Chapter 6
Lorna
I heard Aksel set the strap aside, then felt the bench shift as he moved around to face me. Through my tears, I saw him crouch down, bringing his steel-gray eyes level with mine.
“The Sons of Odin traditionally claim virgins as their bed thralls,” he said, reaching out to brush a tear from my cheek with surprising gentleness. “Young women who have never known a man’s dominance, never submitted as nature intended.”
My breath hitched. “But I’m married. I’m not—”
“You’ve never truly submitted to a man the way you were born to,” he interrupted, his thumb tracing along my jawline. “Your body has been penetrated, yes, but your spirit remains unclaimed. In the eyes of our order, that makes you virgin enough for our purposes.”
The words sent a confusing rush through me—terror and fascination warring with mortification and, worst of all, an arousal so intense it made me squirm against the bench. The movement sent fresh pain through my welted bottom, which only seemed to intensify the heat between my legs.
“I’m going to claim you now,” Aksel said, standing with that same precise movement.
His hands went to his belt, and I watched with wide eyes as he began to undress.
“First, I’ll fuck your mouth, teach you to serve with those pretty lips.
Then your fisse, that sweet cunt that’s been so criminally neglected. ”
Each word made me clench involuntarily, my body responding to his crude promises despite my mind’s protests. When he removed his shirt, revealing a torso marked with scars and strange tattoos that seemed to shift in the torchlight, I couldn’t look away.
“Your r?vhul,” he continued, pushing his pants down to reveal himself fully, “that tight little bottom-hole, will remain untouched until you’ve earned my tól there.
” He used the Old Norse word for his cock—his tool—with casual authority, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
“That’s the ultimate taming, as we consider it.
The final act of claiming a bed thrall completely. ”
He moved to stand before me, his erection at eye level with my bound position. One hand tangled in my hair, not roughly but with unmistakable control.
“Open,” he commanded.
I pressed my lips together, some last vestige of resistance flaring. The Lorna who’d stood in committee meetings, who’d smiled at state dinners, who’d been a statesman’s companion—couldn’t just open her mouth for a stranger’s pleasure. That woman couldn’t possibly—
The whistle of leather through air was my only warning. The strap crashed across my already burning bottom with such force that my mouth flew open in a scream. Then, hardly knowing what I was doing, I kept my lips parted and I put out my tongue.
Because I don’t want to be whipped again. Because I can’t bear it.
Aksel’s length pushed past my lips, the taste of him—salt and musk and something indefinably male—flooding my senses.
“That’s better,” he said, his voice carrying that same measured tone even as his hand tightened in my hair. The strap came down again, this time across my thighs, and I sobbed around him, the vibration making him grunt with satisfaction.
The third stroke landed at the junction of bottom and thighs, in that impossibly sensitive spot he’d already marked.
The pain was transcendent, beyond anything I’d experienced, and with it came a horrifying realization: I was grateful.
Some twisted part of me felt relief that he’d taken the choice away, that I could tell myself I had no option but to serve him with my mouth.
The shame of that gratitude burned almost as hot as my welted flesh.
Aksel began to move, using his grip on my hair to guide my head as he thrust between my lips.
I gagged at first, unused to the invasion, but he simply held me steady and continued his rhythm.
“Relax your throat,” he commanded. “Breathe through your nose. You were made for this, Lorna, whether you know it or not.”
I tried to follow his instructions, desperate to avoid more punishment, and found that it helped. My throat opened for him, accepting his length deeper with each stroke. The collar around my neck grew warm, then hot, and suddenly the world began to shift.
The torchlight flickered and stretched, becoming ribbons of gold that spiraled upward.
The longboat beneath me seemed to dissolve, and I was floating, rising, even as I remained bound to the bench with Aksel’s rigid cock in my mouth.
The chamber’s stone walls fell away, replaced by something impossible—branches.
Massive branches that stretched in every direction, their bark silver like moonlight, their leaves whispering secrets in languages both dead and unborn.
