Master Apprentice
Archive
Escapology
|
|
|||
He had dreaded this moment for... it didn't matter now for how many months, years even. He couldn't remember, and wouldn't remember. He was absolutely positive he had dreaded this moment ever since he had first heard about it.
He acutely felt the slightly rough inside of the leather as he pulled it up over his calves, thighs, over his buttocks clenched almost in reflex. The smooth, worn, white leather of what had in all probability been a pilot's or a racer's protective suit before it was put to its current use. So he had got the white one.
When he'd first heard about it, it had been red, although that may simply be to do with the different sizes of Padawan required to go through this... exercise. Trial. Ordeal. Whatever. To the other Padawans in the boardroom it had been more like a joke on the sidelines, to be told with squirming embarrassment if one had failed first time round, or with justified pride if one had acquitted oneself well. It wasn't meant to be much. It was his own fault that, to him, it was.
The white one, then, the one that had probably started out one or two sizes too small for him. Time had stretched the supple leather so that it now fit snugly -- rather too snugly, he thought desperately -- covering his entire body save for his hands and feet. And his head of course, everything above the little stand-up collar that was beginning to assert its tightness as he pulled the zipper all the way up. He swallowed thickly, already feeling the throb of his pulse against the warm tight leather. Not good.
Well... no. Not bad... but he really wished his Master wasn't here to see him, worse still, to supervise him. To thread the tiny padlock through the rings at the top of the zipper and lock him inside this tight, warm... abomination of leather. No, not abomination. Obi-Wan's thoughts skittered around his head like terrified birds, desperately trying to avoid processing the input from his body, the anticipation of what was to come, the feel of his Master's big hard hands testing the fit of the suit... and the laughter echoing inside his head.
Bruck's laughter.
He tried not to think of all that as the straps were pulled taut around his upper body, securing his upper arms to his sides and trapping his wrists in a pair of loops at the small of his back. He heard the soft creak of leather as buckles were pulled tight, and imagined the look of intense concentration on Qui-Gon's face as he methodically... bound... his Padawan. Obi-Wan began to sweat, bit the inside of his cheek to rein in the whimper that was threatening to come out. And it hadn't even started yet.
Well, no. It had started. It had all started... Obi-Wan couldn't remember when. As far back as he could remember really. And it had all been fine, or so he had thought... after all, Crèche Masters could read minds, couldn't they? And surely they would have said something.... but maybe they didn't. Maybe they had been too embarrassed. Looking back, Obi-Wan could picture that, yes.
Innocent games, he thought, as another strap cinched tightly around his thighs, pulling the leather taut over his buttocks, making him feel more exposed than if he'd been naked... it wasn't nakedness that was the problem, had been the problem, ever. It wasn't sex either. He was well old enough to think about sex now... it was... well, it was the things that turned him on. Specifically, one of them.
Qui-Gon's hands were businesslike on his shoulders, pressing down none too gently. At least he refused to see them as anything else. He sank to his knees almost too quickly, shrinking back automatically as he got too close to Qui-Gon's... groin. Drawing a deep breath, Obi-Wan attempted to focus, to concentrate on the task at hand, and not on the hands... the hands that were now straightening his bare feet in a quick gentle caress before strapping the ankles together tightly and linking that strap to the one around his thighs, completely immobilising the young man. Pray that he doesn't see how flushed I am already, he thought desperately, pray that he doesn't think me afraid and... incapable of this.
He had had the dreams for a long time. Well, not quite dreams. They were the kind of dreams where you could decide where you wanted to go, what you wanted to happen. Where the game was played by your own rules. Surely it could not be so wrong to make up one's own rules? If it was fun and hurt nobody? Surely this couldn't be so wrong? It had taken him ages to find the right sort of situation, where he could casually ask, where it wouldn't be embarrassing... and he had picked Bruck, because, well, Bruck was beautiful, and... liked men also... and Bruck had a reputation for being a daredevil, and one who had seen and done it all, at least if his own tales were to be believed.
He shuddered, shook his head, lost his balance, and crashed down hard on one shoulder, lay there, stunned, for a second. Saw his braid trailing on the floor of the exercise room. The only part of me that's capable of moving, he thought, and shivered again. This time it wasn't in horror.
The here and now, he thought, stay in the bloody here and now. It's years ago that... that... Bruck had laughed. Laughed him in the face when he'd asked him if he'd tie him up, just for the fun of it. Laughed so loud everyone in the boardroom had noticed, and he'd turned around and said, want to know what Kenobi just said to me, the little pervert? He hadn't run, that day, but... well, that part of him had run. And hidden. Until he'd heard about the exercise.
His Master's voice filtered through the haze in his mind, thickly, distantly. Calmly. "Free yourself of the bonds, Padawan. Any method is allowed. Technically, there's a time limit on this, but I have no doubt that you'll stay under the required ten minutes, Obi-Wan. Start... now."
