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Torture And Tranquility	By : Concrete-Diamond Category: Star Wars (All) > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 8733 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars, George Lucas does, as well as Disney. I'm not making any money by writing this.

Chapter List
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A.N. – Just warning you - I honestly don’t know what I was thinking. This is probably one of the kinkiest things I’ve written in a while, and the first part has some pretty clearly defined sadism – If anyone is disturbed, I apologize. It’s not my intention to offend anyone. However, if you’ve made it this far in the series, nothing should be shocking you by now. ;)
Enjoy!

She didn’t allow him to dress.
His back ached from the contorted position it had held for over eight hours, and his groan of pain was met with an almost cruel smile as she pushed him into the fresher.
“Against the wall, hands behind your head –you know the routine.”
The twilek gave his thighs a smack as she ran the nozzles on the shower, and for the first time in so long Anakin felt a stirring of indignation.
He wasn’t a slave, not any longer. They had no right to parade him and toy with him as if he were property, none at all...
“Huh, at least someone shaved you all over... save me the trouble...”
His hair was suddenly seized in a merciless grip, and pain shot through his left leg as the ankle rolled over the floor with a crunch.
He screamed. She smirked.
The first spray of icy water shocked him into silence, before the twilek slid the door shut. The lock went red.
“No, NO!”
Fear surged through his veins like the ice surrounding him – not this, please, he’d never been able to bear the cold...
He begged, he screamed, beat his hands against the duraglass walls... and his keeper merely continued to read a datapad in the corner, her face demure, but for the hint of a dimpled smile.
The force failed him in his panic, and with a moan of despair he sank to the tiled floor, curling into a tight ball. Frigid rain pounded over his head and shoulders, dripping down cheekbones and ribs... his chest seemed to constrict; breathing became a harsh effort. Tears streamed, as if a last attempt to offer his skin some desperately needed warmth, but they too were soon lost to the chill.
He couldn’t be certain how much time passed – long enough for his limbs to go numb, for the marrow in his bones to freeze solid – or so it seemed.
The lock beeped on the door, and, cursing, she reached in with a cerulean hand and snatched up a handful of his dark gold curls.
He tried to stand on his rolled ankle, and immediately crumpled to the floor.
“Oh no, don’t you dare -! Think I don’t know the oldest tricks in the book when I see them?! Now stand – UP!”
Half-fainting from the pain, Anakin braced himself on a nearby wall as she roughly combed her fingers through his hair, slicking it back from his face. Something metallic brushed the skin of his neck, and glancing at the mirrored wall he recognized the flash of arkanian diamonds, woven into a choker.
“This way.”
She seized his wrist and tugged him along behind her, ignoring his limping. He knew the emotion only too well– denial. He was an object to her – a thing – and things didn’t feel pain.

There were voices coming from the veranda – polite chatter, some laughter, the ring of crystal – likely one of those early morning affairs, a chance for members of the party to congratulate themselves on coming this far in the current debates, before the shuttle carried them to the senate and they vanished into their individual pods...
But his guide was not leading him to the balcony – instead, he was dragged through a set of security scanners and into the lower sections of the penthouse... But... there was nothing here except droid storage and the kitchens...
“Have you not realized it yet?” the twilek snorted, her lovely face contorting into an unpleasant smirk as she pushed him against a gleaming durasteel table –
“You’re the dessert course.”
*

