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Asajj Ventress’ Sub-Dom Adventures.	By : Nickamano Category: +S through Z > Star Wars: The Clone Wars Views: 5361 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars / The Clone Wars, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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“Go on boys! You’ve won the right! Give ‘The Ass’ a pounding!”

The yell was joined by a rabble’s laughter from all those surrounding the circular fighting pit. A multitude of sentients all looking down from the lip or from their stacked seats, gleefully watching the combat and betting on the results.
Asajj had been transported back into the pit after a mere two hours of fretful and interrupted sleep, along with a meal consisting of nothing more than a processed nutrition bar and two ladles of sulphurous water.
Before snatching the much-needed rest, she had attempted to repair and refashion her skimpy bantha-hide loincloth into some form of functionable covering. She had long since sacrificed the wraps, that had once covered her breasts, to construct a makeshift whip-cum-garotte. That had been during one battle a few days earlier, where she had deliberately not been given a weapon. However, those plaited strips had since worn and snapped, finally been lost amongst the mud and gore filth of the floor of the pit.
She did manage to lace the ripped loincloth into one piece again, but by now it was nothing more than a loose belt that hung from her slender hips with narrow flaps of leather that concealed her bare pubis and ass cleavage from view. At least, as long as she didn’t move around too much or too quickly, both of which being impossible in combat. She also had made sure her enemies couldn’t use it as a handhold to physically manipulate her so that anything more than a whisper of pressure on those leather thongs holding the belt together would cause them to snap immediately and fall away. Still, wearing it around her narrow hips made her feel a little less exposed during the short terms of rest that they allowed her in her cell.
The cell was her only refuge from the pit so she didn’t hesitate to return to the hewn rock box with its ferrocrete bars where she could rest and on occasion find supplied refreshment.
The box measured two metres by two metres. Its walls were smooth and its floor was only a hands-breadth higher than the floor of the pit, just enough to keep the mud/body-fluid mixture out of the cell.
The rear wall, with its fold-down bunk, was hydraulically controlled and could push forward until it was flush with the pit wall. It ensured any prisoners or pit fighters wouldn’t be unable to conceal themselves inside when the fights were in play, and of course so that the paying audience could see all the action clearly.
There were no features in the cell other than a deep yet narrow hole in one corner that served as a toilet. She had used the Force to analyse the skull-sized hole. It did open out into a narrow fissure about three metres down which, in turn, widened into some kind of cave or chasm but there was far too much material between the floor of her cell and the chasm for her to shift. And there was no way of knowing if the subterranean chasm even led anywhere.
The pit itself was little more than four metres in diameter its edges mostly smooth and a dozen metres high. Probably cut by a large-head excavation laser. Above the pit was a cave of rough-hewn rock. Its concave walls lay perhaps three metres from the edge of the pit, and it was that three-metre step where the gamblers, observers and perverts watched the shows. There was also a glasteel observation port built into the side of the cave, high up, where the Master of Ceremonies and the security staff resided. Of course, part of that observation port also housed the VIP booth for Warlord Kirske to observe his ‘playthings’ torturing, murdering and raping each other with abandon.
Early on, Asajj had used the Force to launch herself up out of the pit. However concealed auto-turrets in the cave walls and ceiling had struck her with high-powered bolts of electrical charge, and cast her back down to the filth-ridden floor.
She had attempted to Force choke the Master of Ceremonies but again, once it was obvious what she had been attempting, the electric dischargers had taken care of her.
She had even managed to use the Force to snap the necks of a couple of the audience members who surrounded the lip of the pit, but that had also been punished, this time with a higher number of combatants set against her and no weapons to assist her while the others had been given all manner of non-bladed devices to inflict pain and torture on the ex-Padawan - electro-whips and vibro-flails, bolas, and even a laser sword. The low charge lightsaber-like weapon didn’t cut flesh but it did leave nasty lancing scorch marks on her pale skin and numbed her wherever the blade touched.
Afterwards, some gold-grey salve had taken care of the burns easily enough. However, that had only been once she had been defeated, half drowned in the mud and gore of the pit’s floor and then treated to a rampant and malevolent gangbang. A raping, she had been amusedly informed later, had lasted over five hours.
That had been the last time she had tried to defy her masters or attempt to escape. Though her sharp, educated mind had never been off the subject of seeking opportunities.
Partly due to apparent sexual attraction to the athletic shape of her pert buttocks, and partly due to the derogatory nickname of ‘The Ass’ that she was identified with, Asajj found a lot of attention was aimed at and between her taut buttocks. In fact, she was made to endure a surprising amount of anal abuse via the numerous reproductive shafts of whichever males she was pitted against.
Her final day had proved to be no exception.
However, her release on that final day had not come at her own hand at all. In fact, she had been all but unconscious when her rescue had taken place. It had come about partway through the next arena battle she had been forced to partake in.
She had first felt the presence of her ‘saviour’ as a blackness, a weight in the blanket of the Force that surrounded her, surrounded everything. A little subtle probing revealed that the blackness was not only sentient but was somewhere above her, inside the Warlord’s VIP booth. But it wasn’t showing itself to be a direct or immediate threat, simply a dangerous, oppressive and frankly fearful presence.
She had felt it first from inside her cell, only a couple of minutes before the bars had slid upward and the rear wall had advanced, forcing her forward into the pit. The other prepared fighters had been thrust into the fray in the same manner. Though, as far as Asajj had been able to tell, they had emerged from passageways rather than permanent pit-side cells like hers.
The thrust into the pit had switched her focus from that dark, oppressive force over to this latest slew of enemies. It was the usual mix of sentients, humanoid and non-humanoid. Half of them were hocked up on Spice, forcing them into a state of bloodlust, as well as conventional lust. The other half were just monsters, mindless killers, savage perverts.
The battle went as it so often did these days. Constant terror combined with rage and exhaustion gave Asajj enough power to win, but not easily. All too often they got her subdued, beaten down and in the mud. Rampant horny males piling on, holding her pinned through sheer weight, while a couple found their way into the orifices between her legs. The others settled on squeezing, slapping and pinching at any part of her nakedness they could get to. No one dared to try and use her mouth, and for good reason. She had thirty-two healthy teeth and had used them before. On more than one occasion.
Ky Narec’s moral lessons had been all but forgotten, essentially abandoned out of sheer necessity. Though his teachings of how to use the Force, to lift and throw and constrict and break, were all still there and as much a part of her arsenal as her hands and feet, knees and elbows. Just like the empty hand techniques of the always available yet rarely used martial-combat forms which, according to Ky, the Jedi Order still practiced.
Sometime later a number, though not all, of her assailants were dead. Asajj had been, as was now usual, suffering through yet another protracted gangrape. She had lost count how many times this had occurred. It appeared to be the favoured way of proving her defeat among her fellow pit fighters, as well as a popular entertainment to that circle of observers up above at the edge of the pit.
She had pulled her mind clear of that torturous, even humiliating, dual pummelling. She had instead slipped her focus inside, drawing on the living Force within her to aid in the regulation and healing of her battered physical form.
While Asajj kept on top of herself internally, she had also taken occasional opportunities to continue to fight back. Taking them as she had found them, surreptitiously, stealthily. She snapped one’s neck, suffocated another, Force launched a third upward into the cave above the pit, in order to activate the brutal arcs of the waiting auto-cannons.
However, she was already exhausted, weakened and concussed. Having suffered a brutal retaliation from the others who continued to keep her pinned down while they pounded roughly into her two usable orifices.
Too soon they had started to notice what she was doing. The third rapist, cruelly torturing her breasts and nipples, had slumped abruptly, not in some post-climax lethargy, but in death - an upper vertebra Force-manipulated into a scalpel against his spinal cord. More punishment came, even while the raping continued. She was pummelled with fists and claws. Her head was shoved down into the mud and held there while she struggled weakly. They only returned to focussing on their carnal pleasures once they decided she had been adequately subdued and punished, if not perished outright.
While the two surviving pit fighters continued with their carnal assault on her sore, practically broken body, Asajj could still feel that oppressive black cloud somewhere high above her. However, she was barely maintaining any awareness of her surroundings and the meaning of that heavy presence meant little to her by this time. She could feel the Force pulling at her awareness, as though drawing her out of herself, and she allowed it to take her away, right out of her body.
She saw the observation booth up above her, though it was smeared or unfocussed, as though she was looking through a dirty window or at a warped reflection in pitted metal. A tall, slender man in black with a long brown cloak stood at the window looking down at her as she was continually gangraped and beaten.
There were three other figures behind him as well as a serving droid. And one of those figures she was sure was Kirske, judging by the blurred body shape.
The cloaked man was a human, Asajj thought, and he was staring down into the pit. She turned her own attention in respect to his, watching herself being raped for the umpteenth time.
She saw herself half submerged in the mud, pinned on her side, one human fighter lying face to face with her, thrusting rapidly while he held her thigh up in the air, caught in the crook of his elbow. The other male, a taller than average Drabatan was up close at her back, one arm pinning both of hers behind her, his other hand gripped her throat, while he humped fiercely against her taut buttocks.
She felt a strange disconnect, as though she was in two places at once. Which wasn’t totally inaccurate. In the background she could feel the sensations of the two sentients using her down there at the bottom of that pit. Their phallic members inside her. The hot pain of those stretching thrusts and the raw, unlubricated friction. Their hands and arms holding and squeezing, their bodies jerking and humping against her.
While at the same time she could sense her surroundings through the Force. However, it was the sights and smells of the interior of the observation booth that the Force was truly revealing. Sharing with her. And that cloaked man.
She could almost identify the natural oils and perfumed lotions, the fabric cleaners he used. There were lubricant oils and the burnt-wire smell from the droid. And finally, the far less hygienic body odours from Kirske and the other two sentients. One of the latter appeared to be Vollick, the other perhaps a Duros. All three reeked of Spice, and lust and malevolent gratification.
Asajj felt herself suddenly handed over all the way into the Force. However, it didn’t seem to be a conscious choice of her own, more like some other presence in her mind was influencing her somehow, pushing her.
From an emotionless distance she felt the Drabatan punching her from behind, slamming fists into her skull and her kidneys. But the Force dampened her pain while it focussed her on her Human rapist. She held her breath when the Drabatan pushed her face first into the mud and held her there, perhaps this time really trying to drown or suffocate her. However, in doing so he had released his pinning grip of her arms.
Head still submerged, lungs screaming and burning, she used her hands. She reached out with the Force to lift the human, to pull him from her and from inside her. She elevated him up out of the mud. He was naked, of course he was, they all were, he was also achingly erect. He floated there struggling and yelling uselessly.
Asajj didn't actually need to use her hands, in fact usually, she preferred not to; it was a tell but that was also why she sometimes chose to use it. It informed those not already in the know what they were dealing with. That she was out of their league, that they had no chance with her. That she was one with the Force and the Force was with her. As the mantra used to go.
However, this was not her. Or at least it didn’t feel like her. She was using the Force in ways she hadn’t really used before.
She watched herself, an out of body vision, holding the Human up in the air, halfway up the height of the pit, reaching out to maintain that control with her left hand. Then she used her right, making a fist to grasp his extremities through the Force. She fanned her fingers, spreading out her hand. In response, his limbs immediately burst free of their sockets and the flesh containing them.
His head came away a second later, just long enough for him to scream in response to his arms and legs being torn from his torso.
She wasn’t aware that kind of violence was even possible with the Force. It was never a ploy Ky had alluded to.
The Drabatan was pummelling her even more now, vengeful, punishing. She witnessed her head stuffed into the mud, her body rolled flat onto her face, and pinned bodily by the nonhuman rapist, both hands on the back of her skull, attempting to drown her in earnest even while he continued to pummel her anus.
Her senses, already disembodied, turned to blackness. Though she could still hear and her sense of touch remained responsive. She felt the nonhuman fighter, sodomising her from above, suddenly leave her. The weight of him vanished from on top of her. There was a scream and a grinding wet wrenching sound. And then more screams filled her ears. Scores of them.
She felt her body suddenly flipped over, mud leaving her face but covering her ears and the back of her head. Yet even submerged she could hear the screaming and yelling. And then there came an all too familiar sound, and a flourish of joy birthed inside her.
- Snap-Hiss –
Ky Narec, her master, had arrived to free her from this infernal hell. And then there was nothing.
<><><>
Asajj woke to find herself still in the pit. The rear wall of her cell was still flush with the cylinder of the pit. The other exits were equally barred. There was no one else around. No one that she could hear or see. She felt weak, battered, bruised and sore, both inside and out. However, she didn’t think anything was broken. She circled the pit looking up at the rim, searching for clues, for signs of life. But she couldn’t see anything. At least not at first. She knew those auto-cannons would still be active so a Force leap to the rim of the pit was not an option. She would just end up back down in the pit and feeling even worse.
Maybe if she had her full strength, was well nourished and not admittedly halfway-broken by weeks or months of brutalising fighting and sexual violence, by too little sleep and too little food and constant fear and agony. Without all of that, she might have been able to Force leap out of range of the cannons, at least long enough to find herself a blind-spot or some cover from those pitiless bolts of lightning.
She spotted the person-sized hole, a shattered negation of the glasteel in the VIP booth window. If she could somehow angle herself so she leaped through that hole into the observation bay, she should be safe from burning plasma shocks. However, even as she stared, trying to discern the correct angle and strength to propel her smoothly through that hole in the window, she felt the return of that dark, oppressive presence.
