Title: Teacher (1/2)
Author: helgaleena helgaleenas@yahoo.com
Fandom: Star Wars Legacy comics
Pairing: Cade/ Talon
Genre: het, POV
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: grudge sex
Wordcount: 2580
Summary: opposites attract—or do they? What are they really up to? Depends who you ask.
Notes: set smack in the middle of Legacy volume 17, where Ostrander and Duursema deliver this shocking development. This is from Cade’s side.
Beta by Jade Solo and Phaedra Dahl.
Got me some new tattoos; black Sith ones. Left fist and right bicep. The Temple sprung for some new wardrobe, too. Got some shoulder guards to go with my Mando breastplate and one of those black flappin’ capes the nasties wear. Started wearing one shield-vambrance opposite my saber hand, too, like Teacher’s. Oh, and Teacher let me do her.
I’d say I’m making progress. Where I’m headed I am not sayin’. She might stop me.
She’s not allowed to kill me, and anything she inflicts I can just heal. Beyond that I’m as good as dead anyhow, in the belly of the Sith like this. She’ll have to make her mind up whether she wants more. I just grin, and say boo! in her mind now and then to tick her off.
She brought me to this chamber full of murals, with a hearth in it shaped like a dragon’s head. Wanted us to ‘meditate’ there, like she and her first Master did. Spread-eagled herself against the wall, soaking up the vibes left by the artist—and her dead Master, too. Sex and death had stained those walls. Her pretty deadpan face, mural itself with all those elaborate tattoos, stayed abstracted, directly contradicting the passion of her posturing. She reveled in the memories those walls evoked—conflicted mishmashes of torture and pleasure, blood spilt, climaxes reached and then denied until unbearable frustrations became chained rage. Power sources. Yeah, I noticed.
Meanwhile we engaged in small talk about the big guy, Emperor Krayt, and the difference between Sith-born and Sith-made. She draped herself over me, lekku like warm red serpents toying with my neck and shoulders. As she continued her recounting of the ancient Xoxaan’s influence, she let them wind down my arm to tickle my palm, then whisked them away behind her again before I could grab, and maybe pinch.
She put her hand to my head and asked me if my eyes had been opened, like Krayt’s. It was the very spot where you can Force-fry a being’s brain. I felt her looking. And I could feel my eyes heat up as they met hers, burning Sith-gold. She was the Master. We both knew it. I was nowhere near ready to resist if she’d wanted to kill me in that instant.
Instead her hand took mine, and lifted it to her jaw, to the spot where it had been the time I’d nearly fried her dead in front of her Emperor. And she met my eyes, with their defiance burning brandy-gold again as they had that day, and spoke of the passion that opened one’s eyes to the Dark.
How will you respond? --she asked. She meant more than she was saying. She was inviting me. It could easily be a trap, were it not that we both knew Krayt was watching. She wouldn’t dare kill me, and in that semblance of affection, that aping of gentleness, I could tell that she’d never been done gently. Being healed had, whether she would admit it or not, piqued her curiosity about tenderness. I admit I began to wonder if she even knew what pleasure was.
I had a choice. I could just stay like this, dumb as a nerf, until she gave up on me moving. I could push her away with a blow that would throw us both headlong into seeking black revenge. But she was the one I was supposed to be calling Master, and I knew she was trying to get me to lust, not earn yet another slap-down.
I let myself want it. I inhaled the hot meaty musk of her and then I kissed her neck, just under the jaw, sucked hard enough that it would leave a mark, if only her satin hide wasn’t already bright red.
She gasped in reaction through the needle-sharp fangs I was avoiding. So when I switched to the other side of her neck I used my teeth to bite, not hard enough to break the skin. The fingers she had twined into my hair spasmed open as she resisted the urge to pull. In the hours to come, her every instinct to express herself she would similarly deny.
So I played her, standing there feeling the heat of the fire in the dragon’s mouth, for the novelty of seeing my teacher subvert her every impulse into something else. To feel through my fingertips the perversion she thought of as ‘passion’.
Anyone watching would be justified in thinking that I was the aggressor and she the passive recipient of my attentions. Nothing could be more false. Every single thing I did she frustrated. When I wanted to pull her down, she pulled away. When I pulled back, she clung. When she wanted me to go on, she stopped me, and when I did a thing she disliked, such as digging my fingers into her lekku, she encouraged it. It was a fascinating dance we did, back to her chamber.
Two could play at frustration. When we got there, I made sure to smirk as I removed every single thing I was wearing, exceedingly slowly. Though she kept her face blank as ever, I could still read her true impatience directly from the Force. Her body swayed, too, in counterpoint to my own, as if the tides of our emotions and arousal were filling the room with liquid. The very molecules of the air were charged enough to roar in my ears. I saw from the sly corners of my eyes that even the great Darth Talon could not prevent her lekku from twitching like felines’ tails.
And what made me grin the most was the certainty that she could no longer drain me dry, as was her mating habit. I’d ‘fixed’ that jagged, sucking mental wound, along with the physical one in her head. That is why I felt perfectly secure in finally getting every last bit of me bare, including the bit that defied gravity and was probably too big to go into her all the way, and lying back on her mattress like the main course of a buffet. I could feel the lust flowing up my limbs to support that part of me. Show and tell, Teacher.
I gazed at her, frozen in some sort of internal struggle no doubt, still restrained by her leathers, lekku thrashing and eyes blazing, and deliberately broadcast the remembered feel of those headtails slithering down my arm. I shivered at the recollection, eyes locked on her, grinning my smug disguising grin, and knew she knew what I was thinking of. How would she respond?
