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Hurt Me	By : paint-it-red Category: Star Wars (All) > Het - Male/Female Views: 5105 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars, or any associated characters. I’m not making money from this fic.

Chapter List
- 1-Painful
- 2-Vile
- 3-Shock
- 4-Disorder
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- 2
- 3
You should have known it would lead to this, but you’d always been stupid sometimes. It could have been a fault, but you’d so often gotten things you had wanted this way, that you simply couldn’t see it as one. Anyhow, you were strong— the things you wanted were always worth paying for.
Always worth paying for... This thought weaved through the threads of your mind as you stepped lightly down a familiar street. Turning a corner, your lips curled up into a smile, knowing you were drawing closer to your destination.
The last time you were here you’d been sent, but tonight you came of your own accord. You’d been lucky enough to become privy to some information that normally you would not have been, and you hadn’t hesitated in using it to your advantage.
Slipping through a set of doors, you stalked down a long corridor. You tried to contain yourself, but you knew your joy— and likely your desire— were palpable. Reaching a new door; smaller and close to the end of the hallway, you could feel your fingers tingling with excitement.
Stopping before the large barrier, you breathed in deeply. He was already there, you knew— what you didn’t know was how he would react to you. All you had to do was get inside, maybe tease him a little bit; make him mad. He would do the rest all by himself, you hoped, and perhaps for a few more weeks you would be able to excise thoughts of his body and what he could do with it from your mind.
You knew the security code for the entry pad already, so you entered it, and the doors slid gracefully open.
As you peeked around the door frame and stepped inside, it seemed to you that the room was as dark and quiet as it had been the last time you’d entered. Had you made a mistake; was he not here? You didn’t mind waiting a while, but who knew how long a while might be?
Then, a sound— rustling from the corner; a corner you’d left unexplored at the time of your last visit. You squinted as your eyes adjusted to the low light, and then your stomach did a somersault as you realized what you were hearing: He was here... and asleep.
You dropped low to the floor and slinked silently over to the side of his bed. It was pushed up against a back wall, hidden amongst shadows, and far away from the nearest window. You knelt down and crept up to what looked like a bundle of sheets— but the bundle was breathing, and as you looked up toward the head of the bed, you saw beautiful blonde waves spilling out over a crisp, white pillowcase. Very gently, so as not to wake him too soon, you fingered the soft tendrils while you leaned over to peek at his face, turned away from you.
Even asleep he did not look peaceful; his brow was knitted at the centre and his jaw was perpetually clenched. Tiny muscle movements interrupted the still of his unconsciousness, and even though you wanted to, you did not yet dare to touch him. Instead, you brought your face as close to the side of his as you could without your breath disturbing him. Leaning in from behind, you could smell his sweat; his soap, his deep unease. You could feel that handsome blonde mess tickle your cheek as you bravely put your lips near his ear.
“Anakin...” You barely whispered. A soft noise erupted from the back of his throat; just a tiny bit louder, you repeated, “Anakin.”
For a painfully brief moment, his face softened. He rolled onto his back; you withdrew your head quickly from his space. He began to turn his own head in your direction, but his eyes also began to open— and when they did, he shot up into a seated position like a bolt. You were still crouched from approaching him, and so he looked down on you now. His chest was bare and tense, and both recognition and anger flashed simultaneously through his eyes. He reached out very suddenly and grasped your neck tightly with— thankfully, you thought— his flesh hand.
“I told you never to come back,” he growled at you. You could just barely breathe; he pressed his thumb harder into the front of your throat, and then you couldn’t breathe at all. You forced the remaining air out of your lungs with a grating squeak; at this, he let go, but he did not lower his hand.
“I had to come back,” you gasped as you caught your breath and touched your fingers to your tender neck.
“You have to leave,” he insisted, staring you down with utter disdain.
You shook your head, “I won’t go. I think you need me again.”
His hand clenched into a trembling fist. “I think I need you to get away from me.” He was scared, and you knew it— scared of himself. It was a good start.
“No,” and you rose, clambering up to sit on the edge of the bed, next to his outstretched legs. He backed up then, toward the wall. You leaned toward him and reached your hand out to trace a fine line along his collarbone; it was so pretty...
At this he grasped you tightly around the wrist, but this time, not with any limb he’d been born with. Cold, metal digits; terrifyingly strong in spite of their efficient thinness, wrapped around the base of your hand and squeezed with what felt like merciless force. You let out a pained gasp, and for a split second, you witnessed a tiny smirk spread across soft, pink lips.
“See,” you said almost excitedly, though the discomfort.
He growled, released you, and shoved you violently. You fell backward off the side of his bed, landing sharply on your upper back— you knew enough, at least, to keep from letting him knock you out. You cried out in pain now as he whipped off his covers and stood to reveal his naked form.