There was a sudden crack somewhere above her, a loud shrieking sound. She looked up in time to see an auto-cannon start to pull in on itself. And then it was all of them, in on themselves, visibly imploding until they were no bigger than a child’s swoop engine. Pieces fell, sparks flew and danced and the din, as each was crushed down, was akin to a squealing Gundark.
Asajj took the opportunity and made her Force leap, only she found herself stopping in mid-air before the hole in the booth window. Even as she gazed in shock she was pulled quickly to the side by a metre or so and then tugged fiercely forward again. She barely had the chance to throw her arms up to protect her face, and let out a horrified scream, as she was ploughed straight through the unbroken glass panel.
The impact was like running into a wall, but the glass gave all the same, shattering and flying around her as she was dragged into the booth through the window. The pain shook her, shards slicing at her naked, unprotected flesh. However, the momentary terror she had felt had been more intense still. As she felt carpet beneath her feet along with slivers of broken glass, the hold on her, the embracing pressure of the Force, vanished and she was left under her own control.
Immediately her knees buckled, her quivering legs unable to hold her up and she fell onto her hands and knees, more glass cutting into her flesh.
It took another moment or two before she looked past her own pain and became aware, again, of the aged human male dressed in black. He was very tall and slender built and seemed to possess the very essence of ‘distinguished’. He was neither particularly large or muscular, however, a sense of power emanated from him even so. When it came to appearance, he was more strongly featured, striking, rather than just plain handsome. Perhaps in his youth he might have borne himself in such a way as to make him appear attractive. Though even with the lined face and immaculately styled grey-white hair, the bearing and intensity of the man gave him an undeniable kind of allure. High cheek bones, underlined eyes that were as hard as they appeared alert or wise. But both the sense of intelligence and the power were palpable.
She managed to drag her gaze from his face long enough to take in the finely tailored black shirt and trousers, the high black boots. However, it wasn’t a cloak he wore over them but a sleeveless robe, it featured a thin wide hood and forward panels that draped, immaculately cut to flow from his broad shoulders down to within a finger’s breadth above the ground. The rear, the cloak part flowing down his back, was precise in its replication of the length of the front. The fabric was much like that of her Jedi robes. It was thin and light, almost silken. It draped his physique and made him seem even taller that he actually was, made him appear a giant. The inside of the robe was actually lined in a similar fabric though it was a soft, deep caf-brown that matched his eyes, rather than the shadow-black of the outside.
Though he hadn’t moved, there was a hint of something attached to the left side of his waist belt. A lump beneath the robe. It made her think of Ky Narec for some reason. But then there was the inexorable draw of his deep, expressive eyes that forced her gaze back up to them.
She felt herself shivering, and it wasn’t due to blood loss or pain. She felt tears in her eyes, blurring her vision and yet she found it impossible to look away. He stared at her, standing there still and silent as a statue. The piercing feel of those eyes felt like a pair of lasers and she felt inexplicably embarrassed. Acutely aware of her nudity.
“What is your name, child?”
“Asajj. Asajj Ventress... Who are you?”
He didn’t reply, just cocked his head a little. His left hand idly closed around the front hem of his plain robe. He didn’t move it but the act of fisting the pleated fabric at his waist drew it back a few centimetres and she caught a glimpse of polished chromium. She couldn’t tell what it was, something cylindrical. For some reason she didn’t think it would be a blaster. Hoping she sounded respectful, she repeated her question.
“What is your name, sir?”
“Master.” He said in a deep, smooth baritone. “You will call me master. You belong to me now, child.”
She didn’t offer any response. Nothing came to mind. No thoughts, no objection. No acceptance. She was afraid and she still possessed enough survival instinct that she didn’t want to die here, and didn’t want to anger this man. Whoever he was. She didn’t reply. She felt a single unshed tear overflow and slide down her cheek. She saw him form a small, delicate smile.
“Come.”
She pushed herself to her feet but it was too much for her to take a single step. She tried, failed, fell and then was lost to oblivion.
<><><>
Ventress awoke into a world of blue. However, she could see through the blue world, and for a moment she thought perhaps her eyes or brain had been injured and her vision had been affected. But slowly, the state of her view started to make sense to her. Though it took her a little while longer to fully understand that she was looking through the interior of constructed chamber, through the curved transparisteel of some kind of tank. The sickly-sweetness pervading her senses informed her the she was submerged in bacta. It was the reason for the all-encompassing blueness.
Asajj slowly grew calmer following the understanding of her unusual circumstance, that she was inside some kind of bacta tank, which was itself in what appeared to be inside the hull of a transport. She turned her attention to herself. She was able to tilt her chin toward her chest but before the former met the latter, her forehead thumped against the inside of the tank. Still, she could look down at herself. Her scars, the older ones, as well as the slashes made when she was yanked through the plate glass were healing well. Which was a good sign. However, she noted how uncomfortable she felt. There was an unpleasant sense of constriction surrounding her.
Her arms were down at her sides and she wasn’t able to move them and her legs were spread apart to about shoulder width. She was unable to draw them together. There was also a strange sense of fullness and weight she wasn’t used to. Her throat was obstructed by some kind of internal apparatus, her nose was pinched so that her nostrils were sealed. And there was something between her legs as well, between her buttocks. Frowning, while she drove down the rising panic, and turned her attention inwards, both with her natural senses and her ability with the Force.
Part of it was obvious, the pinch to her nostrils was a simple device to stop her inhaling the bacta. The device in her mouth was a simple respirator. However instead of just a polymer oval placed between her teeth to feed her atmosphere, she could feel the device extending right into her mouth. Though smooth and cylindrical, it bore a thick girth to that her tongue was flattened beneath it. She could even feel it pressing deep into her oesophagus, actually bulging her throat. It was flexible so that she could move her head around and it moved with her though remaining fully inside her gullet.
She could only assume the device between her legs, which was heavy and felt like it was fastened around her hips, was for removing waste. On careful exploration, with her senses and the Force, she could feel a thin flexible tube inside her urethra, and a much wider shaft inside her rectum. However, there was also a thick extremity inserted inside her vagina. She could envision such a device was a way to feed bacta to the damaged walls of her vagina but she had never heard of such a thing before.
She slid back into the Force, drawing on Ky Narec’s teachings to calm herself and meditate, to help the bacta to heal her raw, damaged flesh. However, it wasn’t long before the tubelike devices inside her, all four of them simultaneously, began to heat up and expand, though some more than others. An abrupt, white-hot, surge of agony suddenly blasted through her. It felt just like the auto-cannons covering the fighting pit.
It ended as suddenly as it had begun.
The first time Asajj wondered if there had been some kind of tank malfunction; a power surge or something. But as she attempted to meditate again, she was engulfed in another timeless bout of unassailable agony.
She tried getting someone’s attention but all she could do was to knock her forehead against the inner curve of the tank, and she gained nothing from the activity other than a head ache. She used the Force to reach inside and sooth the pain beneath her skull, but she only attempted that soothing action for a few seconds when the torture struck again. This time she blacked out.
When she next opened her eyes, the old man was standing before her. His form filled the doorway of the small chamber as he stared in at her through the warped blue of the tank’s interior. There was a light in his dark, intelligent eyes, almost mischievous. A little smile played across his lips.
He gave a laconic gesture with a finger and the agony struck her again. She could see him standing there watching her throughout, a blur of black. Then the doorway closed and he was gone. However, the agony was not.
The assaults continued. There was no way to record the passage of time inside the tank. However, she did note that the tortures were as random as they were agonising. And they completely disabled her ability to either meditate or sleep.
It left her almost broken, sore, exhausted and wound up tight. Her joints and muscles were knotted and aching. And most of all she was frustrated, enraged and terrorised. The old man in black terrified her and she hated him with a passion.
On one occasion when he stood in the doorway looking at her, she reached out through the Force toward him. Anticipating another bout of his brutalising torture. She felt her way into his throat and tried to crush his larynx. He merely smiled, cocked his head and then returned the favour. She felt the hard, articulate cylinder that filled her throat crushing inward and she couldn’t breathe at all. She panicked, instantly losing their ability and will to kill him. He stared at her, still wearing that debonair smile until she passed out.
When Asajj came around she was no longer in the bacta tank. She was lying on a narrow bunk cut into the bulkhead. However, from the décor and the labels on the drawers and cupboard doors, it was obviously the same med-bay.
She was no longer naked, her body was covered head to foot in a diaphanous white gown. It was similar to a tabard. The collar encircled her throat felt snug but was not constricting. The remainder of the thin, clinging white fabric draped her. There were slits in the sides that allowed her bare arms free movement. While the length came as separate front and back pieces. There was no adornment, no belt, no tailored fitting. She could feel that beneath it she remained nude.
She staggered from the enclosed bunk, standing up on shaky bare feet. The floor was cold. She looked down at herself, seeing the gown draping from the upper slopes of her high breasts and then flowing vertically to the floor. Her nipples and areolae were dark disc-shadows beneath the fabric, blatant at her glance. Ignoring the potential allure, she slid her arms out through the slits and looked over her bare skin. The glass cuts, abrasions and bruising were all gone. Even the soreness of her overfilled throat, ass and vagina were gone. Though after that pointless, mindless, brutalising torture, she still felt weak and jittery, and very frightened.
With a shaking hand and a grim determination, she pressed the stud that she hoped would open the door. It did. The chamber beyond proved to be deserted. Which was also just what she had expected.
The med-bay was indeed inside the hold of an interstellar transport. She knew the model by its layout and proportions. Part of her training under Ky had been the study of equipment, weapons, utility devices and, of course, transports. Her knowledge ranged from swoop bikes all the way up to capital bulk cruisers. It had been all part of an exhaustive galactic education.
This was a SubPro cargo courier. A JS-74 type, she believed. New and pristine with a rich interior décor, even though basically it was a box with two ion engines bolted onto its sides and a small wedge-shaped cockpit at the front. Ky had always implied that making judgments on manufactured pieces of technology was pointless, other than when to pick the best item for whatever task was necessary for a mission. Therefore, the idea of aesthetics, comfort, style and the like had always been discounted as irrelevant. Or at least she had tried to.
She stepped out on to a narrow cylindrical walkway, an engineering room, no doubt, to her left. And more than likely, the door facing her, would be the captain’s quarters. To her right, a couple of steps from where she stood, the cylindrical tunnel terminated and the main hold opened up. She walked into it and found it deserted.
It was immaculate, pristine in its cleanliness. Neat and tidy and well lit. The interior floor-to-ceiling dimension was perhaps two metres, no more than two and a half. Which must have been why the old man had filled the med-bay door so completely. The bulkheads were concave, which somehow made the ceiling feel even lower, and weighty, as though the walls were bulging in on themselves. There was a boarding ramp in the centre of the floor, taking up three quarters of the floor space in fact. Which would total, she estimated, ten square-metres. There were tan coloured protective pads against the bulkheads, floor to ceiling, in the Corellian style that had been popular for decades. The main hold was devoid of passenger seating but had cargo securing apparatus on both bulkheads and in the ceiling.
Ventress crossed the hold, walking around the access ramp just in case, and pressed the stud to open the door to the cockpit. She was almost surprised when it opened. Other than an FA-4 pilot droid, who ignored her, the cramped two-seater cockpit was empty.
A louvered viewing canopy showed the mesmerising tunnel of hyperspace. Averting her eyes from the blue-white swirl, she cast her attention over the console. The readouts on any and all screens were in droid language and there was nothing readable in Aurebesh.
However, one screen was flicking sequentially through internal camera feeds revealing each of the rooms inside the ship. The med-bay, engineering room, captain’s quarters, the cockpit and finally the main hold. There was no way to pause or control the cycling images, but she waited for the captain’s quarters image to cycle through a couple of times, giving her a moment to analyse what was on screen there.
The old man was indeed in there, standing in the middle of the floor, facing a life-size hologram of a silhouetted figure. The hologram also wore dark, featureless deep hooded robes. But they so thickly attired that nothing of the person under the robe was discernible. Male or female, height, species, age; there was just nothing. There was no audio either. The old man facing the hologram had his hood up too, and was mostly with his back to the camera.
During the third image cycle the old man made a subtle gesture with a finger and the screen abruptly blacked out, then cycled back to the view of herself, standing in the cockpit. She backed out of the room. It was only when she was back in the main hold, with the cockpit door sliding shut behind her, that she remembered that powerful, dark oppressiveness that she had felt surrounding the old man, and she realised for the first time that it was not present here.
With nothing else to do, Asajj roamed around the bulkheads of the main hold, opening cupboards and drawers and casually rooting around inside. There was little of interest, mostly safety equipment, tools and spare parts, she assumed for the ship.
The presence folded around her like a blanket. Heavy, cold and darkly oppressive. She heard the smooth swish of a door behind her sliding open and closed and then crisp footfalls on the deck-plates. For a moment she considered palming a weighty hydro-spanner, however, that bitter icy darkness stayed her hand. She closed the drawer and turned to face the old man, her hands in plain sight.
“Asajj Ventress. You’re a quick healer.”
“I suppose I must be… If I might ask…?”
“What happened in Kirske’s fighting pit?”
She nodded. His eyes travelled up and down her plain white tabard and she was hyper aware that her nipples were erect and thrusting against the thin, translucent fabric. His hood had already been draped down his back. Drawing out the silence, he slid the robe from his shoulders. His movements slow, calculated and precise. He folded the robe over his forearm with precision and then carefully hung it over a cargo support brace, jutting from the bulkhead to his left.