I was in Yggdrasil. The World Tree. Not metaphorically, though not in ordinary reality either, but somehow actually there, my consciousness split between the physical sensation of Aksel using my mouth and this impossible ascent through cosmic branches.
It was what I had felt when Aksel had put the tile in my hand, but magnified by a hundred… a thousand.
I could see threads everywhere—golden, silver, black, red—connecting everything to everything else.
Takken’s corruption was a spreading rot, black tendrils reaching from node to node, but there was something else.
A pattern within the pattern. The Synergy Group wasn’t just one entity but many, their threads weaving together into something ancient and terrible.
“That’s it,” Aksel’s voice came from everywhere and nowhere, reverberating through the branches. “Let the sight take you. This is what the volur knew—that submission opens the doors between worlds.”
Images flashed through my mind as his thick cock slid deeper into my throat.
Flashes of meetings I’d never attended, conversations in languages I didn’t speak but somehow understood.
Takken signing documents in rooms I’d never seen, his signature sealing fates he didn’t comprehend.
The Synergy Group’s true masters, faces obscured but their intent clear as crystal—to drain the North of its power, both literal and spiritual.
“Try to relax into it.” Aksel’s voice cut through the visions, grounding me even as my consciousness floated through impossible spaces.
“Even with the collar, you’ll need extensive training in sexual submission before you can truly understand what you’re seeing.
But you’re making remarkable progress already. ”
The praise sent an unwelcome warmth through my chest. I hated how his approval made me feel—proud, accomplished, as if I’d done something worthy rather than debased myself at a stranger’s command.
Worse, I felt a flutter of something dangerously close to affection for this man who’d stripped me, bound me, and was currently using my mouth for his pleasure.
The contradiction made my head spin, or perhaps that was just the lack of oxygen as he held himself deep in my throat.
“Your mouth is already exquisite on the tól,” he said, his fingers gentling in my hair. “You’ve learned quickly how to serve. I’m quite pleased with this hole.”
He withdrew slowly, and I gasped for air, strings of saliva connecting my lips to his length. My jaw ached, my throat felt raw, but beneath the discomfort was that treacherous pulse of pride at his praise. I’d pleased him. My Herra was satisfied with me.
I heard his footsteps on the ancient wood as he moved around the bench, positioning himself behind me. The ropes kept me spread and vulnerable, unable to close my legs or shield myself from his gaze. His hands settled on my welted bottom, and I whimpered at the contact.
“Such beautiful marks,” he murmured, tracing the raised welts with one finger. “You color magnificently under discipline.”
His touch moved lower, and I tensed as his fingers found my pussy, my little fisse, still shamefully wet despite—or because of—everything that had happened. He explored me with the same methodical precision he’d shown with everything else, spreading my lips to examine me thoroughly.
“So responsive,” he noted, sliding two fingers inside me.
I clenched around the intrusion, unable to stop the moan that escaped.
“And tight. Once you’re smooth and bare, this fisse will look truly adorable and irresistible.
Your Herra will take you so often that you’ll walk differently when you leave your training sessions.
How many men have used this sweet cunt, Lorna? ”
“Just… just my husband,” I gasped, burning with humiliation at the clinical way he questioned me while his fingers worked inside me. “And we haven’t… not for over a year.”
“Hmm.” His fingers withdrew, and I bit back a whine at the emptiness. Then I felt him spreading my bottom cheeks, his thumb circling my most private entrance. “And here? Has anyone claimed your r?vhul?”
“No!” The word burst from me before I could stop it, my face burning so hot I thought I might actually combust. “Never. I’ve never… no one has ever…”
“And your mouth?” His thumb pressed against that forbidden entrance, not penetrating but making its presence known. “Before today?”
“Once,” I whispered, squeezing my eyes shut against the humiliation. “A boyfriend in university. Just once, and I couldn’t… I didn’t finish it.”
“Ah.” His hand moved away from my bottom, returning to stroke along my inner thigh. “You’ve been terrified of your own nature, haven’t you? Afraid that if you ever truly submitted, you’d discover needs so deep they’d swallow you whole.”