Exercising the utmost self-discipline she approached me, nostrils dilated in either disgust or arousal; it was hard to tell. Her still gloved fingers neared my face, the face she secretly despised as bristly and sweaty. And with my teeth I snagged the glove tip away from the end of her longest finger. She reacted before she could prevent herself, springing back, leaving the glove and knuckle guard behind in my mouth. The right vambrance, suddenly too loose, clattered to the floor.
Her entire right arm was bare. Yes, the tattoos continued all the way down to her fingertips. Glove in teeth I kept my grin. Her face still but her movements surly, she decided to remove the other glove.
In the Force I could tell she was annoyed and drooling for a rematch. Below the waist dark turbulent arousal began to pool in her pelvic area, radiating toward her core. She didn’t intend to expend any of it. Part of her wanted to run.
So of course she approached me again, focusing her gaze on that prong of mine that was now throbbing with my heartbeat. Because she couldn’t meet my eyes. I shifted my legs just enough to let my balls rub on my leg hairs, because that helps me keep it up when things are moving a bit slow. I was wishing for those slim red and black patterned fingers on my balls, and they weren’t there yet. Her nails were inky black and cut short, but every one sported a quill-sharp point. Talons, indeed.
Oh what a lot of blood was in that thing of mine. Oh how she wanted to chew it right off. But she refused herself that gory pleasure. She bent low over my crotch, nails running from my waist to my legs, not quite hard enough to mark. I spread my legs to bring it closer to her, daring her to touch, to taste, trembling at the danger, while my hands slid stealthily into her shorts and eased them down.
I loved the way she studiously ignored what I was doing. She seemed hypnotized by her conflicted perusal of my maleness, which was an act. My present ambition to get her naked she simply would not dignify by reaction, denying me the satisfaction of getting her to even flinch. Ha.
At last I had that tiny red butt bare. I could smell the hot stew of her femininity; grinning I ran my hands gently up and down her thighs, while enjoying her hot fascinated breath on my prong. While she pondered her next move I loved her tiny pucker, and marveled at her smooth shell-like slit, for the satiny marvels that they were. She was swaying them hypnotically, probably bemused by looking at herself through my eyes. Teaching bond? Healing bond? I didn’t really give a kark which it was. Whatever she dished out next, I could fix.
Her one hand encircled me. Her other hand cupped my nuts, holding them stealthily tighter. Only a split second before she acted did I catch her thought, and in that instant I was helpless. She pricked and wrung my balls out, milked my penis upward, and put her hot wet tongue to the tip. The combined stimulation made me shout and empty myself into her face. Then over the sensitive tip she ran her teeth, making me groan and give her every last drop.
Her triumph was like hot lava raining around me. I was supposed to be out now. I laughed aloud and ran my sweaty brow over her ass. I put my tongue into every crevice of her that it would fit. That would show her. No way was I a drained victim. This is what pleasure means to the living.
Between my hands her shorts and belt were torn apart and tossed into corners. The boots I left. The bustier I busted. We wrestled and bit, or at least I did. She let me win, denying herself most of the fun of resisting. Oh what a liar. She was deeply dismayed that I was still capable of moving.
I got my fingers into her and started working her clit, full of her own juices and my saliva, until her resistance was truly futile. Annoyance at her own enjoyment, and her body’s betrayal of it, hissed out of her. I felt her clenching around my hand, despite her frantic thoughts of discomfort and boredom. It wasn’t enough to stop her coming.
By then I was in the mood to stretch her little holes. She wanted so much to kick me away that I knew she’d hold still. She had to prove to herself that it meant nothing, even if she couldn’t waste my Force anymore.
I started with that well-used female opening; I entered its volcanic heat bit by bit, grunting a lot because I knew it disgusted her, and then turning the tables on her, I went completely still. I’d lifted her onto me like a sentient sock, and now she lay on me, liberated tits squashed onto my disgusting hairy chest, waiting for me to move. I only smirked. I had one of her arms pinned behind her, too, in case she quit resisting the urge she had to leap backward, topmost in her mind.
Both of us barely breathed. I felt her trying again to drain me, trying to remain enraged that I had pleased her body, as we kept our eyes locked. I couldn’t quite reach her lips. Her round red chin dug into my collarbone. How I would respond, indeed. I made her wait some more.
After a while I brought my legs up, to reduce the breeze on my balls, and twitched inside her. Much to her dismay, her body clenched around me in response. Her powerful annoyance lit the yellow flames in her eyes. I felt my own eyes begin to burn, too. I simply had to poke at those embers again. So I did. Once again she tried not to react and failed. I knew the secret then. It was to disrupt any rhythm we set up, so that she could not predict the next thrust and resist her pleasure.
I shifted my hands to her buttocks. Working her up and down on me like a hot red toy made her rear back, but I kept us in contact, and the rhythm disjointed enough so that it was a constant surprise. Her mental attempts to keep up began to drop away.
Her lekku thrashed by me wildly, and I caught the sensitive tip of one with my teeth. Those flaming gold eyes and the raking black nails both dug into me; her jagged teeth snarled white in her red and black face, but I held it firm. My tongue laved it meanwhile as if I were going down on it, though it was never stiffened like a prick. No, it was much more like a nipple…I thumbed her clit and tongued her brains and watched her try not to enjoy it.
