Page 48 of Her Viking Lord
“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, littlevolva. 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 yourtólinside 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 hugetólin myfisse, in myrøvhul—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 Iheard myself begging with words I’d never have imagined saying before my training.
“I’m your bed thrall! Your fuck toy! Please use me like you own me because you do! My pussy belongs to you, my bottom belongs to you, everything belongs to you! Please,Herra, please!”
Another lash, and another. The vibrations increased, pushing me toward an edge I knew he wouldn’t let me cross. I was sobbing, begging incoherently now, my defiance completely shattered under the dual assault of correction and denied pleasure.
“That’s what I wanted to hear,” Aksel said, his voice thick with satisfaction. I felt the blunt head of histólpress against the entrance to my aching sheath, and then he was pushing inside, filling me with one slow, inexorable thrust that made me cry out at the stretch.
“Don’t you dare come,” he commanded as he began to move. “Not until I give you permission.”
I bit my lip hard, trying to control the waves of sensation threatening to overwhelm me. His massive length drove deep with each thrust, hitting places that made me see stars. The vibrations from Freya’s Bridle continued their relentless assault on my clit, and I had to concentrate with everything I had not to tip over that edge.
“Please,” I whimpered as he established a punishing rhythm. “Herra, I don’t know if I can?—”
“You can,” he growled, his hands gripping my hips hard enough to bruise. “You will. You’re mine to control, littlevolva.”
I sobbed as he drove into me, the fullness of his massivetólcombined with the relentless vibrations pushing me so close to the edge I could barely think. My welted bottom throbbed where the strap had marked me, and every thrust sent fresh sparks of pain-pleasure through my core.
“Good girl,” Aksel growled, his rhythm becoming more demanding. “Taking yourHerra’s cock like you were made for it.”
I was made for it, I realized through the haze of sensation. Every part of my training, every moment of submission, had prepared me for exactly this—to be claimed completely while bound helplessly to his bride saddle in what would soon be the prime minister’s private sitting room.
His thrusts grew more forceful, each one driving so deep I felt split open. The vibrations intensified, and I heard myself begging incoherently, pleading for release even as I fought to obey his command to wait.
“Please,Herra, I need—I can’t?—”
