Chapter 17: Speeder spanking
The speeder lot was a symphony of urban noise—the whine of repulsorlifts, the distant echo of speeder traffic from the levels above, the hum of the anti-grav generators embedded in the permacrete. Charlie stood there, the morning sun cutting sharp angles across the polished vehicles, feeling utterly exposed despite the bustling anonymity of Coruscant. The laughter of the two Twi’lek girls still echoed in his ears as they’d disappeared around a corner, their teasing glances lingering like a phantom touch.
But the real discomfort was a persistent, snug tightness around his groin and thighs, a silken friction that was decidedly… wrong.
Shaak Ti had told him to wait. He could see her speeder, a sleek orange and white coupe, thirty meters away.But this couldn’t wait. A horrible, dawning suspicion was coiling in his gut, warmer and more insistent than the sunlight. He remembered the frantic scramble to get dressed in Padmé’s dim bedroom, grabbing what felt like his own pants from the pile on the rug.He hadn’t looked.
With a furtive glance around the mostly-empty lot, he shuffled sideways into the narrow shadow cast by a towering advertisement pillar. His heart thumped against his ribs.This was stupid.It couldn’t be.
He undid his belt buckle with trembling fingers.Unzipped his fly. Hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his trousers and his… unders.He pushed everything down in one mortified rush.
The Coruscant air was cool on his bare thighs.And there they were.
Not his standard-issue Temple briefs.These were a whisper-thin, pale lavender silk, dotted with tiny, embroidered silver stars. The cut was high on the hips, the front a delicate V, and the back—he could feel it—was essentially a glorified string digging into the cleft of his ass. They were absurd.They were feminine.They were unmistakably, undeniably Padmé’s.
“Kriffing hells,” he breathed, the words evaporating in the traffic din. A hot wave of humiliation washed over him, followed by a traitorous, prickling thrill. He’d been wearing these all morning.Under his robes. Through the walk out of Padmé’s building, past the guards.While Shaak Ti gave him that knowing, grumpy look.
He heard the crisp, familiar tap of boots on permacrete.Too late to pull them up.
He froze, pants and underwear around his ankles, staring at the lavender scandal hugging his hips.
“I believe I said to wait by the speeder, Padawan.”
Shaak Ti’s voice was calm, a melodic counterpoint to the city’s roar.She didn’t sound angry.She sounded… interested.
Charlie didn’t move.He couldn’t. The world had narrowed to the feel of silk on his skin and his Master’s approaching presence.She stepped into his slice of shadow. Her eyes, usually warm amber, took in the scene with a single, comprehensive sweep: his exposed legs, the puddle of beige trousers, the delicate underwear.Her montrals tilted slightly. “I see your diplomatic negotiations included a terms of surrender clause.”
“Master, I can explain—” he started, frantically bending to yank his pants up.
“Don’t you dare,” she said, her voice light but firm. A subtle pressure in the Force pinned his hands to his sides for just a moment—long enough for her to have a good, long look.A smile played on her lips. “Naboo silk, if I’m not mistaken.And a rather bold choice in cut. Senator Amidala has excellent taste.And a devious sense of humor.”
The Force-hold released. Charlie scrambled, hauling the trousers up over the offending silk, his face burning. He fastened his belt with clumsy, furious tugs.“It was an accident! I grabbed the wrong… I didn’t know!”
“Of course you didn’t,” Shaak Ti said, her tone dripping with mock sympathy. She reached out and plucked a single, almost invisible silver thread from his tunic shoulder—a stray from the luxurious bedding, no doubt.“Completely innocent. A victim of circumstance.And yet, here you are, wearing a queen’s smallclothes. It has a certain poetic justice, don’t you think? After all your… bold actions.”
Before Charlie could muster a retort, another voice cut through the air.
“Well, look who’s finally up!”
Ahsoka Tano rounded the advertisement pillar, her sharp blue eyes missing nothing. Barriss Offee followed, her pace more serene, her expression one of polite curiosity.
Ahsoka’s grin was instantaneous and predatory. “We heard you had a ‘late night briefing.’” She made air quotes. “Couldn’t even dress yourself this morning, huh, Charlie?”
Charlie straightened his tunic, aiming for nonchalance and achieving something closer to terrified rigidity. “I’m dressed just fine.”
