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)
“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 vǫlva. 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 røvhul—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.