Chapter 9
Lorna
I brought my left hand down hard on my other cheek, the sound ringing through the empty apartment.
My face burned almost as hot as my bottom as I watched myself in the mirror—the prime minister’s wife, spanking herself like a naughty child while displaying her newly bare pussy to an empty room.
Each slap made my breasts sway, made the wetness between my legs more obvious.
“Please,” I sobbed, delivering another sharp smack to my right cheek. “Please, Herra, I’m sorry. I won’t touch myself again without permission.”
The phone remained silent as I continued my self-punishment, alternating cheeks with increasingly forceful blows.
My bottom grew warm, then hot, the pink deepening to a bright rose that matched the flush spreading across my chest. Tears streamed down my face—from pain, from humiliation, from the desperate need building between my legs despite everything.
After what felt like an eternity but was probably only two or three minutes, the phone buzzed.
Stop. You’ve done well, my sweet bed thrall.
I lowered my hand, gasping with relief, my bottom throbbing with heat.
Then, without warning, pure liquid pleasure flooded through me.
It was as if Freya’s Bridle had transformed from an instrument of punishment to one of ecstasy.
The sensation centered between my legs but radiated outward in waves that made my whole body convulse.
Come for me, Lorna. Now.
The command hit me like an onrushing train.
My back arched as the orgasm crashed over me, more intense than anything I’d ever managed with my own fingers.
I cried out, my hips bucking helplessly as the device somehow stimulated every nerve ending at once.
The pleasure was almost painful in its intensity, forcing its way through me whether I wanted it or not.
As the climax peaked, the world shifted.
The bedroom dissolved, and I found myself among those silver branches again, climbing toward something vast and incomprehensible.
But this time, something was different. Where before I’d ascended easily through Yggdrasil’s cosmic canopy, now I found myself stuck in the lower branches.
I could see the higher realms above me—threads of gold and shadow that held secrets I desperately needed to understand—but I couldn’t reach them.
I strained upward, trying to pull myself higher, but the branches seemed to slip through my fingers like smoke.
The frustration was almost as intense as the pleasure still coursing through my body.
I could sense important information just out of reach—patterns about Takken’s corruption, about the Synergy Group’s true purpose—but I couldn’t quite grasp them.
The vision faded as the orgasm finally released me, leaving me gasping on the bedroom floor, my thighs trembling and slick with my own arousal. I’d collapsed forward, my face pressed against the carpet, my bottom still raised in that humiliating position.
The phone buzzed. Slowly, painfully, I pushed myself up enough to read the screen.
Tell me what you experienced, little one.
My fingers shook as I typed, still maintaining my degrading position on my knees with my backside raised as if to offer it to my Herra.
I went to the tree again, but I couldn’t climb as high. I was stuck in the lower branches. I could see the patterns above me… information about Takken, about everything… but I couldn’t reach them.
You’re coming along well, Aksel replied. Better than I expected for someone so new to her true nature.
The praise made something warm unfurl in my chest, even as I hated myself for caring about his approval. I shifted slightly, my knees aching against the carpet, and waited for whatever command would come next. My Herra’s instructions came in a torrent.
You will edge yourself every day in the shower.
Touch your sweet fisse, work yourself to the very edge of climax.
And you will also put a finger in your tight little r?vhul.
Yes, that forbidden place that burned so badly tonight.
When you feel yourself beginning to ascend to the tree, you will stop immediately. No coming without my permission.
I whimpered at the thought of it—of having to violate myself in that most private place, of bringing myself to the edge of release only to deny myself over and over. The frustration would be unbearable.
Please, Herra, I typed desperately. I don’t think I can, and I can’t bear being punished with the bridle that way again.
You absolutely can do this, Lorna. This training will build your capacity, strengthen your sight. When you return to my safehouse next week, you’ll have the chance to make a real breakthrough. To climb higher into Yggdrasil’s branches than you’ve even imagined.
Another message appeared before I could respond.
There’s something else. You may soon have an opportunity to learn more about your husband’s associates.
Brenteuil will be hosting another gathering in three days.
More important, we believe Horakovsky will be there.
The Sons of Odin have been trying to locate his base of operations in the Arctic.
We suspect he’s hiding something significant there.
Weapons, perhaps, or technology that could shift the balance of power in the North.
My breath caught. The Arctic? I remembered fragments from my visions—ice and darkness, massive structures hidden beneath the permafrost. But the details remained frustratingly out of reach.
If you can get close enough to Horakovsky, your unconscious will gather patterns that you may be able to see into when you return to me for training. When my hard tól is thrusting in you, more truth will have the chance to appear in your vision of the tree.
I thought of having to stand near that monster again, remembering how he’d beaten poor Mila in front of everyone. Then the thought of my Herra fucking me into another vision sent an unwelcome thrill through my still-sensitive body.
Now get up. Clean yourself. Your husband will be home within the hour, and you need to look presentable. Remember—you belong to me now, but you must continue to play your role perfectly.
Two nights later Takken appeared in the doorway of my study, his jaw tight with barely contained fury. “Horakovsky insists you attend tomorrow’s meeting with Brenteuil,” he said, each word clipped and precise.
