Nailed

by Ruth Gifford (lady_volumna@yahoo.com)

Warnings: GREAT BIG FAT HAIRY ONES!!!! This is not your generic SpankMeMaster!Obi, OK? OK. Really there's blood and a lot of it in here. It's pure sadism/masochism but, it's all consensual if that helps. If heavy squicks you, bakc away from the fic. Feedback: Please!!!! Did I go too far?

Emu, that story of ours will never get written if you keep this up. Oh and I've enclosed an art bunny: I want the picture Qui drew on his 55th nameday present.

[Archivist's Note: The Emu has allowed the picture that served as inspiration for this story to be archived with it.
Warning: picture is NC-17 and graphic in nature]

Nailed
by The Emu

Often I am held with a simple word. "Hold position!" he barks and I do, held in place by nothing but his words and our combined will.

There is no subservience here, no play at being slave and Master. He already is my Master and I obey him out of respect. When he commands in the bedroom, it is simply to position me for our mutual enjoyment.

And that enjoyment is pain. Quite a lot of pain, really. I am Jedi. I am his creation, hardened under his hands and under the hands of all the instructors who have done their damnedest to see that I am a fit vessel of the Light.

But I have done more and have made myself a fit vessel for him. He delights in dealing pain. Every hurt that he sees, every death he feels stays with him. He suffers for them.

Ah yes, Kenobi, you sound so fucking altruistic. As if this were just something you do just for him.

I do it for me. Selfishly as only one with the perfect match can be selfish. I can take and take and take more because he takes such intense pleasure in giving and giving and giving.

It started when he first saw the teeth marks on my upper arm. I was fifteen and I'd been jerking off and biting my arm and it was so good that I forgot to heal it. He demanded to know what and why and how often. I wanted to sink into the ground as I told him; I was that certain that I had crossed over to the Dark.

We stayed like that for two years. I marked myself with my teeth, my nails, needles, knives, even my lightsaber, and I let him see the marks. I told him about how it felt, how the pain coursed through me like the purest, brightest, *Lightest* Force rush anyone ever had. And he would listen in silence, his arousal never hidden but never commented on.

I gave him a gift for my nameday. I gave both of us a gift. If anyone had seen, they would have thought it odd, a straight razor for my bearded Master.

He beat me with the strop until I screamed and then laid down a fine crosshatch pattern of cuts on my bruised ass. When he was done, he stood by the side of the bed and jerked off, then very carefully but thoroughly, placed an extra sash down on my cuts. I still have it, the dark Master's beige marked with the rust of my blood. I have a good many other bloodstained cloths.

For his 55th nameday, he used me to create a work of art. I stood, at ease, wearing my dress white, inside a heavy metal frame. Using needles and monofilament wire, he ensnared me within a web a pure pain. A great Jedi spider ensnaring his prey in cold silver and ice evenly marked with crimson. When I was well and truly caught, he sliced my clothes around the needles, using the metal tipped whip I had given him.

And then, as I still stood there, shaking and crying out as each tremor caused new pain to flame through my nerves, he sat down in front of me and sketched me while I told him how it felt. And he drank it up, all my pain, all my feelings, the sound of my voice hoarse from screaming and raw with love and need.

For the first time that night, I shattered his control. Always before, he had never touched me save to cause pain. For three years, our mutual pleasure had always been apart. He would hurt me, touch himself and then I would touch myself. But that night, he knelt down before me, called me beautiful, and took my cock in his mouth.

Before then, pain had been my pleasure. That night he taught me that pleasure can be my pain. Since then, we have pleasured each other, but it is always secondary to the pain. The pain is the goal, orgasm a mere side effect. The first time I brought him to climax, his cock was stained with the blood from cuts he made in my palm; my tears fell onto his feet as each stroke burned my hand.

He likes my blood on him. He needs my screams and moans and whimpers. He feasts on my tears. I feed off his hunger. It is palpable, caressing me as harshly as a rod, as delicately as a blade, as bright as the emerald of his saber.

Tonight I am twenty-one and I will get exactly what I asked for. He told me in advance that we would be at home, and therefore would have access to the room we use in one of the warehouse districts. I was told I could have anything I wanted of him.

"In all this time, you have never scarred me. On my birthday, I want something that will keep. Something that will leave this shadow world where the pain is all, and come with us as we work in the Light. It will happen exactly like this:

"You will nail me to the table. If you use the right nails, they will slide in between the bones of my wrists and cause me pain like I have never felt from your hand or any other's. You will then use the razor gloves and tear me. I do not care how, save that it be beautiful. You have told me so often how beautiful I am in pain, you have drawn pictures, taken holos, recorded the sound of my voice . . .

"So often you have asked, begged me to tell you the details of my pain. This time I want you to tell me. Use me as your paper, my blood as your ink. Write me a love letter, one that can never be taken from me.

"This time, you will not heal me, save for stopping the bleeding from my wrists. You know as well as I that the Del!to are a secretive people and when we go among them in a week's time, no one will see my healing wounds. No one, save you.

"From now on, every time I move my hands it will hurt. No, love, before you stop reading this and refuse me, hear me out. There are many among the ranks of the Jedi who have suffered worse injuries and whose skills are still superior to mine. Master Nebar's feet will never recover and yet she teaches Advanced Saber. She tells me that the pain keeps her sharp and focused. So do this for me, and let my pain not only keep me sharp and focused, but let it remind us of who and what we are.