“Everyone else died. You survived.”
She knew then that he had been the one to kill everyone else. She noticed for the first time that the shiny chrome device on his left hip that she had rightly decided was not a blaster, now looked very much like a lightsaber. Though it was not a design she had ever seen before. It felt vaguely archaic. She drew her eyes back up to his. Neither of them had moved toward the other.
“Why have you… Why am I alive?” She asked.
“You are alive to serve me. Nothing more.”
“Then, I am your slave?”
“Indeed. And I your Master.”
“I am not about to call you master, old man.”
“Yes, you are, young one.” He said,
He offered her a little momentary smile as he rebuked her noncompliance, before striking her with a bolt of lightning that actually erupted from the tips of his fingers. It only lasted a tenth of a second. But Asajj found herself slammed back into the corner, only saved from a cracked skull and concussion by the Corellian bulkhead padding.
She slid heavily to the ground, regretting her vain attempt to show obstinacy in the face of such power. Her tabard had swirled around her hips, showing off her long supple legs and only barely concealing her modesty. She gave herself time to recover from the sharp pain dancing through her joints, by rearranging her gown to conceal her bare flesh.
“Fine… Master…it is.” She gasped.
Asajj used the bulkhead padding to help her rise back onto her bare feet, smoothing the satin-like tabard back into place for a second time.
“I… I don’t… understand… Why?” She panted, finally managing to put a little firmness into her voice.
“I saw potential in you.” He said, giving a little shrug. “You are powerful for one so poorly trained.”
“And why the incessant torture?”
“To make you strong. To make you useful to me… Or at least, begin to.”
“Useful in what way?”
“Enough questions. We will be arriving in a few parsecs. And I’ll begin your training. I will make you more powerful that you have imagined. More powerful than any Jedi.”
He looked at her, silent, expectant. Steady and calm as a boulder. And yet, Asajj could feel that tumultuous power emanating from him, bitterly cold and terrible. She had felt the corrupted before, those twisted by immorality or circumstance or upbringing. Criminals. But this bitter, icy darkness was like nothing she had even felt from anyone else. He terrified her.
She was utterly alone in the galaxy. Without an ally, a friend or anyone she could trust. And she was in the proximity, the possession of this old man whose sheer power was intimidating in the extreme. She had heard of Ky talk of the Dark Side. Had even skirted close to it herself, she thought. But what she felt coming from this man, like radiation from a black sun, was beyond anything she had imagined.
She wanted nothing more than to run away to hide from him, to escape his ship to rid him from her life. To remove all knowledge of her from his thoughts. But she knew better. He had chosen her. He had killed scores of sentients in order to get to her. And now she belonged to him.
“Yes… Master.” She whispered finally.
He gave a curt nod, a degree or two incline of his chin then turned on his heel with military precision, not unlike the clipped and economic manner that Ky had used when he would move around. The old man returned to his cabin.
With nothing else to do, Ventress returned to the med-bay and climbed back onto the bunk there. He might have pulled her out of the fighting pits and murdered her enslavers, but he had far from freed her. She was every bit the prisoner still.
<><><>
“Before you carry on.” Ahsoka said, breaking into Ventress’s memories. “You’re not going to give me intimate descriptions of Dooku’s cock, are you? That is really not the kind of image I want stuck in my head.”
It took a while for Asajj to bring herself back out of her reminiscences. Thinking back into the past in detail was very much a meditative practice, and all too often when Force users got embroiled in those memories, they lost themselves to the details, like watching a holo, or a theatrical performance. They were taken away from their present reality and thrust back into their own past, becoming almost as real as their present surroundings.
Asajj’s present surroundings belatedly reasserted themselves.
The crate, covered and concealed by trash, near darkness within. A single lance of dull illumination entering from a tear in an upper corner. But it was enough to find and take in the athletic youthful curves of the teenage Togruta. The two of them lying face to face on their sides, practically nose to nose. Intimate and strangely trusting. Up until perhaps as recently as a few hours ago they had been sworn enemies on opposing sides of an interstellar war. Now? Who knew what they were?
Ventress’s eyes came to rest on Ahsoka’s and she smiled, amused.
“He never used me himself. And I never saw him naked.”
“Well, that’s a relief.”
“And did you learn who the hologram was, that he was talking to on the ship?”
Asajj shook her head.
“I was never introduced to him, never learned who he was, or his significance. But I was leant to an old man, early on. A real sexual malevolent. I suppose it could have been the man from the hologram but I was temporarily blinded. And it really could have been anyone.”
“What happened with that?”
Ventress saw the girl’s reaction to her own change in facial expression.
“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want…?”
“No, that’s alright. I learned since, but didn’t know at the time, that my training took place at Count Dooku’s home on Serenno. He gave me a cell to sleep in. There was nothing in it. Two chests, one for personal belongings, that was of course empty. One for bedding. A small cot. A fresher unit. A thin window too high to look out of. The only clothes I had were some of those floor length tabard gowns.”
Asajj never saw sentients in the castle, only droids. The first thing Dooku ordered done to her was to have every single body hair removed. It was some kind of mildly acidic bathing ritual. It also bleached her skin somewhat, giving her a pale silvery-grey hue. She had worn eye protectors while submerged in the low-level-pain inducing concoction, and the eye protectors had saved her long curling lashes from elimination.
“That was my mistake.”
Dooku mentioned casually over dinner.
“It is an ancient purifying ritual, freeing you from you the trappings of your past and preparing you for a fresh journey, a new life. It has never shown such a side effect on the humans it has been used on. It must be some reaction to your Zabrak make up. Still, I am not disappointed with the results. It gives you a certain aura of iciness, implies a certain poetry.”
Asajj said nothing. The first evening in the castle was a surprisingly intimate affair. A large dining table before a huge roaring fire, that filled the room with heat and dancing alluring light. Since leaving the fighting pits on Rattatak, she had felt perpetually cold. And the heat of the flames, dancing as high as a metre in the stone fireplace brought her instantly back to the near-volcanic atmospheric heat of the planet that she had called home for over a decade.
She had been sealed in her cell after disembarking from the Subpro transport. Tall, lean combat droids had formed a diamond around her and marched her into the castle, down numerous turbolifts to her dormitory where she had been locked in until after sunset. It had been hours but she was unable to tell how many. After investigating the internals of the room. She had passed those hours in meditation.
Once the residual twilight had passed to full night. The door swished open, revealing a droid gate beyond - a forcefield that allowed mechanicals to pass through but not biologicals. Carefully draped over its upper manipulator limbs was a sparkling midnight black evening dress. It was made from undecorated inky black fabric that was adorned with tiny glimmering gemstones, Aurs, Argazdan’s and sein jewel fragments. A formal gown, and the kind of garment she had never seen before, let alone worn.
It was Alderaanian in style “razor fit” so that it was nothing less than a second skin revealing every muscle and the interplay between them as she moved. Though there as an elasticity to the fabric that allowed her to move and, better still, breathe freely. The high halter neck reached the base of her chin and followed the curve of her skull around the back. However, the front of the gown was nothing more than a pair of vertical strips that covered her high breasts and met at the low waistline, gathering in time to cover her bare pubis, then flow as a single front-piece to the ground, not unlike the white tabard gowns. The rear was a narrow floor length hooded cloak, the thin hood suspended from crystals clips at the top of long gloves which reached as high as her upper arms. The effect of the stripped front and the narrow cloak rear created hip high splits on both sides, revealing the entirety of her legs. There was nothing to be worn beneath it.
The droid also carried a make-up appliance which was preprogramed and placed over the face and neck for no more than a couple of heartbeats. Asajj didn’t care about the result, didn’t bother to look at herself in any reflective surfaces. This was for the old man’s benefit, not hers. And her Jedi training had put paid to the appreciation of aesthetics and manufactured beauty, unless diplomacy or social occasion dictated a need for comment.
The meal had proved disappointing. There was no interesting conversation. Which surprised Asajj as the old man was well spoken, careful and eloquent in his manner of speech. And so, she had felt an expectation for at least interesting degree of small talk. Ignoring that bitter icy darkness enveloping him she had known men on Rattatak who the old man reminded her of. And they had been eloquent, well spoken, well-educated and full of interesting knowledge and stories. However, this particular old human gave her nothing whatsoever. The only telling moment had been during her entrance.
She had stepped into the candlelit chamber as the double doors had slid aside and he had been standing beside the fire, his tall black clad form illuminated and bathed in colour by its warmly-lit, dancing glow. His gaze had locked onto her, travelling idly up and down her slender frame, as though in admiration of an artistic sculpture. She had noted the drawn-out unblinking stare, slowly ascending from floor to face, the dilation of his irises, the not quite smile touching his thin lips.
Asajj felt unsettled by his unwelcome, self-indulgent interest.
With a silent gesture he had indicated a place setting at one end of the long dining table. Only one of two with cutlery and a pair of glasses. At her place setting one glass was filled with clear liquid, the other with some kind of dense looking milky substance. He followed her, taking his own seat so they faced each other. As Asajj tested the clear liquid finding it to be water, the old man depressed a button on a small console at the corner of the old man’s end of the table brought the droids carrying their meal.
They were not brought matching platters. While the old man’s servings were grand, colourful and aromatic, and no doubt as delicious as they were plentiful, Asajj was given only a large bowl of literally tasteless gruel. Though her training had dictated food’s essential necessity of sustenance over taste and enjoyment, their meals had always been of natural ingredients and always well balanced of fresh meats and fruits and vegetables. Which incidentally gave rise to interesting tastes and often aesthetic deliciousness. So a tasteless gruel, no matter its essential and sustaining ingredients was not the kind of meal she was used to. And, though hungry enough to consume every morsel, she did not find any pleasure in the act.
Afterwards he ‘invited’ her over to the fire to stand and stare into the flames while they drank their alcoholic drinks. Asajj’s milky liquid was some kind of cocktail. A fermented, sweetened vegetable ‘milk’ with a very high alcohol content. And soon her head was pleasantly light, not quite spinning, and she was sweating under the heat of the high flames.
She was aware of the numbness seeping into her, though with it came a radiant tingling heat that started between her legs and spread outwards. She staggered under its power, pleasure sapping her strength. She dropped the glass, still with a couple of fingers of the milk inside. But it remained upright and not a drop spilled, its tumble slowed and controlled through the Force, though not by her hand. It floated back to her place at the table and settled itself on the coaster. Ventress’s leg went out from under her and she found herself sitting on the floor on her ass in front of the fire. The length of the dress pooled around her.
“She is ready.” The old man said. “Take her.”
“Yes, Count Dooku.”
The emotionless reply came through the vocabulator of a droid. She felt herself lifted easily from the floor and carried off through the double doors, along a corridor, into a turbolift and then out again, along another corridor and finally into another chamber.
It was small with walls, floor and ceiling of bare featureless metal. She was stripped of her dress and then secured to an apparatus. It was a flat metal bench, fabric straps pinned her to it at her wrists, ankles, waist, upper chest and forehead. The platform was first elevated and then swung around until it faced downward and she found herself suspended over some kind of device.
There were all kinds of mechanisms jutting from the surface of the device. Coils of wire, a square block with a gridwork of needles pointing up from it, scanning terminuses, a couple of screens showing scans of Ventress’s body and readings of her vitals. And half a dozen other things she could not identify. There was also a control box for making adjustments for whatever the thing did. The droid came around to the side of her, unplugging a strange looking rebreather type mouth piece from the device and after forcing her jaws apart, pressed it between her lips and then secured it in place.
The black shape of the old man swept into view, or at least the little she could see of him from her downward positioned angle. Ignoring her, he looked over the device’s control box, flicked a couple of switches, rotated a dial a few degrees and pressed three buttons.
“I believe that will do it. Droid, you are to manage her exhaustion, keep her constantly active but below the peak level. The current should be low level until she needs reenergising, then it should jump up to sixty. But only for a moment. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Count Dooku.”
“Ventress this will be your initiation. And a test of your resilience. Do not make me regret my decision to take you away from that filthy pit. Enjoy yourself, my dear.”
He pressed another button and then stepped out of her view. The droid, bipedal but not a standard protocol droid, actually resembled a cross between an EV supervisor droid and one of those tan coloured combat droids that had marched her from the transport into the castle.
A flurry of targeting lights flashed emerald on her pale flesh. Each was a dot of green inside a circle no larger than a fingertip. Ventress could see herself in the mirror-polished surface of the lower section of the device’s support structure. The lights formed a four-by-four grid pattern across her abdomen. With a machine’s precision, the light swept southward, accompanied by an electronic hum, until the grid covered her pubis. Each individual beam reoriented itself, spreading into a new pattern before locking in place with a physical ‘chunk’.
A hissing sounded. It preceded a strange bitter sweet taste that started to slip into her awareness through the rebreather. The realisation of gas sparked in her mind as a secondary hiss made itself known, rapidly reaching a peak. A second ‘chunk’ was followed by a sharp pain throughout her groin. And her attention was snatched back to the reflection of her pubis, and she screamed as she witnessed the sight. Those sixteen green lights, laser targetters, had been replaced with sixteen wire threaded needles which were now deep in her flesh. Each one had penetrated nerve clusters in her genitals. Some were external, such as the little bulbous nerve cluster above her urethra usually hidden beneath the cowl of flesh at the top of her labia. While others appeared to have pierced her flesh above where other subcutaneous nerve nexuses were found. The attached wires trailed back to the needle box on the device.