The cook, a male xexto, merely cocked his head – all four arms were occupied with the various delicacies gathered on the preparation island – and Anakin moaned as he was made to climb onto the countertop, his wounded foot screaming in protest....
“So,” the cook queried, in rapid xextese, “am I to prepare the whole platter, or merely provide... ornamentation?”
“Outdo yourself, Kedsa.” The twilek shot back, with her ugly smile. “Taa has company worth impressing.”
The boy whimpered, almost lost to his own apprehension, and curled himself into a tight ball on the counter-top. It wasn’t fair, he’d only just found himself free of this – and there were thousands of courtesans and even common prostitutes scattered all over the world. Why did they need him to torment?! –
The air was frigid, to preserve the foodstuffs, and Anakin’s already-frozen veins were all but useless – a condition that was hardly improved when a hypo-needle pricked his skin, releasing some form of gelid fluid into his bloodstream...
“Ughhh...”
“Shh...” Kedsa hushed, helping him lie back on the counter surface, “It’s merely to keep you cool, we wouldn’t want anything to melt...”
“Oh, stop coddling him will you, and get on with it!” the twilek snapped. “He’s food! Not some frightened baby ornuk!”
Kedsa sighed, and gave the blonde braid a gentle – perhaps even affectionate - tug.
“Whatever you wish, Supi.”
Oh no... oh no, no, please-!
A few tearful whimpers escaped his throat as the xexto guided him onto an incredibly large, ornamental platter, and gently tied his joints into the apertures apparently intended for them...
On his back, arms folded above his head, ankles turned flat and pressed heel to heel, one of them pulsing agonizingly... The travella straps chafed lightly at his frozen skin, bringing a burn that was almost unbearable...
“It’s best if you don’t... fidget. Now, just close your eyes and relax...”
Sheer panic kept him from obeying. It was like being told to sleep in a wampa den – impossible and unadvisable.
“Please-! Uoh –Ohhhh..!”
Spongy hands began rubbing something moist into his skin, but it, like all else, was searingly cold. Then, rich scents began to permeate the air, sweet, tangy...
Something heavy and soft was settled on the flat plane of his stomach - cacao cake - and the tang of corellian brandy - chilled - wafted up as the liquid washed over the skin of his belly... His flesh pebbled as something thick, glutinous, and frosty was spooned onto his chest, barely avoiding his nipples - though their affectation from the cold was more than apparent...
Sweet ice. It had to be. Force, he could faintly remember the first time he’d spooned it into his mouth as a ten-year old... his teeth had ached at the chill, but he’d never tasted anything quite so decadent...
But then the nubs on his chest had come to their turn, and every muscle in his body tensed as thick fingers curled something prickly around the delicate organs... something tangy... and sweet... cacao-lime twists, perhaps?...
Suddenly the simple humiliation of what was happening crashed over him, and he choked back tears of fury... A jedi padawan, lured into service as a body-guard, only to end up as a living dessert platter for the military creation committee?! If the council... or... no, surely not – they would never have-!
The tears finally leaked free, and an icing-covered finger came down to brush them off gently.
“Come now – why all that weeping? There’s no point to it, you must see that, surely?”
The boy struggled to hold back the rest of the emotional onslaught... Something thick, feeling suspiciously like namana custard slid down the inside of his thighs...
“After all, what’s fear? Indecision, that’s all. You can’t fight, you can’t escape – so why tense yourself so much, why make it so uncomfortable? Just resign yourself, and accept.”
Resign yourself, and accept...
Accept being an object? Being a plaything for the rich and infamous?
Accept...
He trembled as the icing was gently cleaned from his cheek with a damp cloth, before those same, thick fingers drew their way through his curls, sunning them around his head on the gilded plate beneath him... Tranna nougat cream was smeared over the rest of his skin, drawn into swirls and curlicues, here and there adorned with a dollop of quark frosting...
Another hypo prick touched a vein in his groin, and the ice rushed anew through his veins – Oh Force, why?! His teeth chattered quietly until they ached – any louder and he risked punishment, he knew it... Then his jaws were gently prised open, and a puff cake inserted between his teeth, effectively ending any sort of verbal protest...
“Well... you’re quite the masterpiece, I must admit...”
*

The platter was carried out by replusor lift; he could feel it humming beneath the thin metal. But there was no way to be certain, with scry-mints positioned delicately on his eyelids.
Conversation and polite laughter throbbed around him from every side – meaning he was likely being positioned in repulsor-lock at the balcony’s center.... Had the blood in his veins not been half-frozen, he would have flushed in mortification...
The bonds had been tightened, eliminating any and all movement – though the tray-space around his body was so packed with delicacies, it would have been an impossibility anyway...
Thus he could do no more then quiver lightly whenever a bit of sugared tart was plucked from his skin, or fingers paused and hovered, teasing him. Some of the more daring and inebriated actually scraped the cuisine directly from his body with their teeth...
His head spun. It couldn’t continue for another second, he couldn’t bear it – but perhaps each second was an hour, or vice-versa... he had lost his grasp upon time, floating in oblivion...
“Exquisite – absolutely exquisite – I must commend you for creativity, Excellency...”
Voices floated over his head, some familiar, but the identities were meaningless – and at the moment, unknown. The boy doubted he would have recalled his own name, had he been asked...
“Nonsense – I should be thanking you, rather. Yet, perhaps I should have known – you have always had an eye for the finest pickings of the herd, did you not?”
“Hufff – You flatter me, senator. This little one merely happened to... fall in my grip, shall we say?”
A hand stroked his curls back from his brow – tenderly, almost adoringly – and polite laughter teased his ears, although he couldn’t find anything truly amusing in either the speech or the gesture.
“Indeed... straight into my grip...”
Then there was warmth, at last, brief, fleeting warmth that lasted only a fraction of a moment when lips closed over his own and stole the cake from between his jaws...
*

Anakin couldn’t recall when they bathed off the last drops of quark frosting in icy water, or re-dressed him – Force, he couldn’t even remember returning to the temple...
His fingernails had turned blue, and his injured foot was numb – that at least was a mercy. Or a curse. He couldn’t be sure which...
His head throbbed, and seemed to have gained ten more pounds of weight since the sunrise... a groan worked it’s way from his throat as he fumbled for the buzzer, everything kept blurring...

TBC – Thoughts? Questions? Concerns???
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Torture And Tranquility