Series: The Path of the Steel Rose (see author's notes)
Category: bdsm, PWP
Spoilers: none
Summary: Obi-Wan spends too much time . . . adjusting and pays
the consequences.
Feedback: will encourage me to work on this series and will be
appreciated solely for its very existence. Disclaimer: The
characters and setting are owned by George, the dirty story by
me.
Age of Obi-Wan: 19
Archive: M_A, and GiffStein (next time I bother to update),
anywhere else? Ask I'll happily say yes unless it's sleazy.
Notes: There are a ton of things that went into this really
short story. I watched baseball today (those guys adjust all
the damn time). Mac posted those pics of Ewan with his hands
down his pants and Trace and I got into a silly bit over that.
Layna and I got into a silly bit over how I'd order my Obi-Wan
(although we don't get him on the St. Andrew's cross . . . this
time). So it all fell together with my idea for a series of
stories based on an interesting concept. Many practitioners of
bdsm find a great deal of spiritual strength in the rituals of
discipline. Now it may sound more Sithly than Jedi, but I don't
find it so. If there is a Living Force, I'm rarely
closer to it than in the middle of a "scene." Therefore, I'm
working on the idea that the young Obi- Wan, while researching
ancient Jedi training paths for a paper ran across The Path of
the Steel Rose, or a way to incorporate bdsm into training.
Stories (some serious, some fluffy) will come along as time and
inspiration permit and the timeline will be Obi-Wan's age.
Hopefully people will like the idea and what I'm talking about
will make some sense.
Anyway this is for Mac and Trace and Layna (hope it was worth
staying up for) and ball players everywhere.
"Padawan," Qui-Gon Jinn said coolly, looking at his kneeling
apprentice.
"Yes, Master?"
The two Jedi were going through their usual evening routine.
After all the lessons and training were over; after dinner was
finished and their quarters were neat and clean, Master and
Apprentice would go over the days training, both giving their
input into mistakes made and things done well. Most Masters
went through something like this with their Padawans, but no
other Master and Padawan followed the Path of the Steel Rose,
so Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon's daily debriefing went a little
differently.
Obi-Wan knelt, nude, his knees spread and his hands resting
lightly on his thighs. Qui-Gon was still in his robes, sipping
a cup of tea. Both of them were semi aroused, although the
evidence was far more visible on Obi-Wan.
"You dressed in a hurry before we sparred, did you not?" the
Master asked.
Obi-Wan blinked, and then nodded. How does he know these
things? "Yes, Master."
"Why?"
"Bant was telling this joke and I wanted to hear the
punch-line." Obi-Wan hung his head to hide a faint trace of
resentment. He'd been on time for their match, hadn't he? He'd
fought well, hadn't he?
"What was the punch-line, Padawan?" Qui-Gon asked,
smiling a little.
Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow and sighed. "'So the one legged pod
racer said . . . '"
"'. . . don't worry about me baby, I ride side saddle.' That
one is older than Yoda, Obi-Wan, and you hadn't heard it yet?"
"I'm just an innocent lad of 19, Master," Obi-Wan replied,
tilting his head to the side so his braid slid past an already
peaked nipple. He shot his Master a sideways lash covered look,
only to see Qui- Gon rolling his eyes.
"You had four options, Padawan," Qui-Gon said calmly. "I'll
tell you three of them. Get dressed while Bant is telling the
joke; get your loingaurd in place properly regardless of locker
room banter, or stop fooling with it during warm-ups and
breaks."
"Ohhh," Obi-Wan said, slapping himself lightly on the thigh.
"That." He ducked his head. "I'm sorry Master."
"For a while I was wondering if you were checking to see if it
was still there." Qui-Gon's voice made it clear that the "it"
he was referring to wasn't Obi- Wan's protective gear. "You
looked absurd."
"Yes Master. One of the straps was twisted Master."
"Straps are not going to always stay perfect, Padawan. What was
your fourth option?"
"Ignoring my discomfort the entire time, Master, and not just
during the fighting."
"Exactly, Padawan." Qui-Gon held up a dataslate. "This third
navigation problem in Advanced AstroNav; what made you choose
the solution you chose?"
