Tested by Her Web Master (Web Master #2) (12 page)

“
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 before 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.

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.”