Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 61469 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61469 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
I pushed my finger deeper, unable to stop myself even as my face burned with shame at the wanton action. The combination of Freya’s Bridle stimulating my clit and my own finger working my sore bottom was overwhelming. I could feel myself climbing toward that edge with frightening speed, my body trained too well by my Herra to resist.
In my mind, I wasn’t alone in this bed. Aksel was behind me, his massive frame pressed against my back, his thick cock replacing my inadequate finger. I imagined his voice in my ear, praising me for being such a good girl, for enduring Horakovsky’s cruelty to serve our cause. The fantasy was so vivid I could almost feel his breath on my neck, his hand covering mine to push my finger deeper.
The orgasm hit me like a lightning strike. I turned my face into the pillow to muffle my scream as waves of pleasure crashed through me, more intense than anything I’d managed in the shower. My pussy clenched desperately around nothing while my bottom gripped my finger, the dual sensation prolonging the climax until I thought I might pass out from the intensity.
As the pleasure crested, the silver branches materialized around me again, but this time they felt different—warmer, somehow, suffused with a golden quality alongside the silver.
“Thank you, Herra,” I whispered. “I love you, too.”
CHAPTER 18
Lorna
Two days later, at a facility that seemed to be some kind of private military base, Horakovsky ushered us aboard a vehicle of a kind I’d never seen before. The massive thing squatted on caterpillar tracks like some arctic beast, its hull painted in winter camouflage that made it nearly invisible against the snow-covered tarmac. Through the open rear hatch, I glimpsed an interior that belonged more in a luxury hotel than a military transport—polished wood paneling, leather seats, even what looked like a bar along one wall.
“My personal command vehicle,” Horakovsky said, his hand settling possessively on my lower back to guide me up the ramp. The touch made my skin crawl, but I forced myself not to flinch. “Modified from Russian military stock. It can traverse any terrain the Arctic throws at us.”
Takken followed behind us, his footsteps unsteady. He’d been drinking steadily since breakfast, fortifying himself for whatever was to come. I could smell the whiskey on him even from several feet away.
Inside, the vehicle was even more opulent than I’d imagined. The main cabin stretched perhaps thirty feet, with comfortable seating arranged around a central table that displayed a holographic map of what I assumed was our route. Climate control kept the temperature perfectly comfortable despite the sub-zero conditions outside. Two of Horakovsky’s men were already aboard—Dmitri, who gave me a look that made my stomach turn, and another guard whose scarred face suggested a violent past.
“Sit,” Horakovsky commanded, gesturing to a curved leather couch. “We have six hours of travel ahead of us.”
As the vehicle lurched into motion, the ride surprisingly smooth despite the tracks, Horakovsky poured himself a vodka from the bar. The crystal decanter caught the soft lighting, creating patterns that reminded me uncomfortably of ice.
“Your wife has been obedient about my rule?” he asked Takken casually, though his gray eyes were fixed on me. “No panties?”
Takken’s jaw tightened. “As you commanded.”
The Russian turned to me. My stomach churned at the cruel expression on his face. “Show me, whore.”
The words hung in the air like a physical presence. I felt my face burn as I understood what he wanted. Here, in this enclosed space with these men watching, he expected me to prove my compliance.
“Stand up,” Horakovsky said when I hesitated. “Lift your skirt.”
My hands trembled as I rose from the couch. I wore a wool skirt suit, appropriate for travel but suddenly feeling like the flimsiest protection. With movements that felt disconnected from my conscious mind, I gathered the fabric in my hands and slowly raised it.
The cool air against my bare flesh made me shiver. I could feel all their eyes on me—Horakovsky’s predatory satisfaction, Dmitri’s crude interest, the other guard’s bored assessment, and worst of all, Takken’s complex mixture of humiliation and dark fascination.
“Higher,” Horakovsky commanded. “To your waist.”
I obeyed, exposing myself completely from the waist down. My smooth pussy, still bearing welts from his horrible flogger, clenched as I kept my eyes on the carpet but couldn’t help picturing their eyes on me.
“The rest, now,” Horakovsky said simply. “Everything off.”
My fingers fumbled with the buttons of my jacket, then my blouse. Each piece of clothing felt like another layer of protection being stripped away until I stood completely naked in the warm cabin, surrounded by the fully dressed men. The pile beneath my bare feet felt obscene.
“On your knees,” Horakovsky commanded, already unfastening his belt. “You’re going to service us while we discuss business.”