And the routine went on.
Obi-Wan's too frequent public adjustment of his loingaurd
turned out to be his only infraction of the day and he heaved a
carefully shielded sigh of relief. That sort of mistake called
more for the fun kind of punishment than the not so fun kind,
and he waited eagerly to see what Qui-Gon's diabolical mind
would come up with.
"I think tonight's discipline calls for something from the
middle set of drawers, Padawan." As Qui-Gon spoke, he rose to
his feet, towering over his still kneeling lover and Obi-Wan
looked up at him with shining eyes. Even the many layers of the
standard Jedi robes couldn't hide his leonine grace and power,
the beauty of strength held in check by control.
Obi-Wan bent his head to the floor. "You're so beautiful,
Master," he said softly, knowing Qui-Gon would hear him.
"Shameless flattery, my dear Padawan, should be saved for the
next mission where you need to pretend to be my boy toy."
Qui-Gon couldn't help his smile from making its way into his
voice. To be called beautiful by this work of art kneeling and
bent over before him struck him as being absurd in the extreme.
But then, I'm lucky, he thought. I've been given
ownership of the most beautiful treasure in the world.
"Now, there's a small flat purple box about 12 inches long,"
Qui-Gon continued, "in the middle drawer. Have it on the table
with the usual things and be on the wide bench on your back."
He smiled slightly. "Be ready for me."
"Yes Master."
Obi-wan looked at the box curiously, knowing it hadn't been
there last time he'd gotten something from the middle drawer of
what had once been his dresser. These days, he had his own
drawers in Qui-Gon's room, his own space in Qui-Gon's closet.
Of course they still had his old room and all its space . . .
He moved a small table near the bench, and set out the box,
several thick absorbent towels, a bottle of ice water, a bottle
of the thick slightly spiced oil Qui- Gon preferred, and the
regular restraints.
Hmmm, he thought, "how repentant am I feeling?"
He meditated briefly on the question and decided that, he'd
made himself, more than anyone else, look foolish this
afternoon, and so didn't deserve any punishment beyond what
Qui-Gon had in mind. Then again, if he looked bad, his Master
looked bad . . . He rose and moved quickly to the small pad in
the corner and made sure it was ready to sleep in before
folding it up again and putting the thin pillow on top of it.
It never hurt to be careful.
And then he was stretching backwards over the leather padded
bench, automatically telling his body to compensate for the
fact that his head hung upside down. Making sure his wrists and
ankles were near the bolts on the bench, he drew a deep breath
and waited. His Master had told him to be ready, but all it
took was arranging his body the way his Master wanted it, and
he was hard and aching. He laughed briefly at the idea of his
blood trying to decide where to go, to his head or his cock,
but when he lifted his head, his cock was staring back at him,
so his blood had made its own decisions.
Rather like everything else about me, he thought. As
always, he reached for the Force, confirming yet again that
this was the correct Path for him and that Qui-Gon was
the correct Guide. And, as always, pure and far from the
demands of his body and heart, the answer was affirmative.
Accepting, he drew a deep breath and visualized the Steel Rose,
with its terrible beauty and its burnished thorns coiled
protectively around it.
When Qui-Gon entered his Padawan' former room he was almost
struck breathless by the vision in front of him. Arched like a
bow, or a Narbulian dancer, Obi- Wan lay across the bench, the
arch of is erection echoing that of his body. The Jedi Master
stared with eyes unnaturally wide as he forced the image into
his mind, never to be forgotten.
A flick of his fingers and the restrains were back in their
proper hook on the wall. Willingness. That was what made
Obi-Wan and himself fit so well together. Restraints were
needed for the times Qui-Gon wanted to see the young man
struggle, or for when holding still would distract Obi-Wan too
much from the pain Qui-Gon doled out. Tonight's pain would be
light, more of a tease than anything else. Thinking of that
pain, he opened the purple box and held its contents where Obi-
Wan could see them.
