Chapter Text
Obi-Wan lies atop a golden pillow. The plush surface is just large enough to fit his top half and—if he curls in on himself like a fetus in the womb—his bottom half, too. He stares at nothing through half-lidded eyes, entranced by the yellow-orange glow of the void.
Boots, heels, and slippers glide about the room. A particularly expensive pair of heels click-clack toward him on the shining marble floor. The being stands above him, close enough to touch, but their next words aren’t for Obi-Wan.
“You didn’t tell me you got a new pet!”
The owner of the voice crouches down, dress glimmering like a Mustafar fire diamond. Obi-Wan’s eyes drag from those black, studded heels to that red dress to their rosy pink face. The being smiles, bearing a set of sharp teeth. Their face blurs until they are just that smile, just those teeth.
“And with red hair, too? Oh, it’s absolutely adorable!” the being squeals. Uncaring fingers thread through his hair, tugging past snarls. Their long nails scrape his scalp. The being huffs, “When was the last time you brushed it?”
“Would you believe I tried?” another voice,Obi-Wan’s so-called Master, chimes in. He leans down, the cushion below him rustling, and runs a casual hand down Obi-Wan’s bare flank. “The willful thing doesn’t know how to behave.”
Obi-Wan blinks blearily. A muted spark of annoyance breaks free of his syrupy brain; he’d bite out a nasty retort if he could trust his leaden tongue. What comes out instead is an angry whine.
“Quiet, pet,” Obi-Wan’s Ma— his Captor—shushes him, hand trailing down to grope at Obi-Wan’s exposed arse. That hand hovers, coming down sharply over already bruised skin. Obi-Wan jolts, another whine tearing free of his mouth.
Another swat, and then that hand migrates to Obi-Wan’s tail plug. A sharp twist and a tug have Obi-Wan gritting his teeth with his eyes shut tight.
“It doesn’t seem so willful now,” the other being says. Their voice goes higher in timbre, babbling at him. “You’re not so bad, are you, little thing? No, you’re not. Your mean old Master doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”
“Well, it doesn’t hurt that I gave it a dose of spice before the guests arrived.”
Obi-Wan swallows thickly, throat bobbing beneath his collar. Spice. Yes, that’s what they did. He remembers. Fingers pinching his nostrils and hands clamping his jaw open and a finger tracing the gritty powder along his gums.
“Spice? Isn’t that a little excessive?”
“I had it cut a few night cycles ago,” Master says casually. Obi-Wan cringes at the remembered pain, at the ever-present throbbing in his heels. The man’s voice takes a defensive tone. “You should have seen what it did to Gar’s face. It fucked up his nose, the poor guy. There was blood everywhere. It almost escaped the compound, too, but its collar set off the perimeter. Anyway, I wanted it somewhat conscious, and I couldn’t have it whining all night, so spice it was.”
“You can’t blame it for attacking Gar,” Master’s friend laughs. They prod at his gauze-wrapped foot, and he jumps. “It doesn’t know any better. And besides, it’s Gar we’re talking about. You know how rough he gets. I’d do the same, if he came near me.”
“You, dearest Dyla, are not a pet,” Master croons. “And we both know how you can get. You’d be putting my pet to work between your legs faster than Gar did.”
“Maybe I would,” that voice—Dyla—laughs, “if you’re offering.”
While their thumb prods at Obi-Wan’s cheek, creeping toward his lips, the Master monopolizes their focus. With that hand so close, Obi-Wan gives in. He snaps at the dreadful being, not fast or strong enough to break skin, but enough to send a message.
Unfortunately for Obi-Wan, it’s not the right message. His defiance earns him five more swats, all in quick succession, leaving his arse stinging painfully. He shuts his eyes tight, burying his face in the pillow as tears slip from his eyes.
“Look at it, nipping like an itty bitty puppy,” Dyla coos, not upset in the least. They pet his hair again, trailing down to his chest. They pinch a nipple between two fingers, twisting harshly. Obi-Wan barely bites back his whimper. “Someone should muzzle that mouth.”
“Oh, Dyla,” Master hums. He snaps his fingers and footsteps echo away—another slave, most likely, scampering to obey the Master. “Have I ever told you how much I love that beautiful brain of yours?”
“You could stand to say it more,” Dyla answers. Their fingers continue their exploration, pausing over Obi-Wan’s lean abs, admiring them with slight pressure. They poke at his belly button, laughing at his half-aborted flinch.
