Chapter 24 #2
My whole body went white hot—shame at being so transparent, and arousal at having been caught in my manipulation. I had indeed been hoping for this, I realized. Hoping he would punish me, would remind me physically of my submission before claiming me the way he’d promised.
“Strip,” he commanded, releasing my chin. “Everything off. Now.”
My fingers trembled as I unbuttoned my blouse, letting it fall to the floor. The skirt followed, then my undergarments, until I stood naked before him in what would soon be my official residence. The vulnerability of it made my breath come faster.
Aksel moved to the crate, lifting the bride saddle easily out of it, positioning it in the center of the sitting room where I would indeed see it every time I worked. The carved serpents seemed to writhe in the lamplight, and I felt my face burn hotter knowing what was about to happen.
“Come here,” he said, and the command in his voice left no room for argument.
My legs trembled as I approached, and he guided me onto the saddle with firm hands. The polished wood was cool against my bare skin, but my pussy was already slick with need as I settled onto the saddle’s ridge, the carved wood pressing against my swollen clit with exquisite precision.
Aksel moved behind me, and I heard the soft clink of leather straps with metal fittings being gathered.
His hands were firm but gentle as he secured my wrists to the saddle’s brass rings, then moved to bind my ankles, spreading my legs wider until I was completely exposed and helpless.
I felt again how my Herra’s saddle rendered me utterly vulnerable, my bottom raised, my breasts hanging free, everything on display for my master’s pleasure.
“Wait here,” he said, and I heard his footsteps retreat toward what I assumed was the bedroom.
When he returned, I craned my neck to see what he carried.
My breath caught at the sight of the thick leather strap in his hand—wider than his belt, darker, with intricate Norse knot work tooled into its surface.
My mind went back to my first training, my initiation on the rowing bench of the underground longboat and I let out a little yelp of fear.
“Your own Viking punishment strap,” Aksel confirmed, his voice carrying that measured tone that made my stomach clench with anticipation.
“You have felt it before, and you will again, when you have earned correction. I had this one made by a craftsman in Bergen who still practices the old methods.” He moved to stand where I could see him, letting me take in the implement that would soon mark my flesh.
“This will remain here as well, little v?lva. In your desk drawer, waiting for those occasions when you’ve earned my hand in correction. ”
“Herra, please,” I whispered, though I wasn’t sure if I was begging him to stop or to begin.
“You defied me,” he said simply. “Told me you wouldn’t have the saddle here. That needs to be addressed, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, Herra,” I managed, my whole body trembling.
The first lash of the strap landed across my upturned bottom with a crack that echoed through the sitting room.
Fire exploded across my flesh, more intense than I’d expected, and I cried out before I could stop myself.
The pain was so much less than that from Horakovsky’s knout—and yet it felt much more meaningful.
It carried weight and purpose rather than cruelty, correction rather than destruction.
“Count them,” Aksel commanded. “And thank me for each one.”
“One,” I gasped. “Thank you, Herra.”
The second cut fell in almost the same place, and I yelped at the building burn. “Two! Thank you, Herra!”
He established a rhythm then, methodical and unforgiving. Each stroke of the strap sent fresh fire across my bottom and thighs, and I counted through my tears, thanking him for the correction I’d earned. When I had endured ten, I was sobbing openly, my bottom feeling like it had been set ablaze.
“Please,” I begged when he paused. “Please, Herra, I’m sorry. I was wrong to defy you.”
“What do you want, little one?” His voice held a note of compassion that made me hope.
“Please, Herra, I need you,” I sobbed, my whole body trembling on the saddle. “Please, I need your tól inside me. I can’t… I need to be claimed. Need to feel you filling me.”
“Better,” he murmured, and I heard him set the strap down. His hand stroked my burning bottom, the touch both soothing and igniting fresh sparks of need. “But I think you can beg more convincingly than that.”
I felt something shift between my legs—a subtle vibration that made me gasp. Freya’s Bridle. He’d activated the pleasure function, and suddenly the pressure of the saddle’s ridge combined with the pulsing stimulation against my clit became almost unbearable.
“Herra, please!” I cried out, my hips jerking involuntarily. “Please fuck me! I need your huge tól in my fisse, in my r?vhul—I need you to use me, to claim every part of me! Please!”
The strap landed again, this time across my upper thighs. The combination of pain and pleasure sent me spiraling, and I heard myself begging with words I’d never have imagined saying before my training.
“I’m your bed thrall! Your fuck toy! Please use me like you own me because you do! My pussy belongs to you, my bottom belongs to you, everything belongs to you! Please, Herra, please!”
Another lash, and another. The vibrations increased, pushing me toward an edge I knew he wouldn’t let me cross. I was sobbing, begging incoherently now, my defiance completely shattered under the dual assault of correction and denied pleasure.
“That’s what I wanted to hear,” Aksel said, his voice thick with satisfaction. I felt the blunt head of his tól press against the entrance to my aching sheath, and then he was pushing inside, filling me with one slow, inexorable thrust that made me cry out at the stretch.
“Don’t you dare come,” he commanded as he began to move. “Not until I give you permission.”
I bit my lip hard, trying to control the waves of sensation threatening to overwhelm me.
His massive length drove deep with each thrust, hitting places that made me see stars.