You’d seen him this way before, of course, but there was something about him leaping wildly out of his most personal space— large and tense; angry and frightened— that made his body excite you even more. You couldn’t help but notice his cock was half-hard. Whether the remnants of its waking stiffness, or more simply a result of his hurting you, you couldn’t tell—but you enjoyed the sight either way.
You smiled and got up on your knees; he came close, and you could feel your mouth practically start to water. He still had not said a thing to you since telling you to leave, so you ventured, “You’re beautiful, Anakin,” and reached out to run your hand upward, along the inside of a sinewy thigh.
He choked back a noise, and spat at you, “Go to hell,” as he extended his flesh hand down to grasp you by the throat again. This time he did not squeeze; rather, he threw you to the floor like trash. You caught your breath quickly after admiring the starburst that briefly filled your vision. You recovered, however, this time to your feet— you weren’t going to be deterred; certainly not so easily.
You knew if you could get him to lose control, even for a minute, he would hit you— and once he hit you, his floodgates would open, and you could have him exactly the way you wanted him. He’d filled you like nothing else ever had the last time you’d come to him, and you hadn’t been able to stop thinking about his body. The way he had hit you, choked you, slammed you, and filled you— it was addictive, and you needed the experience of him to be fresh again in your mind.
“Are you having too much fun already, Ani?” You stepped toward him; his eyes grew wide again, but just for a second. He’d trained his fear to turn into anger, and turn so quickly— he thought that he was so smart for it, but this would surely be his downfall. You were going to make sure you enjoyed every second of it that you could. “You have so much terrible energy built up inside of you,” you said, and it was very true, “Don’t you remember how nice it felt to let it out?”
His eyes wavered, and he looked down on you— so big and tall and strong for such a young, wild little boy. Finally he began to answer, “I don’t want to—“
“Please?” And you turned your expression soft; as soft as you could, looking up at him with big doe-eyes as you put your hands on his bare chest and pressed your still-clothed hips into his own naked thighs. Through your thin leggings you felt his length twitch. Both of his hands, the flesh one and the bionic one, then clenched again. “Better me than her... remember?”
Another dark growl, infused with deep anxiety, “Why are you doing this to me?”
“It’s for your own good, Anakin.” You said this decisively, and he winced at what he thought was the truth of it. So you added, “Hurt me,” as you ran your nails lightly down his torso, stopping near the centre of his impossibly firm stomach to swirl your fingertip around his bellybutton.
“I—“
You stood on your tiptoes and tilted your head upward to whisper to him closely, interrupting him, “Has she even spoken to you?” You giggled, “Hurt me, you filthy little slave boy... or do you have too much sand stuck in your ears to understand me?”
The blow he delivered to the side of your head at your insult deafened you briefly in one of your ears and sent you tumbling back, but not to the floor this time. You’d bitten your tongue, and it was bleeding a little bit, but still you grinned with crimson-stained teeth, “See? Garbage. Show me, so she won’t see that grimy heart.”
He marched toward you, so you stood up straight and continued, “I want the darkest parts of you, Ani, so you can save the rest for her— so show me. Show me what you’d do, if you could— because you can.”
Whatever it was in him that you’d needed to break this time, you had successfully broken, and he grabbed you violently by the shoulders. Big, hard fingertips and short, sharp nails dug into you on one side; cold steel rods pinched on the other. He lifted you clear off your feet and swung you; he then let go, and you landed roughly on the floor at the side of his bed, your back flush against the leg.
He followed, and you scrambled up the side until you were back on top of his mattress, in just the spot you’d been sitting before he’d shoved you off. You leaned back, held up by the palms of your hands, and waited for him to reach you; when he did, he wasted little time in bending over you. He stared fiery daggers as he grasped the collar of your robe with his hands and wrenched the fabric apart, exposing your breasts to him. Loudly; furiously, “This? You want this again, then?”
You let the now-loose fabric fall down your arms, but you didn’t move yet. “Yes,” you smiled, “and so do you.” Then you shed the last of the torn robe, shaking it off your wrists and discarding it to the floor.
His eyes narrowed into dark points, and he hissed at you as he yet again clamped his natural hand over your throat. He forced you down so that your back was flat on his bed, and straddled your hips, still covered by thin fabric. He was hard, now, and you strained your eyes a bit to stare at his cock— memories of it pounding into you filled your mind. He must have sensed the pleasure this brought you, because he released your neck and backhanded you sharply in the side of the face. You smiled, and he drew back to smack you again; this time, you bit the inside of your cheek and blood started to fill your mouth. You lifted your head, and spit a blob of angry red onto the clean, white expanse of fabric beneath you.
