The Padawan's Annual Charity Slave Auction and Bakesale

by Ruth Gifford (lady_volumna@yahoo.com)

Rating: NC-17ish

Categories: humor, BDSM

Spoilers: none

Warnings: see after the story if you must, but they ruin the story. This is not particularly heavy

Archive: MA, Power Plays. Anywhere else, just ask

Feedback: Yes, the Master likes feedback. :-) onlist or email.

Summary: The title really says it all. Who buys Obi and what fiendish things do they have planned for him?

Notes: Star Wars, et al. Belong to George Lucas. Me? I'm in the Master Ruth APP (Abject Poverty Project) and only wish I could make money here.

Thanks to Jennifer/Gail; this was written on her computer and beta'd by her brain. This little piece was inspired by the Dom/Sub scene auction at the Exiles Meet 'n' Greet in San Francisco during the Folsom St. Fair Weekend. What a blast!:-)

For Emu, because she likes kink.

"The bidding starts at 200," the Master of Ceremonies called out jovially. "Do I have ... 200 over there. How about three...? Yes 300 ... 400 ... 500 ... C'mon someone has to bid more than that! Think of it, a scene with a beautiful young bottom ... 600 ... 700"

***Earlier***

"Obi-Wan are you sure this is a good idea?"

"It's for charity, Bant. And the scene is negotiated after the sale; both sides can back out at any time." He looked around. "Where is ... Oh, there it is. Bruck can you hand me my bag?"

"Damn, Kenobi, what do you have in here, every toy you own?"

"No, just the really good ones."

"Weighs a fucking ton," the other young man grunted.

"Open it up, and let me see what's in there," Bant said, her wide Calamarian smile growing even wider.

"Hey, now wait...." Obi-Wan protested.

"Nice," Bruck said, ignoring his friend and holding out at beautiful braided nine tailed flogger. "What do you think?"

"I'll use it on you any time you like, love," Bant replied.

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. "Ahem," he coughed a few minutes later. His friends turned from rummaging in his bag to look at him. "Do you mind?"

"Not very well," the two lovers chorused in unison.

"'They can't be enemies,' I said to myself,'" Obi-Wan muttered. "'I should try to get them to see each other's point of view,' I said." He glared as Bant and Bruck laughed at him.

"You would think," Bruck said, "that by now you would have learned to avoid such impulsive behavior." With his uncanny gift for imitation, he sounded a little too much like Master Jinn for Obi Wan's taste.

"Don't do that!" he snapped. "I hate it when you do that."

"Well yeah," Bant said. "That's why he does it."

"Really," Bruck said, in his own voice and a little more seriously. "Do you think this is a good idea?"

"Why not?" Obi-Wan said. In spite of himself, his voice was a little bitter. "If you can't be with the one you love ...."

"What if he is there?" Bant asked gently.

"He knows I'm not celibate," Obi-Wan replied briskly, voice all business now. "He's seen the marks and knows how I play. All he ever does is tell me to be careful in my choice of partners."

"Good advice," Bruck said, "which means you probably won't follow it." He looked to his lover for back up but she was gazing at her comm terminal thoughtfully.

"Any more good advice, Mom, Dad?' Obi-Wan asked. "Because I have to get to the club soon."

"Just be careful," Bant replied. She smiled again. "I have to finish up some steamed rolls for the bakesale; I'll catch up with you in a few."

"I heard 1500...how about an even 2000?"

It was exciting to be on a fake block, Obi-Wan thought. Given how often he'd had to see real slavery, it shouldn't be, but then he'd seen and felt "real" pain and that had never stopped him from liking the erotic sort. This was just a fantasy and a good one at that. He was half hard and he knew it showed in the tight green leggings he wore. With the leggings he also wore a black silk wrap-shirt. He'd carefully accented his face with fairly subtle make-up and the result had certainly seemed exotic looking in his mirror.

In spite of their words, both Bant and Bruck were cheering him on, and Bruck was even bidding on him. Obi-Wan smiled to himself. While the idea of a night with his two friends had its appeal, he knew that it would never happen. There were friends and then there were lovers and the three of them had worked that out over two years ago when they had all reached legal age.

But there were other bidders. His sometime lover and play-partner Siri was celebrating her coming of age and first night at the club by blowing a great number of credits. She'd already purchased Padawan M'Ve, who was kneeling by Siri's chair holding the slighter girl's drink.

Obi-Wan smiled even wider. Playing with both Siri and M'Ve would be a lot of fun. But Siri wasn't the only bidder. There were three Knights in the running, only one of whom had ever been one of Obi-Wan's partners. Also two Masters, both heavily cloaked and shielded, were keeping his price rising higher and higher.

"Walk across the stage and back," whispered the MC, his old friend Garen. "You know, that walk."

Obi-Wan did know and so he sauntered across the stage casually, looking out at the audience with a look of feigned boredom. He had a reputation as a heavy player, and one who didn't necessarily offer his surrender easily. Of course there was one person to whom he'd happily surrender everything, no games, no tricks, but that person was hardly likely to be here bidding on his own apprentice.

With practiced ease, Obi-Wan curtailed that line of thought and strolled back to Garen, looking at the audience through half lidded eyes. His bare feet did not make a sound.

The bidding soared.

Soon everyone had dropped out except for one Master and one Knight. As neither of them was the person Obi-Wan really wanted to belong to, if even for a night, he was able to maintain his look of cool indifference. He'd been told on many occasions that that one look could make blood boil and he was happy to use it for the sake of charity.

