Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 61469 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61469 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
My fingers moved to the sundress’s buttons before I could stop them. I seemed to see myself from a vast distance, suddenly, and I understood that my mind had taken that perspective so that the rational part of me could disown what my body had decided to do. A voice whispered inside my head, Let it happen.
I fought, though. I felt as if I didn’t have any choice but to fight—at least until I didn’t have any choice but to obey. I stilled my fingers on the buttons.
“No,” I said, cringing even as I said it. “I… I can’t. I’m… I’m the wife of the prime minister… I mean, that doesn’t really matter, I guess… but I…”
The pain that lanced through me this time made the earlier warnings seem gentle. It felt as if someone had inserted a burning coal between my legs, the agony radiating outward until my knees buckled. I cried out, my hands flying to clutch at myself through the thin cotton of the sundress.
Then I noticed to my horror that my Herra had moved—faster than I’d have thought possible for someone so controlled. One moment he stood by his workbench; the next, his hand wrapped around my upper arm in an iron grip. I barely had time to register the warmth of his skin, the calluses on his palm, before he dragged me across the room.
“No, please—” The words tore from my throat as he drew me to a low wooden stool, positioning his left foot on it and yanking me forward. The world tilted as he bent me over his raised knee, my hands scrabbling for purchase on his thigh, on the floor, on anything.
“Still,” he commanded, and something in his voice made my body obey even as my mind screamed in protest. His hand flipped my sundress up over my back in an instant, the cool air of the workshop hitting my exposed skin. Then his fingers hooked into the waistband of my plain cotton panties and pulled them down to my knees in one smooth motion.
“The device we’ve installed between your legs,” he said conversationally, as if I weren’t bent bare-bottomed over his knee like a naughty child, “is remarkably useful for certain aspects of your training. The neural discipline implant—Freya’s Bridle, I call it—can deliver precise stimulation or punishment from any distance.”
His hand came down on my exposed bottom with a crack that echoed through the workshop. The pain was immediate, sharp, so different from the electronic agony of the implant. This was real, physical, the heat of his palm transferring to my skin.
“But nothing,” he continued, his arm rising again, “compares to a Herra’s hand for establishing proper discipline.”
The second blow landed on my other cheek, just as hard. I yelped, my body trying to twist away, but his left hand pressed firmly between my shoulder blades, holding me in place.
“My name is Aksel Bergstrom,” he said, punctuating each word with another sharp smack. “Publicly, I’m an aerospace engineer. Several patents, some moderate fame in certain circles.”
Another blow, this one catching the sensitive spot where my bottom met my thighs. I sobbed, tears already streaming down my face.
“Privately,” he continued, his hand never pausing in its merciless rhythm, “I serve as chief intelligence officer for the Sons of Odin. We are an ancient order, dedicated to preserving the true ways of the North.”
CHAPTER 5
Lorna
The spanking continued, each swat precise and measured. I lost count after twenty, my bottom burning with a heat that seemed to radiate through my entire body. Worse than the pain was the humiliation of it—bent over this stranger’s knee like a misbehaving child, my most private parts exposed to his view.
“Please,” I sobbed, maddeningly uncertain of what I even wanted. “Please, Herra—”
“Better,” Aksel said, his hand pausing on my heated skin. The touch should have been a relief, but instead it sent confusing signals through my body. “You’re learning. But we have much work to do.”
He pulled me upright, steadying me when my legs wobbled. My panties were still tangled around my knees, my dress bunched at my waist. I knew I looked absolutely ridiculous—the prime minister’s wife, standing half-naked in some warehouse, tears streaming down my face.
“Remove the rest,” he commanded, stepping back to observe me. “Everything.”
This time I didn’t hesitate: the pain from whatever the horrible device was that they had somehow installed between my thighs didn’t linger, but the soreness Aksel had left in my backside motivated me to obey with alacrity. I don’t have a choice, the voice in my head said. No choice. My Herra will spank me again if I don’t do as he says, and it hurt so much.
My fingers fumbled with the buttons of the sundress, pulling it over my head and folding it with shaking hands. The bra followed, then I pushed my panties the rest of the way down and stepped out of them. I stood naked before him, fighting the urge to cover myself, hide the thicket of ash-blonde curls that every good girl knows a man should never see.