The heat came immediately and it was excruciating. Not necessarily an agony, more like discomfort and anxiety inducing. A cousin of pain. She squirmed uselessly, but the sickly-sweet taste was growing headier and she soon found imagery enveloping her, easing both her anxiety and her awareness. And she was swept away.
She was back on board that ship in the rear courtyard of the Weequay’s stronghold, that Mandalmotors TUG. She sat in the cockpit, in the pilot’s seat. Though it was turned toward the ship’s aft entrance.
A tall, imposing silhouette stood there in the open airlock, staring at her. She couldn’t see his eyes in the gloom, but she could feel them on her body. The intensity of his gaze, devouring her. He was a Human. Corellian. And he was perhaps the most handsome man she had ever seen. Curls of blonde hair surrounding a brown skinned Iego-beautiful face. Perhaps thirty years under his belt. He was tall and firm bodied, fit and muscular, filling out the white shirt beneath his yellow flight jacket and multipocketed fatigue pants.
She actually remembered him from Rattatak, a space pilot who came and went. They had often exchanged closeted and prolonged glances of hunger. Both obviously interested. Yet Asajj was unavailable, refusing the prospect of any kind of forbidden relationship. And he seemed to read that in her. Despite the blatancy of her desire.
His eyes told her what to do. She pulled herself up out of the pilot’s seat, turning to face him. She felt her heart racing, uncomfortable shivers in her stomach and chest. Her jaw was set and she didn’t seem able to loosen it. In fact, her whole body felt that tight and tense and she wasn’t able to relax herself at all.
His eyes told her what to do. She reached down to her flight suit. Uncoupled the life support control interface on her chest. Threw off the magno-grip gauntlets. Tugged off the Blast vest. Separated the crossover flaps of the dark green body glove then peeled it down to her waist. She wore nothing beneath.
His eyes glimmered, widened. They told her what to do. She unbuckled the utility harness from her waist and thighs and cast it aside. The weight of the padded and insulated green fatigues drew them down beyond her waist, only stopping when the trouser legs were partway down her thighs. His lovely eyes glimmered as they slid down her naked body, taut and lean and fit. His strong jaw flexed, his lips drawing into a smile.
His smile told her what to do. She shuffled awkwardly into the floor space between the cockpit and the rear airlock and lay down on her back, looking up at him as he took a step forward to stand over her, legs spread on either side of her narrow hips.
Asajj hadn’t failed to notice that his penis, glistening under the interior ship lights and the sunlight streaming in from the open airlock at his back. That big, thick shaft was fully erect and pulsing visibly to the pace of his heartbeat. It was pointing straight over her, jutting, monolithic. Its shadow on her flesh reached from her pubis to her chest, the way it bobbed in little tiny movements, nodding at her and pulsing, made it seem almost hypnotic. His clothes were gone.
Uncertain of what was to come, but holding onto her welcoming smile all the same, she didn’t speak to him, just waited for the Corellian to tell her what he wanted.
His sensual eyes brimming with burning lust, he reached for her, grabbed her by her hips and used his weight and commanding personality to roll her over onto her stomach. His hands closed on the gathered flight suit around her upper thighs and he tugged the heavy garment forcefully down until it was snagged against the top of her boots. She looked back over her shoulder at him. He was gorging himself on her bare, perkily rounded bottom. No doubt impressed that it had hardly quivered even under his aggressive tugging at her trouser legs.
After a pause to admire the view of her naked, creamy-fleshed buttocks, the Corellian slapped her thighs as far apart as they would go and knelt down, his muscular legs outside of hers. He grabbed her small, pert cheeks in both hands, squeezing them excitedly. And then spread them to get a closer look at her flushed-pink pussy lips and cute little puckered star of her anal mouth.
“You’d better bite down on something. One of those gloves, maybe. This’ll probably hurt to begin with.”
She did as she was told. The Corellian, holding Asajj’s firm buttocks tight in his big rough hands, and spread wide apart, lay himself down on top of her prone young body. His strong hairy legs hooked over hers. She felt one hand grab that hot pulsing shaft and angle it against her ass hole. He lifted himself for a moment and she heard him spit and felt the already cold-slime touch of his saliva anointing her ass cleavage. His other hand gripped her upper arm.
“Remember, keep your voice down when I push this in.” He growled into her ear.
He pressed himself full length onto her. First his body weight pressed her down onto the oily deck plates. And then the thick, searing hot, mushroom shape of his bloated crown started to pressure her anal mouth, pressing at the little puckered star. Asajj’s anal entrance and the ring of tight, elastic muscle behind it railed against the attempted invasion, but the orifice didn’t stand a chance against the Corellian’s insistent compulsion.
Groaning with excitement at his imminent success, the Corellian felt the teenage Zabrak’s ass giving in, weakening, beginning to stretch to accommodate his solid, insistent thickness.
“It hurts!”
Her urgent moan snatched clear through the mauled and chewed leather of the glove. The protest plea was muffled but the Corellian heard it.
“I warned you it would… Relax, Asajj... I’ll be up you any second…”
Lancing hot pain roared between her buttocks. And then it exploded as the Corellian shoved hard with his hips, his shaft abruptly popping into her hole. It was all could do not to scream. He maintained the pressure, groaning all the while as his shaft forced its way further and further into her rectum, until finally his balls pressed against her the hot tender lips of her pussy and his hips crushed her firm, cushioning bottom.
Asajj wept silently as the hot pain burned her, pulsing waves of agonising fire coursed through her guts as her illicit dream male, a man old enough to be her father, bottomed out up her ass and then immediately started to thrust his cock inside her scorching, fist tight anus. His pumping was urgent and almost immediately turned brutal. A savage friction and scorching heat. Lubrication of the sweat caught between her buttocks from the padded flight suit and mixed with his spittle, might have taken the edge off and somewhat ease the rampant hammering, but it was far from painless.
She gritted her teeth, fighting through the pain, hoping that this current hurt wouldn’t continue all the way through, that it would flip over and turn into pleasure for her. However, in the present each hard, deep thrust and each slow outstroke was sending hot knives through her guts. Her groans, hissing winces and panting at the pain the Corellian’s thrusting were loud, drowning out the little huffs and grunts he was coming out with. They also appeared to be driving him onward with his pace and hard slamming power of his thrusts. That, of course, increased the painful heat and friction as he railed her rectum.
She focused on the rhythm of his pumping along with the sensations of his shaft and the crown with its coronal flange stroking and stretching at her tunnel walls, while he drove rapidly forward and back. It was an itch, an irritation. Annoying and frustrating her. However, she slowly started to recognise an increasing background sensation that was more like a pleasant tingle. It built up in the back of her attention until it eclipsed the pain and irritation and took its place.
At some point Asajj realised that she had grown used to the pain of this sodomy. She had come to recognise it and, in her way, embrace it. It ceased being quite such an awful sensation. Over time those hot knives became hot waves, still painful and stabbing but a less intolerable kind of pain, one she could handle and maybe even embrace, given enough time and experience.
She struggled through the aggressive buggering experience for a drawn-out, unrecognised duration. It felt like hours but couldn’t have been. Throughout, her burning insides felt raw, abused and her guts ached from their incessant pummelling from the Corellian’s thick, powerfully driving erection.
She felt disgruntled at how, to take pleasure from her, he had chosen to inflict this uncomfortable action, to inflict this pain onto her body. Even though it was slowly starting to make the change toward some kind of pleasurable sensation. In fact, the way his thrusts slid downward as he punched into her, and the increased pressure of the bulging underside and rim of his crown, they were hitting something, through the dividing flesh in the upper surface of her vagina.
She could feel her own juices at first seeping and then flowing as the intensity of the pleasure continued to ascend. As though some secret button was repeatedly pressed every time that long, fat penis hammered into her, and every time it was withdrawn.
Asajj’s pleasure rose and rose, fully eclipsing the discomfort until the latter was nothing more than ignorable itch in the background. She started to buck back against him, her hips moving subconsciously, a blind response to the pursuit of her heightening joy, utterly uncontrolled. Of course, her actions fuelled his and his thrusts grew faster, more erratic and his vocal accompaniment ramped up along with the physical.
Somehow, she knew she was running out of time and she rutted herself onto him with more and more urgency, knowing it would only push him onward that much more, a Vornskyr released into Fathier race.
Even so, she felt like she was almost enjoying the sensations of his harsh, rutting pressure. But then he unleashed a roar of ecstasy as his pussy-slapping scrotum abruptly let fly with a thick and plentiful liquid eruption, emptying liberal amounts of the contents of his balls up her ass.
The bellow from the Corellian as he orgasmed was muffled by his own hand, clamped tight and deliberate over his mouth. But it was still loud in Asajj’s ear and drawn out and guttural, almost animalistic. At the same time, she felt multiple hefty ropes of searing cum splattering her anal walls, felt the weight and the fullness building in her rectum, even through the continued overbearing, numbing assault from his shaft.
Asajj hadn’t been ready. Frustration and annoyance flared, further interfering with her pursuit of her own ecstasy. She needed him to continue at the same pace, to enable her to ride her up to the peak. That would allow her to crest to her own ecstasy, and to enjoy her own moment of climactic perfection. Her body had taken him inside her where it wasn’t designed to lie. Had eventually overrode that initial discomfort. Found a joy she did not think could be found. And then used that repeated, rhythmically reinforced, sensation to ascend toward some kind of formless unknowable sensory peak, in the form of immeasurable pleasure. Only he hadn’t allowed her to reach that necessary peak. He had used her and not given back.
The anger and frustration spiked, her groans and wails, turning to snarls and throaty curses.
The Corellian’s liquid climax continued. He didn’t notice the sudden change in his lover. The surge of disappointment, anger and aggressive frustration. As his peaking joy faded, he slowed his buttock battering.
Eventually, panting and moaning under his breath, he slid his finally softening cock out of her ass, which evicted itself with a suctioning, wet squelch. And a deep, satisfied sigh issued from the Corellian.
Asajj’s fuck-tortured anus involuntarily cinched itself, tightening defensively. She lay there flat on her stomach, exhausted, the feeling of soreness reasserting itself, alongside feeling faintly victimised as well as the disappointment of the sudden loss of her own brimming euphoria.
Panting to get his breath back, the blond space pilot slumped back onto the deck plates between her splayed legs, though not before he deliberately spread the last of his dribbling spunk residue against Asajj’s twitching puckered sphincter and across her smooth teenage buttocks, as though he was branding her with his signature.
His little moans were more obviously euphoric. Asajj opened her eyes and glanced across at him. He looked downright ecstatic in his post-orgasm stupor. While she steamed in her own concoction of deep sexual frustration that gave birth to a hot rising anger.
That anger, she realised the intensity of the emotion, was aimed at this human male she had always maintained a secret soft spot for, and it frightened her. The hot rage she wanted to throw at him, the violence she felt like expressing onto that fine brown skinned face, shocked her. So did the gory yet at the same time exciting and invigorating images of her violently assaulting him. It all rocketed through her attention, sweeping her away with its own dark delights for a timeless moment.
The anger blossomed and the fear of that intensity of emotion blossomed with it. And there it sat in her gut, a small block of bitter, icy cold… something… a dreadful combination of ingredients. The ingredients she had been warned about over and over again. Anger, fear, aggression. But in the middle of that block of numbing ice was raw passion and power. Such a reservoir of barely restrained, overwhelming power.
She blinked and found herself back in the present, face down over the device with its hallucinogenic gas and its manipulator needles wired to its complicated looking control box.
The light blazing in through the open window somewhere above her showed Ventress that the machine had been working on her all night. That block of ice was still there in her gut and didn’t feel like it was going anywhere. It was the same for her feelings of anger and aggression, and her fear. Though to be fair her fear had been present, like an unhealable wound, since the death of her previous master. And now her new master, whoever this old man was, seemed intent on keeping it active. Though for what purpose… Well, she knew the purpose. She was experiencing the very elements that Ky had told her needed to be avoided in order to remain clear of the Dark Side of the Force.
Of course, Ky Narec was dead. The Light Side hadn’t protected him and his failure had led to her being alone. In fact, his failure had led to her being right here. His failure had led to her being captured and thrust into the fighting pits, kill or be killed, kill or be raped.
The Light Side hadn’t helped her there. Only her rage and fear had kept her alive. Was that the lesson then? That the Light Side was only useful in times of peace? When the going got tough, it was the Dark Side that allowed Force users to survive, even thrive?
Back then she would have asked Ky and he would have set her straight, or made her understand how the Light Side could work in those circumstances. But he was no longer here and she only had her own experiences to rely on. And grasping hold of the will to live, her rage and anger and fear had kept her alive, kept her fighting, kept her from giving in. Surely it was better to fight another day? Surely there was only hope for a better future if you were alive to feel that hope?
The droid stepped into her peripheral vision, flicked switches and pressed buttons. She felt the sudden stab of needles being snatched out of her sweat-soaked flesh. The low pitch hum of the device powering down, switching off.
The droid came around to the rear of her platform. It swung smoothly vertical and the droid unfastened the straps holding her in position. However, she paid no attention to the mechanical. The old man was standing in the doorway watching her. He closed his eyes, his brow furrowing, the frown lines already there deepening, shadows filling the creases to make them stand out. She felt the pressure of his mind sliding over her, inside her. His thin lips drew into a tiny smile.
“Good. You have taken another step in the right direction. I foresee you will be a great asset to your master.”
“Yes, master.”
