Disclaimer: A Long Time Ago in a Galaxy Far Far Away, George
Lucas created Star Wars. And he looked at it and saw that it
was good. And all was right in the world. But then, we saw that
Obi-Wan doth look upon Qui-Gon with lust, and that Mr. Lucas
was not likely to include that in the next movie, so we said
screw it and wrote it ourselves, even though we do not make any
money off of this. And all was right with the world.
Warnings: Just in case you missed it in the categories, this
story has S/M in it, so you've been warned. Did you see it?
S/M!! So don't read on if you don't like that stuff.
-From the Journal of Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi-
Back on Coruscant for a few weeks and I finally have a little
time to write in my journal. So much has happened since I last
had time to write, but there is one thing I want to write about
quickly, while it is still fresh in my mind. While we're home,
Qui-Gon decided that now would be an appropriate time for me to
attempt the pain exercises again. I'm on the second day.
I'm doing well this time, I believe. Only one mistake today and
not a bad one anyway, so it seems that I will finally pass this
trial.
Qui-Gon will probably be much relieved. He isn't much one for
causing pain. Not that it really hurts that much; the flogger
isn't designed to really hurt. It's made of the hair of some
kind of animal, glossy black and long and it does sting,
reddens the skin some but it doesn't even leave much of a welt
and certainly won't draw blood.
When I first took the pain trials I was fourteen and, quite
naturally, I failed miserably. At fourteen, you are expected
to. I can still remember it, on my knees in front of my master,
bent over so that my forehead was pressed to the ground and
feeling the sting of the lash across the bare skin of my back.
As I said, it doesn't really hurt much but even a small pain
becomes unbearable after a certain amount of time. At fourteen,
I didn't even last fifteen minutes before I was sobbing,
struggling not to flinch away from the blows raining down on my
back.
The very moment the tears started, Qui-Gon had stopped, pulled
me into his arms and soothed the tears away. A touch of healing
Force and I was well again.
He hadn't been upset, not at all. As I said, that was expected
at fourteen. It was when I failed again at seventeen that he
was disappointed.
It was on the second day of the trial. I'd made it through the
required hour on the first day but only just barely and nearly
through the first hour of the second day, I broke.
I remember that quite clearly too, my shame as I knew I had
failed completely combined with the feeling of large, cool
hands against my burning skin. He had soothed me like he had at
fourteen, although I could feel the sting his disappointment.
He didn't understand, he told me later. I had done so well in
our practices, I had always handled pain well on our
missions...
I couldn't explain it to him, not then, because I didn't
understand it then myself.
Be honest with yourself, Kenobi, you don't understand it any
better now.
The pain exercises involve distancing your mind from your body
so that you don't feel the pain and I've never had a problem
with that. I suppose that's why my master thought I was ready.
Apparently I wasn't.
I made no excuses to him, didn't tell him much of anything in
fact. How could I explain to him that this was different than
getting hurt on a mission? That this wasn't simply distancing
from pain, but from pain that he was inflicting.
I'm not sure if it would mean anything to him but it made a
galaxy of difference to me.
And now I'm taking the trials again. I did well yesterday, not
a sound, not a whimper. I knelt there for the one hour until he
was finished and although he tried to hide it, I could feel his
pride in me.
I have to wonder how proud he would be if he knew I wasn't
nearly as distant as he thought I was. That, in fact, I had
been quite aware the entire time, feeling every lash burn its
way across my back because...
Be honest, Kenobi, no one is going to see this but you.
I was feeling everything because I wanted to feel it, to feel
every single stinging blow and the only thing that kept me from
crying out was the knowledge that if I did it would stop.
But knowing that doesn't help me understand why I wanted it.
And then today, oh, I don't know how I withstood it. I nearly
didn't, several times I came far too close to crying out but
again knowing that any sound would end it kept me silent.
My only error came when his aim shifted slightly and he struck
me across the backside.
I didn't exactly cry out, only gasped but he hesitated a brief
second after I did.
I swear my heart nearly pounded out of my chest I was so
terrified he would stop, but all he did was warn me against
complacency and then it began again.
By the time he finished my back felt as if it were on fire. And
I'm ashamed to say that I was grateful for the traditional
kneeling position by then. Not because I was afraid that I
couldn't stand but because by then I was so hard that I ached
and had I been standing I would have had to try to explain away
my erection.
And then he touched me again, his hands wonderfully cool
against my heated skin. I felt him gathering Force to heal me
and I stopped him.
Yesterday, he had healed me, just as he had when I was young
but today I asked him not to. I told him I wanted to use this
opportunity to 'practice my own healing techniques'.
Qui-Gon allowed it, even looked pleased.
That wasn't the first time that I've bypassed the truth a
little with him but I swear it was the first time that I felt
so guilty about it.
We went back to our quarters and I slipped into my rooms. He
probably thought I was going to meditate. Instead, I stripped
out of my clothes and stood in front of the mirror, craning my
head over my shoulder to see my back.
My skin had still been reddened, only a few welts scattered
about and one streak of red across my backside. He must have
belted me a good one for it to be as red as it had been and I
found myself touching it, fondling the slightly raised weal
that dyed my skin crimson.
I found the idea that he had marked me strangely arousing, that
his hand had caused this undeniable symbol.
