My Russian Master (Service & Submission Book 3) (21 page)

Chapter Sixteen

C
aroline let the steaming, hot water run over her body. She had a very long and arduous day ahead of her. She’d be meeting with the press, her attorney, the board — and then face being weighed later that night. That would be a lot to take in on a good day, but today she felt even dizzier than she had the day before. It made her nauseous to simply roll over in bed, but she’d kept that fact to herself, hoping it would go away on its own. The last thing she needed was Maxim hovering any more than he already was.

Putting her head under the spray, she rinsed out the last bit of conditioner in her hair. Suddenly, the door opened to her shower. Startled, she jumped back just as Maxim’s hand grabbed her elbow, pulling her out and shutting the water off with the other hand.

“What are you doing?” She tried unsuccessfully to tug her arm out of his grasp, stepping onto the dry towel on the floor.

“You’re coming with me. Move.” He slapped her ass, and she bunny hopped forward, just dodging another swat. He walked her into the adjoining bedroom where a large, fluffy white towel had been draped over a stack of pillows in the center of the bed. Her unerring eye fixated on the small flicker whip laying on the dresser.

Did he find out what I’m doing? Am I being whipped for purging?

She pivoted, her hands cupping her still wet bottom, her hair dripping down her back. “Oh, no! What did I do?”

Maxim chuckled. “Nothing, Caroleena. Remember, I said that I use the whip for ‘good girl’ spankings — mostly. This will be to release tension, and to remind you to behave and keep calm at work today. Over the pillows.”

“But, I’m dripping... I’ll get—”

“Lena! Over the pillows. That’s why there’s a towel.”

Sheesh, he could be so touchy.

She climbed up onto the bed, positioning herself so her hips were elevated.

“I’m restraining you. I still need you to be immobile.” He bound her ankles together with long silk ribbons, then he drew her arms forward, securing her hands at the base of the headboard.

He moved out of her field of vision then, probably so she wouldn’t flinch or stiffen in reaction to whatever he had in mind next. Maxim slowly trailed the tail of the whip over her bottom, leaving goose flesh in its wake, her body shivering.

“I love that skin all bumped up like that. Are you nervous, Lena?”

“Yes, Sir.” She paused, knowing that was exactly the answer he wanted. “My skin’s still wet, Maxim. Won’t it hurt more that way?”

“Yes.” His voice rumbled behind her. “If I do it right, it will hurt quite a bit more with a wet bottom.”

She whined at that. He could be so evil, the whip master, her Russian master. He’d told her that he loved watching a woman writhe in pain, loved the sound of the whip, the high pitched keening. But she knew that already from watching him on the videos.

“Ready, girl?”

“Yes, Sir.” She closed her eyes, not even wanting to see a shadow before he struck. The pop sounded before she felt it, the sensation like a bee sting, and she couldn’t contain her screech.

“Oh my God, Maxim!” She tried to clench her backside, but her awkward position made it difficult.

“Nice, huh? That makes a girl stand to attention, yes?”

“It burns!”

He patted her hip. “Yes, indeed. I’ll whip the water off your bottom until it’s dry and red.” He slid the tail over her thighs.

He wouldn’t hit me on the thighs with that, would he?

“Not there... please.” She hated that she whined as she said it, but the thought of a sting that intense on the vulnerable flesh of her thighs scared her.

“No, Caro. You do not decide. I decide always what gets used and where it is used, especially for bad girl spankings.”

Oh, shit.

The threat of a bad girl spanking frightened her. She knew by not confessing about her struggles, she may actually get a whipping. The more she pushed into the anorexia, the more she became afraid of the retribution. Maxim could be so stern and strict. She didn’t want him to be upset with her, let alone have him feel that doling out such a severe punishment was necessary. The belting he’d given her had been more than enough.

“No more talking. I’m going to give you as many it takes to bring you to tears. You need to cry and feel pain today. It will keep you — what’s the word you Americans use? On even keel, or... centered.”

He started lashing, the crack and pop of the tail as regular as a metronome. The steady pace, along with the slowly increasing burn, kept her calm, but the strikes hit her flesh in an unpredictable pattern. The uncertainty of where the next strike would be placed kept her clenching her pelvic floor, her clit throbbing, her pussy already coated in her juices. She couldn’t understand how something this cruel could make her so aroused.

Her anguish increased until she could think of nothing else, her entire consciousness consumed by it. Just as the tears finally threatened, he relented. His hands pried her buttocks apart, and he licked her pussy, his tongue gliding up to kiss her rosebud. Unable to stop herself, she moaned through her gritted teeth. “Maxim!”

“Don’t you cum, Lena! You hold it in.” He bit her right bottom cheek — hard — in warning. It worked too, the flash of harsh pain immediately shutting down her arousal. He slid his tongue down to her clit, flicking it, enveloping it between his lips, sucking on it roughly. Too roughly. She groaned as he drew upon her, twisting her hips to break his hold upon her sensitive flesh, but to no avail.

“Let’s continue,” Maxim murmured.

She looked over her shoulder, watching him flick the whip. With a snap of his wrist, the small tail kissed her flesh, leaving a nip and tingle upon her skin. She couldn’t contain the ows and ouchs, until finally, no longer able to form words, she dissolved into quiet sobbing. Gone was the sexual arousal, the throbbing of her clit replaced with pain, tears, and release of all the tension and anger from the past two days. For the first time in a week, the stress-induced constriction at her chest magically dissipated. The power of the lash had released those ties, and she could not only breathe easy, she could freely cry, releasing all of it, taking in loud gasps of air as she wept.

She lay quietly crying into her bedspread, her hands and feet still bound, her ass burning from the attention of her Russian Master. He knew what she needed, understood the needs of women better than she did. He knew that the tears and cleansing pain would be a constant reminder today of his support and love. He’d be at home today, watching her on his laptop, keeping track of her mood, manner and words throughout her workday.