“Some refreshment and then we will begin your training. Follow the droid, Asajj Ventress. You have one hour.”
She was given a simple white blouse with loose puffy sleeves and a loose lace-up neckline, and snug fitting, high-waisted black trousers. The legwear sported its own attached slipper-like footwear, with flat heeled well-gripped soles bonded to them.
She sat at a small table in a small room off the bustling kitchens. More gruel and another glass of the white alcoholic drink, were placed before her and she guzzled them down. Then she was taken out to a courtyard.
It was open to the blue sky, and crescent shaped with high walls and numerous doors along the curved wall which was part of the main castle. While the straight wall could have been part of the outer bailey or even a barbican wall.
Her master stood there in the middle of the space. Asajj walked over to him, which was when she realised that she was starting to feel a little off balance.
“Kneel. You must kneel before your master.”
She knelt, knees and palms on the smooth stone of the courtyard, head bowed. She felt odd, shaky and light headed. She wondered if the gruel had been off, or perhaps the milk-drink was much stronger this time.
“Your training begins now, young one. We must harness the new power locked within you. The power that your last master foolishly locked away with his deceit and the short sighted and cowardly dogma of his archaic order.”
“I don’t understand, master.”
“Of course, you understand. You are simply hanging onto what you have been taught about the Dark Side.”
He spoke with surprising patience and calmness. That deep, eloquent bass with its clipped Coruscant accent was somehow soothing, even with that aura of oppression and darkness that continued to seep from him.
“I will teach you that all of that Jedi dogma that was fed to you year after year is nothing but lies. Lies to keep you under their control. Docile. I will teach you real power… Now, rise and prepare yourself.”
She stood and looked around instinctively. There was a hint of something in the back of her mind, but the odd sensation, dizziness and weakness were distracting her, inhibiting her focus. She was also starting to feel dampness in the seat of her trousers but couldn’t understand what it meant. She didn’t feel like she had voided her bladder and there was too much to be mere sweat.
Five doors flew open in the crescent shaped wall and ten rough looking males appeared, all of them human or near-human. She had seen the type before, usually as security forces were busy putting them down following a near riot. Spice-high, mindless animals, gorging themselves on their base desires of rampant violence and rampant procreation.
All of them had short stocky stun batons, armlength clubs thick as a blaster handle and humming with dancing arcs of low voltage plasma. More than enough to inflict stunning pain, and muscle spasms, not enough to cause harm or injury.
She turned back toward her master, but he had vanished. So, she turned her attention back to the men.
They were already on her, rushing her spread out in a loose and uncoordinated semicircle. She snatched what little focus her sudden fear afforded her and dodged the first couple of swings with those batons. She grabbed the wrist of the bearer of the second baton and put him into a harsh lock before swinging him back around, using his rushed forward momentum against him. The repossessed baton blocked the third attack, and she managed the wrist locked body in such a way that he shielded her from the next attacker. He took the plasma hit instead of Ventress.
But then pain burst across her upper back and she staggered, the pain blossoming, yet it only fuelled the accelerating fires of fear and anger.
She found a burst of energy and swung around, throwing the wrist locked male into the path of another on-rusher, while she spun around to face the one at her back. He punched her in the gut with the rounded tip of his baton. Winded, she doubled over. However, she took advantage of the fact he hadn’t been quick enough to pull back the baton and she grasped hold of its spherical handguard, affectionally referred to as ‘the knot’. The arcing plasma coiled around her wrist and forearm. It also alighted her breasts like creasing tongues of scalding heat that she faintly recognised was instigating a searing response in her nipples, engorging the teats until they ached. However, her fingers maintained their tight grip and she reversed the direction of the club, slamming it pommel first into the man’s stomach, putting all her rage and pain and terror into the slamming gut punch.
Hands clasped the back and collar of her blouse and yanked hard, she was still half doubled over so her body weight railed against the backward tug. Rather than pull her off balance, the fabric tore. The man she’d rammed with the hilt of the baton had gone down, and the wrist locked assailant was also still out of it, on his knees and cradling his sprained or broken wrist. But that still left eight uninjured men.
She lashed out a wild horizontal swing with the baton, missing bodies but keeping men at bay. One of them dived at her legs but she managed to leap high enough so that he hit the ground and rolled beneath her. However, before her feet had even found the stone flags again, one of the men behind Asajj had shoulder-barged her in the back and sent her sprawling. Three more were on her before she had even rolled to a halt. A knee pressed into her throat. Her arms were grabbed and pinned. Someone threw themselves over her kicking legs, pinning them with his weight. And then other hands were attacking her clothes. Aggressive snarls accompanied tugs at the seams, the neck line, the waistband of her skin-tight trousers. She heard the tell-tale ripping noise, felt the cool air on her chest. Loud laughter and grunts sounded around her.
Grasping her hot rage and terror, Asajj reached into the Force and found one of the men. She grabbed him, lifted him and threw him as far as she could. In response punches rained; to the face, to the jaw, over her left ear, in her stomach. Someone punched her crotch and a solar flare of searing agony burst inside her loins. Some distant part of her was aware of what the men continued to do, even though most of her consciousness was lost in pain and despair and horror.
Her blouse was stripped off, her trousers peeled down from her waist, down her hips and thighs and then hauled completely from her body. She was rolled this way and that, her flesh squeezed, pinched and slapped. She was pressed down onto her face, held there by numerous male bodies and groped and slapped. Rubbed and pinched. Mostly over and between her buttocks but sometimes her thighs and even her recently bald skull.
A great welling of panic erupted like a subterranean geyser, breaking through the crust and again she grabbed at them through the Force and sent them flying. It wasn’t the result she wanted. It was weak. The sort of result a Padawan in her first five years of training might have been proud of, but it gave her the chance to get up and run. She headed for one of those open doors that the men had appeared from.
She didn’t make a third of the distance before she was pounced on. A baton slammed into the side of her head and she staggered. Hands grabbed her. A second baton whammed into her back, across her shoulder blades.
Someone slid one up between her thighs and held it there. She opened her mouth to scream at the inferno of hot stunning sensation against her pubis and inner thighs.
Another bat was jammed right between her teeth, thrust deep so it made her gag and cut off her scream. And immediately, those vile stunning arcs of blue-white plasma were dancing and writhing across her face and bare skull, inside her mouth, throat and nostrils.
The truncheons were removed from her flesh but held ready in case she needed another dose. Asajj didn’t. Nothing was working anymore. She was numb and weak, her limbs sapped of energy, tingling and heavy. Still, she was trying. Straining pointlessly against their strength and their excited manhandling.
Her eyes washed quickly over the scene, in a blurred wave. The expanse of the large high-walled courtyard. Dark thunderclouds rolling in overhead, blocking out the sun and threatening a blistering downpour.
Ventress didn’t realise it until she counted them but there were actually five of the men laid out across the stone flags. Five of commission, some of them perhaps dead. However, that still left five active humans and they were crowded in around her, powerful and violently excited for her body. Their cruel hands on her, holding her and controlling her. She was hauled back up to her feet by two of them.
Fear and desperation fuelling her reserves, she managed to pull free but only for a moment. She was able to jerk away from their grasping hands. She staggered and for second there was no male flesh on hers. Then someone grabbed her shoulder, digging his fingers into the soft flesh covering hard muscle. She yanked herself away from him, jerking her shoulder and ducking low but she was unable to free herself from his grip. One of the others grabbed her left wrist, squeezing it in his big fist until the bones grated. Another hand slid around her ribs from her right, hooking beneath her firm, swinging breasts.
She struggled in their grip. Raging, terror and anger giving her pops of strength but they never lasted. Even so, the film of sickness-induced sweat covering her body, loosened the hands on her ribs and her shoulder. Finally, she skipped clear, using her small stature and her speed. However, again the one holding her wrist kept up his tight hold and came with her. That was when she realised that they were playing with her. Though the abrupt increase in fear didn't hinder her attempt to flee.

With more energy, she would have fought them as she had in the fighting pits, but whatever had been done to her, more than likely a toxin in her drink or in the gruel, had all but completely sapped her strength. Certainly, her ability to fight. Though not her will. Far from it.
A hand snatched her right elbow, fingers locking around the interplay of bone, tendon and muscle. It provided enough purchase for the grip to remain secure. She was dragged in both directions at ones, her arms pulled out, forcing her into a 'T' shape. She was dragged back the way she had come, arms still extended, shoulders screaming under the tension.
Two more of the men grabbed at Asajj from behind. One wrapped both arms around her low down, hooking across her waist and hips, fingers digging into her slender side, the other palm sliding across her sweat-slick pubic mound. And then back over it a second and third time, as though marvelling at the smooth softness he had discovered.
The other man’s hands went straight for her unrestrained breasts. One big, cruel hand cupped and squeezed one harshly, while his other hand came up from under her left armpit and crossed her breast, shoving both together, the hand and forearm crushing both orbs, splayed fingers pressing into her bare chest.
A moment later the hand at her waist swept upward to attempt their own breast fondle. Fingers stroking and then painfully pinching whatever part of her mounds he could blindly locate.
One of their mouths pressed hotly into the side of her neck. She felt lips and hot breath and a flicking, tasting tongue. And then teeth.
Panting and groaning and snarling filled her ears. And laughter. There was laughter among the groans as well as her own pained squeals and sobbing. And even, embarrassed though she was by her weakness, her pleas. They were ignored, of course, cast out to the winds.
With the last vestiges of fight, Ventress bent herself forward in an effort to get away from the vile kissing, licking and nibbling. Somehow her abrupt move snatched the hands away from her breasts. However, the hands on her wrists were clamped like engineer’s vices and she still couldn't get free. Another pair of hands locked onto her clenched buttocks, squeezing and forcing the tight, smooth cheeks to spread. She tried to wriggle free of the new invasion but the bodies, their weight, and the hands once against kneading and grabbing all over her, prohibited very much movement.
She tried lashing out with her legs but they were like ferrocrete. For a moment one of her hands was freed and she struck out with it. However, again, there was no strength in her fingers. They were numbed, she couldn't close a fist or form a knife-hand or fingertip strike. All Asajj could do was to slap out with her loose, numbed limb, like a bone cudgel. She managed two hits across the meat of someone’s broad shoulder. But it resulted in nothing.
By then one of them, perhaps the man she was railing on, was hugging her right thigh with both arms. One of the men behind her had refilled his hands with her breasts and was squeezing them harshly. Someone else, she assumed, was also attacking her fear-erected nipples. Pinching and tugging at them with pincer-like fingers and thumbs. Stretching them out.
It felt as though those two or three successful slaps had sapped the last of Ventress’s energy and she was overcome with dizziness, half swooning. Her head swam, her vision blurred, her body flopped weakly. The only thing she was able to continue were her pointless moaning and pleas.
The two hands hugging her right thigh had slipped all the way up to the top, and she could feel a thumb and a couple of knuckles rubbing fervently at her vaginal lips. While other hands continued to cruelly and excitedly knead her taut buttocks.
She was dragged off balance, right off her feet and then hoisted up in their arms, flipped upward so she was horizontal. Arms that didn't support her meagre weight were attached to hands that continued to painfully grope her erogenous zones. She felt the clamped hands on her buttocks release as she was hoisted into the horizontal. But then new or the same fingers began thrusting and probing between her ass cheeks, stroking and prodding at her anus and then between her vulva. Obviously, it was no gentle caress. Someone abruptly called out, around his own his ribald laughter.
“She wet! The bald whore’s loving it!”
The others laughed as well. Asajj felt her cheeks and neck burning hot. The hands gripping her ankles and calves stretched her legs out straight while others hooked under her arms and across her back, supporting her upper body. The rest, as usual, squeezed and pinched her breasts and buttocks. Someone had a hand at her throat, squeezing, just short of choking her.
Carried feet first, she was suddenly flipped over so her head and feet exchanged positions. She was rolled face down, then half lowered, half dropped onto the stone slabs of the courtyard.
However, she didn't meet hard, cold stone, some sort of padding had appeared, a mattress or training mat and she found herself face down on it. Multiple hands and body weight pinning her in position.
Hands clasped tight and pushed down hard onto her ankles and the backs of her knees, her buttocks of course, her shoulder blades and shoulders. A vice grip encircled the nape of her neck. Though hands had also been left behind and continued to cruelly torture her breasts, cruel squeezing and mauling.
Her legs were forced to spread wide apart, until she felt cold stone rasping against her bare toes. Hard, naked body weight slammed down against her spread thighs, pressed down on her buttocks, the molesting hands leaving her ass to make room for whoever was first in line.
A hand grasped her throat so, with the hand on the back of her neck, her whole neck was encircled. And her upper body was lifted off the mattress. More hands immediately attacked her breasts and nipples.
Once again, a plasma baton was thrust into her wide-open mouth, though this time as a gag rather than a torture device. She bit down hard on the rubbery coating as she felt the heat of the first male member being positioned between her buttocks, before being thrust violently in between the swollen lips of her cunt, to slam viciously against her cervix with that initial thrust.
She screamed. They laughed. Though one of them instead let out his loud and raucous groan of profound pleasure.
Within minutes things went from bad to worse. She couldn’t figure out how they even did it, but she felt her rapist change angle, pressure increased on the upper surface of her cunt, so she pictured him leaning backward. Though his thrusting didn’t slow. Not then at least. Another man climbed onto her back, at first literally sitting on her upturned buttocks, then she felt a hand pressing into the middle of her back, pushing down on her as his hips lifted up. But then his erection was forcing its way between her buttocks. Then lancing sharply and deeply into her anal track.