But she couldn’t hide the effects. The little mammalian nipples waving in the breeze over me were as hard and firm as if they were iced. That full snarling mouth was beginning to tremble. Everything was backwards in her wiring. And so with my mind I told her—
//You hate this.//
That did it. Tears began running down her face and her body went wild. And through it all I clenched her lekku tip, as if it was her leash I held in my teeth. The satisfaction of her rebellious body was more satisfying than my own release into the red blur of her that finally settled limp and relaxed onto my belly.
She pretended unconsciousness to hide her humiliation, I’m pretty sure. I knew she’d want me to do the same so that she could sneak off for a good scrubbing down. So I obliged. I sucked myself to sleep on that lekku like an infant. I knew she’d be gone the instant I was asleep, and I didn’t kriffin’ care.
She was the teacher. I was someday supposed to kill her, but she wasn’t kriffin’ allowed to kill me, because Krayt wanted it that way. So there. If she objected to my stink on her blankets, let her find another bed with clean ones, and I’d move out of them in my own sweet time.
I wouldn’t mind doing her laundry either. There’s more skills than Sith skills.
~~~
Title: Pretender (2/2)
Author: helgaleena helgaleenas@yahoo.com
Fandom: Star Wars Legacy comics
Pairing: Cade/ Talon
Genre: het, POV
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: grudge sex
Summary: opposites attract—or do they? What are they really up to? Depends who you ask.
Notes: set smack in the middle of Legacy volume 17, where Ostrander and Duursema deliver this shocking development. This is from Talon’s side.
Beta by Phaedra Dahl.
I decided it was necessary to seduce my student the day he refused to defeat me, spouting some eyewash about not wishing to escape. Actually, far too much light and honor remained in him to wish to kill his teacher, as a good Sith should. If it were up to me, I would have killed him then, for being a waste of my efforts. But it was not up to me. My Master wanted him and his ‘healing’ talent. He had to live. So I only wounded him.
The slug cried “ouch” like a prey-animal—complained that it hurt! He did not embrace the pain and gain from it at all. But the stupid male had let slip in the heat of combat that he desired me, or pretended to, upon some level. I have wounded many males with sex. My new plan was to humiliate and deplete him. He still had much to learn—including fear and hatred of me, his instructor.
As I watched the Force lightning crackle out of his fingers while he closed his wound out of pure willfulness, his eyes turned flaming gold—Sith eyes. He still had something worth darkening yet. But he either could or would not sustain it. Soon his eyes were that peculiar green again.
He was not even willing to sustain a proper Dark attitude past his assigned task, the lazy fool! My exasperation drove me to postpone the seduction, sticking to my original stratagem of combat exercise with ever more serious injuries inflicted, for I found it hard to pretend to desire him at all.
At last, while he was sore pressed to recover from our latest bout, I resolved to bring him to the chamber that my first master, the one who had raped me as a child and taught me lethal hatred, had left his imprint upon. It was there that I had learned to give and receive humiliation, and the very walls vibrated with the blood, tears and ruthlessness they had enclosed. Surely those surroundings would aid me in the task of leading him by the prick into a proper attitude of resentful subservience.
I absorbed then all the mentality that I needed from those walls, my blood-darkened allies. I reveled in the memories they brought me, which I hoped to instill in him, the Skywalker, in turn. I softened his thoughts with teachings from the past, and I implored him to open his eyes, figuratively and literally, to the glorious evil vibrations around us.
With my hands I reminded him how easy it was to kill and be killed. I took his desire and used it to pull him to me. I opened my mind along the bond we had formed so far and invited him to partake of my passion.
The next move was up to him. Long he stood, his hands upon the places where I had positioned them, before he took the bait. But at last he did. His disgustingly bristled chin and upper lip were suctioning at my pulse points. It was all I could do not to pull him off me by the hair. But I resisted the urge and used it to fuel my resolve.
With my mind I caught his amusement at what he could not yet comprehend, and the way he foolishly considered it a victory. My venom distilled in my interior to increasing deadliness. I led him away to the bedroom. Soon he’d reap what he had sown. Very soon.
I should have realized that the flow had changed when he did not immediately try to overpower me when we were at the bed. Instead of giving me momentum to divert, he let me watch him strutting about, removing garments and armor one piece at a time, as if rendering himself vulnerable were something to be desired. He even waved his sash about in the air like a lolling tongue. Of course I would not dignify this with a reaction.
I spent more energy than I had anticipated on trying not to laugh at the comical flourishes he used to strip himself. It became increasingly annoying. The ultimate insult was how he made himself comfortable upon my bed, his male sexual organ exhibiting quite as much smugness as his smirk, which I knew to be a disguise for his true feelings.
He could tell how much I wanted to leap on him and tear him limb from limb, and knew that I would not. I was obliged to surmount the impulses with force of will, channeling them into ever more personal power. I was nearly incandescent with rage, and still I had not moved. I could feel it crackling all through me as I majestically approached him. It was like walking against a high wind composed of the tension between us.
He was sending me a mental impression from our seductive episode in the meditation chamber. I had let my lekku descend slowly from around his neck, down his bare hands and arm. For me it had merely been a visceral way to gauge his physical state. Now he was telling me that from his side, he’d found it pleasant. He had chosen to interpret it as a sign of my desire for him and had-- ugh!—enjoyed being touched!
Full of guile I let my gloved hand approach his face as if to touch him again, while meaning to Force-choke him when he didn’t expect it. But he was too quick! His mouth darted forth to meet my hand and with his teeth he captured my glove. My body reacted while my will and consciousness were still upon my intended next move, snatching my hand back but leaving the glove behind. He was—playing! How immature.