"10,000 once ... twice ... And sold to the Master!" Garen shouted,

Obi-Wan was rather surprised when it was M'Ve who approached him as he left the stage.

"Please tell me that wasn't your Master? I thought you said she doesn't play, particularly with men." M've's Master was Qui-Gon's first Padawan and the last person Obi-Wan wanted to play with.

"Master?! I think not, for all that you looked awfully pretty up there." She smiled mysteriously. I'm an emissary for the winning Master. I'm to negotiate the scene with you and carry your answers back to hir."

Obi-Wan thought hard. The Master who had purchased him had been slight and short, but M'Ve's careful use of the gender neutral pronoun had him terribly curious.

"I suppose you won't tell me ...?"

"No, that's part of the scene."

"All right, I'm listening."

"I'm to take you to one of the rooms, tie you to the bed, and then the Master will come in and play with you. It's that simple."

"My toys or theirs?"

"Theirs, but sie's read your sale sheet and knows your stated limits and preferences. And of course, the usual safewords apply."

Obi-Wan frowned. "It sounds too simple," he said. "Why the secrecy."

"I'm supposed to answer that question with: 'slaves don't ask questions; they obey.'" M've's voice had a hint of challenge and Obi-Wan frowned.

On one hand, the whole thing had "set-up" written all over it. On the other hand, his whole body had shivered at the idea of having a Master who understood the game. All too often it was Obi-Wan who had to teach his lovers to play. Maybe tonight he would be with someone who knew all the rules and formalities of the convoluted world of dominance and submission, pain and pleasure.

If you can't be with the one you love ... he thought, echoing his earlier words.

"Lead on," he said calmly.

The room M'Ve led him to was one of his favorites. In addition to the large four poster bed, there was a whipping frame, a well padded horse, a hook and chain hanging from the ceiling and plenty of mirrors designed to maximize a sub's awareness of their state. He shivered and, with unusual docility, allowed M'Ve to tie him face up on the bed.

She smiled, lightly stroked the exposed skin of his chest, and tossed a black scarf over his face.

"Have fun, slave."

"You too," he replied with an attempt at dignity. "Siri's pretty demanding."

She laughed and then the door closed. He was alone.

And he remained alone for quite a while. Attempting to enter into the spirit of things, he did not keep track of the time that passed, concentrating instead on the feeling of vulnerability he was experiencing. It wasn't new, but he was much more accustomed to putting up a fight before achieving this state. Was his ready acquiescence because his owner for the night was a Master? Perhaps, but....

The door opened. Obi-Wan tried very hard to draw his Force sense into himself, and not reach out to identify the Master who had come to claim him.

The first thing he felt was a faint hint of cold metal against his wrist. Before he could even process the sensation, there was a sighing sound and he realized that his sleeve had been sliced open. He managed not to protest, even though this stranger was destroying one of his favorite shirts. The other sleeve was slit and then the shirt was opened, leaving his upper body exposed to the eyes of the person with the sharp knife.

It was frightening. His cock throbbed against his leggings.

The Master tapped the hard flesh one with the flat of the blade and then Obi-Wan felt a faint sensation at his ankle. If the shirt had sounded like a sigh as it was cut, his leggings sounded like the gasp of a person in pain. Both legs were bared and the fabric pulled away until Obi-Wan was naked, lying on the remains of his clothing.

He felt the Master move until sie was standing near his head. The scarf was flipped off and he squinted in the sudden light.

"Master!!!"

Qui-Gon Jinn smiled back at him, the smile that usually meant he was terribly pleased with himself.

"But ..." Obi-Wan stammered.

"M'Bast did the actual bidding," his Master said. "My yearmate does enjoy the occasional intrigue."

"As does your former Padawan's Padawan," Obi-wan replied ruefully.

The blade Qui-Gon held flashed and Obi-Wan started as the flat smacked against his hip.

"Is this the respect a slave gives his Master?"

Obi-Wan shook his head, his eyes wide as he stared at the blade in Qui-Gon's hands. Bright pattern-folded steel, it was inlaid with Cor shell and had been Qui-Gon's Mastery gift from Yoda himself. Would Qui-Gon use it on his Padawan's skin?

As if easily following Obi-Wan's train of thought, his Master smiled that smug smile again. He raised the knife and it flew through the ar to bury itself in the bedpost a few centimeters away from Obi-Wan's bound ankle.

"I know you too well, my young apprentice," Qui-gon said, and his smile turned predatory. "I don't need a knife to have you at my mercy."

"You have me there now, Master," Obi-Wan replied calmly.

"I said I know you, padawan" Qui-Gon said sharply. "You think you can fool me by saying the right things, but this won't be over until I truly have you where I want you."

"And how do you propose to do that?" Obi-Wan asked, dropping his pose of false surrender.

Making no reply, Qui-gon removed one item from the voluminous sleeve of his cloak.

Obi-Wan stared in terror. His Master was holding a long, red, orange and gold feather from a wing of paradise bird.

In the room next door, Siri stopped flogging M'Ve for a moment as both women listened to the screams of half laughter half pain that came from behind the wall.

"I'm yours, My Master," they heard. "Oh please ... don't ... no more, My Master ...."

"Lie still, stop squirming, and later there will be cookies," came the amused rumble of Master Jinn's voice.

"Now that's a Master," Siri said admiringly. So, where was I?"

The End

Warnings: bondage, knife-work (no blood letting), implied m/f and f/f action, tickling (read it anyway, Emu, if only for the times you've squicked me)