That was when her first rapist paused his thrusts. Though it was just long enough for the second man to initiate his anal raping. Within a minute both of them were securely embedded in her holes and had started up a rapid and punishing rhythm.
The pain was excruciating, hot and dry and ripping. Though at least due to her own inexplicable wetness, the cunt rapist’s thrusts were easier to take.
The baton was dragged out from the back of her throat and Asajj groaned around her tears and sobbing, working her jaw while she dragged air into her laboured lungs. However, the atmospheric advantage only appeared to fuel her sensory torture. The agonising burn between her buttocks, filling her over-stretched rectal cavity intensified, as though the free flow of air was nothing more than fuel to the pain that suffused her.
She sobbed and gasped out more useless pleas for mercy. One of the men laughed. The two raping her, raped her harder still and the pair of hands, unless it was more than one pair, worked her perky, cherry tipped teardrops with even more severe voracity.
“Open your mouth, Zabrak whore. And I warn you, if I feel teeth, I’ll have your eyes ripped from their sockets and stuffed down your throat! I swear it on the names of my ancestors.”
Asajj believed him. She felt the hot bulbous crown of his sizeable meat pressed against her pursed lips. The spongy texture already seeping drops of lubricating pre-cum. She opened her mouth and he thrust in deep at once, making her gag and choke.
Yet he didn’t care about her discomfort at all and pressed that firm pliant head right to the back of her mouth. He pushed onwards until, bathed in a sudden overflow of her saliva, he popped it into her throat and pushing it onward until she felt his scrotum slap against her chin.
Realising she hadn’t been prepared and hadn’t filled her lungs with air, Asajj tried to inhale through her nose but the passage was blocked at the back of her mouth. She panicked, struggling and moaning around the jaw-stretching shaft. The man just clamped her bald head in both hands and held her tight down at the root of his cock.
The sensation of choking on the fat, hot shaft completely cornered her attention. The particular torture even lessened the horrible scalding burn of the double rape lower down. And it utterly dismissed the rough attention all those hands were plying to her breasts, still cruelly squeezing, crushing the orbs and pulling and twisting her nipples with bestial fervour.
Ventress started to black out, her tongue worming at the meat trying to push it away, move it in any direction, anything to allow air back into her burning lungs. It was a useless venture. As the light-headedness took her and her senses began to collapse in on themselves, a voice slipped into her head. A low, deep baritone, smooth and Coruscant accented.
“Take the pain, Asajj Ventress…” Dooku said into her mind. “…The fear and the anger. Use them to build back your strength. Find your aggression and use it. Use it all! You have more than enough power and skill within you to gain victory over these sorry specimens. These men are nothing, mere animal gutter scraps from the bowels of Coruscant, Corellia, Ord Mantel. They are nothing. Prove to them that they are nothing. Prove to them what you are.”
The cock in her throat unexpectedly popped back into her mouth and she gasped in air. But its extrication only lasted a second and then the shaft was ploughed back into her gullet again. And then back and forth, though with such a rapid punishing pace that she was unable to judge or match it. She couldn’t inhale again or exhale anything more than overflowing saliva and bile. And she gagged and choked violently.
“You are a warrior.” Dooku continued. “You are strong and powerful. You are their undoing!”
The man suddenly let out a harsh guttural groan and his erection strained, she felt the muscles tensing rhythmically and fluid burst into her oesophagus, then across the back of her tongue and then down her throat again, as he continued to fuck her face, even as he was noisily and ecstatically spewing forth his cum. Ventress choked on it, swallowed some and then went into a coughing fit as a rope or two found its way down the wrong tube.
Despite the coughing and attempting to writhe and shake her head to clear her lungs and mouth, his hands clamped tight on her skull and held her lips around his shaft until his seed was nothing more than a drool. How she hadn’t bitten down on his cock neither of them had any clue.
He withdrew at last and let go of her head, rocking back onto his haunches. With a wet haggard belch, she sprayed out a gut-full of combined seed and saliva all over the mattress beneath her.
“The Dark Side is my ally.” Dooku was saying. “I use it. I transfer my own sexual frustrations into Dark Side power.”
“It's impossible, Master!” She screamed into her head.
“Oh? You say it cannot be done…?”
She dragged air into her lungs as the distraction of being choked on throat raping cock, and then his hot plentiful tribute, was dissipating. Her attention was drawn back to the tit torture and the raw friction of the two other cocks slamming brutally inside her cunt and ass hole. Her sobbing and pleas returned. Returned, of course, to defiantly deaf ears.
“Surely you know better than that. Even your poor deluded Jedi Master shared with you that lesson. Focus your mind and embrace your feelings! Even pain has power, even despair has power, even fear has power. They are fuel for the Dark Side! Use them! End your torment!”
“I… I can’t… please, Master!” She wept now sobbing her replies aloud. “Help me, please… Oh please, master! I’ll do anything you want… Please…”
“It is for you to find victory from defeat. It is for you to find the power… Your previous master lied to you, Asajj. There is power in the Dark Side. Incredible power. It is right there waiting for you. You just need to reach out and take it.”
The desire was a subterranean volcano that could erupt at any moment. Asajj reached deep and tried to find Ky Narec’s teachings about the dangers of the Dark Side and the lessons of how to stay in the light. However, all she could see was his broken corpse lying in the street and that emotional pain and rage added to the physical torment of her double rape.
Behind her the two humans were getting faster and faster with their torrential thrusting. Brutally pummelling her, battering her buttocks harder and harder. Her anal walls and her vaginal tunnel felt savaged, unbearably sore, rubbed raw with friction. She might have been torn and bleeding inside, she couldn’t tell. There was just pain like stabbing blades tearing into her through the raw numbness that felt like all that was left of her loins.
“This will not end.” Dooku told her. “I have plenty of men such as these. Watching this. Waiting for their own turns. It will never stop, never. Unless you yourself stop it… Until then, I’m afraid it will only get worse for you.”
“Then kill me! I have failed you, master… Just… End my misery!”
“No Asajj. You must end it or it will go on, hour after hour, day after day.”
“It’s impossible, Master… impossible… I cannot.”
“Impossible? The task is only impossible because you have deemed it so!”
She heard a snap echo around the courtyard, it sounded like the snap of fingers. She lifted her head, stared through blurring tears and saw more men, not all of them humans, emerging from those same doors in the crescent wall. Some were larger, Trandoshans, Wookiees. There were also romp rats, a young Nexu, a wampa, an adolescent rancor. Even a damned Tauntaun.
“You must connect with your hatred. Think back to the fighting pits, it was your hatred and pain and suffering that made you powerful.”
The tit torturer, seemed not to care about the slimy mess on the mattress as he let go of her bruised and welt-mottled breasts and lay down beneath her upper body. He fastened his mouth to her already tenderised nipple and areola and chewed on the flesh cruelly. Asajj wept and writhed and cringed but there were still two men holding her down while five pairs of hands held her still, so that she could do nothing but continue to take the torture.
“Can you feel your power building? Focus on that, let it fill you.” Dooku continued.
She could feel it. That bitter, heavy block of ice in her gut had turned hot, electrified somehow. Though it had not melted the ice, it had transformed it into power, a dense and expanding cluster of burning plasma. Ball lightning.
“That's it, your anger and your pain, that is where the power comes from. That is your strength. That is your power. Now... Use it...”
A great burst of Force blasted out of her and there were suddenly no hands holding her down. She reached under her for the head with its mouth on her tit, his teeth biting her nipple. Her thumbs found the sockets of his eyes and she pushed in hard, revelling in the screams he spewed in response.
Down below she clenched in hard with her internal muscles, adding the power of the Force to her own athletic skill and the blinded man’s agonised, deafening screams were joined by those of her two rapists.
Asajj rose, her naked, blood soaked and bruised body glistening, over flowing with the Dark Side of the Force. She felt the power and it felt wonderful.
<><><>
She didn’t even remember wading into, or through the crowd of intended abusers, those standing near the doors awaiting the go ahead from her master. She lost herself in the vengeful glee of the naked, bare-handed massacre that followed. All she knew of it was the coppery tang and sweetness of their blood that clothed every inch of her body as though she had submerged herself in a lake of it. And the piles of corpses and corpse pieces littering the courtyard.
There were two loose piles, one of bodies and another of the torn off reproductive appendages. Those appendages came in all shapes and sizes, from a few inches to half a metre in length, and every imaginable girth from thumb thickness to upper arm thickness. All were bathed in blood, their own and others. And all had been manually torn free from their owners. Or chewed free in at least a couple of cases.
Her master was there. The cause. The instigator. She went after him too. Her hate had made her powerful. Powerful enough even to destroy this Dark Side monster.
And yet, no. It had not. Dooku gave her a lesson in how little power she possessed and how far she would have to develop to even approach his potency. He beat her into submission without ever laying a hand on her and certainly without touching the curved hilt of that archaic styled lightsaber.
<><><>
When Ventress came to, she was once against strapped onto a platform. Naked still. This time she was face up. Straps securing her ankles and her wrists and a strap across her chest. She managed to crane her neck enough to see she had been washed clean. In fact, her naked, almost silvery flesh no longer bore the marks of her recent assault. She wondered how long she had been unconscious this time. It would surely have taken weeks for the welts, bruising and abrasions to have healed, even with bacta treatments.
She put her chin to her chest and looked around the chamber. It instantly made her blood go cold and her skin rise in goose bumps.
She had heard of the Carbon Freezing process being workable on living subjects but had never seen it done herself. However, she had heard of the horror stories of when it had been attempted and when the attempt had failed.
People frozen to death, carbon-ice fragments embedded in their blood and organs. People who didn’t take on the suspended animation state and died in conscious terror locked inside a block of carbon alloy, choking on carbon dust and lack of oxygen. Then there were the frozen bones and organs shattering inside their bodies. The freezing induced disfigurements. Organ ruptures. Then there were the malfunctions in the thawing process, people ruined by molten carbon particles, people cooked in their own skin, people burned alive, set aflame, unable to free themselves from the block as they roasted.
Automated hinged apparatuses lifted Asajj strapped inside the Carbon Freezing meter-reader frame, a bass relief picture frame with its readouts and vital sign displays on the outside. The block was elevated and rotated so she was upright. Then she was propelled forward to the bubbling vat of molten carbon alloy. The apparatus flipped her over so that she was face down over the vat, staring into the bubbling steel grey abyss.
The descent was inexorably slow and torturous. And she couldn’t help but writhe and struggle and scream her lungs out as she descended. She felt the blazing heat of bitter coldness of the liquid alloy envelop her, felt it seep into her nostrils, stoppering her scream and then the gasses that were sprayed into the carbon and the following chemical reaction struck her. But she didn’t freeze. She didn’t slip into a peaceful slumber. She remained awake and aware and she panicked. Dooku’s voice belatedly slipped into her mind.
“This is nothing, young one. Just a little mind-torture to accelerate your connection to the Dark Side. I have not manipulated the Carbon Freezing process. I have administered a narcotic that causes your brain to perceive time at a slower rate, you will remain fully conscious and aware in your mind. Locked in. Unable to move or even to breathe or scream or beg for death. At least, not out loud. Your mind will remain free to experience everything. You will eventually succumb to the effects of hibernation… Perhaps in a few hours. We will continue your training when you have returned from your trip.”
“Oh, and Asajj. One piece of advice... Whatever you do when you are finally freed from the Carbonite, do not anger him. Do everything he tells you without question. And do not anger him.”
<><><>
“He had you frozen you in Carbonite?!” Ahsoka whimpered. “I can hardly believe it! I’ve only ever heard of that process being used on dangerous highly-pressurised gasses!”
If it was possible in the gloom of their hiding place, Ventress looked even paler than usual. And a little green. Her eyes glistened wetly. She ignored Ahsoka’s interruption.
“I was blind when I finally thawed… came out… was released. I’ve since learned, from what little data there is on live subject organic freezing, that temporary blindness is supposedly the most common side effect.”
“And who weren’t you meant to anger? Was this the old man you mentioned? The sexual malevolent?”
“Yes.”
<><><>
Ventress could feel the chamber through the Force. Her ramped up, nerve-shattering sense of dread, along with the continuing after-effects of the mode of transport to wherever she had found herself, had all had an expected effect on her. She was shivering, jittery. A terrorised mess. However, that bitter, icy lump in her stomach now felt like it occupied half the volume of her torso. There was a raging fire inside her, a surging power that gave her strength and, in a way, reassurance.
Thinking more clearly than she felt like she had in days, she reached into herself through the Force, analysed her optic centre, finding the particulate damage of the Carbon Freeze on her corneas and optic nerve. She could recognise that her body was already fighting the small-scale infection and repairing the cellular damage. But through the Force she was able to improve things further, physically transferring microscopic fragments of carbon alloy into her tear ducts and blood vessels. Her kidneys would vent the alien matter from her blood and a tear or two would eject more of the substance. The result to her vision was almost instant. Not much of an improvement, though now within the blackness there was elements of grey, shapes, dialled down highlights that gave the vaguest of impressions of a rectangular chamber. Perhaps a wall of windows at the opposite end. A large, throne-like chair in silhouette.
Her mind went straight to the Republic Senate on Coruscant. This felt like that kind of opulence, self-indulgence, self-importance. The room seemed to be empty other than a lone figure seated in the throne, it made him appear tiny. She could hear his breathing, low and slow, yet course with something, and hint of a rattle, excitement perhaps.
