Chapter 8
Lorna
The prime minister’s apartments felt even less like home than they ever had before, when I got back from Aksel’s safehouse. I found myself avoiding the bathroom, despite knowing I should shower, because I didn’t want to think about my Herra’s last order.
At last the need to relieve myself overcame my reluctance.
Once I had peed, though, I couldn’t deny just how my body yearned for the enormous shower stall and the comfort I had always found there, as well as the space to think amidst the steam.
Until that moment, I hadn’t connected that penchant of mine to the ancient traditions of the North, saunas and steam baths to drive away the chill and enhance the sense, but suddenly I felt foolish not to have seen it.
I focused on that as I undressed and turned away from the mirror so that I wouldn’t see the thatch of hair between my thighs that had begun to seem somehow disobedient in and of itself—let alone the welts my Herra’s strap had left across my backside.
But as I stood under the shower’s hot spray, I couldn’t stop thinking about what Aksel had commanded.
The idea of removing those ash-blonde curls, of baring myself completely like some kind of sexual servant, made my stomach twist with humiliation.
And the thought of shaving between my bottom cheeks…
I pressed my forehead against the cool tile, water streaming down my back.
I shouldn’t have let my hand drift down.
I knew better. But the memory of his hands on me, his voice calling me his bed thrall, the way he’d used me so thoroughly in that longboat—it all crashed over me at once.
My fingers found my clit, still sensitive from his touch hours earlier, and I gasped at the contact.
Just once, I told myself, even as I began to circle that bundle of nerves with desperate urgency. Just to take the edge off.
But the moment I started, I couldn’t stop.
My other hand braced against the shower wall as I worked myself frantically, chasing something I couldn’t name.
The collar was gone, but somehow I could still feel those silver branches calling to me, could almost see the threads connecting everything if I just pushed a little harder, climbed a little higher—
The bathroom door banged open.
“Lorna?” Takken’s voice cut through my haze like ice water.
I jerked my hand away, spinning to face the shower door, my heart hammering. Through the steamed glass I could see his silhouette in the doorway. The thought that he must know what he had caught me doing brought a thrill of shame, and a clench so hard I couldn’t keep from whimpering.
“I’m going out,” he said flatly, and I could hear the disgust in his voice. Not jealousy, not concern, just mild revulsion at his wife’s base needs. “The Brenteuil meeting has been rescheduled. Don’t wait up.”
He left without another word, the apartment door slamming behind him moments later. I stood frozen under the spray, shame and frustrated need warring in my chest. I’d been so close to something, to understanding something important about the threads I’d seen in my visions.
I shut off the water with trembling hands and wrapped myself in a towel.
As soon as I opened the shower door I heard the burner phone buzz from the bedroom.
Shaking with fear now, I walked barefoot across the cold floor and into the deep pile of the bedroom carpet.
When I retrieved the phone from its hiding place, I saw that the silver raven icon was glowing on the screen.
You’ve been a very disobedient bed thrall, Lorna. Touching yourself without permission is forbidden. You’ve earned severe punishment for this transgression.
My stomach dropped. My Herra knew—of course. Of course he knew—he’d said he’d be watching always. And, unlike my husband, my Herra cared.
Another message appeared:
Your punishment will be tripled if you haven’t shaved your fisse and r?vhul completely bare within the next fifteen minutes. I want you smooth as silk for me.
Heat flooded my face. The frank way he commanded me to alter my most intimate areas made me feel exposed even through the screen. My fingers trembled as I typed: Please, I don’t understand. How can you—
Put the phone down. Stand naked in front of your mirror. Hands behind your head. Now.
The command made me bite my lip and furrow my brow as I fought my body’s treasonous response to it.
I set the phone on the dresser with shaking hands and let the towel drop to the floor.
My reflection in the full-length mirror showed a woman with damp, tangled hair, skin still flushed from the shower and my shameful touching, welts from Aksel’s strap still visible across my bottom when I turned slightly.
I raised my arms and laced my fingers behind my head, the position making my breasts lift and my back arch.
The posture displayed me completely, offered my body as if for inspection.
I stared at the thatch of ash-blonde curls between my thighs, imagining how I would look once they were gone.
Like a little girl, or worse like a woman who’d been stripped of even that small dignity, made smooth and bare for her master’s pleasure.
The thought had barely formed when agony exploded through my bottom.
Not the now-familiar burn between my legs, but something far worse—it felt as if someone had shoved a red-hot poker directly up into my anus.
The pain was so intense, so specifically located in that most private place, that I screamed and collapsed to my knees, then onto my side, both hands flying back to clutch at my bottom.
“Please!” I sobbed, rubbing desperately at the burning ring of muscle, trying to soothe the unbearable sensation. “Oh, God, please stop!”
The instant my hands made contact, the pain vanished as if it had never been.
I lay gasping on the bedroom floor, tears streaming down my face, my whole body trembling from the shock of it.
The message had been clear: that forbidden place, my r?vhul that Aksel had promised to claim only when I’d earned it, could be punished just as easily as my pussy.
The phone buzzed from the dresser. Still shaking, I crawled over to retrieve it.
That was a warning. Your r?vhul will burn much worse if you haven’t shaved yourself bare in ten minutes. Your sweet fisse and the crack of your r?v, smooth as silk. Then return here and resume this position.
