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)
For the next two hours, I existed in a haze of discomfort and humiliation. The plug’s constant pressure had evolved from sharp pain to a deep, throbbing ache that radiated through my core. Every slight movement of the vehicle sent it shifting inside me, made me bite my lip to stifle any sound. My knees had gone numb against the floor, and my welted bottom seemed to pulse with fire.
When the credits finally rolled, Horakovsky’s attention returned to me like a searchlight finding its target.
“Look at her, Norquist,” he said, his voice carrying that tone of a teacher instructing a particularly slow student. “See how she holds herself? The arch of her back, the way her thighs tremble? This is what proper discipline creates.”
I felt Takken’s gaze on me, heavy and uncomfortable. Through my peripheral vision, I saw him shift in his seat, his face flushed from alcohol and all-too-evident anger.
“You need to understand,” Horakovsky continued, rising from his chair to circle me slowly, “that certain women—women like your wife—respond best to anal discipline. It reaches something primal in them, breaks down barriers that, say, even regular spanking couldn’t.”
His hand settled on my lower back, pressing down slightly, and the movement made the plug shift. I couldn’t suppress the whimper that escaped my lips.
“Let me demonstrate properly. Dmitri, bring the dildo from the cabinet.”
I heard Dmitri moving, the sound of a drawer opening, then his heavy footsteps returning.
“Just a variable speed vibrator,” Horakovsky explained to Takken as if discussing golf clubs. “Watch closely. This is an education.”
Dmitri knelt behind me, and I felt his large left hand grip my hip. The buzz of the vibrator starting made my whole body tense. Then he pressed it against my clit, and the sensation combined with the fullness of the plug sent lightning through every nerve.
“No, please—” I gasped, but Dmitri was already working the vibrator in slow circles, the intensity building gradually.
The dual stimulation was overwhelming. The plug’s pressure from behind and the vibrator’s relentless attention to my swollen clit created a feedback loop that had me climbing toward orgasm with frightening speed. And as the pleasure built, I felt them—the silver branches of Yggdrasil, shimmering just at the edge of my consciousness.
But then Dmitri shifted the vibrator, pulling it away from my clit just as I teetered on the edge. The loss of stimulation made me sob with frustration, my hips bucking involuntarily, seeking the contact that had been denied.
“Not the clit,” Horakovsky instructed. “Inside her. I want her husband to see what happens when we fill both holes while denying her release.”
I felt the thick head of the vibrating dildo press against my entrance, and despite everything, my body opened for it eagerly. The sensation of being filled in both places simultaneously was beyond overwhelming—the plug stretching my bottom while the vibrator pushed deep into my pussy, the combination making me feel split apart.
Dmitri began working the dildo with evident, if mechanical, skill. He angled it to push against a place that made me gasp and cry out. Each thrust pushed me higher, and with the climb came clarity—the silver branches materializing more solidly, Yggdrasil’s infinite expanse opening before me. I could almost see the threads, almost grasp the knowledge waiting there.
But just as I approached that precipice, just as the visions began to crystallize, Dmitri slowed his rhythm or changed the angle, pulling me back from the edge. The loss felt more than physical—each time I fell away from orgasm, the world tree faded, leaving me gasping and desperate in the mundane horror of my reality.
“Please,” I sobbed after what felt like the hundredth denial. Time had become meaningless, marked only by the cycle of climbing toward release and being yanked back. “Please, I can’t—”
“She’s learning,” Horakovsky observed with satisfaction. “See how she pushes back now? How her body seeks the stimulation even as her mind rebels? This is true submission being born.”
Dmitri continued his relentless rhythm, the vibrator filling me while the plug remained seated deep in my bottom. My thighs shook uncontrollably, my arms barely holding me up. Sweat dripped from my face onto the carpet, and I could taste salt and desperation on my lips.
Each time I approached climax, the visions grew stronger. I saw the Arctic facility in stunning detail—security codes flickering past my consciousness, architectural blueprints spreading like maps, the faces of guards and workers. But before I could hold onto any of it, Dmitri would shift his technique and I’d plummet back into my body, the knowledge slipping away like water through fingers.
“It’s been thirty minutes,” Vassily announced with a chuckle from somewhere behind me.
Thirty minutes? It felt like hours, days, an eternity of being held at that knife’s edge of pleasure. My pussy clenched desperately around the dildo, trying to create the friction I needed, but Dmitri had learned my body’s responses too well. He kept me suspended in that space between agony and ecstasy, never allowing me to tip over.