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Title: Winter on Tatooine
Author: Elle
Rating: NC-17
Time Period: Sequel to The Break
Summary: Sequel to the Break. PWP.
Character: Vader(Anankin)/original female
Category: PWP, some BDSM
Disclaimer: None of it's mine and I'm not making a profit.

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"There are few things more disturbing than to find, in somebody we detest, a moral quality which seems demonstrably superior to anything
we ourselves possess."-- Pamela Hansford Johnson

Part I

A handful of credits changed your life forever. They got you free of turning tricks, allowed you to set up a life for yourself. A handful of credits also ruined your life.

Sometimes when you stand and look at your shop, thinking about what you've done for yourself, you realize he didn't pay you enough for what he did to you. He touched you with something wonderful, then left you behind to wither. All the money in the world wouldn't make up for the five years you've suffered alone.

The man's name was Darth Vader and he used you horribly. He came to you as the man is he is now, a black clad warlord, only half human. He came to you as he was then, as a handsome young man so consumed with pain and passion that you could feel its heat on your skin. You didn't realize at the time, but he wasn't just paying for your body, as all your other clients did. He was inside your mind too, and he left himself burned into your brain.

You now belong to that man named Vader. He owns you. And he left youbehind like a dog longing for its master.

* * *


So when he comes back you can feel him. You are in bed, asleep, listening to sandy wind howl and scrape against your window. Then it hits you like a brand burning your skin. He is close.

You are awake instantly. Somehow you know instinctively that he is miles away, still in space, but he is *coming.* You don't know whether or not it is for you.

You pull on clothing as fast as you can. You don't bother with your hair or makeup. You doubt he cares about such things. You are outside when you realize you don't know where he will land. You run your hands through your hair, near tears because you need him so badly.

Then the whine of TIE fighters cuts through the predawn air and you look up. They are headed for Mos Espa. In minutes you are in your speeder and on your way.

You find the stormtroopers at Mawbo's inquiring after you. Mawbo is shaking her head, gesturing violently. She does not know you want to be found. Who would want to be taken by Imperials? No one in their right mind.

"Here," you say. "I'm here."

The stormtroopers do not seem surprised that you have found them. Are all Vader's whores so pathetic, you wonder?

Mawbo looks sick.

"It's okay," you tell her. "It isn't what you think."

They take you to a shuttle and up to a larger ship hanging above Tatooine's red wastelands. Your heart is in your throat. You are so excited that you feel faint. Once or twice the stormtroopers have to hold you up. Their black-gloved hands remind you of him  and make your skin burn.

You can feel yourself getting closer to him. The brand gets hotter every step you take. Finally, you think, finally I've come home.

They take you to a small, circular room. He is not waiting this time. In the center of the room is a tall metal frame shaped like an X. One of the stormtroopers, apparently some sort of officer judging from the pauldroon on his shoulder, shifts uncomfortably.

"You're supposed to...disrobe, ma'am," he says, nearly choking on the words.

You strip quickly, not caring if an entire legion watches you. You already sense what the X is for. You stand with your back to it, limbs resting against each of the legs. They snap metal cuffs around your wrists and ankles, binding you efficiently.

Then they leave. And it is dark. And you wait for him.

Part II

You feel him, corridors away, coming to you. His presence is like asecond heartbeat, throbbing through your body. It's been this connection that you've missed the past five years, the feeling of being part of another person.

The X that you are bound to is not meant for comfort. You legs are spread too wide to let you properly put your weight on you feet. Your arms ache from blood loss. The limbs of the X cross just over your lower back, leaving your buttocks and upper back almost completely
exposed, preventing you from leaning back. The metal is cold and your shoulders are burning with strain. But you concentrate on him and forget your pain. Every inch closer he gets, the warmer you feel.

A second door hisses open behind you. You hear his rasping breath and you could weep with joy. The door closes and he is silent for a long time.

Finally he says, "I have misjudged you."

You have no idea what he is talking about. You don't care. You wish, almost panic-stricken, that he would touch you.

"I've tried to be random in my encounters, but it seems not random enough," he continues. "Tell me, how did they find out I would go to Tatooine?"

You shake your head, confused. He is distancing himself from you. Last time his warm presence surrounded you, now he is cold and feels too far away. He is holding back.

"Please," you say.

"Please what?" he answers. His voice is completely lacking in emotion.

"I don't understand," you say. "Why won't you touch me?"

There is sudden whip-crack of pain along your buttocks, sharp and intense. You gasp and lurch forward as far as the bonds will allow. You think it may have been a whip indeed, but it's impossible to tell.