If Obi-Wan hadn't gone so deep into his meditation, he would
have laughed outright at the item in his master's hands. It was
a very small flogger, made up of some sort of very thin stringy
looking strands. They moved fluidly, probably some sort of very
flexible polymer or something he noted absently, and looked
about as frightening as a dancer's tassel. Then Qui-Gon was
dragging the little whip across his mouth and he kissed it, the
ritual reminding him not to laugh at something his Master was
going to use on him.
The whip traveled down his body, feeling cool as Qui- Gon
brushed it across each hot, hard nipple. It almost tickled as
it moved lower, teasing his stomach and forcing him to hold his
breath for a moment. Then it was sliding around and over his
cock and balls, the tease suddenly maddening. It wasn't enough
to feel like . . . anything. One of Bant's absurd expressions
came to mind: "It was a great story until the end, when,
suddenly, nothing happened."
The whip moved lower, teasing the crevices of his thighs and
the cleft of his ass. By now he was squirming slightly, enough
to let Qui-Gon know he was frustrated, but not enough to get
into trouble for telling his Master what to do. A chuckle met
his movements.
"So you weren't sure this," and the whip teased his cock, "or
these," it slid down to his balls again, "were there? At least
that seems to be what I hard Bant saying."
Oh Sith hells!
"Indeed Padawan," Qui-Gon replied aloud as he continued to
tease with the whip. "I think your real punishment will be at
breakfast tomorrow. You'll be eating in the dining hall with
your friends, of course."
"Yes Master." No naked breakfast with Qui-Gon, and Bant
teasing him. Joy.
Before Obi-Wan could mourn his fate further, the whip suddenly
slashed across the shaft of his cock. He yelped in complete
surprise. It stung. Quite a bit. It wasn't at all like being
slapped, which hurt more, but it had a surprisingly long
staying power.
"Is it there now, Padawan?"
"Yes Master!"
Qui-Gon proceeded to methodically beat Obi-Wan's cock and balls
until the young man was writhing, bringing himself up to meet
the blows at the same time he shrunk away from them. His hips
undulated in rhythm with Qui-Gon's movements until the Jedi
Master could begin to feel the first tendrils of the Force
building up between them.
Fueled by his need, Obi-Wan offered that need to his Master
through their Bond, as he'd offered himself up so many times
before. Frustration was akin to, even, sometimes, one with pain
and as Obi-Wan took the pain and absorbed it and let it go,
Qui-Gon gave it out and received it back until the air between
them fairly crackled with white/blue and green emanations of
the Force.
Finally, they both crested into the Moment, a climax removed,
yet brought on by their physical and mental efforts.
Motionless, faces mirrored with silent ecstasy, they remained
frozen, feeling their Bond grow once more, feeling their love
course through them yet again.
And then, they were flung back into the hard world of flesh and
Obi-Wan cried out in need. "Please Master . . . oh
pleasepleaseplease . . ."
"Do you know they're there, Padawan?"
"Oh, yes Master!"
"Then, in the future, keep your hands away from them in
public."
"Yes Master!"
Obi-Wan half screamed as Qui-Gon bent over the bridge of his
Padawan's body and slid his mouth down over Obi-Wan's red and
tortured cock, his hands busy toying with the young man's
balls. No more tease or pain or irritation, just the smooth
gliding suction of his Master's hot mouth and the motion of his
strong agile tongue. In seconds, Obi-Wan was begging.
"Master . . . please . . ." Silently: I'll leave them alone
in public, Master. Really I will.
Then come for me, Padawan.
And, howling his pleasure at the top of his lungs, Obi-Wan did
just that.
Epilogue:
"Slumming this morning, Kenobi?" Bant asked as she made room
for Obi-Wan at breakfast.
"You don't want to know some of the things that man
considers breakfast." Obi-Wan put his tray down and then sat
down rather carefully. "And Bant?"
"Yeah?" she replied, hiding a smile as she watched the way he
moved.
"Trust me, I know it's there."
The End
BTW The whip described is about 10 inches long (including
handle) and is made out of rubber strands just like the strands
that make up koosh balls. These whips come in various weights
and lengths and the small ones are great for those hard to get
at or sensitive areas. I got my little one at Good Vibrations
and it's canonically part of my regalia as President of
TrekSmut University.
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