Title: In a Position of Command
Disclaimer: I am not making any money from this, and they doesnt belong to me.
Did you know he wants you, Father?
I can see it in his eyes - the way he looks at you, at us. He waits just inside the entranceway, waiting for you, standing to attention, his back rigidly straight. Too straight, too rigid - like he's forcing himself not to... not to what? Not to come forward - not to join in? Or to push me aside - rip open the bonds you've got me in, and throw me aside... take my place...?
I know that, right now, you want me to concentrate on what you're doing to me. I know Palpatine's told you that you've got the week to break me, or I'm to be disposed of. And believe me, I can't ignore what you're doing to me right now. It's horrifying: smothering my mind, blurring the line between pleasure and pain.
Every thrust you make yanks at my arms: pulls at the muscles in my shoulders that have been forced to take my weight, and scratches the rope around my wrists - the rope that holds me suspended just a few millimetres from the floor. Part of me believes that you didn't suspend me like this to make me feel more humiliated than I already do - it's more like... more like it makes it a more comfortable fuck for you; makes my shorter body more accessible to you. The fact it causes me pain is... a bonus? Or just inconsequential?
The pain in my arms is the sharpest ache, but only because somehow I've become used to the pain of you entering me. It still burns - Force, it burns! - but I know that any minute now you'll move one of your hands from where you've wrapped them around my chest - for leverage - and wrap it around my cock, instead. And then the pain will become pleasurable, and that's worse. So much worse.
It'll become overwhelming, then. It'll spiral, until the humiliation will become arousing and the arousal will be humiliating. Then the pain of the burns where you grazed me with your saber blade, the harlequin pattern of welts that crosses my skin, will burn with an erotic sting. And I'll want you to have me - I'll want you to dominate me. I won't beg, but I'll want to. And you'll know it.
And he'll know it.
Who is he, anyway? Why are you letting him stand there and watch us? Is this a lesson for me - that I'm nothing, just a fuck, a nobody, unless you're inside me. Or is it a lesson for him...?
You called him 'Piett'. He's got the insignia of an admiral. 'Admiral Piett'. So he's somebody important. More important than me?
Why did I flinch when I thought that? I'm your son - who could be more important to the you? Maybe I shouldn't be worrying about that, anyway. I shouldn't care if I'm important to my father, not when I'm trying so hard to reject you.
But the look in the admiral's eye as he watches us - is that jealousy? I'm hanging here - trussed up, beaten and in pain, my own father fucking me - and he's jealous of that? He wants this, what I have - Darth Vader's lust. A strange feeling curls in my mind - almost gloating, but not quite. I lift my gaze to the admiral's, and see him swallow reflexively, look aside slightly.
Then one of your hands leaves my chest, trailing down my stomach, finding my cock - and stroking it. I close my eyes at the sensation - and just as quickly open them again, staring straight at the admiral, gasping at what you're making me feel.
Your admiral is still standing to attention, as straight and stiff as a cadet on parade. But he's watching me, Father - he's watching. And as I spiral towards orgasm, I feel powerful, suddenly. Is this what you're trying to show me, Father? That there's a power in this, a power that I want?
Because you know he wants you, don't you, Father?
And he can't have you - because you're mine.