Chapter 16
Lorna
My pulse thundered in my ears as I rode up to the hotel penthouse the next evening.
I wore nothing beneath the long cashmere coat, just as Horakovsky had commanded.
Every movement of the fabric against my bare skin sent shivers through me, reminding me of my vulnerability, my exposure.
To my horror, I could feel my thighs becoming slick with nervous arousal by the time the elevator chimed its arrival at the top floor.
The doors slid open to reveal one of Horakovsky’s bodyguards—the same man I’d noticed at the Synergy Group meeting, with the Cyrillic tattoo creeping up his neck. His dead eyes swept over me once, assessing, before he stepped aside.
“Inside,” he grunted in heavily accented English.
My legs trembled as I stepped out of the elevator and into the suite.
The space was massive, furnished in glass and steel with an air of cold modern luxury.
Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, I could see the city spread out below, lights beginning to twinkle in the gathering dusk.
Horakovsky stood with his back to me near the windows, a tumbler of what I assumed must be vodka in his hand.
“Your coat,” the bodyguard said behind me. “Take it off.”
My throat constricted. In my visions, I’d seen this moment play out—if I seemed too eager, too willing to debase myself, Horakovsky would lose interest. He needed to believe he was breaking me, not that I’d come pre-broken. The game required resistance.
“I…” I pulled the coat tighter around myself, letting my voice tremble. “I’d rather keep it on for now.”
The bodyguard’s expression darkened. “Mr. Horakovsky said—”
“What’s the problem?” Horakovsky’s voice cut across the room, still not turning from the window.
“She refuses to remove coat,” the bodyguard reported.
Finally, Horakovsky turned. His scarred face split into that predator’s smile I remembered from the conference room. “Dmitri,” he said calmly, setting down his vodka. “Take the coat. Then bring her to me for punishment.”
Dmitri’s hands were on me before I could react, yanking the cashmere from my shoulders with enough force to make me stumble. The coat fell to the marble floor, and suddenly I stood completely naked except for my heels in the vast penthouse, my skin pebbling in the climate-controlled air.
“Please,” I gasped, trying to cover myself with my hands. The gesture was genuine—despite everything Aksel had done to train me as a sexual servant, standing exposed before these monsters made real terror course through my veins.
Dmitri’s massive hand closed around my upper arm, his grip bruising as he marched me across the room toward Horakovsky. My knees wobbled under me, and I could feel both men’s eyes on my body—assessing, calculating, already planning what they would do to me.
“On your knees,” Horakovsky commanded when we reached him.
Dmitri’s hand on my shoulder forced me down before I could comply on my own.
My knees hit the hard floor with a painful crack that made me cry out.
Horakovsky circled me slowly, his expensive shoes so perfectly shined that they reflected the light.
I kept my eyes down, remembering Mila’s and Katya’s perfect submission, but also letting my body tremble visibly.
“Your husband tells me you’ve been thinking about me,” he said, stopping directly in front of me. “Touching yourself. Is this true?”
Heat flooded my face. “I… yes.”
“Yes, what?”
I swallowed hard, the word sticking in my throat. “Yes, sir.”
His laugh was dark, pleased. “Sir. How polite. But that’s not what my fuck toys call me. What do they call me, Dmitri?”
“Master,” the bodyguard supplied.
“That’s right.” Horakovsky’s hand tangled in my hair, yanking my head back to force me to look at him. “Say it.”
“Master,” I whispered, the word tasting like betrayal on my tongue.
Not to Takken—never him—but to the man I truly belonged to.
To my Herra, who had commanded me to submit to this brutality.
But somehow I continued with the words Yggdrasil had given me.
“Master… I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you…
how you train your… your special girls. My husband—he…
he disgusts me. I need a real man to show me my place. ”
Without warning, Horakovsky’s grip shifted, forcing my face down to the cold marble floor. His hand pressed between my shoulder blades, making me arch my back, raising my bottom high in the air. The position left me completely open, my most intimate parts displayed like an offering.
“Pretty words… and look at that pretty cunt,” he murmured, and I felt his fingers trace along my slit. To my horror, I was already wet, my body responding to the degradation exactly as Aksel had trained it to. “So eager already.”