Her striped ass would be a reminder of the punishment that would await her if she lost control again.

A soft blanket enveloped her then, and he hoisted her onto his lap, tucking the soft fabric around her, kissing her forehead and humming what she was sure was some Russian lullaby. It had the same lilting sound as English versions, but the words and tune were unfamiliar. It seemed like they stayed in there forever, and she wondered if she should get up before and get ready. She stopped herself though, knowing that Maxim wouldn’t ever let her be late.

“Do you think you will be Maxim’s
milaya devochka
today?”

She opened her eyes, staring into his. “Yes. I’ll be your
sweet girl
today.”

“Good. Let’s get you dressed. I picked out your clothes today.” He stood up, walking over to her dresser, holding up her black suit and a red blouse. “You like?”

It was the quintessential power suit. It would be perfect for today, proclaiming her as powerful, conservative, and rational.

“It’s perfect,” she said, smiling at him.

“And then I found these.” He held up her tiniest thong. “Your ass will look incredible under that tight skirt. They are the correct color too. Red, to match your blouse — and your bottom.” He winked at her, dangling the panties off his forefinger, while the other hand toyed with the delicate strings at the gusset. “And they lace up like sneaker!”

She laughed at the boyish amazement in his voice. “I’m glad you like them.”

“Where do you find these? I didn’t even know they made panties like you wear. God, this is why we love America!”

She climbed out of bed, curling a finger in the flimsy fabric of her thong while she grabbed the hangers for her blouse and suit. Walking to the shower, she looked back over her shoulder. “Thank you, Sir. I’ll be getting dressed now.”

* * *

C
aroline had left work earlier than normal. Entering her penthouse, she looked around, calling out, “Maxim? Maxim?”

She checked down the hallway, knocking on the door to his room. Nothing.

She went to the laundry room, peeking in to see if he was in there. Finally, she saw the note, left on the counter by the copper fruit bowl.

Caroline,

I have gone to market. Cheese and crackers are in the icebox for you. We will weigh and measure before dinner. Be good! I’ll be home soon, can’t wait to untie your sneaker panties.

Maxim

This was absolutely perfect! She wouldn’t be interrupted at all, just as she planned. She took her clothes off, and put on her thinnest t-shirt and yoga capris. She chose them because they were lightweight. She kept her ‘supplies’ in the powder room near the laundry room.

As she went down the hall, she thought about her day at work. She’d been amazed at how well the spanking he’d given her this morning had kept her on an even keel. The warm, aching skin rubbing on her skirt helped her remember the consequences of speaking harshly, and for a reason she couldn’t quite understand, it also helped her focus.

Her meetings with the attorneys, the board, and employees were organized, professional, and efficient. She had far less concerns than she’d had the day before.

Derek was lurking in the back of her mind though, and she wondered what his next step would be after the attorneys contacted him.

She went into the bathroom, pulling out the disposable enema and petroleum jelly. She needed to hurry and get this over with before Maxim got home. She didn’t even want to think about doing this with him nearby.

She took off her pants and panties, placing them on the counter. She took the cover off the container, her forefinger scooping out a generous dollop of jelly. She put one of her feet on the cover of the toilet, and she pulled her bottom cheeks apart, spreading the jelly over her anus, pushing inside, lubricating thoroughly. Reaching over to grasp the soft plastic container with the prepackaged enema, she twisted the cap off, lining up the tip and pressing it into her little hole. She squeezed the bottle, the fluid pushing into her, her insides roiling at the cool water, cramping causing a sweat to break out on her brow. She tossed the now-empty bottle and the box into the trash, putting some tissue over the top to conceal the evidence.

She rose, but the cramping prevented her from standing up straight. Kneeling on the cold, white tile, she rested her forehead on the floor. She visualized the water working its way through her lower belly, taking a morbid satisfaction in the discomfort, the pain, the uncomfortableness. Waves of nausea rolled over her, cold sweat breaking out on her skin. The urgency to void increased, causing her to groan uncontrollably. She fought that need though, taking in deep breaths and exhaling loudly through her mouth. When she reached the point where she feared she might have an accident, she crawled over to the toilet, squeezing her sphincter tightly, her thighs and bottom clenched in the hope that keeping those muscles taut would assist in staving off the inevitable just a little bit longer.

She quickly sat, not having to do anything more than relax and let her body finally expel. Her body cycled through this process several times before she felt assured that it was indeed over.

I need to get myself cleaned up and dressed before Maxim comes through that door.

She didn’t take the time to replace her panties and pants though, instead utilizing the nausea that still racked her body, bending over the toilet and sticking her finger down her throat. She never got used to this. She could use laxatives, diet pills and go for hours and hours without eating, but to stick her finger down her throat to throw up, just never came easy to her. But desperate times, called for desperate measures. She closed her eyes, pushing deep, her eyes tearing up, her gag reflex overcoming her, her stomach clenching. A couple more thrusts and she’d be right there.

There it is…

She wiped her mouth with some toilet paper after she vomited, blowing her nose and dabbing the tears from her face. One more time would do it. She pulled in a shaky breath, bending over again, momentarily noting that she still hadn’t put pants back on. She’d be done soon enough. She stuck her still wet finger down her throat, the gag coming easier this time now that her stomach was sensitized, the dry heave loudly startling her, her eyes rolling painfully. The next gag worked though, and she groaned with her violent retching. When it subsided, she panted over the toilet, unable to catch her breath. She stayed bent over with her hands on her knees, her eyes closed tightly.

Fire burst across on her backside, Maxim’s angry voice booming behind her. “What are you doing? You are making yourself sick! You put a finger down your throat? For what reason?”