My Russian Master (Service & Submission Book 3) (2 page)

“Thank you, Jason. I’ll be glad to get home and do nothing for the rest of the night. Feel free to see that lovely wife and children of yours. I’m done for the day.” She slid into her seat gracefully, drawing her long legs into the vehicle.

“Caroline, was it Derek again?” Jason looked at her through the rear view mirror, as he slid in behind the wheel. “I can take care of that for you.”

“I’m sure you could.” Caroline gave him a frown, a gentle rebuke. “But that wouldn’t be good for business now, would it?”

“Probably not. But he deserves it, and I’d love to get a hold of him. Teach him a lesson.” He held up one of his huge hands. “They’re just
itchin’.
”

Caroline laughed, shaking her head at the loyalty Jason felt toward her. He was protective and as much as he defended and looked out for her as her chauffer and bodyguard, he was almost obsessed about protecting his wife and children. Watching him now, she could see how that was possible.

It would be nice to have someone fiercely protective of her for a change, someone she called her own. Her father cared about her in a business sense, but what she did and where she went outside of work was of no concern to him. And for whatever reason, any of the previous men she’d dated never seemed protective either. They looked to her as the woman in charge — the strong woman whose lead they comfortably followed. However, she wanted a man to lead, someone
she
could follow — and answer to. She longed to shed the role of the executive in charge and instead be the one taken care of. She wanted someone who would protect her out of a sense of love and caring, rather than because she paid them to.

“You won’t be teaching Derek a lesson — at least not today, Jason.”

He clenched his jaw, sending a piercing glare her way in the mirror. “Let me know when, Caroline.”

“I assure you, you’ll be the first person I contact.” She giggled, seeing how serious he was.

“You better. You don’t want to piss me off by keeping me out of the loop. I need to know when things become serious.” He nodded at her, his penetrating gaze making her break eye contact.

She bet he was a force to be reckoned with when angry.

* * *

F
inally home, Caroline immediately threw on her sweat pants and an old t-shirt from her alma mater, University of Tennessee. Now she would be ready for her carbs, junk food, and her favorite movies.

Once the pasta and Alfredo sauce was cooked up and ready, she sliced the Italian bread, lathering it with butter. If one piece was good, two would be even better.

She curled up on the couch with a blanket after popping in
How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days
. She thought back to Derek’s comment. It
had
been almost a year since she’d had a date. Maybe he was right? Maybe twenty pounds would do the trick? She had tried to lose weight herself before, and it never worked well. Her long hours and busy schedule didn’t always allow for healthy eating. Fast food and take-out always sounded better, and it was definitely more convenient.

She had dabbled with anorexia in college, but never could force herself to vomit. She’d spent most of her college years not eating well or not eating at all, then eating pizza and beer on the weekends. But she took laxatives and diet pills daily, purging her system, and trying to vomit. Having more pizza and beer. Rinse and repeat. She’d been struggling with her hips and ass since she started high school. Again, men — most men — seemed to enjoy her curvy ass and hips. But it was the occasional guy like Derek that made her want to start using laxatives and try vomiting again. Even though she’d never call herself an actual anorexic — and it had been probably ten years since she had last struggled with it — however, the temptation
was
real at times like these.

She would have Sammi call around to find her the best chef. She had heard about those fitness chefs — a combination of gourmet cook and fitness trainer. She had a huge kitchen that might as well have been a museum for all the use it got, and a fitness room that went unoccupied save for the cleaner that dusted in there every week. It would be good to get in shape again and have someone cook healthy meals for her. She’d show Derek. He wouldn’t make fun of her again in public.

Putting her dishes in the sink, she made herself a large bowl of ice cream — birthday cake ice cream with syrup and sprinkles. Pulling her laptop onto her lap, she searched for her favorite spanking video site. She expertly maneuvered through the pages to her favorite videos by a Russian guy who had a penchant for the whip.

The woman in the video had been stripped down to just a black corset and matching black panties, wrists fastened to a hook in the ceiling. She’d been blindfolded. Her knees were bound and she swiveled her hips in clear anticipation and arousal. The tall Russian was anonymous, like the woman, the footage shot only from below the head. He roughly jerked the woman’s panties down to her knees. She had an ample and fleshy bottom too, making Caroline feel better about her own ass.

The crack of the whip found an initial slow and steady rhythm that matched the sway of the woman’s hips, light pink stripes quickly covering her ass. They didn’t look bad though, her moaning accompanied by the swivel of her hips let the viewer know she loved the whip.

Crack. Crack. Crack.
The quivering in the woman’s body was visible, her movements increasing in pace with the strokes, her keening heard above the whip. Her ass pushed outward slowly, moving in circles. Her thighs tightening, squeezing together, stiffening, thrusting, and then stilling as she uttered a shrill whine. Then her hips thrust forward once again, the whip still snapping against her flesh.

Crack, crack.
The whip struck her repeatedly, and all the while, she pushed her ass out, her pink pussy visible and moist with excitement. The whip lashed twice in quick succession and she shouted, waggling and swiveling her hips, pushing back into the whip, seeking the pain, seeking her orgasm. Two more quick flicks of the whip struck her now pinkened flesh, her body becoming rigid, clenching her bottom, hollering in pain. But despite her anguish she kept thrusting, quivering, mewling.

Her hands pulled at the restraints, her body now writhing in slow, sensual arousal. More expertly placed and timed strikes landed upon her wobbly bottom then, the momentum finally propelling her over the cliff. She stiffened, screaming with her release, the thrust of her hips and clamping of her ass, both moving in rhythm. She shuddered, her orgasm drawing forth one more long groan.

