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

By: Megan Michaels



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.

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