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Apprentices	By : RyuaAlba Category: 1 through F > 10,000 BC Views: 1513 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars, or any of the characters or settings therin. I make no money from writing this.

Chapter List
- 1-First
- 1
"So, take it out on me."

"I can't." He wanted her to suffer for it. Every mistake she made was taken out of him, every slight, real or imagined. She wronged, he bled. It did cut the other way, of course... but the pain had never seemed to bother her as much. And so he wanted to inflict that extra pain on her, make her scream the way he was forced to... watch the life trickle out of her, draw her strength into him. It would be so much simpler/harder/easier if she wasn't here.

And yet he couldn't. "I can't kill you." Because if he was here alone, he wouldn't be able to remember who he was, why he was.

"So don't kill me." she whispered, licking her lips slightly.

"Get some rest."

"Coward."

He turned back to her, almost to the door. The naked need was blurred now with anger and disgust. "Repeat that again?" he said, his voice a low, dangerous whisper.

"You won't take any action he doesn't order you to. You're nothing but his slave."

Anger rushed though him, and his arm flew before he even recognized it, smashing into her cheek. She twisted to the side, gasping more from surprise than pain, although she'd be bruised badly by morning. He didn't give her a moment to recover, grabbing her good arm in his mechanical one, wrenching it up behind her back and squezing her hand in his.

She gasped, finding herself immobilized. His eyes were nearly pure gold now, harsh and full of pain and anger as he glowered down at her. He was so tall... broad and far more physically stronger than her, although that usually meant little with the Force. Now though, with his hand crushing hers, positioning her as he loomed over her, she felt a thrill of animal fear.

The pain in her hand peaked, a flare of pain as something cracked, and he flung her away so she landed against the medtable. The breath was knocked out of her, and then he was suddenly behind her, the heavy heat of his body pressing down into her.

His flesh hand grabbed her hip in a bruising grip, his metal seizing the back of her tunic. She gurgled as he yanked it backwards, strangling her, savoring the way she went from just enduring it to more and more frantic squirming, then dropping into feebler movements. He yanked harder, tearing the fabric, and letting her drop limply down. She coughed and tried to rise, and he shoved her back down, the sharper tips of his fingers digging into her face and scalp.

She flinched, but was unable to move, feeling one of his claws scraping just under her eye. They burned like fire, a sharp and pure pain that went straight through her. She started to tremble, it had been so long, far too long. And from the feel of his body as his hips ground against hers, he heartily agreed.

Of course, she could hardly let him take her without a fight. She let a moan escape softly, feeling it echo through him, and his hand loosened ever so slightly. It was enough, and she wrenched her arm free, turning and slamming her palm into his chest, enhancing the blow with the Force. He flew back, slamming into the wall, and dropped to his knees. She was on him in an instant, her own pain and frustration boiling over as her claws slashed down.

He got an arm up to shield his face, snarling in rage as the sharp metal tore down his arm and chest, and he shoved his other arm forwards, blasting her off. She hit the table and slumped down, dangling abruptly as he caught her in the Force. She found herself pinned over the table, unable to move arms or legs, spread-eagled with her chest pressed into the table.

She turned her head, but couldn't see anything behind her, and he was perfectly silent. She knew he was there, but not how close or what he was doing, and thne there was a crack and she shrieked. He'd managed to find their Master's whip from somewhere, and she yelped and squirmed as he laid lash after lash across her back.

It was cathartic, each blow and each scream eased the knots built up inside him, even as a different kind of pressure grew. Her body was so slender and fragile as she jerked and screamed, and he could smell her sweat and blood and the richer scent of her arousal.

Part of what had been making this so difficult was the fact that she loved the pain. The humiliation, the abuse, she fed off of it, and not being able to fulfill that need was part of what twisted her up so far. And this, with his more honest passion, echoing pain and pleasure through the Force, it was immensely pleasurable even as it burned like lines of fire across her skin.

The lashes stopped abruptly, and he was suddenly against her, now as naked as her, his fingers dragging roughly across her back to make her whimper. "Please..." she gasped, her voice rough from screaming, but begging for more, not less.

She cried out again as he drove abruptly into her, his own groan echoing hers. It was painful and rough, and he was too large and long inside her and it was perfect. His hands grabbed her shoulders, squeezing painfully as he pounded into her, and she squirmed, restrained by his body now instead of his touch in the Force. His chest was damp from sweat, the salt stung in the bleeding welts criss-crossing her back, and he suddenly bit down on her neck.

His muffled groan of pleasure was drowned out by her high keen, his pleasure washing through her and triggering her own. Burning new and aching old pains melted away for a euphoric moment that seemed to last for hours, a refreshing and agonizing glimpse of life without a Sith master.

It didn't last forever, of course. He released her shoulders and she could feel the fresh bruises and cuts where the durasteel edges had dug into her skin. His chest pulling away from her welted back was a study in pleasure-filled agony. She made no sound other than ragged breathing until he pulled out, making her whimper with loss. For a little while, she'd felt whole, fulfilled, and losing that sense of rightness hurt worse than any bruise or crack or cut she had.

Well, currently at least. Their Master was very cerative.

Of course, he misinterpreted the sound... or maybe he didn't. She felt his revulsion, and the pain and humiliation of that stroked her through the Force, making her cringe even as aftershocks of pleasure ran through her. He left, then,and she realized that he wasn't just leaving the room. Under his guilt and disgust she felt a curious sense of freedom, and knew he wasn't coming back. Broken as he was, he somehow suddenly was whole enough to leave for the life he'd left behind.

Was it fear she felt? Satisfaction?

Regret?

Relief.
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