My Russian Master (Service & Submission Book 3) (18 page)

He landed five more swats to her left cheek. The red blush deepening faint purple marks just beginning to appear. This wouldn’t be a lesson she’d quickly forget. “You’re to be an example to the kids. Do you think that was a good example?”

She sobbed pitifully into the bedspread, her white-knuckled hands fisting in the fabric. “N-No, Sir.”

“No, it definitely wasn’t.” He took a deep breath, steeling himself to complete the task at hand.

He raised the heavy brush, smacking the right one five times in a row. That cheek now resembled the left. Her sobs turned into screeches, her body stiffening over the pillows. Thankfully, the ginger kept her from clenching her backside, preventing further bruising of her flesh. Her delicate hand reached back to gently touch her bottom.

“No hands. Bad girl.” He knelt down next to her. “Give me both of them, please.” She moved both hands onto her back and he laid his palm over them, holding them fast.

“These next five are going to be to your sit spots and thighs. You’ll feel these tomorrow — and probably for the next few days — every time you sit. Then we’ll discuss the new rules. Ready?”

“Yes, S-sir.”

He landed the swats methodically, careful to strike exactly where he intended. On the third stroke, the edge of the brush caught the end of the ginger, her deep-throated groan making him smile. The thrust of that ginger did just what he wanted it to, adding a little more burn to her already scorched backside.

The last two swats were to her sit spots and both upper thighs. He did those the hardest, each smack painting a white oval upon her skin, the mark quickly turning a deep red. Her legs shook, her feet beating against the mattress as she squealed.

He pulled her off the pillows, spooning with her, raking his fingers through her hair. Her sobs broke his heart, but eventually they subsided, her residual hiccups wracking her small frame as he held her.

He slowly and gently got out of the bed, grabbing the arnica lotion. Climbing back up to rub it into her flesh, he first pulled out the ginger, throwing it in the trash. Then he rubbed the lotion thoroughly into every paddled area to the endearing sound of her quiet whimpers.

“Now, we’ll discuss the new rules. Are you listening, girl?”

“Yes, Sir.” Definitely awake, but subdued.

“I’m putting in new and much more sensitive alarms, so we won’t have the house filling with smoke again. That scared the shit out of me. Then, the same handyman is going to install cameras in all the rooms of the house. I’ll be able to watch from work — or on my phone — all of the cameras at any time. So, this should be the last time we have to deal with this, I hope. I’ll be able to see when you are disobeying or getting lazy about obeying rules in the house. Rules that are in place to
protect
you. The same goes with the kids, of course.”

“Yes, Sir.” Her voice was small, timid.

“Let’s get you under the blankets. You must be exhausted. I’ll let you be for a couple hours while I cook some dinner and call grandma to make sure the kids are behaving.” He kissed her forehead, tucking the blankets around her shoulders. “I’ll be checking on you soon. Go to sleep. I love you.”

“I love you too, Jason. I’m sorry.”

“No need to apologize. It’s been taken care of, and it’s over. You’re my girl. You’ll always be my girl. Now, sleep tight.” He kissed her nose, rising from the bed, closing the door behind him as he left, to allow her to sleep without the noise from downstairs while he cooked.

She rarely committed the same infraction twice. The trouble was that Karen managed to get into mischief almost
everywhere
. She wasn’t a bad girl at all. She just seemed to find mischief around every corner. But he was insanely in love with her, and nothing she did would ever change that fact.

Chapter Fourteen

M
axim had woken up Caroline the way women dream of waking up — with soft kisses to her face and neck, playing with her hair, gently stroking her face, breasts and pussy. She stretched like a cat in the warm sunlight, unable to contain the arousal ramping up within her. She arched her back, her clit throbbing, her womb clenching as her hips began to thrust.

“Mmmm. Why don’t you get up and eat, Lena? Then we can play.” He waggled his eyebrows at her. Playing
did
sound nice.

She sat up, gasping. Her bottom ached as it rubbed against her normally soft sheets.

“That is a naughty girl sound. Sheets hurt on a
plokhaya devochka zadnyaya
. It is easier when you behave, no?”

She shrugged in response.
Whatever the hell that means
.

“It means, ‘bad girl backside.’” He patted her leg as he rose. “Come, we’ll eat. I’ll start serving. Oh, and wear just a T-shirt and your panties. We’re alone. We have no worries.”

She smiled at him, nodding in agreement. “I’ll be right out.”

* * *

A
s she entered the kitchen, before she could speak or even sit down, he gave her a command, not even bothering to make eye contact with her. “Take your panties off. You will be eating your dinner with your spanked bottom on the hard chair.”

What? Would that even be... clean?

“Don’t test me,
devochka
. Panties off. Now.” He dipped his chin at her, those stern dark eyes spurring her into swift compliance. She pulled down her zippered panties, the elastic stretching over her aching bottom. Letting them fall to the floor, she stopped to pick them up.

“Stay bent over.” He’d walked up to stand behind her, examining her bottom, stroking and prodding the marks. “You have some welts and definite wide belt marks. You’ll be sore in the morning.” He patted her bottom lightly. “It will be good reminder. Sit in chair.”

She stood in front of her chair for a moment; she’d never been required to eat half-naked before. She slid onto the seat, sucking air through her teeth at the shock of the cold wood upon her still hot bottom.

He brought a bowl of steaming vegetable soup for the two of them, while he placed the pasta in the microwave to keep it warm until they were ready for it.

“We will be weighing you next week. It has been four weeks since we started. I know you feel the clothes are fitting different. I see a change in your body; eating clean and working out has helped you tone up.” He broke the bread apart, spreading butter on it.