“Here you are, sir,” a timid voice says above. The voice sounds familiar, but he can’t quite place it. Master’s slaves aren’t allowed to speak to his pets, after all. Only guards and other free sentients. “Is there anything else I can get for you?”
Skin strikes skin, and the slave gasps. “You may only speak when spoken to, girl.”
Whatever the chastised slave does next, Obi-Wan doesn’t know, but she doesn’t earn further ire with more misplaced words. Master dismisses her, focusing his torment back on the pet at his feet.
“Kneel, pet,” Master orders, and Obi-Wan’s body is moving faster than his mind. He drags himself upright, chest rippling with a silent sob at the painful pressure in his heels. He stares up at the Master, but not into his eyes. Never into his eyes.
Obi-Wan trembles, swaying unsteadily on his knees. He stares at the Master’s chest, watching the man’s extravagant red and gold robes hover in and out of focus. His eyes drift to Master’s hands, and he cringes.
Master’s lip curls up.
In his hands, the Master holds Obi-Wan’s muzzle. The cursed thing is made of unyielding black leather that always digs too tightly into his face. Attached to the inside of the front panel is a dildo that is just long enough to threaten his gag reflex.
“Hold still,” Master orders gruffily. He grabs Obi-Wan’s hair to hold him in place as he first forces the dildo into his pet’s mouth, and then secures the straps over and around Obi-Wan’s head.
That hand releases him, and Obi-Wan nearly collapses without the weight of another to support him. The pain in his feet burns like nothing he’s ever felt before, the magnitude growing with every passing moment.
“Be a good boy, now, and I won’t have to punish you,” Master croons.
Biting down on the dildo in his mouth, Obi-Wan fixes his Captor with a bleary-eyed glare. He knows full well that whatever he does, the man will see fit to punish him anyway.
“Oh, we’re going to have so much fun with you tonight, pet.”
The Master smiles, standing up to tower over his pet. He grabs hold of Obi-Wan’s leash and yanks, forcing Obi-Wan to scramble along on the hard floor. Dyla hurries along, giggling. With one careless step, they catch Obi-Wan’s foot with their heel, eliciting a muffled yelp from beneath the muzzle.
“Pets should learn to stay out of the way,” they tell Obi-Wan in lieu of anything like an apology. “You wouldn’t get stepped on if you knew how to behave.”
On the journey back to Master’s quarters, Obi-Wan nearly topples over, twice. A hard yank on his leash pulls the thick collar taut around his throat, threatening his air and replacing some of that haze with panic. His hands and knees ache under the weight of his own crumbling body.
Arriving at last, the Master presses his code into the control pad. Pneumatic doors swish open and they walk inside. Obi-Wan sighs when his knees meet the soft, fluffy carpet. He wants nothing more than to curl up inside his crate, basking in what few comforts he has.
Master, of course, doesn’t care what Obi-Wan wants. He leads them past the luxurious common room and down the hall. Toward the bedroom.
Tears trail down Obi-Wan’s face as he walks, head bowed. He knows these quarters and he knows them well; for the first month of his captivity he wasn’t allowed to leave them. After the second month, well… he stopped keeping track.
The door creaks open, revealing a bedroom fit for nobility. The walls are a deep, bloody red with mouldings of shimmering gold. The ceiling, while white, is yellowed by the light of the crystalline chandelier hanging centerpiece.
Master leads Obi-Wan to the foot of the bed.
“Kneel,” Master orders, and Obi-Wan obeys. That broad hand runs through Obi-Wan’s hair, petting him. To Dyla, “You know where I keep my toys. Surprise me.”
Dyla squeals, bouncing their way over to the Master’s closet. They slide open the door, and the automatic light switches on, bright as daylight. Instruments of pleasure and pain lie within. Merely glancing into the closet has bile rising heavy and sour in Obi-Wan’s throat. He swallows, heart thudding in his chest.
Master strips off his robe, tossing it aside for a slave to collect later. Underneath, he wears sturdy black trousers and a simple beige tunic with embroidered hemlines. He similarly casts off his tunic and boots before sitting at the edge of the bed, idly palming himself through his trousers.
“Sett, you asshole!” Dyla calls, barely out of sight. They appear in the closet’s doorway, holding one of the few toys Master hasn’t used on Obi-Wan, yet; a dildo strap-on harness. “You didn’t tell me I left this here. I thought I lost this.”
Obi-Wan cringes, sneaking a reflexive glance at the Master.
“Darling, why would I possibly need a harness?” Master says. He sits back, a placating smile on his face. Calm. Yes, calm. He palms himself again. “I have everything I need right here.”