Things got more complex after that. I was constrained to stare into those minutely yellowed green eyes as if loss of glove and vambrance were part of my plan. I reminded myself that draining the male was more easily accomplished skin to skin, and resolutely bared my other hand and arm. More impulses to resist—urges to turn and flee, to snarl, to spit—rose and were surmounted, as I moved toward him once again.
Enough clowning. I would take him by his male part and make him empty. He would finally quit that undignified anticipatory wriggling when all his energy had become mine.
Yet when at last I had gotten under his guard and sprung the trap, triggered his helpless ecstasy, he continued to move! Why was he not behaving like stricken prey after his defeat? I tried futilely to conceal my shock. And seeping inexorably into the ragged edges of my discomfiture came—pleasure. He was intent on pleasing my body, and my body was beginning to turn traitor.
His brush-like chin, his hot wet tongue, his insinuating fingertips eroded my triumph, threatened to eclipse it with sensations much more biological. They were decidedly not of Darkness. I do not enjoy enjoyment.
This was becoming exasperating. Somehow this male had enlisted the cooperation of my feminine side, instead of triggering its resistance. It was welcoming his mouth and hands and tongue. It was embracing his invasion. My own body, my instrument, my servant, was deserting my purpose and sending contented signals to my mind, where there should be weapon-like readiness in the proximity of another being. The body was all too willing to let down my guard. It must not.
I took refuge in stillness again. My student’s ruthless destruction of my garments might enrage me, but it would not get me to lash out in blind fury. Let him think that a few involuntary contractions signified capitulation. They did not. I retreated to the plane of detachment, to plan while he toyed with the physical shell of me. Let him do his best to spark reaction in my emotions; I would not allow that.
Then when I expected him to rage against my corpse-like attitude, instead he imitated it. He went still, but with me in his grip, with our eyes meeting. I could not help looking back, out of sheer puzzled irritation. That smirk had returned. The urge to physically erase it rose once more, and I bottled it up firmly, ready to turn it into yet more poison.
How had I fallen into this posture of surrender to pleasure? Could this pleasure be mastered, like the emotions that fed rage? Even after all the exertions that followed these, I don’t yet know the answer. He still disgusted me, yet he was pleasing me. To end this now, with enough violence to bring a decisive cessation of the display of these unexpected capabilities of his, would be another sort of surrender. I knew Lord Krayt would not condone that. I must experience it, and report.
All my life I have been Sith. I have not been taught the ways of pleasure, only their systematic rejection. Now, to stay ahead of my student, I must let him demonstrate. That is what I told myself then. And pleasure was even eroding my capacity to fear, that essential component of survival. This was going to be truly humiliating.
I lay still and did my best to fear him. It was the only armor I would allow myself. The rest of my being would observe what he did and see if he could indeed defeat me with pleasure, this new variable.
The stinking murglack, leaking the male human moisture of his inferior species, whose biology he embraced rather than transcended, stared back at me from behind his habitual smirk. His eyes remained green. And still he did not move.
After a wait that only appeared endless, he lifted his hairy legs and –settled—his intrusion into my concave portions. Unexpectedly my body approved! And the contact produced pleasure in a brilliant flash. The traitorous contractions began again and would not be schooled by my consciousness into quiescence. I had to shut my eyes. I vowed to be ready henceforth, and discover a way toward internal resistance.
But once again he caught me off balance with the next thrust, which was truly an intrusion, not a mere twitch. I began to search for rhythm and pattern in order to disrupt it, but he didn’t seem to have one. Every repetition of his penetration of me was a continual surprise, loosing increasingly bright avalanches of sensation in my body.
The avalanches continued, shocking and blinding. He began to use his superior size and strength to work me up and down. I had allowed this and now I must reap the results. And I did not know what they would be. More and more of my body was participating in this biological rebellion. I could nearly sense my internal chemistry changing. I felt like an infant again in some ways, but not like a squalling one. This was absurd! Squeals of childlike joy did not become an Emperor’s Hand. I expended yet more will-force upon staying silent.
And in my mind, along our bond, holding my mind fast to his, he taunted me—into agreement! Yes! Yes, I hated this!
It was too much, to have my mental barriers compromised as well. I wept with frustration. And even my tears were pleasant. How? Why?
At long last I lost consciousness, in the midst of a deluge of bliss, of Light. I had always believed that so much Light would shrivel my sense of self into nothing, and indeed that was how it seemed. I had no ideas remaining on how to master it. I did not know if I would still be Talon when I woke, or still be touching—touching!—this other being, who had gotten me to betray my identity so completely.
Dark was merciful, even if Masters are not. He was unconscious as well when I regained use of my body, my lekku tip fallen away from his pursed lips. His secretions were drying upon me, and my tschin had been in his mouth—his filthy mouth! – for how long? Repugnance gave me strength to rise and bathe.
He had served the Light with our coupling, and to my shame I had served it with him. Even now I firm my resolve not to let this happen again. I have given him dangerous knowledge of me which he must not be allowed to use, for I do not yet have control of it myself.
But I have learned of his weakness for biological pleasure and his repugnance for pain, as well as how very deep it runs. I shall report his perfidy. He only pretends to be Sith. He only pretends to learn from me.
The sensory memory of what he did to my lekku did not wash away. I am trying to reconcile myself to this humiliating contentment pervading my every limb. I cover myself, ashamed of beauty that was only recently simply another weapon. I do not want my Master to see that I have been—satisfied. Like unwary prey.
Look at him, smirking even in his sleep. When I finish this report, my gundark of a student is going to be strangled awake—until he is as near death as he brought me, before. Let him heal that.