The vibrations from Freya’s Bridle continued their relentless assault on my clit, and I had to concentrate with everything I had not to tip over that edge.
“Please,” I whimpered as he established a punishing rhythm. “Herra, I don’t know if I can—”
“You can,” he growled, his hands gripping my hips hard enough to bruise. “You will. You’re mine to control, little v?lva.”
I sobbed as he drove into me, the fullness of his massive tól combined with the relentless vibrations pushing me so close to the edge I could barely think. My welted bottom throbbed where the strap had marked me, and every thrust sent fresh sparks of pain-pleasure through my core.
“Good girl,” Aksel growled, his rhythm becoming more demanding. “Taking your Herra’s cock like you were made for it.”
I was made for it, I realized through the haze of sensation. Every part of my training, every moment of submission, had prepared me for exactly this—to be claimed completely while bound helplessly to his bride saddle in what would soon be the prime minister’s private sitting room.
His thrusts grew more forceful, each one driving so deep I felt split open. The vibrations intensified, and I heard myself begging incoherently, pleading for release even as I fought to obey his command to wait.
“Please, Herra, I need—I can’t—”
He pulled out suddenly, leaving me gasping and empty. Before I could process the loss, I felt the blunt head of his tol press against my other, more private entrance, my r?vhul, only barely recovered from Horakovsky’s brutal use but aching for this reclamation.
“This is mine,” Aksel said, his voice carrying absolute certainty. “Not his. Never his. Mine.”
“Yes,” I sobbed. “Yours, Herra. Only yours.”
He pushed forward slowly, giving me time to adjust to his considerable girth.
The stretch was intense, the fullness overwhelming, but unlike the violation I’d endured at Berkut Station, this felt sacred.
This was my Herra claiming what belonged to him, erasing the memory of cruelty with the weight of his dominance and care.
When he was fully seated inside my bottom, he paused, letting me feel every inch of his possession. Then he began to move, establishing a rhythm that had me crying out with each thrust.
The vibrations against my clit continued their assault, and the combination of sensations—his thick tól stretching my r?vhul, the saddle’s ridge pressing against my swollen fisse, the pulsing pleasure from Freya’s Bridle—sent me spiraling upward with terrifying speed.
The silver branches materialized around me as he fucked my bottom with increasing force. I shot through Yggdrasil’s canopy, the world tree spreading before me in crystalline perfection. But this time, instead of seeing political futures or strategic threads, I saw something entirely different.
I saw myself, my belly round with pregnancy, Aksel’s hand resting protectively over the swell.
The vision was so vivid I could feel the weight of the child inside me, could see the fierce pride in my Herra’s steel-gray eyes.
Then the scene shifted, and I was holding an infant—a boy with his father’s white-blond hair and my sharp features.
Another shift, and I saw a girl—a daughter with flame-red hair like Mary O’Toole’s but my green eyes.
Then another boy, and another girl, until I saw a whole family spreading before me like branches on the world tree itself.
“Herra,” I gasped, the vision overwhelming me even as he continued his relentless claiming of my bottom. “I see—I see your children. Our children. So many—”
His rhythm faltered for just a moment, and I felt his hands tighten on my hips. “Tell me,” he commanded, his voice rough with emotion and need.
“Four children,” I sobbed, the images burning themselves into my consciousness with the certainty of prophecy.
“Two boys and two girls. Strong and beautiful, carrying both our bloodlines. They’ll grow up knowing their mother is prime minister and their father is—” I couldn’t finish the sentence as another thrust sent me spiraling higher through the branches.
“Say it,” Aksel growled, his cock swelling impossibly larger inside my r?vhul. “Tell me what their father is.”
“My master,” I cried out, the truth of it resonating through every fiber of my being. “Their father is the man who owns their mother completely. Who trained her, claimed her, made her into something more than she ever could have been alone.”
The vision crystallized with perfect clarity—I saw myself heavy with our first child, still serving as prime minister, still kneeling for my Herra when he commanded it.
I saw the balance we would strike, the life we would build where I could be both powerful leader and submissive bed thrall, because one didn’t negate the other.
They enhanced each other, made me whole in ways I’d never imagined possible.
“Come for me,” Aksel commanded, and the permission shattered my last resistance.
The orgasm ripped through me with the force of a supernova.
I screamed, my whole body convulsing against the restraints as pleasure more intense than anything I’d ever experienced tore through my consciousness.
The world tree blazed around me in silver and gold, every branch illuminated with the future we would build together.
“Do you belong to me?” Aksel’s voice cut through the waves of ecstasy, demanding an answer even as he continued thrusting into my spasming bottom.
“Ja!” I screamed, the Norse bursting from my lips unbidden. “Ja, Herra! I belong to you!”
“Again,” he commanded, driving deeper.
“Ja! Ja! I’m yours, I’m yours, I belong to you completely!” The words tumbled out between sobs of overwhelming pleasure as another wave crashed over me. “My pussy is yours, my bottom is yours, my mouth is yours, everything is yours!”
I felt him swell impossibly larger inside me, and then he was coming, flooding my anus with pulse after pulse of his seed. The heat of it triggered another climax, and I lost myself in its rolling swells, still murmuring, “Ja,” over and over.
The End