Tested by Her Web Master (Web Master #2) by Normandie Alleman Page A
Authors: Normandie Alleman
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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
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
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