~~
hlglnehttps://sith-love.livejournal.com/32726.html original posting
Author: helgaleena helgaleenas@yahoo.com
Fandom: Star Wars Legacy comics
Pairing: Cade/ Talon
Genre: het, POV
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: grudge sex
Wordcount: 2580
Summary: opposites attract—or do they? What are they really up to? Depends who you ask.
Notes: set smack in the middle of Legacy volume 17, where Ostrander and Duursema deliver this shocking development. This is from Cade’s side.
Beta by Jade Solo and Phaedra Dahl.
Got me some new tattoos; black Sith ones. Left fist and right bicep. The Temple sprung for some new wardrobe, too. Got some shoulder guards to go with my Mando breastplate and one of those black flappin’ capes the nasties wear. Started wearing one shield-vambrance opposite my saber hand, too, like Teacher’s. Oh, and Teacher let me do her.
I’d say I’m making progress. Where I’m headed I am not sayin’. She might stop me.
She’s not allowed to kill me, and anything she inflicts I can just heal. Beyond that I’m as good as dead anyhow, in the belly of the Sith like this. She’ll have to make her mind up whether she wants more. I just grin, and say boo! in her mind now and then to tick her off.
She brought me to this chamber full of murals, with a hearth in it shaped like a dragon’s head. Wanted us to ‘meditate’ there, like she and her first Master did. Spread-eagled herself against the wall, soaking up the vibes left by the artist—and her dead Master, too. Sex and death had stained those walls. Her pretty deadpan face, mural itself with all those elaborate tattoos, stayed abstracted, directly contradicting the passion of her posturing. She reveled in the memories those walls evoked—conflicted mishmashes of torture and pleasure, blood spilt, climaxes reached and then denied until unbearable frustrations became chained rage. Power sources. Yeah, I noticed.
Meanwhile we engaged in small talk about the big guy, Emperor Krayt, and the difference between Sith-born and Sith-made. She draped herself over me, lekku like warm red serpents toying with my neck and shoulders. As she continued her recounting of the ancient Xoxaan’s influence, she let them wind down my arm to tickle my palm, then whisked them away behind her again before I could grab, and maybe pinch.
She put her hand to my head and asked me if my eyes had been opened, like Krayt’s. It was the very spot where you can Force-fry a being’s brain. I felt her looking. And I could feel my eyes heat up as they met hers, burning Sith-gold. She was the Master. We both knew it. I was nowhere near ready to resist if she’d wanted to kill me in that instant.
Instead her hand took mine, and lifted it to her jaw, to the spot where it had been the time I’d nearly fried her dead in front of her Emperor. And she met my eyes, with their defiance burning brandy-gold again as they had that day, and spoke of the passion that opened one’s eyes to the Dark.
How will you respond? --she asked. She meant more than she was saying. She was inviting me. It could easily be a trap, were it not that we both knew Krayt was watching. She wouldn’t dare kill me, and in that semblance of affection, that aping of gentleness, I could tell that she’d never been done gently. Being healed had, whether she would admit it or not, piqued her curiosity about tenderness. I admit I began to wonder if she even knew what pleasure was.
I had a choice. I could just stay like this, dumb as a nerf, until she gave up on me moving. I could push her away with a blow that would throw us both headlong into seeking black revenge. But she was the one I was supposed to be calling Master, and I knew she was trying to get me to lust, not earn yet another slap-down.
I let myself want it. I inhaled the hot meaty musk of her and then I kissed her neck, just under the jaw, sucked hard enough that it would leave a mark, if only her satin hide wasn’t already bright red.
She gasped in reaction through the needle-sharp fangs I was avoiding. So when I switched to the other side of her neck I used my teeth to bite, not hard enough to break the skin. The fingers she had twined into my hair spasmed open as she resisted the urge to pull. In the hours to come, her every instinct to express herself she would similarly deny.
So I played her, standing there feeling the heat of the fire in the dragon’s mouth, for the novelty of seeing my teacher subvert her every impulse into something else. To feel through my fingertips the perversion she thought of as ‘passion’.
Anyone watching would be justified in thinking that I was the aggressor and she the passive recipient of my attentions. Nothing could be more false. Every single thing I did she frustrated. When I wanted to pull her down, she pulled away. When I pulled back, she clung. When she wanted me to go on, she stopped me, and when I did a thing she disliked, such as digging my fingers into her lekku, she encouraged it. It was a fascinating dance we did, back to her chamber.
Two could play at frustration. When we got there, I made sure to smirk as I removed every single thing I was wearing, exceedingly slowly. Though she kept her face blank as ever, I could still read her true impatience directly from the Force. Her body swayed, too, in counterpoint to my own, as if the tides of our emotions and arousal were filling the room with liquid. The very molecules of the air were charged enough to roar in my ears. I saw from the sly corners of my eyes that even the great Darth Talon could not prevent her lekku from twitching like felines’ tails.
And what made me grin the most was the certainty that she could no longer drain me dry, as was her mating habit. I’d ‘fixed’ that jagged, sucking mental wound, along with the physical one in her head. That is why I felt perfectly secure in finally getting every last bit of me bare, including the bit that defied gravity and was probably too big to go into her all the way, and lying back on her mattress like the main course of a buffet. I could feel the lust flowing up my limbs to support that part of me. Show and tell, Teacher.
I gazed at her, frozen in some sort of internal struggle no doubt, still restrained by her leathers, lekku thrashing and eyes blazing, and deliberately broadcast the remembered feel of those headtails slithering down my arm. I shivered at the recollection, eyes locked on her, grinning my smug disguising grin, and knew she knew what I was thinking of. How would she respond?