Once the skin stops stinging a warmth begins to radiate from the lash, spreading a tingling desire along your skin.

"Is that what you wanted?" he asks cruelly.

"Yes," you gasp.

He is silent. You can feel his anger, palpable and bitter in the dark air. He strikes you again, harder. This time it is only pain. Much to your own disgust, you don't care, it's still something.

He realizes the pain isn't working. You can sense his anger melt into confusion and frustration. You feel a hot line of blood trickle down the back of your thigh.

"You are enjoying this," he says. There’s more than a hint of accusation in his voice.

You start crying, humiliated, but needier than anything. "I can't help it," you whisper. "After...after you left I felt like I was freezing up inside...and now that you're back, I'm warm again."

He is quiet only for a moment. Then his hand fists in your hair and tilts your head back to finally look at him.

"What are you talking about?" he asks angrily.

You are sobbing quietly. "Don't you feel it? There's a connection between us."

Then another blow. This one barely registers.

"How did they find you?" he demands. "How did they send you to me?"

"Who?" you cry.

Another blow. "The rebels."

You twist your head around trying to see him in the dim light. "I don't know what you're talking about." Your mouth is salty with tears.

You prepare for another sting of pain, but nothing comes. Your mouth feels sticky and your throat burns from crying.

There is a rustling movement and then he is in front of you. He tilts something up to your lips. You swallow back the water, obscenely grateful for even such a small kindness.

"You are not lying," he says finally. "I can sense as much."

You hang your head, exhausted. "Please don't leave me again."

His emotions hang around you like a gauzy curtain, brushing your skin, allowing you to read him. He is perplexed.

A leather gloved finger slides between the lips of your sex. The seam of the glove brushes your clit. You gasp, lurching forward, and nearly come. As before, his touch shoots through you tenfold what a normal man's would. You can sense him, what he *is*, like a dark cloud roiling through you. It is angry and cold, but at the same time bursting with unfulfilled sexuality and power.

He has stopped touching you. You are almost painfully bereft.

"You would like me to torture you," he says. "Just to be near me."

"Yes," you admit, your sex still throbbing.

"Like an addict," he says.

"Yes." You are shaking. He is so close and still not touching you. It's actually painful to bear.

The soft leather-clad hand reaches up to grasp your throat, squeezing a tiny bit and tilting your head to look at him. "This connection between us is powerful isn't it?"

You nod as best you can.

"You can feel my emotions, can't you?" he asks.

"Yes," you whisper.

"And for that alone I'll have to kill you," he says.

You are both afraid and relieved. You've been in agony for five years. At least death would mean some sort of respite.

"You could keep me," you whisper. "Use me when you need. I'd be quiet. I'd stay out of the way."

He laughs darkly. "I don't doubt it. You were the only one who wasn't repulsed afterward."

Visions of other whores on other worlds fill your head. You feel the terror and disgust they feel once his seduction is complete. Once they realize he is the handsome blond-haired man who had been inside of them. None of them felt the invisible tug of power tying him to them, just his thrall then nothing.

"Why you, little whore?" he asks.

"I don't know," you say. You are no different from those other women.

"I think I do," he says. "I'll leave you with something to keep you occupied while I make certain."

Suddenly he is in your mind again, and you feel dozens of hands and mouths on your skin. They are all his somehow. The pleasure is too much to bear. You faint.

As your vision blackens, you hear him mutter, "I am not done with you yet."

Part III

You hang loose-limbed from the X, slipping back into consciousness. Much to your shame you hear a droplet of desire hit the floor from below your spread legs. You don't know how long you've been out.

Eventually the door in front of you slides open and a man enters. He wears the uniform of an Imperial physician. He is impassive as he unbinds you. He helps you to a small cabin and tells you to lie down on the bed. He tends the welts on your back then leaves you to sleep.

As you drift off, your paramour is waiting for you in your dreams.

* * *

You open your eyes only an instant later. You are still facedown, but the bed is larger, the sheets silky and black. The room is painted a dusky red and the dim lighting makes the light on your skin nearly amber.

He is sitting on the foot of the bed watching you. He is back to being the handsome tawny-haired man who could sweep any woman off her feet. Only his eyes belie his true self. There is something cruel and hard to them, softened only by the desire you feel coming off of him in waves. You know you are dreaming, but you also know this is very real. Pleasure exists here and pain. Perhaps you are in his mind or he in yours, or someplace only both of you can reach.

His fingertips play over your spine, tracing the welts he made earlier. His touch is light, and it is a soft moan of pleasure that builds in your throat.