Oh Sith. How was he supposed to... right. Clear your mind, Kenobi. Clear... think, no, don't think. Not that way. Here and now. Force... why was it so hard? No, rephrase that... he knew exactly why it was hard, and tried his best to wriggle on his belly to conceal it from his Master's calm blue gaze. Oh Force -- the strap that bit into the top of his thighs... it pulled the leather really taut, cupping his erection like a hard hot hand... and it itched, the sweat, the heat itched... and much thought he tried, there was no way he could move any of his limbs... except his knees, he could shift his knees a little, just open them a tiny bit until the strap across his thighs bit too hard, and he felt the clasp of the bands around his chest as he heaved in deep breaths, listening to the soft creak of the leather and his own struggles, wishing he was alone, wishing he didn't have to get out of this bloody predicament just so that his Master wouldn't be disappointed. Wishing he could just... he stilled his hips and jerked himself around on to one side, facing away from his Master, heat flushing his face. Wishing he could just... enjoy. Rub himself against the hard floor. Under his Master's stern gaze. Well, a fantasy of his Master. Certainly not the real version, who was probably getting more exasperated by the minute. Focus, damn it. Calm. Are there any seams I could burst... if only I could move... have to move... he's expecting me to--
Something cool and hard, ribbed, stilled his desperate struggling. Something pressed down on the side of his neck, there where the braid began, and sent delicious shivers down, down, past the sweat-sticky collar of the suit, past where his body was being held by the unyielding bonds, down to where -- no! He jerked around reflexively, only to find the pressure on his neck increasing, forcing him to roll on to his back, legs twisted under him, arms trapped... and the tip of a boot covering his mouth.
"Easy, Padawan. Think of what you have at your disposal. Remember your training. I suggest you do not move until you've mapped your escape in your mind..."
Obi-Wan's mind was beyond mapping as he stared up at the magnificent view along Qui-Gon's leg, stretching up and up to where he wanted to be now... to where he wanted to bury his face, as he was, hands bound behind him, kneeling like a slave, and feasting, oh Force, feasting on the wonder that was his Master's body. His soft gasp rang in his own head, muffled by the tip of Qui-Gon's boot still covering his mouth, retreating slowly, in a measured, dignified gesture... desperate, Obi-Wan surged up, nuzzling his cheek against the smooth brown leather, licking the soft material that smelled of age and travel and of Qui-Gon... so good... escape would come later, later, not now while he was in the tiny secret heaven of his fantasies, bound and crushed under his magnificent Master's boot, unbearably aroused and so hot he was sure his skin would burn through the tight white leather that encased him... he would escape later, when his grip on the Force was a little less shaky... shaky as Qui-Gon's step... halt, Master, I command you, I... beg you...
With a desperate moan, Obi-Wan wriggled on the floor, wrapping himself around Qui-Gon's feet. Later, later... I will escape as you wish, Master, but now, now... I will not. Not with you towering over me like this, thigh muscles twitching and I can pretend it's need... it is need, isn't it Master? Say it is so... oh Force, so close, so close... thrusting desperately against Qui-Gon's heels, Obi-Wan gave in to the hot sticky haze that enveloped his mind as it did his body, tight, hopeless... he could imagine it was Qui-Gon's heel thrusting back, rubbing carelessly, bringing his young captive's arousal to boiling point and enjoying the view, enjoying the view as the young man convulsed in a spasm of pure mind-melting pleasure, jerking in his bonds, unable to release all the energy of his orgasm in aimless thrashing, an endless deep-throated moan flowing from the pink lips as his mind blanked out in an explosion of pure white light, breaking down all barriers, spilling himself out into the great wide open...
Blue open. Cold air, the sound of something ripping... blue. Eyes staring him down as he found himself on his back, struggling back to consciousness. Hands on his chest, tearing the zipper apart with brute force, fury in those eyes, a storm, such a beautiful storm... "No... Master...," Obi-Wan's voice was barely more than a croak. "Wait... I... I'll escape... I can, really..." He closed his eyes and focused, away from the beautiful rage of his Master, into the Force, there was so much of it all of a sudden, and he felt it working and the buckle on his ankles undoing itself, and the one around his thighs, and then his legs snapped free and fell open and... no, not right. Too... there was something covering his mouth... one of Qui-Gon's warm dry hands, gently silencing him, and the low voice rumbling in his ear. "Of that I am certain, Padawan. The question is, do you want to escape right now? I am not sure that would be my own favourite option at this point in time..."
Oh Force. He was dreaming, right? Wasn't he? How could this... this could not be... how did he know? And what...
There was a lot of talking to do... but, with one of his Master's hands clamped over his mouth and the other slowly snaking inside the front of the white leather suit, luxuriating in the sweaty sticky warm skin and spreading the evidence of Obi-Wan's pleasure all over his hyper-sensitised groin... he was sure the talking could wait. It was not like he could talk now anyway. And later.... maybe later he could talk... talk him into... using a gag?
---The End ---