He bent over and brought his face close to yours; soaked with hatred, he said, “You are a sick whore.”
“And you are a stinking, toiling little joke,” you replied instantly, with glee.
He grunted angrily as he sat up on his knees and took the fabric of your leggings in his hands; one being metal, he ripped through it easily. Like a rabid dog, he tore and wrenched until all that was left were two loose sleeves hanging pathetically on your legs. Now that you were completely exposed to him, he took very little time in forcing two harsh steel digits into your cunt, which made you cry out— and made him smirk again. They had no give; no softness to them whatsoever, and as he probed you deeply with them, the newness of the sensation both hurt and excited you. When he withdrew the metallic appendages, they were already coated in your slickness.
His smirk turned to a sneer and he forced his hand at your face; his unnatural fingers into your mouth. “That’s what a squalid, vile tramp tastes like. Do you like that too?”
“Mhmm...” Muffled noises escaped your lips from around his fingers; he pulled them from your mouth so that you could answer him, “Only if it’s you who’s feeding it to me, Ani,” as more blood pooled at the side of your mouth and dribbled out onto the now-marred whiteness of his bedding.
He swung his leg over so that he was sitting beside you, instead of on top. He grabbed a massive handful your hair, hand still slick with your spit and blood. He wrenched you up into a seated position, and lowered his head to look at your eyes. You looked back at his, and their darkness was all-consuming— consuming of him more than anything, but when he spoke, you could practically feel the loathing bleed through his sharp words and out onto you— “You’re hungry, then?”
Tears gathered in your eyes at the sting of being held up this way, but you managed a sound indicating that, yes, you were simply starving.
He squeezed the handful of hair, and pumped his cock a couple of times with his free, natural hand; then he forced you down again and infiltrated your mouth. “Then choke.”
Just as before, the thickness and length of him near-completely filled your breathing space; his head ticked your gag reflex, and you choked and sputtered as your tears spilled over onto your face. Blood, spit, and precum dribbled out the corners of your mouth, forced wide. He took your head between his two hands and forced it down; down until he was sure you were about to vomit on his cock.
When he finally reefed you away from his crotch, you were breathing heavily and your face was slick, but you could still taste him through your own blood. His flavour was, still, the best thing you thought you’d ever tasted, so you gasped, “Thank you.”
He was still holding your head, so at this he forced you down onto your back and straddled you again. “Fuck you,” inhumanly and with teeth bared; he put his face up close to yours, and forced your mouths together with violent persistence. You could swear you felt a piece of one of your teeth chip off as he smashed into you, probing your bloody mouth deeply with his tongue.
He reached downward with his hand now to hastily guide his cock into your cunt; you were soaked, and his disgust with how eagerly you accepted him only made him harder. Your body screamed with pain, but the stretch of him entering you was like heaven. You moaned gratefully into his mouth as he pressed down onto you, filling you. He took his mouth away from yours, and sunk his teeth deeply; harshly, into your neck as your walls swelled and gripped his length. You screamed now; he released your flesh from his bite, put his mouth to your ear, and whispered in a familiar way that made your skin crawl pleasantly, “Shut... The.... Fuck... Up.”
Propping himself up on his elbows, he started to thrust into you, and thrust very hard. The weight of him pressed on you as he rattled your lower half; the hardest muscles you’d ever seen or felt contorted violently as Anakin forced his way into your depths with all of his strength, over and over. Suddenly, his movements became less rhythmic and somehow he seemed to stiffen even more inside of you— you knew he was going to come soon if he didn’t stop, and you were not finished with him yet...
So, taking advantage of his having lost himself in whatever twisted feelings were built up inside of him, you pushed with your legs, forced him to withdraw, and scrambled on your back toward the head of the bed.
The sudden emptiness was frustrating for you, but Anakin was enraged— half-sobbing; half-screaming, he leapt back on top of you with sadistic wrath. He wrapped his ankles around your legs, pinning them; then he grabbed your wrists and pressed them deeply into the plush of the bed. You focused on everything you could feel; from his knees pressing into the insides of your own legs, to fine blonde pubic hairs just tickling your needy clit, to that washboard stomach and impossibly strong chest holding you fast to the mattress. The metal comprising his bionic hand had absorbed your body heat, and by now nearly felt too hot altogether, along with unforgiving in its force. You could feel his pulse through the fingers on the hand that was truly his; it was fast, and reflected his deep anxiety more than his outer rage.
You wiggled about underneath him, deliberately massaging the head of his cock with your body; he winced. His face was just inches away from yours, so you took a vile opportunity— you stared into his eyes and returned one of his gifts to you from your first meeting, sending a glob of bloody spit flying past your lips and landing on the side of his mouth. It splattered onto his cheek near his eye, and did not take long to drip unceremoniously down his chin.