Exercising the utmost self-discipline she approached me, nostrils dilated in either disgust or arousal; it was hard to tell. Her still gloved fingers neared my face, the face she secretly despised as bristly and sweaty. And with my teeth I snagged the glove tip away from the end of her longest finger. She reacted before she could prevent herself, springing back, leaving the glove and knuckle guard behind in my mouth. The right vambrance, suddenly too loose, clattered to the floor.
Her entire right arm was bare. Yes, the tattoos continued all the way down to her fingertips. Glove in teeth I kept my grin. Her face still but her movements surly, she decided to remove the other glove.
In the Force I could tell she was annoyed and drooling for a rematch. Below the waist dark turbulent arousal began to pool in her pelvic area, radiating toward her core. She didn’t intend to expend any of it. Part of her wanted to run.
So of course she approached me again, focusing her gaze on that prong of mine that was now throbbing with my heartbeat. Because she couldn’t meet my eyes. I shifted my legs just enough to let my balls rub on my leg hairs, because that helps me keep it up when things are moving a bit slow. I was wishing for those slim red and black patterned fingers on my balls, and they weren’t there yet. Her nails were inky black and cut short, but every one sported a quill-sharp point. Talons, indeed.
Oh what a lot of blood was in that thing of mine. Oh how she wanted to chew it right off. But she refused herself that gory pleasure. She bent low over my crotch, nails running from my waist to my legs, not quite hard enough to mark. I spread my legs to bring it closer to her, daring her to touch, to taste, trembling at the danger, while my hands slid stealthily into her shorts and eased them down.
I loved the way she studiously ignored what I was doing. She seemed hypnotized by her conflicted perusal of my maleness, which was an act. My present ambition to get her naked she simply would not dignify by reaction, denying me the satisfaction of getting her to even flinch. Ha.
At last I had that tiny red butt bare. I could smell the hot stew of her femininity; grinning I ran my hands gently up and down her thighs, while enjoying her hot fascinated breath on my prong. While she pondered her next move I loved her tiny pucker, and marveled at her smooth shell-like slit, for the satiny marvels that they were. She was swaying them hypnotically, probably bemused by looking at herself through my eyes. Teaching bond? Healing bond? I didn’t really give a kark which it was. Whatever she dished out next, I could fix.
Her one hand encircled me. Her other hand cupped my nuts, holding them stealthily tighter. Only a split second before she acted did I catch her thought, and in that instant I was helpless. She pricked and wrung my balls out, milked my penis upward, and put her hot wet tongue to the tip. The combined stimulation made me shout and empty myself into her face. Then over the sensitive tip she ran her teeth, making me groan and give her every last drop.
Her triumph was like hot lava raining around me. I was supposed to be out now. I laughed aloud and ran my sweaty brow over her ass. I put my tongue into every crevice of her that it would fit. That would show her. No way was I a drained victim. This is what pleasure means to the living.
Between my hands her shorts and belt were torn apart and tossed into corners. The boots I left. The bustier I busted. We wrestled and bit, or at least I did. She let me win, denying herself most of the fun of resisting. Oh what a liar. She was deeply dismayed that I was still capable of moving.
I got my fingers into her and started working her clit, full of her own juices and my saliva, until her resistance was truly futile. Annoyance at her own enjoyment, and her body’s betrayal of it, hissed out of her. I felt her clenching around my hand, despite her frantic thoughts of discomfort and boredom. It wasn’t enough to stop her coming.
By then I was in the mood to stretch her little holes. She wanted so much to kick me away that I knew she’d hold still. She had to prove to herself that it meant nothing, even if she couldn’t waste my Force anymore.
I started with that well-used female opening; I entered its volcanic heat bit by bit, grunting a lot because I knew it disgusted her, and then turning the tables on her, I went completely still. I’d lifted her onto me like a sentient sock, and now she lay on me, liberated tits squashed onto my disgusting hairy chest, waiting for me to move. I only smirked. I had one of her arms pinned behind her, too, in case she quit resisting the urge she had to leap backward, topmost in her mind.
Both of us barely breathed. I felt her trying again to drain me, trying to remain enraged that I had pleased her body, as we kept our eyes locked. I couldn’t quite reach her lips. Her round red chin dug into my collarbone. How I would respond, indeed. I made her wait some more.
After a while I brought my legs up, to reduce the breeze on my balls, and twitched inside her. Much to her dismay, her body clenched around me in response. Her powerful annoyance lit the yellow flames in her eyes. I felt my own eyes begin to burn, too. I simply had to poke at those embers again. So I did. Once again she tried not to react and failed. I knew the secret then. It was to disrupt any rhythm we set up, so that she could not predict the next thrust and resist her pleasure.
I shifted my hands to her buttocks. Working her up and down on me like a hot red toy made her rear back, but I kept us in contact, and the rhythm disjointed enough so that it was a constant surprise. Her mental attempts to keep up began to drop away.
Her lekku thrashed by me wildly, and I caught the sensitive tip of one with my teeth. Those flaming gold eyes and the raking black nails both dug into me; her jagged teeth snarled white in her red and black face, but I held it firm. My tongue laved it meanwhile as if I were going down on it, though it was never stiffened like a prick. No, it was much more like a nipple…I thumbed her clit and tongued her brains and watched her try not to enjoy it.
But she couldn’t hide the effects. The little mammalian nipples waving in the breeze over me were as hard and firm as if they were iced. That full snarling mouth was beginning to tremble. Everything was backwards in her wiring. And so with my mind I told her—
//You hate this.//
That did it. Tears began running down her face and her body went wild. And through it all I clenched her lekku tip, as if it was her leash I held in my teeth. The satisfaction of her rebellious body was more satisfying than my own release into the red blur of her that finally settled limp and relaxed onto my belly.