Her other senses came to the fore, through the Force, as she reached out. She could feel a gentle vibration in the floor, could smell faint echoes of engine fuel and oil and coolant and lubricants. This was not the Senate building, despite the smell of opulence, this was definitely a star ship. But the vibration was too subtle, more like a deactivated sublight engine recently shut down. They were docked or landed somewhere, not in space, not in flight.
It didn’t matter really. It didn’t tell her much. She had been transported blindly and then released inside this singular rectangular chamber, with this individual. From the smells of skin and hair, the scents of testosterone and other hormones, plus the fabric the individual was dressed in, some kind of natural cloth, perhaps zeyd, Asajj judged the other lifeform to be an adult, perhaps of advanced years, yet human and male.
“Come closer, child. Come here.”
The accent was Coruscanti, the tone commanding, eminently confident, used to being obeyed. There was also the same clipped, smooth quality that her own master possessed.
She approached him in the gloom, charcoal grey on black. Intimately aware of her own nudity. And her blindness. It made her feel vulnerable and therefore defensive. It came out as feelings of anger and fear and suspicion.
Her suspicions grew as she reached out toward the figure through the Force. Immediately she baulked, unable to hold in a gasp of shock.
There was nothing of him. No sense of anything. He was almost like a human shaped hole in reality. She could sense no lifeforce, no Living Force, no emotion, no intent or desire. It was like reaching into a computer. Even droids had a sense of intent and electro-magnetism of their power cycling through their structure.
She tossed aside the emotional reaction and returned to reason and logic. She knew he was living and human, her Force-attuned senses had told her as much. He was living and awake and aware. He had spoken to her, commanded her, therefore, he must be real. And then it struck her. The only way was if he was actually restricting her ability to read him. He was rejecting her Force-enabled probing. Which meant he had to be a Force user himself.
“Enough.” He growled.
The fierceness in the quality of his voice, not his tone or manner, they were smooth and even disarmingly warm, but there was something beneath those elements that commanded obedience. Asajj found herself withdrawing her probing attempt.
“You will kneel before me, female.”
Two old human males. Both, as far as she could tell, supremely powerful and utterly submerged in the Dark Side of the Force. Her first thought was where had she found herself? Her second thought was more seductive. What can these men teach me?
Still little more than a grey daubed black shape on a grey daubed black throne, she lowered herself to her knees before him.
Lust, slick, oily and putrid emanated from the old man. It brought to mind the charnel stench from the floor of the Rattatak fighting pit. His desire for her body was palpable. She knew what was coming. She fought down rising bile. But couldn’t hold back the shiver of revulsion.
“And now you will crawl to me.”
She crawled across the black carpet beneath her, thinking how strange and unusual it was to have carpet on the deck plates of a star ship. She felt his presence first. A wave of sickening oppressive heat. And then her hands touched the draping hem of his, she confirmed, zeyd cloth robe. She found a bare foot, slid her hands gently along his hard bony shins, as far as his knees, kneeling at his feet looking up into the pitch shadow beneath the gloomy hood.
“Rise. Climb onto my lap, my child.”
The bile rose again. The words were more than enough. However, the power oozing from every poor in his wrinkled, aged flesh was truly terrifying.
She didn’t fear death. Dead, she could not be forced to pleasure him. At least, no more than the short-lived pleasure of extinguishing her life. However, there were worse fates than death and she felt the raw sexual malevolence coursing through him. She could feel the wanton heat from his already rampant groin, even though she could see nothing in his lap but the black void.
She lifted herself gently onto his thighs, moving carefully as though he actually might be as brittle and weak as he pretended. She seated herself side on to him, with both legs hanging over one side of his.
The bolt of plasma burst to agonising life from nowhere. It arced right across her vision giving her a daylight-pristine moment of clarity. The old man seated in his hooded robe, the aged, pale wrinkled face bathed in blue, a wall sized bay window of reinforced glasteel filling in the space behind the throne.
Of course, the coruscating blue bolt of lightning then wreathed in the icy cold breath of the Dark Side of the Force touched her and everything turned into unassailable white-hot agony. The room filled with her shriek.
It lasted only a second or two but seemed to present her with an entire lifetime of unfathomable pain. The scintillating arcs danced across her naked torso, burning her wherever they touched. However, it was beneath her skin where the icy cold fingers assailed her most fervently and again and again.
The old man’s open palm, arachnoid fingers extended, guided the direction of the living plasma bolt. It first danced across her drawn back lips, turning her teeth into live wires and flicking at her tongue, before skipping downward to attack her nipples. Its caress made the glands beneath her areolae quiver and bloat, expanding rather than shrivelling, making her breasts swell and turn rosy pink, the nipples especially.
The arcs danced continually southward, making her combat-toned abdominals tense and quiver. And then it dipped lower still, attacking her pubis. The lightning seared her engorged clitoris, stitched miniature bolts across her pain-swollen vulva, forcing her inner lips to swell and spread and then the plasma entered her vaginal tunnel, writhing within her. She bucked violently, her thighs jerking. Her whole body jerked to-and-fro on his lap like an automaton. A stream of golden urine sprayed unbidden from her urethra, splashing his robe. But he only laughed as the steam rose from his soiled clothing. He increased the pressure and intensity on his plasmatic kiss. The lightning bolt pushed deeper though the flesh of her loins. It passed from her cunt tunnel, through the miniscule membrane and into her cinched tight anal passage.
At once, the unchecked urine flow was followed by an intense eruption of clear nectar, the electric kiss forcing an unwanted and humiliating orgasmic concussion that splattered densely across the old man’s billowing sleeve and the arm of his throne, and made Asajj veritably swoon.
He released the plasma bolt, allowing it to dissipate to nothing inside her savaged anus. Only after the fact did she note that steel hard hand at her throat that had kept her on his lap and upright. Without it she would have thumped down onto the floor at his feet.
“Insolent child.” He cackled. “Spread your legs and sit facing me!”
It took time, effort and almost all of her energy reserves, but she positioned herself to his liking. Face to face on his lap with her thighs spread on either side on his.
He kept his claw-like hands around her long, slender throat throughout, a fingertip idly sliding along the line of her straight cut jaw.
“You are rather beautiful, child. You remind me a little of an Umbaran, though you seem much stronger, and much more attune. Dooku might have chosen well.”
His other hand closed on a swollen, still smarting breast, cupping and lifting it gently.
“We shall see…”
The hand on her breast clenched fiercely, fingers digging in as though kneading dough. Once again, her back arched violently under the inflicted pain, eyes screwed shut, teeth clamped, lips drawn back. A hiss turned into an undulating groan of renewed pain and escaped her clenched throat. His fingers encircling her throat clenched too, prohibiting her ability to refill her lungs. He released her breast only to capture a nipple between his fingernails and bite into her flesh with nails and fingers both. And she squealed breathlessly, the sound more like a hawking gag, than a scream. Still, it amused him.
Somehow, she maintained the wherewithal not to try and remove his hands from her body. Knowing it would be bad for her. She just had to survive and do her best to satisfy him, no matter how cruel and brutal he became. Eventually the attentions of both hands released their ardour from her flesh. She slumped, panting and trying to hold back the brimming sobs of despair.
“What would you like me to do…?” She whispered, eventually.
“Remain silent… to begin with.”
The response was harsh, infused with threat. Though it was not backed up with a punishment. She could swear that he recognised the gratitude in her large, tear-wet eyes. He gave a crooked smile, barely visible beneath the shadowy hood. A strong clean-shaven chin, pale lips surrounding well-tended teeth and eyes that were nothing but pinprick highlights in the blackness of the all-encompassing shadow of the cowl.
“Open my robe, child. Meet your new master.”
She knew he was arrogantly referring to his phallus but still, she noted her own reaction to the idea of being made to remain here with this casually cruel old man. And to serve him.
It instantly cast her master Dooku in a completely different light. And she felt a sudden desire for her master to collect her from this place. To take her back to his castle for more of his ‘training’. His brand of training didn’t seem quite so frightening any more. She could but hope. She reached down and gently spread the front flaps of his cloth robe apart.
His member surprised her. Because of his obviously advanced years, she had expected something small and soft and unable to achieve enough firmness to be useable. However, at the first unveiling his hardness proved to be as stiff as Phrik alloy. And it was not small either. It would take both hands stacked atop each other to engulf his shaft. And his scrotum was big and weighty with the large testicles within. The robe remained fastened from the waist upwards, while below he was naked. Pale, wrinkled skin hung over thin, bony limbs. Years ago, there might have been muscle covering those bones but it appeared to have wasted away, leaving little between the bones and the mottled liver-spotted flesh. He was also strangely hairless. No pubic hair, no hair on his legs.
His hands came around to her ass cheeks and he cupped both in his long bony fingers. Fingertips interlaced in the crevice between them. The fingers dug into her flesh and the taut muscle beneath, nails scraping, scratching. His squeezing forced her cheeks apart, to the point it became painful. She winced. He squeezed harder, a malicious grin spreading across his shadow concealed face. She reached out for his phallus, afraid to anger him. However, the cruelty of his hands on her buttocks sent slivers of pain up her back, tears streamed down her cheeks and she whimpered. Unbalanced by the pain, she fell forward, one hand grasping his shoulder for support, the other reaching instinctively back behind her, desperate to pull his grip from her buttocks, yet too afraid to interfere.
She didn’t even register the slip of his laughter. And even though she hadn’t tried to halt his abuse of her ass, he struck her again with another bolt of lightning. She writhed and screamed.
The lightning didn’t seem to touch him at all. He let out another of those malevolent cackling laughs as he watched her jerking and convulsing in continued agony.
“It will not do to hesitate child. You know your duty. Go about it.”
It took her a moment, her brain savaged by the aftereffects of his punishment, to realise why he had inflicted it. He confirmed it vocally.
“If you hesitate any longer, child. You will burn, here and now. Take hold of my member.”
She grabbed his shaft tightly in her fist, her anger evident in her grip.
“Good.” He laughed, with that same anxiety inducing cackle. “Use your anger. You cannot break me. Ensure I feel it.”
She squeezed hard, twisting his shaft while she worked his foreskin up and down over the fat, thick flanged head. She wanted to crush his hot shaft in her fist but remained terrified of what he would do if she actually hurt him. The old man didn’t react other than his mouth closing into a thin line. The ends drawn downwards. It didn’t seem like a grimace to Asajj. And she might have heard the suggestion of a low moan in the back of his throat or it could have been her ruptured imagination.
“Give me your tongue, child.” He commanded.
The malicious grin returned as he leaned forward. To kiss such a man was stomach churning and she almost baulked. Yet knowing his threats of reprisal would be more than meaningless words, she met his advance and pressed her lips onto his.
His mouth was dry, his lips chapped. Though his breath was surprisingly sweet and very warm. She touched her soft lips to his, applied pressure, slid her tongue forward subtly. Breaking the seal of his lips and slipping between then to taste the smooth hardness of his immaculate teeth.
And that was her mistake, making the kiss a slow and tender joining. She wasn’t even certain why. This was no innocent boy she was to introduce to the sensual pleasure of the kiss. Not that she knew much of such practices herself.
He let out a low growl and shoved his mouth onto hers. One of those strong, thin hands closed on her throat once again, squeezing cruelly, gripping her larynx and stopping her from pulling away. He drove his mouth voraciously against hers, mouthing, tasting her, thrusting his tongue deep inside, chasing and writhing with her own.
She worked obediently with his desires, rolling her tongue around his, trapping his gently between her full lips to suckle on the thick member. He reversed the caress, sucking hers into his mouth, though of course his attentions were much more belligerent. His suction was harsh, abrasive, the lips trapping her tongue overly harsh in their pressure. And Asajj couldn’t help give out a little whimper. The old man replied with a grunt of malevolent pleasure.
He finally released her tongue from between his cinched lips. However, before she could retract the organ, his teeth had replaced his lips and champed down on her tongue. He caught it, securing it between his teeth, which could not have been easy given the saliva coating it and the flexibility of the muscle. But hold it he did.
She gave a throaty squeal which only amused him, and attempted again and again to free herself. However, every time she tried to slide her tongue out of his mouth, he cruelly asserted more pressure with his teeth. She didn’t think he had drawn blood but by the feel of it he was close. She whimpered, panic rising, a sob escaped her drawn back lips, tears flowing all over again.
Other than two pinprick glittering highlights she could still see nothing of his eyes but she could swear she could see intense sexual malevolence burning there, the delight in inflicting such suffering on her.
She felt his hands closing on her breasts; cupping, at first gently, just his palms and fingertips, but then he started to slowly assert pressure. The touch became a caress, and then a squeeze. Within thirty seconds he had her handful breasts crushed brutally in his hands.
She was sobbing, struggling, whining wordless protests and pleas. Of course, it only seemed to turn him on more. She was desperate to have him release her. If it was anyone else, she would have taken his big hard cock in both hands and wrung the life out of it, bent it over in her hands until it was folded double, whatever that might do to a living erect phallus. However, against this old man she dared not do anything, other than beg and plead and weep in pain and misery.
After a minute of crushing and kneading, he released her breasts, only to turn his attention to her nipples. They got much the same treatment, cruelly pinching and rolling the spongey, hardened studs. He caught them in a vice grip between fingers and thumbs and pulled them out away from her chest. Pulling her breasts with them, lifting them up and away from her body, while she squealed and cried and shook against him, her hips jerking, her back arching, which only applied more pressure to her overly taut flesh. And of course, his teeth maintained their grip on her trapped tongue.