I scrambled to my feet and ran to the bathroom, back into the shower, my hands reaching for the razor I used to shave my legs.
I’d never done this before. Even in university, when some girls had gone completely bare, I’d maintained my natural covering.
It had seemed like a small rebellion against the pornographic expectations of modern men.
Now, though, with my Herra’s command and the threat of that horrible burning in my bottom-hole hanging over me, I grabbed the shaving gel with trembling fingers.
The cool foam hissed out into my palm, and I realized with a hot flush of embarrassment how awkwardly I’d have to position myself to reach everywhere he’d demanded.
I spread my legs wide, bowing them outward in an undignified stance that I knew must make me look like some kind of wanton creature.
The position alone made my face burn with shame as I bent forward, stooping to see what I was doing.
My breasts hung heavily as I worked the gel into a thick lather through my curls, my fingers moving through the coarse hair that had always been there, that had always been mine—almost the mark of my adulthood, my independence.
The intimacy of it made my breath catch.
I was preparing myself for him, making myself bare in a way that felt more exposing than simply being naked.
Each stroke of my fingers through the foam sent shivers through me, and to my horror, I felt myself growing wet again—not from the gel, but from arousal so intense it made my hands shake.
I picked up the razor with unsteady fingers and made the first stroke, watching the blonde curls fall away to reveal pale, sensitive skin beneath.
The sight made something clench deep in my belly.
With each careful stroke, I was transforming myself into what my Herra wanted—smooth, bare, available.
The memory of that burning agony in my bottom-hole made me work faster, but also more carefully.
I couldn’t risk cutting myself, couldn’t risk disappointing him.
The worst part was reaching between my bottom cheeks.
I had to bend even further, one hand spreading myself open while the other carefully navigated the razor through that most private valley.
The position was beyond humiliating—if anyone had walked in, they would have seen the prime minister’s wife contorted like a common whore, shaving her ass for a man who wasn’t her husband.
But even that thought sent a pulse of heat through me.
The pain Aksel could inflict with that horrible device, the way he’d marked my bottom with his strap, the feeling of his thick cock stretching my pussy—it all meant something I was only beginning to understand.
He owned me in a way Takken never had, never could.
My body recognized its master even when my mind rebelled.
When I finished, I ran my fingers over the newly smooth skin, checking for any missed spots.
The sensation was electric—every nerve ending seemed exposed, hypersensitive.
Between my legs, I was slick with more than just water and leftover shaving gel.
The folds of my pussy, now completely visible without their protective covering, felt swollen and obvious.
I looked down at myself and gasped. Without the hair, I looked shockingly naked, almost obscene.
My pussy lips were pink and slightly parted, glistening with unmistakable arousal.
I rinsed quickly, my hands trembling as I patted myself dry with a towel.
Six minutes left. I hurried back to the bedroom, the feeling of the air against my newly bare pussy making me gasp.
The sensation was delicate but also overwhelming—every movement reminded me of what I’d done, of how exposed I now was.
The silver raven glowed on the phone screen as I picked it up, a new message already waiting.
Good girl. Now kneel on the floor with your back to the mirror. Place the phone on the floor in front of you. Then bend forward and prostrate yourself on your elbows with your thighs wide apart, and look back through your legs at your reflection.
My legs felt weak as I sank to my knees on the plush carpet.
I set the phone carefully in front of me, the screen still glowing with that ominous raven.
Then, with my heart hammering against my ribs, I bent forward until my elbows pressed against the floor, my bottom raised high in the air.
The position alone made me burn with humiliation, but when I lowered my head to look back at the mirror, a cry tore from my throat.
The sight was beyond mortifying. My bare pussy was completely exposed, pink and glistening, the lips slightly parted to reveal the wetness that had gathered there despite—or because of—my shame.
The smooth, pale skin where my curls had been looked shockingly vulnerable, almost childlike except for the obvious arousal that made everything swollen and slick.
Worse, from this angle I could see between my spread cheeks to where I’d shaved myself completely bare there too, my tiny bottom-hole visible and exposed in a way that made me want to die of embarrassment.
“Oh, God,” I whimpered, unable to look away from the debauched image. This was what my Herra saw—this slut with her bare pussy dripping with need, presented like an animal in heat.
The phone buzzed, and I forced myself to raise my eyes and look down at it, though maintaining the position made my neck ache.
Beautiful. My perfect little bed thrall, smooth and bare for her Herra. Now you must be punished for touching yourself without permission. Reach back and spank your own bottom. Hard. I want to see it turn pink.
“No,” I gasped, even as my hand moved behind me.
The idea of punishing myself, of being forced to deliver my own discipline while watching myself in this humiliating position, was almost too much to bear.
But the memory of that burning in my bottom-hole made my hand rise and fall before I could stop it.
The first slap was tentative, barely more than a pat.
Harder, Lorna. Punish yourself properly or I’ll activate the device between your legs.
I sobbed and brought my hand down with real force this time. The crack echoed through the bedroom, and the sting bloomed across my right cheek immediately. In the mirror, I watched my flesh ripple from the impact, saw the faint pink mark appear on my pale skin.
Again. Alternate cheeks.