She pretended unconsciousness to hide her humiliation, I’m pretty sure. I knew she’d want me to do the same so that she could sneak off for a good scrubbing down. So I obliged. I sucked myself to sleep on that lekku like an infant. I knew she’d be gone the instant I was asleep, and I didn’t kriffin’ care.
She was the teacher. I was someday supposed to kill her, but she wasn’t kriffin’ allowed to kill me, because Krayt wanted it that way. So there. If she objected to my stink on her blankets, let her find another bed with clean ones, and I’d move out of them in my own sweet time.
I wouldn’t mind doing her laundry either. There’s more skills than Sith skills.
~~~
Title: Pretender (2/2)
Author: helgaleena helgaleenas@yahoo.com
Fandom: Star Wars Legacy comics
Pairing: Cade/ Talon
Genre: het, POV
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: grudge sex
Summary: opposites attract—or do they? What are they really up to? Depends who you ask.
Notes: set smack in the middle of Legacy volume 17, where Ostrander and Duursema deliver this shocking development. This is from Talon’s side.
Beta by Phaedra Dahl.
I decided it was necessary to seduce my student the day he refused to defeat me, spouting some eyewash about not wishing to escape. Actually, far too much light and honor remained in him to wish to kill his teacher, as a good Sith should. If it were up to me, I would have killed him then, for being a waste of my efforts. But it was not up to me. My Master wanted him and his ‘healing’ talent. He had to live. So I only wounded him.
The slug cried “ouch” like a prey-animal—complained that it hurt! He did not embrace the pain and gain from it at all. But the stupid male had let slip in the heat of combat that he desired me, or pretended to, upon some level. I have wounded many males with sex. My new plan was to humiliate and deplete him. He still had much to learn—including fear and hatred of me, his instructor.
As I watched the Force lightning crackle out of his fingers while he closed his wound out of pure willfulness, his eyes turned flaming gold—Sith eyes. He still had something worth darkening yet. But he either could or would not sustain it. Soon his eyes were that peculiar green again.
He was not even willing to sustain a proper Dark attitude past his assigned task, the lazy fool! My exasperation drove me to postpone the seduction, sticking to my original stratagem of combat exercise with ever more serious injuries inflicted, for I found it hard to pretend to desire him at all.
At last, while he was sore pressed to recover from our latest bout, I resolved to bring him to the chamber that my first master, the one who had raped me as a child and taught me lethal hatred, had left his imprint upon. It was there that I had learned to give and receive humiliation, and the very walls vibrated with the blood, tears and ruthlessness they had enclosed. Surely those surroundings would aid me in the task of leading him by the prick into a proper attitude of resentful subservience.
I absorbed then all the mentality that I needed from those walls, my blood-darkened allies. I reveled in the memories they brought me, which I hoped to instill in him, the Skywalker, in turn. I softened his thoughts with teachings from the past, and I implored him to open his eyes, figuratively and literally, to the glorious evil vibrations around us.
With my hands I reminded him how easy it was to kill and be killed. I took his desire and used it to pull him to me. I opened my mind along the bond we had formed so far and invited him to partake of my passion.
The next move was up to him. Long he stood, his hands upon the places where I had positioned them, before he took the bait. But at last he did. His disgustingly bristled chin and upper lip were suctioning at my pulse points. It was all I could do not to pull him off me by the hair. But I resisted the urge and used it to fuel my resolve.
With my mind I caught his amusement at what he could not yet comprehend, and the way he foolishly considered it a victory. My venom distilled in my interior to increasing deadliness. I led him away to the bedroom. Soon he’d reap what he had sown. Very soon.
I should have realized that the flow had changed when he did not immediately try to overpower me when we were at the bed. Instead of giving me momentum to divert, he let me watch him strutting about, removing garments and armor one piece at a time, as if rendering himself vulnerable were something to be desired. He even waved his sash about in the air like a lolling tongue. Of course I would not dignify this with a reaction.
I spent more energy than I had anticipated on trying not to laugh at the comical flourishes he used to strip himself. It became increasingly annoying. The ultimate insult was how he made himself comfortable upon my bed, his male sexual organ exhibiting quite as much smugness as his smirk, which I knew to be a disguise for his true feelings.
He could tell how much I wanted to leap on him and tear him limb from limb, and knew that I would not. I was obliged to surmount the impulses with force of will, channeling them into ever more personal power. I was nearly incandescent with rage, and still I had not moved. I could feel it crackling all through me as I majestically approached him. It was like walking against a high wind composed of the tension between us.
He was sending me a mental impression from our seductive episode in the meditation chamber. I had let my lekku descend slowly from around his neck, down his bare hands and arm. For me it had merely been a visceral way to gauge his physical state. Now he was telling me that from his side, he’d found it pleasant. He had chosen to interpret it as a sign of my desire for him and had-- ugh!—enjoyed being touched!
Full of guile I let my gloved hand approach his face as if to touch him again, while meaning to Force-choke him when he didn’t expect it. But he was too quick! His mouth darted forth to meet my hand and with his teeth he captured my glove. My body reacted while my will and consciousness were still upon my intended next move, snatching my hand back but leaving the glove behind. He was—playing! How immature.
