Page 34 of Her Viking Lord
Takken followed behind us, his footsteps unsteady. He’d been drinking steadily since breakfast, fortifying himself for whateverwas to come. I could smell the whiskey on him even from several feet away.
Inside, the vehicle was even more opulent than I’d imagined. The main cabin stretched perhaps thirty feet, with comfortable seating arranged around a central table that displayed a holographic map of what I assumed was our route. Climate control kept the temperature perfectly comfortable despite the sub-zero conditions outside. Two of Horakovsky’s men were already aboard—Dmitri, who gave me a look that made my stomach turn, and another guard whose scarred face suggested a violent past.
“Sit,” Horakovsky commanded, gesturing to a curved leather couch. “We have six hours of travel ahead of us.”
As the vehicle lurched into motion, the ride surprisingly smooth despite the tracks, Horakovsky poured himself a vodka from the bar. The crystal decanter caught the soft lighting, creating patterns that reminded me uncomfortably of ice.
“Your wife has been obedient about my rule?” he asked Takken casually, though his gray eyes were fixed on me. “No panties?”
Takken’s jaw tightened. “As you commanded.”
The Russian turned to me. My stomach churned at the cruel expression on his face. “Show me, whore.”
The words hung in the air like a physical presence. I felt my face burn as I understood what he wanted. Here, in this enclosed space with these men watching, he expected me to prove my compliance.
“Stand up,” Horakovsky said when I hesitated. “Lift your skirt.”
My hands trembled as I rose from the couch. I wore a wool skirt suit, appropriate for travel but suddenly feeling like the flimsiest protection. With movements that felt disconnected from my conscious mind, I gathered the fabric in my hands and slowly raised it.
The cool air against my bare flesh made me shiver. I could feel all their eyes on me—Horakovsky’s predatory satisfaction, Dmitri’s crude interest, the other guard’s bored assessment, and worst of all, Takken’s complex mixture of humiliation and dark fascination.
“Higher,” Horakovsky commanded. “To your waist.”
I obeyed, exposing myself completely from the waist down. My smooth pussy, still bearing welts from his horrible flogger, clenched as I kept my eyes on the carpet but couldn’t help picturing their eyes on me.
“The rest, now,” Horakovsky said simply. “Everything off.”
My fingers fumbled with the buttons of my jacket, then my blouse. Each piece of clothing felt like another layer of protection being stripped away until I stood completely naked in the warm cabin, surrounded by the fully dressed men. The pile beneath my bare feet felt obscene.
“On your knees,” Horakovsky commanded, already unfastening his belt. “You’re going to service us while we discuss business.”
I sank down, the vehicle’s subtle movements making me sway slightly. Horakovsky settled into one of the leather chairs with a satisfied grunt, spreading his legs wide. His cock jutted from his open trousers, thick and already half-hard.
“Crawl to me,” he commanded, pointing to the floor between his feet.
The humiliation of it burned through me as I moved forward on hands and knees, the vehicle’s movement making me sway awkwardly. When I reached him, his hand tangled in my hair, guiding my mouth to his length.
“Good. Now show me those skills your husband never gets to enjoy.” He glanced at his men. “Dmitri, Vassily—help yourselves to drinks. Then come have your cocks sucked while you relax.”
I heard the clink of glass as the guards moved to the bar. My mouth worked mechanically on Horakovsky, taking him deeper with each stroke while trying to disconnect my mind from what my body was doing. The taste of him—salt and musk and cruelty—made my stomach turn even as my trained responses kicked in.
“Norquist,” Horakovsky said casually, his hand controlling my rhythm. “Want a turn with your wife’s mouth? She’s quite talented.”
Through my peripheral vision, I saw Takken shift uncomfortably in his seat, his face flushed from alcohol and humiliation.
“No,” he said tightly. “She… she doesn’t turn me on.”
I knew better. The whiskey had rendered him incapable, and admitting that to Horakovsky would be worse than any other humiliation. I felt a perverse satisfaction at his predicament even as Dmitri settled into the chair beside Horakovsky, freeing himself from his pants.
“Your loss,” Horakovsky said, pulling my mouth off him and turning my head toward his bodyguard. “Service Dmitri now. Then Vassily. Back and forth until we’re all satisfied.”
For the next twenty minutes, I moved between them like a mechanical toy, my jaw aching as I took each man in turn. Dmitri was rough, holding my head and thrusting deep. Vassily seemed almost bored, sipping his vodka while I worked. And Horakovsky watched it all with those cold gray eyes, occasionally offering crude commentary that made Takken flinch.
When Dmitri finished first, flooding my mouth with bitter heat, Horakovsky commanded sharply, “Swallow it all. Show me.”
I forced myself to swallow, then opened my mouth to display it was empty. The degradation of it made me want to disappear into the floor. Vassily followed soon after, his release thankfully quicker, and I repeated the humiliating display.
Horakovsky took longer, drawing out my service until my knees had numbed against the hard floor and my jaw ached. When he finally came, he held my head down, forcing me to take everything while he groaned with satisfaction.
