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)
“The renewable energy initiatives alone could generate billions,” Takken said, his words slightly slurred but enthusiastic. “And with the right political framework—”
“Exactly,” Horakovsky interrupted, his finger now circling my clit and making me clench involuntarily. “You understand vision, Norquist. Not like these other politicians, these small men with small dreams. You and I, we think bigger.”
It was so transparently false, so obviously mocking, that I wanted to scream. But Horakovsky could clearly tell that Takken had bought it completely, and the Russian’s satisfaction vibrated through his touch on my exposed flesh.
“Dmitri,” he said suddenly, his tone shifting to command. “Bring me the training plug from the storage compartment. The black one.”
I heard Dmitri rise and move toward the back of the vehicle. My stomach clenched with dread as I heard him rummaging through something, then returning with heavy footsteps. The soft thud of an object being set on the table made my whole body tense.
“Excellent,” Horakovsky said, his hand leaving me momentarily. I heard a subtle sound of movement and pictured him picking something up, testing its weight. Suddenly a moment from my last trip to Yggdrasil surface in my mind, and I could see it—I knew what horrible, lewd object the warlord held. I had to bite my tongue to keep from whimpering. “You see, Norquist, your wife has potential, but she needs proper training. Her ass is far too tight for real pleasure.”
My blood turned to ice as I fully grasped what he intended.
“This,” he continued, and I could hear the smile in his voice, “will help prepare her properly. By the time we reach my facility, she’ll be much more accommodating. You may peek, Lorna, you little slut.”
I raised my head, feeling my whole body tremble, and saw it in reality, standing up on the table. A massive black rubber plug, obscenely large, with a flared base. Next to it sat a bottle of lubricant. Terror shot through me like lightning.
“I want her properly stretched,” Horakovsky explained to Takken as casually as discussing wine. “It makes the fucking so much better when they can take it without all that tedious screaming. You don’t mind, do you?”
“I… no,” Takken said, his voice thick. “Whatever you think is best.”
The casualness of his surrender, offering me up like property to be modified, finally broke through my paralysis. This was too much, too far. I couldn’t just lie here and let them—
I pushed myself up suddenly, twisting away from Horakovsky’s reach. “No!” The word tore from my throat as I scrambled to get to my feet. “You can’t—”
Dmitri’s hand closed around my arm like a vise before I’d made it two steps. Vassily grabbed my other arm, and together they forced me back down. My face pressed against the carpet as they pinned me.
“Such defiance,” Horakovsky said with dark amusement. “This is exactly the problem, Norquist. You’ve let her think she has choices.”
I heard him stand, heard the whistle of something cutting through air a split second before fire exploded across my raised bottom. The belt—he was using his belt. The leather cracked against my already welted skin, making me scream.
“A woman needs to understand her place,” he continued conversationally, punctuating each word with another strike. “She needs to know that her holes exist for her man’s pleasure, nothing more.”
CHAPTER 19
Lorna
Five lashes… fifteen… I lost count almost immediately. Each strike blurred into the next, the leather cutting through air and then through me, leaving trails of fire that merged into one endless burning sensation. I pressed my face harder against the carpet, tasting synthetic fibers and my own tears as my throat went raw from screaming. Somewhere above me, Horakovsky’s voice droned on about discipline and ownership, but the words dissolved into meaningless noise beneath the rhythm of punishment.
When he finally stopped, I couldn’t tell if it had been twenty cuts of his belt or fifty. My entire backside felt like molten metal had been poured across it. I lay there gasping, unable to move even when Dmitri and Vassily released their grip on my arms.
I heard Takken make a noise in his throat that might have been some kind of protest. I knew, though, with a vǫlva’s utter certainty, that it actually only represented a weak attempt to approximate what he thought an actual husband might react.
“Now,” Horakovsky said, as if Takken had remained silent. I heard the cap of the lubricant bottle click open, “we can proceed with your training.”
The cool gel against my burning flesh made me flinch, but I had no strength left to resist. His thick fingers worked the lubricant into me with clinical efficiency, first one, then two, stretching me despite the way my body tried to reject the invasion. The soreness from his previous use combined with the fresh welts made everything hypersensitive, each movement sending conflicting signals of pain and something else I refused to acknowledge.