He maintained and increased the pressure and sexual violence of his attention to her nipples and breasts until she was literally screaming into his face. And then he struck her with another powerful arc of his private lightning. And everything was instantly ten times worse for Asajj.
Again, the plasma arc danced over her flesh, so bitterly cold that it burned her, snapping specifically across her nipples and areolae before moving out to the soft, pale flesh of her high breasts. Then it slid inside the pliant teardrops and coursed through her between and beyond her ribs. It tortured her inner organs and flesh, with breath and energy sapping pain, the like of which she had never experienced. She couldn’t even scream. Her searing lungs and diaphragm and her vocal cords all locked up.
Even through the agony, she could hear his malicious cackle, warped as it was by his teeth locked on her tongue.
Part of her brain was screaming at her that this was impossible, his teeth shouldn’t be capable of such precision, it would either be too little pressure and she would be able to pull free or too much and he would have bitten through her tongue completely. Some belated and disconnected logic revealed that it had to be something to do with the Force. Perhaps he was somehow controlling her actions, some control over the weakened part of her mind, strained as she had been through the pain and terror, leading up to the horror of the Carbon Freeze. And the sheer power and cruelty of this aged stranger. How ever he was doing it, she was sure it had to be through the Force. And that realisation, the degree of control over the Force, just made her all the more terrified of him.
He finally released her tongue. And the bolt of lightning dissipated, leaving nothing more than the smell of ozone heavy in her nostrils. It was strange and yet a huge relief that she smelled no aroma of charred flesh.
As she tumbled off his lap onto the carpet, all balance and coordination lost to her, Asajj on some level registered a lack of residual pain or discomfort or even stiffness or locked joints that she would have expected after being electrocuted. Of course, she knew this was no natural form of plasma, and it neither possessed the principles or the traits of electricity. However, that was all noted somewhere in the back of her mind, the forefront was much more visceral and emotional. She shrieked up at him afraid, desperate and terrorised.
“Why are you doing this! I’ll do whatever you want, sir! There’s no need to torture me, I’ll cooperate with you completely. Anything you tell me, I’ll do it! Please!”
He just laughed. Those stars in his shadowed eyes, sparkling with amusement. He patted one wide spread bare thigh.
“Back up here, child.”
Awkwardly, unsteadily, she pulled herself back to her feet and again climbed up onto his lap. He drew his thighs in together which gave her room on the seat of his throne for her knees and shins. She settled herself on his lap, staring into that all-consuming shadow beneath his hood. It only revealed the tip of his nose, that thin mouth and rounded chin.
His erection was still there, jutting vertically upward. It looked perhaps larger and stiffer than ever. She reached out for it but stopped herself, looking into those miniscule sparks in his eyes, for any sign of permission or approval. Seeing nothing and hearing nothing from the old man, she stopped short of grasping his cock. She thought of leaning in to kiss him or carrying on where they left off but did not want to invite more of her tongue being trapped between his teeth. It was, after all, still throbbing, swollen and sore, feeling like it filled her mouth.
“Now child,” He commanded. “You will take me inside your body.”
This time she didn’t hesitate. Shivering uncontrollably, she shuffled herself forward another couple of inches and raised her hips. One hand gripped his shaft, it really was throbbing with heat, surprisingly so. With the fingers of her other hand, she spread her labia, exposing the tunnel mouth and then angled the bloated head of the shaft between them, sliding that blunt roundness back and forth over her lips. She was surprised to feel the slickness there, coating him as it seeped from her. Perhaps her body was simply preparing for the upcoming, rather than her being turned on by the act. Which she certainly didn’t feel. Then again, she could feel her vulva were swollen and splayed and there was an undeniable tingle in her loins. She put it all out of her mind and shifted the head of his meat a little more, nestling it at the slick entrance.
“No,” He growled, a little smile playing across his lips. “The other place.”
The way he leaned forward as he spoke, suddenly cast his eyes into a sliver of light and his pupils became visible. Inhuman and unnatural, the coronas burned with living, crimson flame while the irises glowed a dancing golden yellow. They screamed of animalistic carnality and absolute malevolence.
Asajj shivered under that depraved glare, fighting her own rousing terror that his proximity and his cruelty fuelled within her. Unable to look into those baneful eyes any longer, she lowered her gaze, silently begging to the Force that she would leave here alive and essentially unharmed.
“Yes, sir.” She whispered.
It was easy enough to reposition his cock head against her anus but the only lubrication was the square millimetre of her own juice that had coated the tip. She reached up with her free hand and licked it. Out of nowhere his hand lashed out, slapping hers away from her open mouth.
“You will accept me dry.”
The little smile spread into another of those malicious grins. Asajj desperately bit down the blossoming anxiety telling herself over and over that dry anal penetration could not hurt anything close to his plasma torture.
Still, it was rough going. It was all tightness, burning heat and friction. Harsh brutalising pain to begin with. However, once her anus had grown accustomed to the thickness stretching her rectum, and the length of it slamming at the entrance to her large intestine, it became more of a discomfort that painful. Of course, the old man wasn’t satisfied with that. He used his hands, teeth and more arcs of plasma to make the experience a hundred times worse. He bit and chewed her nipples, as well as her lips and tongue. He clawed at her breasts, buttocks and thighs, essentially abusing every inch of her with as much of his body as he could.
He especially enjoyed pinching and pulling at her labia and clitoris, all the while making sure, through fear, that she kept up the fast and arduous riding on his erection. Submissively sodomising herself on him. Though, the lightning was again the worst.
He guided the plasma into her body completely at random, mostly through her breasts and buttocks, though a couple of times he even assaulted her face. And the pain was excruciating, her eyes ached, she couldn’t breathe or think, couldn’t even scream. While her wide-open mouth felt as though it was flooded with ice, while it made hot coals of her teeth and searing her gums while her tongue was lashed though with something scalding hot and barbed.
Worse of all was when he passed one of his plasma arcs across her pubis, searing her bare, sensitive skin, her stretched lips and swollen clitoris, before lancing inward beneath the flesh, to strike at her loins and force her internal muscles to contract tighter than ever around his anal-stretching girth. Gritting her teeth to hold in the desire to scream and curse him. After a time, she belatedly realised that, even though most of the pain had finally dispersed from her body, the electric current-like cracks and pops of the plasma arc were still audible, still active.
The noise of the plasma current continued, even though those arcs of agony had left her body alone, she became aware that they must instead be searing his own scrotum and his erection instead. She wondered at the sheer self-destructive capability of such a man who would use that kind of self-torture. However, she soon felt it dancing inside her overstuffed anal tract, emerging from his pulsing, tense penis, which felt harder than ever and more bloated still, as though someone had their entire forearm jammed up her ass.
That bloated shaft continued to blossom within her, hardened further in response to the plasma lightning. She could feel his member stretching and swelling, pushing upward and outward against her already over-stretched rectal walls. She experienced the tendrils of plasma, like plant barbs, emanating from his swollen monstrosity lashing at and piercing her rectal walls as they continually rubbed and scraped against the phallus’s hot, hard foreskin and the overly swollen crown.
“Enough.” He growled unexpectedly.
And to Asajj, that guttural snarl was as close to an emotional response as he had shown, at least when it came to the intercourse.
“We shall finish this in your mouth, child.” He said, not quite panting. “Now, down on your knees.”
Huffing and moaning, she awkwardly climbed down from his lap, her calves and thighs screaming in protest and she staggered, barely able to keep herself up right. In fact, though an effort with her bare legs cramping and yet somehow at the same time numb, she was relieved to be kneeling down on the carpet between his spread thighs.
He spread wider and stared down at her, his eyes nothing but a pair of stars in the pitch below the sweep of the hood. However, she could read the impatience and the unvoiced threat. The threat that had never gone away. Wincing against the cramps and quivering soreness in the muscles of her legs she leaned in, noting that his shaft was nowhere near the proportion it had seemed to have been while up her ass. She pinched the root of his hardness in one hand and the big, weighty scrotum in the other and then slid her mouth down over the fat, swollen head.
The smell and taste of his hard pulsing phallus felt like the least disturbing part of the whole horrifying experience, and she didn’t even hesitate, even when the unpleasant aroma slid up her nostrils and the heat of it seemed to fill the cavern of her mouth.
She slipped her full saliva-slick lips down the foreskin while rolling and washing her tongue around the quickly cavity-filling organ.
One of those claw-like, long fingered hands sealed itself on the crown of her bald head and after a pause, his fingers caressing the sweaty and pliant flesh, he tightened his grip and jerked her face down hard into his crotch with all the expected belligerent cruelty. Of course, Asajj had anticipated that and at the right moment, she had positioned herself accordingly and the bloated crown popped into her throat and lunged down her gullet.
She transferred her hands to his bony knees and, guided by his tightly gripping hand, rammed her face urgently up and down in his lap.
It took three dozen of this hard, grating and thoroughly unpleasant deep throating thrusts before his scrotum unleashed its fill. He tensed up and perhaps a little growl escaped his throat but the only way she truly knew he had peaked was that he put both hands onto the sides of her head, covering her ears, the talon fingers digging in to her flesh forcibly maintaining her self-impalement throughout.
She felt hot projectile spurts bursting down her gullet and spattering over her tongue and across the roof of her mouth. His orgasm was unsurprisingly protracted and plentiful. She swallowed when she could, sucked air into her lungs when she could, which was little and infrequent. And she had to immerse herself into the Force to regulate her body, to keep herself energised and capable having such little oxygen in her system.
Even when his orgasm finally subsided, from trickle to ooze then final tiny seepage, his hands remained clamped on her head. She took the hint and worked on the member, licking and sucking him clean, while he slowly slid her mouth from root to crown and back, it was another dozen up and down motions, though this time, unbearably slow.
When she had him clean and polished, almost surprised that he hadn’t resurged into full hardness with the amount of oral attention he had forced from her, he finally relaxed.
Asajj hesitantly went to slide her lips from his wilted member but the hands gripping her skull, ever implying her imminent murder by manual crushing, still insisted she maintain the seal of her full and now swollen lips.
His final conclusion came in the form of emptying his bladder into her mouth. All she could do was gulp down mouthful after mouthful of his hot, rancid urine. She didn’t think twice about drinking his all. Once he was finished, with a satisfied sigh, he finally released his forceful grip on the soft skin of her head and allowed Asajj her freedom.
She pushed herself painfully to her feet, staggering, sickened, weak, feeling bludgeoned, both in her mind and her body.
“You may dress and leave, child. You have purchased your life back, at least for today.”
There was a diaphanous, black hooded-robe neatly folded on the carpet at the opposite end of the chamber. With bone-aching slowness, even though she couldn’t wait to be away from this nightmare of a pale, aged human, Ventress pulled on the partially transparent garment. Her bone white flesh glowing through the thin, clinging ebony fabric which had no fastenings on the front and in fact not enough fabric to pull around her. It hung from her high, swollen breasts, which were already discoloured with newly blossoming bruises. It hadn’t surprised her; she ached all over. The length draped to the floor, the cut left a long central rectangle of her flesh exposed, from her inner thighs, her naked groin and navel and the high sweeping inner curves of her breasts, then right up to her collar bones and throat.
She turned back to the old man and instinctively offered him a deep bow, fuelled by nothing more than sheer terror. He acknowledged her obsequiousness with a little smile.
“You will inform your master, that you indeed show promise. And I will be watching your progress with… interest… Now, leave me.”
<><><>
“And you have no idea who had was? Or why you were sent to him?”
“Why I was sent to him was perfectly obvious. As soon as the fear had lessened as I left that chamber and stepped onto a shuttle craft, or at least into the bare hold of a shuttlecraft… through the pain that filled my body I felt that same icy cold block in my abdomen. It was heavier than I had ever felt it and seemed to fill me to the very tips of my fingers and toes.”
“That’s what the Dark Side feels like?”
“It is one way of expressing it.” Ventress said with a shrug. “And I was filled to the brim for the first time. And the more I sat there in the dark with nothing but horror of that event and the physical pain filling me, I started to look at that block of ice, started to realise that it was power, terrible power, but it was right there for the using and it was more power than I had ever felt, or even thought possible.”
“So, the rape and torture by that old man had advanced your connection with the Dark side?”
“Indeed.”
“What did Count Dooku do when you returned?”
“He put me in my place. The Dark Side gives you such a feeling of power that your confidence to defeat your enemies is like the ultimate spice hit. You feel like you can take anyone. And my master needed to show me that he was still my superior still more terrible that I could ever be, so he beat me to within an inch of my life.”
“Damn.”
“I was already a mess of course. So afterwards he sealed me into another Bacta tank, fed intravenously, no light, no contact. It was another torture, which lasted for six weeks. But I healed and the Dark Side within me was continually fed. So, when I came out it was a raging fire. He released me finally and put me naked and dripping Bacta out into the courtyard. I remember it was snowing heavily. Those five doors opened and fifty assorted males came sprinting toward me. Everyone, naked, rampant and mindless with spice-induced lust. This time no one so much as put a hand on me.”
“You passed the test.”
Asajj nodded.
“The following morning, my Master presented me with my lightsabers.”
She patted her slender jutting hipbone, where one of the familiar polished chromium curved hilts was clipped.
Next: Part Three — Opress.
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Asajj Ventress’ Sub-Dom Adventures.