“Are you, though?” Ahsoka stepped closer, circling him like a hawk-bat.“You’re walking funny. And you’ve got a weird… line. Right here.” She poked a finger at the side of his hip, where the high-cut leg of the lavender panties created a visible seam beneath his trousers.Charlie swatted her hand away. “It’s called a seam, ‘Soka. Clothes have them.”
“Not like that, they don’t.” She smirked, leaning in.“It’s too high. And too… lacy.”
Barriss’s brows lifted slightly. “Lacy?”
“It’s not lacy!” Charlie’s voice cracked. He shot a pleading look at Shaak Ti, who merely watched, her arms folded, enjoying the spectacle.
“It absolutely is,” Ahsoka pressed.“I can see the pattern through your pants.Little stars. Very pretty.” She turned to Shaak Ti. “Master, has your Padawan taken up intimate celestial cartography?”
Shaak Ti’s smile widened.“It appears his studies have taken a… novel turn. I was just about to inquire about the curriculum.”
“It was a joke!” Charlie blurted out, desperation setting in.“Padmé thought it would be funny.A prank. That’s all.”
“A prank,” Shaak Ti repeated, her head tilting. “So you’re the victim here. Not the brat who orchestrated a public spanking performance just last week.”
Ahsoka’s eyes lit up. “You did what?”
“It’s not important,” Charlie muttered.“It sounds important.” Barriss offered softly, a faint smile touching her lips.
Shaak Ti gestured toward her speeder. “Well, ‘victim,’ your plight has moved me.We shall address this grave injustice at the training grounds. Perhaps some focused kata will help you… feel more like yourself.” Her tone promised the opposite.
Ahsoka fell into step beside Charlie as they walked.“So, little stars, huh? You know, I think I have a pair of socks with a similar pattern. We could match.”
“Shut up.”
“Does the string back ride up when you do a Form IV lunge? Because that could be a tactical disadvantage.”
“I will force-push you into a garbage chute.”
“You could try. But you’d probably split your fancy new undies.”
The flight to the Temple training grounds was a silent torment for Charlie, acutely aware of the secret silk against his skin. Shaak Ti piloted with a serene focus, but the occasional glance she threw his way was pure, unadulterated mischief.
The training salle was vast and echoingly empty at this hour. Sunlight streamed through high windows, illuminating floating dust motes. The floor was a well-worn mat, smelling of polish and effort.
“Right,” Shaak Ti said, slipping off her outer robe and draping it over a bench. “Given the… compromised nature of your foundation garment, we’ll forego acrobatics.Let’s work on stance.Rootedness. Since you seem a little… ungrounded today.”
Ahsoka and Barriss sat on a bench against the wall, spectators to his impending doom.“Beginning stance. Now.” Shaak Ti’s voice lost its playful edge, taking on the resonant command of a Master.
Charlie assumed the position, feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent, hands loose at his sides.“Wider,” Shaak Ti instructed.
He adjusted.“I said wider, Padawan.Do you understand Basic? Wider stance.”
He spread his legs further, feeling the silken fabric pull tight across his inner thighs. A blush heated his neck.Shaak Ti walked a slow circle around him.“Good.Now hold it. Feel your connection to the floor.Ignore distractions. Such as, for example, the intimate knowledge that you are wearing another woman’s underwear.”
A snort came from Ahsoka’s bench. Charlie focused on a crack in the far wall.
“Feel the Force flowing from the planet’s core, up through your legs, solidifying your center,” Shaak Ti continued, her voice a hypnotic drone.“It does not concern itself with trivialities.Like lace. Or satin.”
Charlie’s legs began to tremble. The stance was deliberately wide, straining muscles he didn’t use in standard forms.“Master Ti,” Ahsoka called out, innocently. “Shouldn’t his feet be turned out a little more for optimal root? For true stability?”
A slow, wicked smile spread across Shaak Ti’s face. “An excellent point, Padawan Tano.Charlie?Turn your feet out.Just a few more degrees.”
He did it. The movement, slight as it was, made the lavender silk cinch unforgivingly tight in a very specific, very vulnerable place.He gritted his teeth.
“Comfortable?” Shaak Ti asked, coming to stand in front of him.
“Yes, Master.”
“Liar.” She said it pleasantly.“But discipline is about enduring discomfort.Holding position when every nerve screams to move. It’s about control.” She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping so only he could hear. “And you, my dear, have very little control right now, do you?”
