.

  Then Quentin headed for the kitchen.

  “Hey, where are you going?”

  “You’ll see.”

  I heard him rattling around in a drawer.

  He came back into the room carrying a pair of forks. I wasn’t sure if this was a good or a bad thing. In my experience with him, it could be either.

  When he approached me, he squatted and did something on the floor underneath me. After he stood, I saw what he was up to.

  He’d set one fork under each foot, tines up, so that if I leaned my feet back to rest on the floor, the flesh of my heels would be stabbed by those demon forks. Damn that man.

  “Quentin! That’s not fair!”

  “Would you like to use your safeword? Over a little fork—one that’s not even touching you?” he taunted.

  I remained quiet, but I was fuming.

  “Now darling, don’t be like that.” He twisted the anal hook in my butt, making a show of testing how taut the ropes were. Then he stood behind me, one leg between mine, careful not to step on the forks, and started massaging my breasts.

  “Such big, beautiful breasts you have. I just love to fondle them, squeeze them, pinch them, twist them.” Each action he spoke of, he carried out with his hands. His touch electrified me, and I rocked back almost onto my heels, but I stopped myself before I got to the forks. But the rope attached to my hook forced the tool deeper inside me, making me groan.

  He chuckled. “This is going to be fun.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  He started tickling me. I’ve never been a big fan of tickling. Never knew why our bodies betrayed us by laughing at the intrusion. You were supposed to laugh when you were enjoying something. But tickling wasn’t enjoyable. It was akin to torture. So why in the world would we humans laugh at this? It was something that had always bothered me, and now, as giggles started to erupt from me, even though I wished I could smash his face in as his fingers expertly “counted my ribs.” I couldn’t control myself. I had no choice but to laugh.

  Squeal might have been a better word. It seemed hard to believe that Quentin had been raised an only child when you took into account his tickling skills. The man was a world-class tickler. He knew all the spots to hit. At first he tested out a few prime targets—the armpits, the neck, where the neck meets the shoulder, sides, and even squeezing the front of the lower thigh.

  He got the biggest reactions from tickling my sides and the place where my neck and shoulder meet. As he went to work on them, I prayed he wouldn’t trouble himself to get on the floor and tickle the sole of my foot because if he did, I was toast.

  The more he tickled, the more I laughed, but also the more my body pitched against him. And befo
re I knew it, the meat of my heels made contact with those blasted forks. It hurt like a motherfucker and I jumped right back off them with a cry.

  “Don’t put all your weight on them. I don’t want you in the hospital.”

  I glared at him.

  “I just want you to get a taste.”

  “Then no more tickling,” I spat.

  “Fine. We’ll try a different tact. I’m going to play with that pussy until you drop down onto those forks again.”

  He picked up a ruler that he must have found in one of the kitchen drawers. Should I have cared that he rummaged through my drawers? I didn’t. My love of privacy did not extend to him. For him, my life was open for him to pick through.

  The ruler landed on my ass with a fwap! I flinched, but I wanted him to do it again. It was one of the things I missed about him being so busy with work and our play times being curtailed—I didn’t get enough of the spankings he’d trained me to crave.

  “Thank you, Sir.” I wanted him to know how much I liked it when he took the rod to me.

  “You’re welcome, my slut. Your cunt wants it, too, doesn’t it?”

  I caught my breath before answering, “Yes, Sir.”

  With that admission my nipples hardened, and upon seeing that he rapped the ruler a few times over each one of them. “Such a little whore. You want this. You want me to punish those nipples of yours, that pretty little cunt, don’t you?”

  “Yes, Sir.” And I did. Badly.

  He rapped the ruler in staccato beats against my chest. Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat!

  I moaned at the combination of pleasure and pain that racked my body, pitching my hips forward, needing.

  But I forgot about those freaking forks and suddenly my heels were resting on them again. The hook dug into my ass, and this time it felt almost good.

  “Aeeiiiiiy!” I yelled, tilting up onto my tiptoes again.

  “You’re doing a good job earning your orgasm. Keep it up.” He swatted my ass again, then moved directly in front of me and knelt between my legs.

  His position made it clear he meant business. When he started pulling apart the folds of my pussy, I knew for sure. He rapped the ruler against my clit a few times, decided the angle wasn’t right so he moved behind me. With his arms around my waist, the way he would do if he were showing me how to swing a golf club, he opened my lower lips with one hand and smacked the ruler against my puss with the other.