She’d pass on the bread — and definitely the butter. Just hearing that she’d be weighed next week sent her into a panic. She wanted to lose so much weight, so fast. She needed to show Derek that she’d lost weight — and that her Russian Fitness Chef had been worth the money.

“Bread?” He held up the plate.

“No. I don’t want any. Shouldn’t we avoid bread and butter? And why are we having pasta for dinner?”

He put the bread down, staring at her with his head tilted as if confused by her words. “What is wrong, Lena? Why are you worried about carbs?”

“Nothing. No reason. I just always heard that to lose weight you were to have no sugar, no carbs, and no fat.” She toyed with her soup, rather than actually eating it.

“Lena, we’ve discussed this before. I know in your college days you struggled with bulimia and anorexia. I don’t want any of the losing weight to trigger these behaviors for you.
Are
you wrestling with eating disorder issues?” Maxim put his spoon down on the plate, leaning forward. “I know that Avery helped you overcome it. Do you feel that it is coming back? I need you to be honest with me.”

“N-no. I’m fine. I just want to eat the way I’m supposed to, and I wondered why we aren’t cutting out some of the things I listed. Th-that’s all.” She avoided eye contact, picking out the chunks of mushrooms in her soup and piling them on her plate.

That is until she felt his forefinger under her chin, raising her head up, forcing her to gaze into those dark eyes.

“That’s why you hired me, no? I will make sure you are eating right. Caro, do
not
lie to me on this. As I’ve said before, the whip is for good girls. But if anorexia or bulimia has you again, and you do not tell me? I swear that whip will be used on you as a bad girl. Clear?”

She swallowed. That wasn’t something she even wanted to think about. His belt had been more than enough. She shifted in her chair, gasping as her bottom rubbed against the polished wood, reminding her once again that she’d been sitting at the table half naked. Her clit throbbed, and her juices let down, pooling between the tight seam of her labia. She had indeed been struggling and now that she knew she’d be weighed next week, her mind was already running a list of things she’d do to assure that she would lose more than anyone expected.

“Yes.” She rolled her eyes. “I understand.”

“
Nyet!
Do not roll your eyes. Rude. Very rude.”

“I’m sorry.” She wondered again if she should confess that she was grappling with this and toying with the idea of embracing anorexia and bulimia once more.

“I’ve got you on this. I know just how to tone you up without you getting ill. But the emotional issues I can’t guess on. I can only assure you and support you.”

“I’ll… let you know.” How would she share this? This issue that had plagued her off and on for ten years, the disorder that she thought she’d fought and conquered, appeared to be creeping back into her life. How would she tell him? How do you explain that you desire to feel the hunger pains, that you want to go to sleep hearing your stomach growl? The need for control. The need to be in charge of every last detail of what you allow inside your body — or the forced expulsion of internal contents from your body. It wasn’t a topic that a woman just discussed with anybody.

But if she didn’t tell him, she’d be breaking his trust. She’d given a promise to let him know. Maybe he wouldn’t find out though? Perhaps she’d be able to lose this weight without him having a clue as to her methods.

Maxim rose, getting the still-warm pasta from the microwave and bringing her the bowl. It was too much food, especially if she was being weighed tomorrow. She didn’t want to have all those carbs in her body.

“Can I just have another bowl of soup instead?” She pushed it back from her spot.

“No. You will eat this.” He sat down, folding his hands in his lap, watching her. “Lena, talk to me.”

“Maxim, there’s nothing to discuss. I just don’t want pasta. Do I
have
to have it for dinner?”

Her anger started to rise, and she was dangerously close to losing control of her emotions. Weight had always done this to her; she’d find comfort and pacify herself with food, not caring about the consequences. And then, further down the road, when she became sick of her heaviness, she’d get emotionally unbalanced, and as a consequence, over restrict her food, dropping her caloric intake to dangerous levels. She’d even resort to using laxatives and appetite suppressants to excess, until her weight would drop again.

She needed — and wanted — to be placed on a scale, to know how she’d been progressing. Sometimes she’d check it several times a day, obsessing over each ounce gained, her spirits soaring or plummeting with each fluctuation. She found herself trying to be proactive by taking any measures necessary to ensure that her weight would be down the next day.

She knew without a shred of a doubt that she’d be taking actions everyday this coming week to make sure she had drastically decreased. Derek and Maxim would both see her mettle, and they’d know that once she set her mind to something, nothing stopped her.

“Of course, you don’t have to eat pasta. I just want you to have a balanced meal, but if you would like more soup, more soup you get. No worries. No anger.” He stood up, picking up her bowl, waiting for her to make eye contact. “I do not demand that you eat the dinner I place in front of you. But, as your dominant, I will blister your ass if you hurt yourself with food, yes?”

She swallowed. “Yes, Sir.”

He brought back her bowl of soup, kissed her on the forehead and took his seat eating his pasta, while she ate quietly.

They talked about the rest of her day at work — the part that didn’t include hurting Samantha. He told her about his, discussing his subway trip, and some of the people and antics he’d encountered on his journey to the grocery store. They discussed Avery and Preston in greater detail along with her upcoming trip to Colorado for Christmas.

“Would you consider going with me... I mean if we’re still together and all?” She played with her napkin in her lap, afraid to see the rejection in his eyes. It was probably too soon to even ask a question like that.

“Of course, Lena. I would love to go on skiing trip. I ski very well. You are surprised, no?”

“I am, but I shouldn’t be. It seems like you’re pretty good at a lot of things.” She stirred her soup with the spoon. “I feel dumb saying this, but I’ve never been skiing before. It’s kinda silly that I’m going at all — and even sillier that I want to bring you with me.”

“I am surprised. And what is this all about? You’re good at many things that I wouldn’t have a clue about. Running your own business, for one. I’ll teach you how to ski.” He winked at her. “You will love it.”