Page 9 of Her Viking Lord
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 aHerra’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 theSons 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.MyHerrawill 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.
“Good,” he said, his gray eyes sweeping over me with clinical assessment. “Now we can begin your real education. You’ll shave yourfissebefore your next session, as a sign of your servitude, but nakedness is enough for now.”
I shuddered at the casual way he spoke of removing the natural covering of my private places, but Aksel had turned to move to one of the workbenches, returning with what looked like a collar made of soft black leather. Silver runes were etched into its surface, catching the light as he held it up.
“This is to assist your progress,” he said, approaching me with the collar. “A training collar. It will help you access what’s already inside you—the ancient knowledge that runs in your blood. You’ll wear it when you’re here.”
I didn’t understand what he meant, but when he fastened the collar around my throat, something shifted. The room seemedto shimmer at the edges of my vision. The carved symbols on the wooden pillars appeared to move, to breathe, as if they were alive.
“What—” I started. I looked wildly around, and the effect—whatever it had been—went away. I turned to Aksel, my eyes wide.
“The women of the North once held great power,” Aksel said, circling me slowly. “Thevölur—the seeresses who could glimpse the threads of fate. That knowledge was suppressed, hidden, but never truly lost. It runs strongest in those who submit to their true nature.”
“It’s…magic?” I breathed, my heart racing.
Aksel smiled, the expression knowing—almost smug.
“If I were a different kind ofHerra,” he said, “I would sayyes, and let you believe the way thevölurdid a thousand years ago. But your newHerrais an engineer. It’s not magic, Lorna; it’s science and design. The collar enhances a certain kind of sense that you have access to through the nature of your sexuality.”
I swallowed hard. “My…sexuality?” I whispered. The mystifying events of the last three days had begun to form into a constellation that seemed no less impenetrable, but nevertheless had a shape—a very distressing shape.
“Yes,” Aksel said simply. “Your sexuality. The part of you that craves submission, that needs to be owned, controlled, disciplined. That part connects you to something much older than this modern world your husband represents.”
He moved to another workbench, returning with what looked like a simple wooden box, carved with the same runic symbolsthat decorated the collar around my throat. My skin prickled as he set it on the floor in front of me.
“Kneel,” he commanded.
I sank to my knees on the cold concrete, acutely aware of my nakedness, of the way the position made me even more vulnerable. The collar seemed to grow warm against my skin, and for a moment I could have sworn I heard whispers in a language I didn’t understand but somehow recognized.
“Thevölurwere not merely fortune-tellers,” Aksel said, opening the box to reveal a set of carved bone tiles. “They were advisors to kings, keepers of ancient wisdom. But their power came from understanding their place in the natural order. They submitted to the gods, to fate, to the men who owned, and used, and protected them. Through that submission, they gained sight beyond sight.”
