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Senenth Night





It's been one week. Seven days, seven nights.

The days are no different from before. We get up. I go to my classes. We eat together, talk together, spar together. Even if we were being scrutinized by the Council themselves, they would not have cause to suspect a thing. I am very pleased.

The nights have only differed by one thing. Every night he asks me if I require him. Always in the same expressionless tone, always with the same downcast face. That one small thing is the only fruit I have harvested from my victory. For until that moment, he is as he was, always the perfect Master. He is calm, serene, and even stern when the occasion calls for it.

I think I have waited long enough.

*****

It's been one week since Anakin raped me.

One week of wondering when it will happen again. I now know that Anakin wants more than just my body. If that was all he wanted, he would have taken it. No, I fear he is up to something far more sinister. I must be watchful.

He has been a model Padawan in public, the same as he has always been. In private I actually find myself missing his company. Not that he's not there, but I miss the man I used to know. I miss the man who would joke over dinner and rub my back after hour long meetings. I miss the comfortable silence of just sitting in a room with someone. I still sit in the room sometimes, but the silence is not comfortable. Often now we eat a quick, silent dinner, I ask the question, then retire to my room for the night.

The man I now share my quarters with I avoid contact with. Once or twice, late at night I lie in bed craving simple human contact. I never had much of a chance to make friends whilst I was a Padawan, Qui-Gon was the Orders' top active negotiator. Sometimes we would only be on Courasont for a couple of weeks a year. I had friends, yes, but we were not very close.

After I was Knighted and given Anakin, suddenly I had a Padawan that required enormous amounts of attention. All Padawans do, but Anakin was always special. He was struggling to catch up to his yearmates in training while being far ahead of them in experience and raw power.

He was a bright boy, though often lonely. He felt so far behind that he spent all his time desperately accumulating knowledge, and not socializing. The other children avoided him. After all, he was 10, very young for a Padawan. Most Padawans wouldn't play with someone that young, and most initiates are slightly jealous of anyone who is a Padawan.

That was 15 years ago. As Anakin grew up he made some friends. But he was never fully accepted as 'normal.' He did not have the same background of being brought up in the crèche. Many of his classes were far above his age level, some were even Knight courses that he had special permission to join.

Anakin was my friend more than my student, and I was more of a guide than a Master. It is that betrayal, the betrayal of a friend, that hurts the most. I think that my friend Anakin is still in there, somewhere, and I wish I could talk to him. Ask him what made him choose this path. I am starting to think that there was something, is something, influencing him. Perhaps it is foolish to believe this, but it is more comforting than the alternative; that the man I knew never existed, that he was just a sham, a mask put on to deceive me.

No, I believe that there is some good in him. There has to be. For if there is not; my life is worthless, my suffering meaningless, and the Republic doomed.

*****

I can feel him. He is deep in thought, returning from yet another budget meeting. My pulse quickens as I wonder just what I should like to do to him tonight. Should it be a slow, sweet seduction, leaving him in despair and confusion? Or a long hard fucking, letting him see just who is in control here? I think some of my more... exotic... ideas can wait a bit. Besides, most of those require special supplies that I don't currently have on hand.

As I am thinking this I feel his presence getting closer and closer. Soon he is here.

"Good evening, Anakin." he calls as he walks through the door.

"Good evening." Dinner is done so I put it on the table. We eat in silence. When he is finished Obi-Wan excuses himself and goes into his bedroom to deal with paper work. I finish more slowly, then clear and wash.

After I'm done, I sit on the couch as I normally do, and set to work on a paper for my philosophy class.

It is almost an hour later that he comes out of his room. I pretend to study the datapad in front of me.

"Do you require me tonight?"

Oh, the sound of his voice sends shivers down my spine. I can hardy wait to hear it scream in passion. And if he will not cry out in passion, he will in pain. I pause briefly, as if considering. "Yes." Now I rapidly bring up shields around our quarters.

His face changes not one bit as he absorbs my response. "What do you require?"

"Strip." I watch him carefully as he walks over to the couch. He sits down. Undoing his buckles his carefully removes his boots and socks. He stands back up again and removes his belt and sash. Then his tunics, one layer at a time, neatly folding everything and putting it in a pile on a nearby chair. Next are his leggings and now he stands before me, completely at my mercy.