“Who knows,” Dyla starts, hip cocked, “maybe you like being the one to take it every now and again. I saw how you were looking at that blonde slut earlier. Maybe we should call her here, give you what you want.”
“Hah hah,” the Master’s hand tightens around the leash. “As if I’d let some lowly whore fuck me.”
Dyla’s smile wavers a moment, going silent.
“Come on, Dy,” Master sighs. He grabs a fistful of Obi-Wan’s hair, jerking him around. With that dangerous, playful edge to his voice he asks, “What toys did you find for me?”
A fire reignites in Dyla’s eyes. They arrange their haul on the bed with all of the satisfaction of a hunter boasting a recent kill. Obi-Wan takes a shuddering breath through his nose. A dildo, long and thick, rests in the center of the pile. A flogger. A spreader bar. And…
The Mittens.
“Now you’re just like a real pet,” Master had said, the first time he locked away Obi-Wan’s hands. It had taken days for him to unlock them from Obi-Wan’s hands. Days for Obi-Wan to earn the privilege.
“You know the drill, Pet,” Master says, plucking the padded cages from the bed. The end of the leash lies limp on the floor. “Let me see those hands.”
Obi-Wan eyes dart between his Master, the leash, and the open door. The muscles in his arms twitch, his body begging him to just obey, but his mind, his pride, yells at him to fight this. Obedience means pain. Disobedience means punishment. He hurts so badly already, his feet throbbing fiery pain.
How much more pain do they expect him to take?
Stuck between blind obedience and the door, Obi-Wan chooses the door. He scrambles on his hands and knees away from his captors, toward uncertain freedom.
A sharp pressure around his throat yanks him back. He resists that pressure, pushing forward like a bucking orbak. Desperate tears fall down his face. He yells and cries through the dildo in his mouth, choking himself on his collar.
With a firm foot planted on the end of Obi-Wan’s leash, Master sighs. “And to think, you were doing so well.”
The Master wrestles Obi-Wan up and onto the mattress, easily overpowering the younger man. Forcing Obi-Wan face-down on the mattress, the Master forces Obi-Wan’s hands behind his back and slides the padded mitts onto his resisting hands. Below, Dyla locks the spreader bar above Obi-Wan’s knees.
“It’s due for some spice, I think,” Dyla suggests, having moved on to indulgently squeezing their captive’s thighs.
“It has been awhile," the Master agrees, rolling off of his pet.
Leaning closer to the bedside table, he opens a drawer, pulling out a container of brown-orange powder. Twisting the top off, he pinches a clump between his fingers. With the free hand, he yanks Obi-Wan’s head back by his hair.
“Inhale,” the Master orders, holding the spice below Obi-Wan’s nose.
Obi-Wan whines, shaking his head. Out of sight, Dyla digs their fingers into Obi-Wan’s gauze-wrapped wound. Without meaning to, he sucks in a lungful of air, the spice burning his nose.
“Again,” the Master orders. This time, Obi-Wan obeys, inhaling until at last his captor is satisfied.
That familiar haze creeps in, slowly at first. There’s no fight in Obi-Wan’s body as the restraining grips leave him. He lies on the bed, blinking dejectedly. He rests his chin on the soft satin blanket, staring at the headboard. Behind him, fabric rustles. There’s the clink of a belt. Warm, bare skin meets his own. Hot. It’s too hot here.
Voices, far away.
“Do I need to use lube?”
“Eh, I used it earlier. We’ll be fine without.”
Touch between his legs, spreading his arse. Pulling pressure in a most intimate spot, his metal plug forced from his body. It stretches him on the way out and he groans, the extrusion too fast.
A scoff. “You didn’t clean it when you were done?”
“I didn’t need to. It’s my pet.”
Soft silicone prods at the furl of his hole, letting him feel the shape. It slides between his arse cheeks, more slick with each swipe. The head of the false cock presses against him with intention. Obi-Wan fidgets. The tip penetrates him, an insistent pushing past a broken body’s resistance. Burning pressure, too much too fast. The dildo pulls out with a sharp suddenness before it is jammed inside, hitting deeper within him.
Obi-Wan’s body lurches with each powerful slam of the dildo. As his body slides over the mattress in an irregular tempo, he stares, captivated, at the intricately carved headboard. Hips meet flush with his own, hitting him with bruising force. Those hips push him closer to the spiraling leaves and branches carved into gilded wood. Bright, shining gold dominates his vision as the fake cock brushes his most sensitive spot. A muffled moan escapes his mouth.