I looked up from my book, careful to keep my expression neutral even as my stomach clenched. “Of course, if you need me there—”
“I don’t need you there,” Takken snapped, crossing the room in three quick strides. “He’s demanding it. Why would he do that, Lorna? What possible reason could Georgy Horakovsky have for specifically requesting your presence?”
His gray eyes searched my face with an intensity that made my pulse race. I felt heat flood my cheeks, remembering the way Horakovsky had looked at me at the last reception, how his gaze had lingered on my body with predatory interest.
“Maybe he…” I swallowed hard, forcing myself to meet Takken’s stare. “Maybe he finds me attractive. You know how he is with women. The perverted way he treats those poor girls of his.”
Takken’s lip curled in disgust. “You think that Russian pig wants to fuck my wife?” The vulgarity sounded strange in his cultured voice.
I could see in his eyes that he believed it, and the knowledge made him even angrier—not out of jealousy or protectiveness, but because it represented another way Horakovsky held power over him. My husband’s fingers drummed against his thigh, that telltale sign of his agitation.
“It doesn’t matter what he wants,” Takken said finally, his voice dropping to something cold and dangerous. “You’ll attend. You’ll smile. You’ll be charming. And you’ll give him absolutely no encouragement. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I whispered.
The next evening, we arrived at the Synergy Group headquarters just as the sun was setting, casting long shadows through the glass atrium.
My body thrummed with barely contained need.
Two days of edging myself in the shower, of working my fingers between my legs and even—God help me—pressing one into my bottom-hole as Aksel had commanded, only to stop just as I felt myself beginning to ascend.
Two days of denial had left me feeling like a live wire, every nerve ending hypersensitive.
Horakovsky waited in the same conference room where I’d witnessed him discipline Mila. He stood by the window, his massive frame backlit by the dying light. Brenteuil sat at the table, papers spread before him, while two men I didn’t recognize flanked the door like guards.
“Ah, the lovely Fru Norquist,” Horakovsky said, turning to face us. His scarred face split into what might have been a smile on anyone else. “So good of you to join us.”
“Georgy,” Takken said tightly. “Shall we discuss the pipeline routes?”
“In good time,” Horakovsky said, his gray eyes never leaving me. “First, I have a small request.”
The temperature in the room seemed to drop. Takken shifted beside me, and I could feel the tension radiating from him.
“What kind of request?” my husband asked, his voice carefully neutral.
Horakovsky’s smile widened. “I’d like to see what you’re offering in this partnership. All of what you’re offering.” His gaze traveled down my body in a way that made my skin crawl. “Tell your wife to remove her clothes.”
The silence that followed was deafening. I felt the blood drain from my face even as heat pooled shamefully between my legs. Takken’s hand clenched at his side, and for a moment I thought he might actually refuse, might finally show some backbone.
“That’s—” Takken started, then stopped. I could see the calculations running behind his eyes—the billions of kroner at stake, the power dynamics at play. His jaw worked silently before he turned to me with dead eyes. “Take off your clothes, Lorna.”
I felt my jaw slacken. Fire, terrible and ambiguous, flooded my body from my scalp to my feet, centered exactly where I didn’t want it to be centered.
My hands moved to the zipper of my dress before I could stop them, some combination of Aksel’s training and pure shock making me obey.
The expensive fabric dropped at my feet, followed by my slip.
I unhooked my bra with trembling fingers, then pushed my panties down my legs, stepping out of them with as much dignity as I could muster.
“Well, well,” Horakovsky said, his eyes fixed between my legs. “Smooth as a baby’s bottom. When did you start shaving your cunt, Fru Norquist?”
I saw Takken’s face flush dark red, his eyes widening as he took in my bare pussy for the first time. The fury in his expression was barely contained—not at Horakovsky for demanding this, but at me for this revelation, for having secrets he didn’t know about.
“I… recently,” I managed, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Interesting,” Horakovsky mused. “Tell me, Norquist, do you discipline your wife? Keep her in line?”
Takken straightened, trying to reclaim some authority. “I’m not a barbarian, Georgy. This is the twenty-first century.” He paused, then added quickly, “Not that I mean any offense. Obviously the contemporary world needs… barbarians. Men of action.”
Horakovsky’s laugh was like gravel grinding. “A barbarian? Is that what I am?” He glanced at Brenteuil. “What do you think, Gaston? The prime minister calls us barbarians.”
Brenteuil chuckled, setting down his pen with deliberate precision. “The French are supposed to be civilized, non? But really, I don’t mind being called a barbarian.” His dark eyes found Takken’s. “At least not when the word is spoken by someone with your… considerable influence.”
The way Brenteuil drew out the words made my stomach turn.
They were toying with my husband, playing him like a cheap violin, and the worst part was that Takken seemed oblivious to their mockery.
I stood there naked, watching these men circle my husband like predators, and felt an unexpected surge of superiority mixed with terror.
For all his corruption and cruelty, Takken was hopelessly outmatched.
“Well then,” Takken said, his voice taking on that false heartiness he used when trying to move past uncomfortable moments. “Perhaps we should review the contracts? I’m eager to finalize—”
“All in good time,” Horakovsky interrupted, moving toward the door. “But first, I think we need to establish the proper atmosphere for such important negotiations.” He opened the door and spoke to someone in the hallway. “Girls. Come.”