He said nothing, staring straight ahead, sweat beading on his temple.She straightened up.“Alright. Let’s test that root.Ahsoka.”
“Yes, Master?”
“Give him a little push. A light one. Let’s see if he’s as grounded as he looks.”
Ahsoka was on her feet in an instant, a gleam in her eye. She walked up to Charlie, who remained locked in his agonizing stance.She placed a hand flat on his chest.
“Ready, stardust?”
He braced, pouring his focus into his feet.
Ahsoka pushed.It was firm, but not forceful.His body swayed back, but his feet held. He rocked forward again, re-establishing his balance.
“Hmm,” Shaak Ti mused.“Adequate. But I suspect the disturbance was more emotional than physical.” She circled him again.“Let’s try a different kind of push. Barriss, come here please.”
Barriss approached, her expression serene. “Master?”
“Use a minimal, localized Force nudge.Right at his center of gravity.Just enough to test his stability.”
Barriss nodded. She stood before Charlie, raised a hand slightly, and focused.
Charlie felt it—a soft, insistent pressure right below his navel, not shoving him backwards, but unsettling his core, trying to lift him slightly off his root. He strained, sinking his weight down, his thighs burning.He held.“Interesting,” Shaak Ti said.She was behind him now. He couldn’t see her.“You’re fighting it.Using muscle, not the Force. You’re tense. All this effort, just to keep your balance in a simple stance.” Her voice was right by his ear. “What are you so afraid of tipping over, I wonder?”
The pressure from Barriss ceased.Charlie let out a shaky breath, but held the stance.
Then, he felt a different sensation.Not a push.A tug.A gentle, insistent tugging at his waistband.
His eyes went wide.He glanced down.
The clasp of his belt was undoing itself, the metal tongue sliding slowly, silently, from its loop. It was a precise, delicate use of the Force.“Master…” he whispered, panic flooding his voice.
“Hold your stance, Padawan,” Shaak Ti purred from behind him. “A Jedi is rooted beyond physical bindings.”
The belt slithered free.Then, the button of his trousers popped open. The zipper began to lower itself, tooth by tooth, with a soft, continuous zzzzip.
Charlie stopped breathing.Ahsoka’s hand flew to her mouth, her shoulders shaking with silent laughter. Barriss looked on, her curiosity now deep, fascinated astonishment.
The trousers, loosened, began to slide down his trembling legs.They pooled around his ankles.
He stood there, in the vast, sunlit hall, in the wide, agonizing stance, wearing nothing but his boots, his tunic, and the pale lavender, star-studded panties.
The silken secret was now a public spectacle.He was mortified.Exposed. The cool air of the salle washed over his bare legs and the stretched silk.Shaak Ti stepped back into his field of view. She studied him, head tilted, as if examining a piece of art. “There,” she said softly, a note of finality in her voice.“Now you’re properly grounded.No more hiding. No more pretense.Just you. And your choices.” Her eyes met his, and in their amber depths, he saw not cruelty, but a profound, challenging understanding. “Hold the stance.”
Charlie, his face aflame, his body humming with shame and an undeniable, shocking thrill, held it.The game had escalated beyond anything he’d imagined. And he was utterly, completely at her mercy.
The silence in the training salle was absolute, broken only by the distant hum of Coruscant traffic and Charlie’s own ragged breathing. The cool air kissed his exposed thighs. He was a statue of pure, flaming mortification, rooted to the spot not by the Force but by sheer, paralyzing shock.
Ahsoka’s silent laughter evaporated. Her blue eyes widened, then narrowed with dawning, predatory delight. She let out a low, appreciative whistle. “Wow. They’re even prettier with the full view.”
“Master Ti, is this… customary?” Barriss asked, her voice a mixture of genuine inquiry and barely-concealed fascination. She didn’t look away.
“Discipline takes many forms, Padawan Offee,” Shaak Ti replied, her gaze never leaving Charlie’s burning face. “Today’s lesson is about composure under… unique pressure. He seems to be failing.”
Ahsoka took a step forward, circling him again. This time, her inspection was slow, deliberate. “The cut is very flattering. Really highlights the… architecture.” She stopped behind him. “And the back! It’s basically dental floss. Brave choice for a day of lightsaber drills.”
“It was an accident,” Charlie ground out through clenched teeth. His thighs trembled from maintaining the wide stance.