"I thought you were a traitor," he said. "I thought the rebels sent you to track me somehow." His voice is deep, but not as gravely as when he wears the mask.

"No," you say. "I really am just a whore." Watching him with your neck twisted around is uncomfortable, so you flip over onto your back. You wince as the lashes brush the sheets. You realize he is nude.

He takes your ankle in a strong hand and pulls you down the bed so that he can lean over your face.

"You're not just a whore," he whispers. His tongue darts out to tracethe seam of your lips. You lean up to kiss him, but he pulls away. "You're something much more."

He traces his fingers down your stomach, dipping one into your navel. "You're sympathetic to the Force," he says. "You can't control it, but you can certainly feel it. That's how you feel me."

It seems absurd, but you would believe anything he told you.

"You're like a little prism," he says. "You pick it up and focus it somehow." His fingers glide between your sex.

You arch your back and gasp. He dips one finger inside of you, twirling it slowly and stretching you. "And for some reason," he whispers darkly in your ear, "you focus it sexually." Then his finger curls forward and presses down on that spot inside you. You gasp and spasm around him.

He laughs at you, in spite of you, and it feels cruel.

"I own you," he says.

"I know." Your voice is rasping as your orgasm trails off.

"What if I said you could stay with me always?" he asks.

"Yes," you moan.

"What if when I didn't want you, I just passed you around to all the other men on this ship?" he asks. He pulls at one of your nipples, a little roughly.

You know he is trying to hurt you. It's no use. "I would still do it."

He shakes his head. "You're disgusting."

Tears spring to your eyes. "Why? You did this to me. I can't help it." Gently you push his hand away from you. He allows it. He is watching your face. "It's not about control. You've been inside my body, but my head too. You know everything about me. *Everything.* I don't have any reason to be self-conscious or afraid anymore. It's..." you struggle for a word. "It's freeing."

A muscle in his jaw twitches as he stares at you.

You sit up. "I'm forced to be completely honest with you," you say. "This thing between us is above anything you can inflict on me. It's even more honest than love."

That looses his anger. He stands up, furious, shifting like a caged animal. "I loved a woman once. A *good* woman. Don't you dare compare this to her," he shouts. He slaps you, hard. "You are a whore. A submissive."

You lick the blood away from your lip and stare him in the eyes. "I think you like me that way," you say boldly.

You expect him to strike you again, but he doesn't. He grabs your hips and flips you onto your stomach. You arch your back as he pushes into you. You purr "Yes" when he fills you. You were ready for him the first time he touched you.

He is rough, but you didn't expect him any other way. You grasp the headboard of the bed and push back against him. He grips your shoulders and rides you until he reaches his release, then collapses onto your back. Your welts sting from his sweat.

Afterward, exhausted and almost belatedly, he strokes you until you sob his name and come again. In the aftermath of sex you are hazy and drowsy. You sleep and he slips away into ether.

* * *

When you wake you are still tangled in the sheets, naked and sweetly sore.

He is standing in a corner of the room, black-clad and rasping again.

You open your mouth to tell him something, but the door slides open before you have a chance. Three stormtroopers enter. Fear slips a cold knot into your belly. You don't want to go back to Tatooine again. You don't want to be cold again.

"Take her," he says. "She has latent Force abilities. She is a threat. Execute her."

You open your mouth to protest, but no words form. They drag you from the bed, clutching a sheet to your body, and throw you in a holding cell.

* * *


You are numb, waiting for death. Somehow you expected him to be...better than this. But then again, you are keenly aware of what he is. Cruel and calculating you have felt in his touch, he is frozen at the center, but strangely even with the connection you share, you never sensed evil.

When the door unlocks, you straighten yourself, prepared to die with dignity at least. Two troopers take you from the room and down a long hall. You enter a lift, then more halls until you are lost. Then at the end of a very dark corridor they stop in front of a door.

One coughs nervously. The door hisses open.

The room is dark. It is a rather large bedchamber. You sit down on the bed numbly and one of the stormtroopers fastens a narrow metal collar around your neck. You touch the smooth, nearly blue metal. A  restraining collar, meant for a slave...or someone who cannot be trusted.

They leave the room as if they fear it is haunted. You feel him before you see him, and you smile as he melts out of shadow.

He tilts your chin up to him with a black-gloved hand. His mask makes his voice huskier than you know it really is.

"You would let me take you as I am now, wouldn't you?" he asks.

You smile. "Yes."

He pauses. "She wouldn't have."




The End.

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