Things got more complex after that. I was constrained to stare into those minutely yellowed green eyes as if loss of glove and vambrance were part of my plan. I reminded myself that draining the male was more easily accomplished skin to skin, and resolutely bared my other hand and arm. More impulses to resist—urges to turn and flee, to snarl, to spit—rose and were surmounted, as I moved toward him once again.
Enough clowning. I would take him by his male part and make him empty. He would finally quit that undignified anticipatory wriggling when all his energy had become mine.
Yet when at last I had gotten under his guard and sprung the trap, triggered his helpless ecstasy, he continued to move! Why was he not behaving like stricken prey after his defeat? I tried futilely to conceal my shock. And seeping inexorably into the ragged edges of my discomfiture came—pleasure. He was intent on pleasing my body, and my body was beginning to turn traitor.
His brush-like chin, his hot wet tongue, his insinuating fingertips eroded my triumph, threatened to eclipse it with sensations much more biological. They were decidedly not of Darkness. I do not enjoy enjoyment.
This was becoming exasperating. Somehow this male had enlisted the cooperation of my feminine side, instead of triggering its resistance. It was welcoming his mouth and hands and tongue. It was embracing his invasion. My own body, my instrument, my servant, was deserting my purpose and sending contented signals to my mind, where there should be weapon-like readiness in the proximity of another being. The body was all too willing to let down my guard. It must not.
I took refuge in stillness again. My student’s ruthless destruction of my garments might enrage me, but it would not get me to lash out in blind fury. Let him think that a few involuntary contractions signified capitulation. They did not. I retreated to the plane of detachment, to plan while he toyed with the physical shell of me. Let him do his best to spark reaction in my emotions; I would not allow that.
Then when I expected him to rage against my corpse-like attitude, instead he imitated it. He went still, but with me in his grip, with our eyes meeting. I could not help looking back, out of sheer puzzled irritation. That smirk had returned. The urge to physically erase it rose once more, and I bottled it up firmly, ready to turn it into yet more poison.
How had I fallen into this posture of surrender to pleasure? Could this pleasure be mastered, like the emotions that fed rage? Even after all the exertions that followed these, I don’t yet know the answer. He still disgusted me, yet he was pleasing me. To end this now, with enough violence to bring a decisive cessation of the display of these unexpected capabilities of his, would be another sort of surrender. I knew Lord Krayt would not condone that. I must experience it, and report.
All my life I have been Sith. I have not been taught the ways of pleasure, only their systematic rejection. Now, to stay ahead of my student, I must let him demonstrate. That is what I told myself then. And pleasure was even eroding my capacity to fear, that essential component of survival. This was going to be truly humiliating.
I lay still and did my best to fear him. It was the only armor I would allow myself. The rest of my being would observe what he did and see if he could indeed defeat me with pleasure, this new variable.
The stinking murglack, leaking the male human moisture of his inferior species, whose biology he embraced rather than transcended, stared back at me from behind his habitual smirk. His eyes remained green. And still he did not move.
After a wait that only appeared endless, he lifted his hairy legs and –settled—his intrusion into my concave portions. Unexpectedly my body approved! And the contact produced pleasure in a brilliant flash. The traitorous contractions began again and would not be schooled by my consciousness into quiescence. I had to shut my eyes. I vowed to be ready henceforth, and discover a way toward internal resistance.
But once again he caught me off balance with the next thrust, which was truly an intrusion, not a mere twitch. I began to search for rhythm and pattern in order to disrupt it, but he didn’t seem to have one. Every repetition of his penetration of me was a continual surprise, loosing increasingly bright avalanches of sensation in my body.
The avalanches continued, shocking and blinding. He began to use his superior size and strength to work me up and down. I had allowed this and now I must reap the results. And I did not know what they would be. More and more of my body was participating in this biological rebellion. I could nearly sense my internal chemistry changing. I felt like an infant again in some ways, but not like a squalling one. This was absurd! Squeals of childlike joy did not become an Emperor’s Hand. I expended yet more will-force upon staying silent.
And in my mind, along our bond, holding my mind fast to his, he taunted me—into agreement! Yes! Yes, I hated this!
It was too much, to have my mental barriers compromised as well. I wept with frustration. And even my tears were pleasant. How? Why?
At long last I lost consciousness, in the midst of a deluge of bliss, of Light. I had always believed that so much Light would shrivel my sense of self into nothing, and indeed that was how it seemed. I had no ideas remaining on how to master it. I did not know if I would still be Talon when I woke, or still be touching—touching!—this other being, who had gotten me to betray my identity so completely.
Dark was merciful, even if Masters are not. He was unconscious as well when I regained use of my body, my lekku tip fallen away from his pursed lips. His secretions were drying upon me, and my tschin had been in his mouth—his filthy mouth! – for how long? Repugnance gave me strength to rise and bathe.
He had served the Light with our coupling, and to my shame I had served it with him. Even now I firm my resolve not to let this happen again. I have given him dangerous knowledge of me which he must not be allowed to use, for I do not yet have control of it myself.
But I have learned of his weakness for biological pleasure and his repugnance for pain, as well as how very deep it runs. I shall report his perfidy. He only pretends to be Sith. He only pretends to learn from me.
The sensory memory of what he did to my lekku did not wash away. I am trying to reconcile myself to this humiliating contentment pervading my every limb. I cover myself, ashamed of beauty that was only recently simply another weapon. I do not want my Master to see that I have been—satisfied. Like unwary prey.
Look at him, smirking even in his sleep. When I finish this report, my gundark of a student is going to be strangled awake—until he is as near death as he brought me, before. Let him heal that.
~~
hlglnehttps://sith-love.livejournal.com/32726.html original posting