I study him carefully, as I didn't really get a chance last time. But he doesn't even blush. He's determined to hold on to that Sith-cursed Jedi serenity. He won't, I promise myself. I *will* break through that calm. "Turn around." I command. He does. "Stand next to that wall... feet apart... further... further... there, good. Now lean over slightly." He does, bracing himself with his arms against the wall. I get up off the couch and stand next to him, "No, don't touch the wall." I pause as he balances himself. "Now spread yourself, let me see you."

He does, his hands moving around to grab himself as his feet shift, trying to keep balance. I run my finger down the crack and back up again. I can feel the muscles contract as I touch them. "Very nice. I can't wait to bury myself right here." As I speak I tickle the outside of his opening with the tip of my finger. "But first..." I leave the room, grabbing the lube out of my bedroom. At the door way I pause, just standing there, looking at him. I can feel his apprehension at being left alone in his current humiliatingly vulnerable position. I wait another second to allow the feeling to build, then walk back over to him.

"Okay, now brace yourself against the wall with one hand." I place the lube in his other hand. "Prepare yourself."

I can feel the shame rolling off him as I sit back down on the couch, ready to watch. His calm is gradually disappearing, actually faster than I had thought it would. I don't think he expected this. He was prepared to be a passive object, not a participant. I file this thought away for further consideration at a later date. Meanwhile he has managed to open it and is smearing lube on his free hand. He reaches under himself and places his finger at the opening, then pushes inside.

As I watch the finger move in and out I discover a problem. I want to see his face. I can feel his emotions, but I want to see them with my own eyes. "Stop." I command, as he is about to have a second finger join the first. He freezes. "Come over here." He withdraws the finger and moves to stand next to me. "Sit down." I pat the other end of the couch. He sits. "Now continue." Understanding dawns in his eyes, and he awkwardly shifts himself so he can do so, pulling his knees up. Reaching down, he reinserts the same finger, then a new one.

I watch him avidly for a minute or so, alternating between his face, which is once more perfectly calm, and his fingers disappearing into the widening hole. Soon I can't help it, I have to touch him. I reach out and stroke the leg closest to me. He looks startled, as though he didn't expect the contact. I gently grasp his ankle and pull it up, forcing the knee to his chest. "Stay like this."

I remove my hand and quickly strip. Kneeling down on the couch between his legs, I take a minute to glance at his face. It is still serene, despite the awkward position, the fingers he's shoving up himself, and his just starting to harden cock. "You can stop now." He withdraws his fingers and I surge forward, hooking his knees with my elbows as I push forward and enter him in one smooth movement.

Thrusting in and out I lean forward and seal my mouth on his. I thrust my tongue into his mouth, claiming him. He is mine. Mine.

With a shout I climax, then collapse on him. I look down to see if he came, but he's not even all that hard. I look back up at his face. It is still calm, but there is a tiny, infuriating look of triumph in his eyes. I narrow my gaze, glaring at him. So, he thinks he's won? Thinks he can beat me?!

Infuriated I draw my hand back and slap him full across the face. Then again. And again. Over and over. He finally cries out, raising his arms to protect himself. "So, you don't like the pleasure I give you, little Master? Well, why don't we try pain." As my punches begin to land hard on his ribs he finally starts to fight back. I let him, feeling that small spark of anger in him slowly grow until his eyes are ablaze with the heat of it.

When he is fighting me with his full strength I stop, pinning his arms above his head. He continues to fight against me. When he realizes all I'm doing now is holding him, he stops. "So, not quite the perfect Jedi we'd like to be, hmm?" I bend forward and run my tongue along his ear in-between words. "Can you imagine what Qui-Gon would say if he saw you? Angry? I don't think he'd be very pleased." I bite down hard on his earlobe, then wash it with my tongue. "What would he say if he saw you with another lover?"

"You. Are. Not. My. Lover." The words come from between clench teeth. Ah, so I'm getting through. Finally.

"I'm not? I love you. You're beautiful." As I say this I move down his body, nipping and sucking, making sure to leave plenty of marks.

He doesn't answer. I glance up at him. He has shut his eyes, the trice-damned mask of serenity back on his face. Enraged I grab him and shove him to the floor. Looking down, I see the marks I made on his body. I want them to stay there. I want him to remember what happened here. What I did to him. "You can heal the ones on your face and hands," I practically snarl, "But leave the rest. And I will check." Turning, I storm into my bedroom, uncomfortably aware that this is one battle I have lost. I will not lose tomorrow's.

*****




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