My Russian Master (Service & Submission Book 3)(4)

By: Megan Michaels

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

Maxim 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.


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.

“Girl. It is time to get up. Come, we cuddle for a bit.” He sat at the top of the bed, pulling her into his lap. She wasn’t a small girl; he didn’t like small girls. He seemed to be partial to a woman of substance, sturdy with a fleshy, generous ass. He liked a little wobble when he smacked a bottom. Her breasts were also ample; they filled his large hands nicely. Small breasts would be useless to a man of his size. It’s why he liked Russian women. They weren’t pencil thin like Americans — well, some Americans anyway.

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