I cried out as his touch found my clit, the contact sending a jolt of unwanted pleasure through me. The shameful, forbidden need his cruelty evoked made me sob against the floor. My body knew how to submit, had been trained to crave exactly this kind of domination, even from a monster like him.
“Dmitri,” Horakovsky said calmly, his hand still holding me down. “Bring me the whip.”
Terror flooded through me at his words. I’d felt Aksel’s strap, knew the fire it could bring, but something about Horakovsky’s tone promised worse. Despite my fear—or perhaps because of it—I clenched hard, my inner walls contracting around nothing.
Horakovsky felt it. His laugh rumbled through the room. “The little slut is already squeezing for it. Desperate thing.”
I tried to push myself up, to twist away from his grip, but his hand was immovable between my shoulders. My struggles only made him press harder, grinding my face against the floor until I gasped for breath.
“Here, boss,” Dmitri’s voice came from somewhere behind me.
I couldn’t see what he’d brought, but I heard Horakovsky’s sound of approval.
“Beautiful. Italian leather, perfectly balanced.” His free hand spread my legs wider, adjusting my position with clinical precision.
“I can feel you fighting it, Lorna. The way your body wants to respond versus what your mind is screaming. You were right to fight—you should fight.”
His fingers ghosted over my exposed pussy again, barely a touch but enough to make me whimper. “Because my intention is to turn you into nothing more than a cunt, an anus, and a mouth for my use. That’s all you’ll be when I’m done with you.”
The first strike of the flogger landed directly on my pussy, the leather tails creating a sharp, stinging impact that made me scream. The pain was immediate and intense, unlike anything I’d experienced even with Aksel. This wasn’t training or discipline—this was pure cruelty.
“Such a terrible waste,” Horakovsky continued conversationally as he brought the whip down again. “You’re clearly very special. Intelligent, beautiful, politically connected. But I don’t care about any of that. All I care about is what’s between your legs.”
Another strike, this one catching me directly on my swollen clit. The pain built until I screamed.
“You should have obeyed immediately when you arrived,” Horakovsky said, his voice carrying a note of disappointment that somehow made everything worse. “Dmitri told you to remove your coat, and you hesitated. You’ll learn very quickly that fuck toys who fail to obey instantly pay a severe price.”
The flogger came down again and again, each strike aimed with terrible precision. I lost count after the seventh blow, my world narrowing to the agony between my legs. Tears streamed down my face, pooling on the marble beneath me.
“Please!” I sobbed, my voice breaking. “Please, no more!”
“No more?” Horakovsky paused, and I heard him step closer. “Very well. I’ll give you a choice, little cunt. Either I continue whipping this pretty pussy until you can’t wear panties for a week, or…” His hand gripped my hair again, yanking my head back. “Or you beg me to fuck your ass instead.”
My stomach clenched at his words. The memory of Aksel claiming me there just a day ago was still fresh, the lingering soreness a constant reminder of my Herra’s ownership.
But beneath the terror and pain, something darker stirred.
Some twisted part of me wanted to feel Horakovsky’s hardness there, not out of desire but as proof that even this monster could be manipulated by his base needs.
If I could make him want me that badly, I could control him just enough to get what I needed.
But I had to play this perfectly. The vision from the world tree had been clear—appearing too willing would ruin everything.
“No,” I gasped, injecting as much horror into my voice as I could manage. “Not… not there. I’ve never… my husband never…”
The lie came easily, even as my body betrayed me with a fresh pulse of wetness.
“Never?” Horakovsky’s voice held dark amusement. “The prime minister never claimed his wife’s ass? How very civilized of him.” The flogger struck again, making me shriek. “But I’m not civilized, am I? I’m a barbarian, remember?”
Another strike, then another. Each blow sending shockwaves through my entire body.
“Please!” I screamed, my resistance crumbling exactly as I’d planned. “Please, anything else!”
“Anything?” He struck again, this time catching the tender crease where my thigh met my pussy. “Be specific, little cunt. What are you begging for?”
I sobbed, letting the words tumble out in a desperate rush. “Your… your cock. Please, Master, fuck my… my bottom instead. Please, no more whipping!”
The flogger dropped to the floor with a soft thud that seemed to echo through the penthouse.
“Good girl,” Horakovsky said, releasing his grip on my hair. I pressed my face back against the cold marble as I heard him stand. “Dmitri, bring the lubricant.”