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Slave Boy	By : Concrete-Diamond Category: Star Wars (All) > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 18634 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars, George Lucas does. I'm not making any money by writing this.

Chapter List
- 9
- 10
A.N. – Attention! So, because a dozen new ideas for this AU universe hit me like a salt-water wave, I have decreed this the final chapter of Slave Boy. The story – and the smut – will be continued in the sequel, Torture and Tranquility.
That being said, enjoy the final installment of part one!

Obi-Wan stood at the center of the room, coldly waiting for the screams and moans to stop. Silence fell within moments, and he dropped down and gathered up the only being left alive in the chamber.
Anakin’s breathing was shallow, yet his master’s sudden, sickened panic – no, no, you can’t, not like Qui-Gon – was stifled the moment blue eyes fluttered open and settled on his face....
Force, it made him sick... Gasps were caught repeatedly in his chest as his hands traced every mark made on his padawan’s formerly innocent body, ripping away the adornments that made him resemble a high-class brothel picking...
The boy moaned softly at the touch, and arched his neck in what was clearly meant to be a seductive movement...
*

He’d been starved, that much was clear – Obi-Wan could lift him as easily as he might a youngling.
Shmi had been left by the entrance to ward off any potential arrivals. She screamed when she saw him.
“Ani!! Oh Gods, Ani, Ani, Ani...”
Her hands flew over him, pulling him from his master’s grip into her arms, the weight bearing them both to the sand. She cradled him in her lap, his head resting on her chest...
“Ohhhh Ani... My boy, my little boy...” Tears streamed down her worn face as she stroked his cheek, watching his eyelids flutter, until he slowly reached up and touched her loose hair.
“M...Mom?”
Shmi burst into sobs, rocking him against her, kissing his hair....
*

It took several days to repair the damages to Kenobi’s transmitter, even with the assistance of Owen Lars. Several parts had to be shipped from Mos Espa, which would take at least a standard week, and the jedi’s fear for his apprentice’s physical and mental state only increased with each rise and fall of the suns.
Anakin had yet to say more than three words in a coherent sentence, which Shmi claimed was merely a force of habit that would wear off eventually.
“He’s accustomed to only speaking when ordered to. It’s common, for... those in his position...” she muttered, as Obi-Wan stood over the bunk, watching the boy sleep.
“They’ll perform physical read-outs at the temple... screen him for any... infections... and with counseling, perhaps...”
“It’s not so simple.” She whispered, her eyes never leaving her son’s slack face.
“You have no... conception... of what he went through in that pit. When you’re a... a hedon-slave to a hutt, it’s not mere training and discipline. They strip you of any sense of dignity or self-worth you might have had, until you’re nothing but a few warm –“ She halted in her speech, as though hurt by her own vulgarity... and perhaps, by the sting of memory...
He laid a hand on her shoulder.
“Rest. I’ll watch him for now.”
Reluctant but grateful, Shmi laid the datapad on the stool and drifted back in the direction of the kitchens, leaving Obi-Wan alone with his half-conscious padawan.

He still hadn’t forgiven himself.
The boy was his responsibility, he could have refused the council, declared his padawan unready – and he had tried, he truly had tried.... Yet he should have pushed harder, been more resolute... Anakin would have despised him for it, but he would have been safe, he would have still been that reckless, bullheaded young man that gave his master grey hair... Yet instead he lay on his back in a sandstone bunk, traumatized, dehydrated, and under-nourished, simply because Obi-Wan had lacked the strength to defend his own fears...
Shoving the stool aside, he knelt at the boy’s shoulder and stroked his ear, watching as blue eyes fluttered open and settled blankly on his face. The jedi gulped back the knot in his throat, wondering if the boy even recognized him...
“I’m here, young one... I’m here...”
Anakin stretched his limbs luxuriously, for all things resembling a twilek courtesan full of glitterstim... Obi-Wan’s auburn head fell in despair, blue eyes landing on the mussed gold braid lying haphazardly across the boy’s pale chest, just brushing his nipple...
The jedi’s hands shook slightly as he unplaited the blond hair, gently combing the smooth locks through his fingers. Strange, he thought – the color was actually a pale, blond-brown... bleached gold by radiation...
The boy had touched the stars... and the stars had touched back... had beautified him...
Barely a month ago, Obi-Wan would have chastised himself for the thought... set a merciless penance... but perhaps it was the relief of the past day, the fear of the times ahead, that gave him a strange sense of courage...
He lifted the loose lock of gold hair to his lips, following them down to the shell of a pale ear, down Anakin’s flushed neck to his chest...
The boy was tensing, evidently readying himself for expected pain, but a gentle compulsion from his master had him relaxed in seconds, waiting to see what would occur...
Obi-Wan despised himself – it was revolting, the most abominable breach of trust a master could commit against his student... but it was beyond want – want he couldn’t comprehend – it was a need different from that of the flesh, a need to show the boy pleasure through affection, a need to give him ecstasy without brutality.
A need to make him come because he wished to, not because it was forced upon him.
His tongue lapped at a pink-brown nipple, red lines from the clamp still evident. Anakin shuddered and arched his back like a puuri cat, his eyes fluttering...
“That’s it, young one... let go, just let go...”
His blaster singed hand inched downward, slowly pushing aside the bantha-hair cover, letting the boy’s skin out to the warm air – and bit back a cry of horror.
They’d burned him!
Every shimmering gold hair on his thighs and surrounding his young sex had been singed off, leaving deep pink skin that seemed warm to the touch... but smooth as septsilk...
He wanted to bellow his rage until every last chunk of rock floating in the cosmos heard and understood.
They had hurt him. They had taken a battered, frightened human being, barely more than a child, and tortured his body until it was molded into what they craved. What they thought to be desirable.
Sickening. Force, he should have done more with that Hutt than cleave him into slices like a fanteel steak – the chunks left of him ought to have been flung in acid to boil....
Anakin whimpered, and Kenobi was jolted back to reality.
His slender hips rolled up, eager for attention, and with a sigh of sympathy the jedi complied.
“Oh-ooohhhhh....”
He kept the touches light, just a soft stroke at the tip, down the shaft, playing gently with the delicate sacs – but it had the boy groaning and writhing on the bunk in mere minutes... And when he finally emptied himself into his master’s hand with a quiet cry – giving no more than a weak trickle, his body had lost so much moisture – Obi-Wan gave his own moan of relief and slumped over Anakin’s sweat-glistening chest.
Somewhere in the last moment he’d crossed a barrier – many barriers, in fact. And he couldn’t convince himself, however hard he tried, that any of them were truly wrong.

A.N. - And so part one concludes! I would like to thank everyone who took the time to review – particularly Mireille! You are a wonder, dear!
Make sure to keep an eye out for the sequel – it should be out and about pretty soon!
Thanks again for all the support!
- 9
- 10
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Slave Boy