He bared his teeth, you laughed, and in an instant he had released you from his pin, only to wrench you around harshly so that your face was pressed into the bed and his hips were pushing into your ass. He tore at the back of your shoulder with his teeth; sucking, clamping down, almost certainly drawing blood, before rising up on his knees and taking your hips in his hands.
He pulled them up so that your ass was level with his hardness; he then thrust two flesh fingers into your pussy and spread the copious liquid over his cock. He did it again, this time lubricating your ass. You tried your best not to tense too much with your mixture of fear and excitement as, with a long and hitching moan, he worked himself inside until he was buried to the hilt between your soft, smooth cheeks.
He grabbed back onto your hips with his own hand, gripping tightly; then with two metal fingers, he reached down under his cock. To your great surprise, instead of simply thrusting them roughly inside your wetness, he used them to explore your soaking folds and excruciatingly engorged clit. You fought back groans, tears, and screams as the unique sensation of slick metal over your vulva brought you to a hot, shuddering climax. He felt you contracting and trembling beneath and around him; at this, he grabbed your hips with both hands again, and finally started to thrust in and out of your tightest hole.
He began slowly, but that didn’t last— soon he was mercilessly hammering your ass, and you couldn’t help but cry out. He didn’t have the words to quiet you as he panted, you screamed, and his cock hardened inside of this new and different part of you. You could not wiggle away and deny him this time; he had you gripped as if you were in a vice, and he was simply too strong to resist.
Suddenly, a painful emptiness again, as he wrenched himself out of you and yelled out in a deliciously rich voice, nearly as if he’d been shot. You felt a hot, wet mess spill out onto your back; tendrils of Anakin’s sticky cum reached from the base of your neck down to the end of your spine. They began to drip as you breathed unevenly and let your body sink down onto the mattress.
Anakin sank, too, down to his hands and knees. Slowly, you felt him move away from you until he was sitting on the edge of the bed. You turned your head to look at his back; you relished the sight of the wet, trembling musculature and tangled, sweaty blonde. His placed his elbows on his knees, and his head in his hands. You heard him huff quietly, but could not really decode the sound. Goosebumps formed on your own skin, and you sat up; scraps of your leggings still half-heartedly hanging around your ankles. Anakin did not move, but from his stooped and trembling form, you heard, “Now leave.”
You crawled along the bed so that you, too, were sitting on the edge. Calmly, “I don’t have any clothes. You destroyed them.”
“I don’t care.”
“Alright.” You got up, somewhat unsteadily, and paced across the room. On a very plain coat tree, there was a single hooded cloak— the one you’d seen him discard, soaking wet from rain, the other time you’d come to visit. It was large and loose, especially on your frame, and you slipped it on. It covered everything that needed to be covered for you to leave, and you turned to gauge his reaction to your having taken it.
There was none— he was unnervingly still, simply perched on his bed, holding his face in two sharply contrasting hands. Again, in any other circumstance— in any other universe— you’d have been irresistibly compelled to envelop him in an embrace. But you didn’t, because it was not your place. Later on, you might be praised for pushing him further into darkness, or punished severely for overstepping boundaries— but it would never be your job to hold him, no matter what else you did or were able to make him do.
You had reflected on this for too long, you realized, when— still unmoving— he said in a voice different from any you’d heard him use yet, “Go...” Then, after a single, distinct, heavy sob, he added in a whisper, “...please.”
He wasn’t looking at you, so you simply said, “I’ll see you later, Ani,” and made the doors to his quarters slide open. You stepped out into the hall, just beginning to feel the burn of your fresh injuries. Your neck and throat; your back; your head; the inside of your mouth; your entire lower half... all throbbed more with each passing second from the abuse you’d willed him to impose on you. You could feel the mess on your back stick to his cloak with every step you took as you walked farther away from him.
Before the doors finally and mercifully slid shut, you heard him start to cry— he was still a boy, you thought. The soft noise was cut off, and you smiled sadly. You enjoyed greatly what he did to you in his pain, and you knew that his path to the Dark Side was inevitable, but you also knew that there was so much light in him to be quashed— and that would be; was already, extremely painful for him.
The road to Anakin’s personal hell was, indeed, paved with the absolute best of intentions. Although it was devastating, the inevitability of his inner death made you happy to be part of laying the stones on which he would slip gracelessly into darkness.
He hated you, and wished with every fibre of his being that you would leave him be, but you couldn’t— and wouldn’t. You stalked away into the night yet again, this time wearing his clothes, and knowing with certainty that you had to come back to help him again.
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Hurt Me