The whip became silent and motionless as the Master waited, waiting for her tremors to subside. But expertly he knew when to start the whipping again to reignite the fire, leading to another orgasm. She whined and whimpered, her resistance evident in the tone. She was unable to fight it though, her arousal climbing, her body quaking and writhing as it had with her previous orgasm.

Her hips sensually circled, hips pushed back, seeking the cock that wasn’t there, seeking the whip, the sting, the burn, the pain timed with the incremental climb toward her release.

Crack, Crack, Crack
. Again, she shrieked, stiffening, the only movement the tremors in her legs and the pulsating jerk of her pelvis. The woman groaned, relaxing her back, her bottom pushed outward, still moving, her panting and groaning.

Caroline expelled the breath she’d been holding while watching the video. “Christ! Look at me,” she whispered, her own hips thrusting, her pussy clenching on air and desire.

She put the partially melted ice cream in the bowl on the coffee table, ripping her sweats and panties off. Her finger slid between the slick lips of her labia and found her clit, which, as she suspected, was hard as a rock. She circled it with feathery touches, abandoning it quickly, then pushing her fingers into her sex, finding her g-spot while her other hand teased her clit. She imagined the tall, Russian man lashing her ass while she knelt on a chair, hands bound to the ceiling.

Just like in the video, he’d lashed her ass again, and again, and again. Her body, circling and clenching, stiffening, and twirling until her body became taut, and she screeched with her release. Her fingers pumped her pussy, the whip cracking in the still air, pushing her closer and closer to the brink again. She shuddered, bumping against her flesh, bringing her over the cliff again. Her pussy milked her fingers, her body shaking and quivering with the aftershocks.

Slowly she opened her eyes, looking down, shaking her head. Her pants had fallen off completely in the frenzy, and she lay half sprawled, and half sitting on the couch, her legs shamelessly splayed.

She grabbed the flesh she referred to as her FUPA —
fat upper pussy area
— muttering aloud, “This needs to go.”

Tomorrow she’d hire a fitness chef and get herself back into shape.

Chapter Two

M
axim swung the belt just hard enough to make her groan on each swing, but not hard enough to break the skin or bruise harshly. He’d worked with Viktoria before and she performed in most of his videos.

He had pushed the skirt up onto her back, her hips elevated on a pillow. Viktoria loved the belt and whip. As a masochist, she loved the pain, sought it like a bear needing honey. The pain centered her, calmed her. She’d been abused as a child and she liked having the ability to relive the hurt under her terms, under her control. She said it healed the scars, the pain in her soul.

There it was. Soon she’d be coming. She lifted her ass off the pillow, swiveling, circling, her ass yawning open, the silky juices moist on her labia. He thrashed her bottom with the soft, worn leather strap three more times, right at her sit spots, knowing the vibrations and impact of the blows would reverberate up her sex to her clit.

And there...

“Ahhhhh!” She screeched into her pillow, her bottom clenching, turning the yawning ass to a tight seam between her cheeks. She groaned, pounding into the pillow that had been used to elevate her hips. He waited until the quakes settled a little, then resumed the cracks of the belt. The blows weren’t fast, but rather timed with the gyrations of her pelvis.

“Oh, God,” she moaned.

Her arousal was climbing again. He increased the pace to match hers. And when she mewled loudly, he cracked the strap against her ass — hard. She went rigid, her whole body stiffening like a plank, a growl coming from deep in her throat as she arched her back. She gripped the bedspread in white knuckled fists, convulsing with her release, then finally dropping her head to the bed, totally spent.

He didn’t let her decide that it was over though. She never controlled how long or how hard. That decision was reserved for him alone. Resuming his belting of her now very red ass, he gave her slow, methodical strokes, varying the swats from light to harsh and back again.

Now that the arousal and adrenalin had subsided, the ache of the belting would be felt. She’d start becoming aware of her inflamed bottom. She went from mewling and moaning to quietly crying, which then progressed to sobbing. He gave her two more strokes, then stopped. Weaving his belt back through the loops of his jeans, he made sure to stand in her line of vision, as he knew she’d want. As exhausted as she was from the two orgasms and the whipping, her hips still thrust as she watched him wrap the belt back around his waist.

Women.

They loved watching men take off or put on a belt. He stroked her hair off her face, kissing her brow before walking over to shut the camera off.

This would be another great video. He’d upload it to his page on the spanking video site this evening.

He stood at a distance, giving her time to come down from her orgasm and for her sobs to subside. He loved spanking Viktoria. They’d been lovers first, and when that had ended they had continued as friends — friends with benefits. Although they didn’t have sex anymore, they did meet each others’ kinky needs. He needed someone to spank and whip, and she needed and craved the pain.

It worked for them.

He’d been raised in a family that believed in strict, stern discipline. Rules, expectations, and firm boundaries were to be adhered to, not manipulated or disobeyed. He’d been spanked too many times to count as a child. Eastern European families were known to chastise their children with rigorous methods, and although he had never been abused, he rarely broke the same rule twice. Swift and severe punishment was applied liberally.

But he understood Viktoria’s need to resolve some of the pain and scars from her childhood, and if his own needs could be met during these sessions too, so much the better. He loved her as a friend, cared about her emotional well-being. She needed that comfort as well as the pain.

She definitely wasn’t the first woman to admit this need, and it amazed him how women thought they were alone in their needs and kinks. Often they were surprised to find out that many other women had the same desires. As much as Viktoria craved the pain, the aftercare may have been just as important. Aftercare brought her back slowly to here and now of the real world, but always with a more peaceful, quiet spirit.

“Viktoria. Viktoria, sweetling?” He murmured her name, stroking her bottom gently. He rounded the bed, gently pulling her panties up and lowering her skirt down over the inflamed flesh.