I had been aroused since this morning, waking to thoughts of my
trials and by then my need had been almost unbearable.
This...I'm almost too ashamed to write this but denying it
won't make it any less real.
I had lain down on my bed, on my back so that I could feel the
cool sheets against my skin and so the pressure would make the
abused skin flare to life again. I had wanted to feel it.
Lying there I touched myself and I relived the last two days
again in my mind, savoring every burning stroke of the lash
through my memories, especially the feeling of that one strike
across my backside. And in my mind the scene...changed.
Behind my eyes, I saw my master stop and order me to strip out
of my leggings and I obeyed, confused and blushing as my
arousal was exposed to eyes. He didn't comment on it, instead
he motioned me back into my kneeling position.
I knelt there, my forehead pressed to ground and the hair at
the back of my neck prickling, feeling more naked and exposed
than I ever had in my life as I waited.
A light touch against my skin and I flinched slightly before I
realized what it was. The lash, its hair scratching against my
skin but so light this time that I could barely feel it,
trailing over the hot skin on my back, teasing the cleft of my
buttocks. The thin filaments were strangely soothing and even a
bit ticklish and I found myself relaxing into it.
The sudden strike across my backside caught me off-guard and I
nearly cried out, bit my lip hard to stop the sound. Again and
again, harder than he had before and I knew my ass had to be
glowing red but I still held back the cries that were trying to
escape. Of pain? Of need? I didn't know but the pressure of my
erection, caught between my thighs and my stomach, was almost
unbearable.
I started to move, unable to help myself but I wasn't cringing
away from those blows. I was rocking backwards into them, into
each flick of the lash.
And then it was over. I lay there panting and trembling, my
backside on fire and my entire being aching with -need-.
Then he touched me, large hands, familiar and cool on my back,
my buttocks, soothing me and I trembled anew. I almost lost
control and cried out when his mouth replaced his fingers,
tracing each welt with his tongue and making new fire race
along them. Lower, liquid heat against my backside as he parted
my cheeks and ran his tongue down to the entrance of my body.
His tongue was replaced by fingers, slick with some kind of oil
and he opened me, sliding his fingers inside.
Again, I nearly cried out but sheer stubbornness held me, that
and the desperate knowledge that if I made a sound this would
end. Those slippery fingers were easing in and out of me and I
shivered as I thought of what they were preparing me for.
They withdrew from me and I was forced to wait again. My sight
was stolen from me by my position but I could hear clothing
rustling. I urged him silently to hurry and to please, please
give me what I so desperately craved.
I felt him shift to kneel behind me, felt thick, blunt pressure
against my anus and then he pressed harder, sliding inside my
body. It burned, the way the lash had burned across skin and I
wanted this just as much, more.
Hard pressure and he pushed deeper, my body opened to his
invasion and, oh, it was the most difficult thing I had ever
done, holding so still while he slowly entered me. Rough cloth
abraded my abused backside and I realized that he hadn't
undressed, had only opened his clothing and somehow that
excited me even more, the idea of my fully clothed master
draped over my naked body.
Yes, I mouthed silently, yes, take me, possess me, own me.
As if he had heard my silent pleas he suddenly surged inside me
and I nearly screamed as the burn flared into pain and ecstasy.
He didn't stop, only rocked backwards and deeply inside me
again and I had wanted this for so long, needed it and, oh I
was coming, I was exploding or imploding and I tasted blood I
was biting my lip so hard, holding back screams of affirmation
that I was -his-. And being his, he was also mine.
Blackness fluttered briefly before my eyes and I blinked hazily
up at the ceiling of my quarters, alone, with nothing touching
me but my own hand.
I've never had such an intense fantasy before. In my complete
immersion, I'd actually bitten my lip. I'd never felt anything
like that, ever, though I'd be lying if I said I'd never
thought of my master that way before.
Master.
I shouldn't enjoy calling him that so much. I just...I
shouldn't.
Well, I think I've written enough for this night, I still need
to meditate and work on healing my back. And now my lip. Much
as I'd like to keep the welts, like a memento I suppose,
Qui-Gon would most definitely notice and I can't see myself
explaining to him why I haven't healed them.
I can hardly talk about this with myself, how could I speak of
it to him, my gentle master who I am sure loathes putting me
through these trials. A part of me desperately wants to speak
of it, to ask if this is even appropriate and if it is not then
to ask how I should stop it but...I can't. I can't.
Tomorrow will be that last day of my pain trials. Strange, that
for the first time in my life I am not relieved to be passing a
trial and putting yet another milestone behind me. In truth I
am actually dreading it because when I pass tomorrow, it will
be the last time that I ever feel my master touch me that way.
And I will pass. No matter how much I regret that I won't be
able to experience this again, I would rather live out my life
without it than ever see that disappointment in his eyes again.
I am going to kneel before him and feel every stroke burn its
way across my back. And I am going to memorize the feel of it,
treasure every single blow so that in times when I am alone I
can take that memory out and relive it.
I think when I heal my back, I'll leave the welt on my ass.
Qui-Gon won't see it and for at least a little while every time
I sit down I'll have a brief reminder of this. It will only
last a day, perhaps two before it fades and heals on its own, I
know, but just for those days, just for a very short time, I
can pretend that he gave me that mark because I belong to him.
Archive 