Before I could respond, the strap whistled through the air again.
But this time, as it connected with my already burning flesh, his other hand found my clit.
The combination of pain and pleasure short-circuited something in my brain.
I screamed, but the sound that emerged was nothing like the protests from before. This was pure animal need.
“You see?” He brought the strap down again while his fingers circled that sensitive bundle of nerves. “Your body tells me everything, despite the conflict in your mind and your heart.”
Another stroke, another burst of exquisite agony paired with his skilled touch.
I was climbing toward something massive, an orgasm that would destroy whatever remained of the woman I’d been when I walked into this warehouse.
My hips rocked desperately against his hand, chasing the release that built like a storm in my belly.
“Please,” I sobbed. “Please, Herra, I need—”
His hand withdrew instantly, leaving me hanging on the precipice. “No. You won’t come until my tól is inside you.”
I heard him moving behind me, positioning himself. The blunt head of his cock pressed against the opening of my aching sheath, and I whimpered at the size of him.
“I know you’re on birth control,” he said, his voice carrying that same clinical tone even as he began to push inside. “The sensor between your legs monitors everything about your body. So I have no compunction about filling this sweet fisse with my seed.”
He entered me in one long, steady thrust, and I cried out at the fullness. He was so much larger than Takken, stretching me in ways that bordered on painful. But beneath the discomfort, that terrible need still pulsed, desperate for the release he’d denied me.
“You will not come until I give permission,” he commanded, beginning to move with slow, deep strokes. “And I won’t give that permission until you’ve returned to the tree. Until you’ve had another vision of the working of the roots and branches of the world.”
The collar grew hot against my throat again, and I felt myself beginning to drift even as his cock moved inside me.
The physical sensations remained acute—the stretch of him filling me, the burn of my welted bottom, the ache in my bound wrists—but my consciousness began to separate.
I understood this was happening even as Aksel’s cock drove deeper into me, stretching me in ways that made me sob with confused pleasure.
“Listen carefully,” Aksel said, his voice cutting through the haze that threatened to overwhelm me.
His hands gripped my hips as he maintained that steady, devastating rhythm.
“What you’re experiencing isn’t supernatural, Lorna.
I know you’ll want to believe it is—that some mystical force is showing you these visions. ”
I gasped as he angled his hips, hitting something deep inside that made me cry out in helpless pleasure. The collar burned against my throat, and I could feel myself slipping toward that other place, toward the silver branches and golden threads.
“No,” he continued, his breath coming harder now though his words remained precise.
“The visions come from within you. Your unconscious mind observes everything—every impression, every tell, every pattern that your conscious self misses. That’s your inherent v?lva sense, and the collar merely unlocks that ability more fully. ”
“But I saw—” I started to protest, then gasped out as he thrust particularly deep.
“You saw what you already knew,” Aksel said firmly. “Think about it. Every meeting you attended with Takken, every document left carelessly on his desk, every phone call you overheard but didn’t consciously register. Your mind catalogued it all.”
The world shimmered around me, the longboat fading as those impossible branches materialized again. But now his words made me see them differently. Not as some mystical world tree, but as neural pathways, connections my brain was making between disparate pieces of information.
“The ancient volur understood this intuitively,” he said, one hand leaving my hip to stroke down my spine.
“They called it sight beyond sight, but we know better now. It’s a special kind of unconscious processing that only manifests in women with your particular nature—women who submit completely, who surrender their conscious defenses. ”
I saw Takken again in my mind’s eye, but now I recognized the scene.
A dinner party three months ago where he’d excused himself to take a call.
I’d heard him speaking Russian through the door—I’d forgotten, but my unconscious mind hadn’t.
The vision showed me what I’d missed: the tension in his shoulders when he returned, the way he’d avoided Horakovsky’s gaze for the rest of the evening.
“That’s it,” Aksel encouraged, his thrusts becoming more forceful. “Let your mind work. Every woman who serves the Sons of Odin as a v?lva learns this truth eventually. What seems like prophecy is simply your remarkable brain finally being allowed to function as it was meant to.”