“You like that, whore?” A voice taunts, the one who is Not Master. “Turn it on. I want to hear the bitch scream.”
Obi-Wan blinks, confused. Another hard thrust aimed for just the right spot has his eyes fluttering and his back arching. Then, just as another thrust nudges his prostate, the sensation is amplified tenfold. The vibrating shaft brushes his insides, the intense pleasure flooding his brain.
“Oh, fuck, Sett,” that voice moans. “Just like that.”
“Keep going, darling,” Master says indulgently. Pleased. Yes, the Master is pleased. A wet sound, the smack of lips together. A moan. “Let’s not make it easy on the whore.”
The weight on the mattress shifts, though the steady weight straddling Obi-Wan’s hips remains unchanged. The thrusting stops and the vibrating cock rests in Obi-Wan’s hole. Hands lift his hips from the bed, pushing a pillow beneath his hips. The thrusting begins anew, hitting deeper into Obi-Wan’s core.
Suddenly, Obi-Wan’s back lights up with a stinging stripe of pain. Obi-Wan bites down on the dildo in his mouth. Firm leather meets his back in a cruel caress, turning him into a flushed, writhing creature. The thrusts and the strikes work in unison, intermixing terrible pleasure with groin-clenching pain.
“I think it likes this,” that voice mocks through ragged panting. Smooth fingers reach between Obi-Wan’s legs and grab his flushed cock. They hold Obi-Wan in their too-tight grip, pulling uncomfortably. “I’ve never seen such a whore.”
“I have an idea,” Master says. “Let’s get it on top of you.”
Still impaled on the fake cock, Obi-Wan doesn’t fight the twisting, pulling hands as they adjust his position. He ends up flush with Dyla’s pink chest, the dildo seated inside him, vibrating away. Dyla flashes those sharp canines at him, rutting forward purely for the shock of it.
Closing his eyes, Obi-Wan falls limp like the toy he is. The gut-punching thrusts continue, secondary to the darkness behind Obi-Wan’s eyes.
“Hold it still,” the Master orders, and Obi-Wan doesn't have the energy for fear.
Another weight settles over Obi-Wan’s legs. Arms coil around his back. Another pressure prodding at his hole; the Master’s cock. With a sobbing exhale through his nose, Obi-Wan dives deeper into that void. It’s only a body reacting when the Master penetrates him, too, shoving in beside the dildo. It’s only a body that writhes and rocks with the alternating thrusts. It’s only a body that climaxes painfully around two thick cocks, pressed between suffocating weights.
The ruthless fucking persists past his overwhelming orgasm; it’s not Obi-Wan’s pleasure that matters here. For seconds, minutes, hours, Obi-Wan is but a tool for gratification. He is past all sense when the Master’s thrusts turn sharp and quick, culminating in one final, forward drive.
Master groans loudly into the silent room. Is it over? It has to be over. The two cocks pull out, one after the other, and Obi-Wan is cast aside on the bed. He breathes into the darkness, mind and body numb.
“Dyla,” Master says in a blissed, sing-song voice. “Your turn.”
The bed shakes. Moans and heavy panting fill the room. The blankets writhe with the pleasure of another being. Obi-Wan lays, silent and temporarily forgotten, on the other end of the bed. His body is somehow both numb and a beacon of pain. He keeps his eyes closed and his face buried in the blankets. If he opens them, this will be real. If he opens them, the Master will remember he exists and steal more pleasure from his battered body.
“Sett!” Dyla shrieks as their body meets the impetus of pleasure. They convulse, shaking the bed with the strength of it. Breathing heavily, “Oh, fuck. Wow. I needed that.”
“Alright, Pet,” the Master sighs, the bed creaking as his weight leaves it. Obi-Wan keeps his eyes closed, playing dead. The spreader bar comes off. He makes no sound as his plug is shoved back inside. “Time to go in your crate.”
Obi-Wan doesn’t move.
“Pet,” Master warns. “You will obey me, or I’ll have to punish you again. Or, maybe you want me to punish you. I have more guests out there who would be happy to put a disobedient creature back in its place.”
Obi-Wan shakes his head. He rolls off the bed with the Master’s help, making himself dizzy in the process. He lets Master guide him to his crate, curling up against cold metal. It soothes his flushed skin, and he leans into the relief.
Master and Dyla chat idly, though their words fade into the background. Exhaustion takes over quickly, sucking Obi-Wan into unconsciousness.