“Of course,” Ahsoka said, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. She reached out a single finger and lightly flicked the silken string that disappeared between his cheeks.
Charlie jolted as if shocked. A strangled sound escaped his throat.
“Sensitive?” Ahsoka mused. She looked at Shaak Ti, a question in her eyes. The Jedi Master gave an almost imperceptible nod, a small smile playing on her lips. Permission granted.
Ahsoka’s playful demeanor sharpened into something more focused. She moved to stand directly in front of Charlie, blocking his view of the door, of escape. “You know, for a guy who’s always running his mouth, you’re pretty quiet right now.” She poked his stomach, just above the lace-trimmed waistband. “What’s the matter? Jedi robes not breathable enough for you today?”
“Shut up, ‘Soka,” he muttered, his eyes fixed on a point over her shoulder.
“Make me.” She grinned. Then she turned to Barriss. “Hey, Barriss. You think he’s rooted enough? Master Ti said to test his stability.”
Barriss hesitated, her hands clasped primly before her. “I… I performed the Force nudge as instructed.”
“Yeah, but that was before the pants came off,” Ahsoka said, her logic merciless. “The variables have changed. We need new data. A physical test.” She leaned in closer to Charlie, her voice dropping to a taunting whisper. “Unless you want to admit you can’t hold it? That you’re too… distracted?”
Charlie’s jaw tightened. “Do your worst.”
“Gladly.” Ahsoka nodded to Barriss. “A little help?”
Barriss chewed her lip for a second, then stepped forward, a flush on her cheeks. She wasn’t as naturally teasing as Ahsoka, but a clinical curiosity seemed to win out. She positioned herself at Charlie’s left side. “A joint destabilization effort seems logical. To properly assess his root.”
Ahsoka took his right. They each placed a hand on his shoulders. Their touches were light, but the intent was clear.
“Okay, stardust,” Ahsoka said. “Don’t let a couple of girls knock you over. Wouldn’t look good on your report.”
They began to push, not with brute force, but with a steady, alternating pressure. Left, then right. It was a rhythmic, rocking motion. Charlie swayed, his muscles corded with strain. The wide stance that was already torture now became a precarious balancing act. Every shift made the delicate silk rub and pull in ways that sent jolts of awareness straight to his core.
“He’s fighting it,” Barriss observed quietly, her push firmer. “He’s using counter-pressure in his legs, but his center is tense. Unyielding.”
“Maybe we need to loosen him up,” Ahsoka suggested. She stopped pushing and, quick as a snake, ducked down and tickled his bare side.
Charlie yelped, buckling sideways. Barriss’s steady push met no resistance and he stumbled two steps to the left, his balance utterly broken. The wide stance collapsed. He stood there, panting, defeated, the pale lavender a glaring banner of his humiliation.
“Root broken,” Ahsoka announced with mock solemnity. She looked at Shaak Ti. “Diagnosis: terminally ungrounded. Probably a fabric-related condition.”
Shaak Ti finally moved, walking a slow circle around her disgraced Padawan. “The garment seems to be a significant distraction. It interferes with his connection to the moment.” She stopped in front of him. Her voice was thoughtful. “Perhaps we should remove the distraction.”
Charlie’s eyes shot to hers, wide with a new kind of alarm. “Master, no—”
“You said it yourself, Padawan. It was a prank. An accident.” Her tone was lethally reasonable. “If it is hindering your training, it should be removed. Ahsoka.”
“Yes, Master?” Ahsoka’s voice was bright with anticipation.
“Assist your fellow Padawan. Relieve him of this… impediment.”
Ahsoka didn’t need to be told twice. She stepped behind Charlie. He flinched, but a gentle, unyielding pressure from Shaak Ti through the Force held him still—not a lock, but a heavy suggestion of don’t you dare move.
He felt Ahsoka’s fingers hook into the delicate waistband at his hips. The silk was taut.
“Ready for your close-up, superstar?” she whispered, her breath warm on his back.
Then she pulled.
The silk slid down his thighs, a whisper of finality. It caught for a moment on his arousal, which was now painfully, undeniably obvious, before falling to join his trousers around his ankles. The cool air of the salle was suddenly everywhere, a shocking intimacy.
He was completely exposed. The game had vaporized, leaving only raw, trembling reality. He squeezed his eyes shut, a hot shame flooding him, so intense it felt like a physical weight.
The silence stretched, thick and awful.
Then, a different touch. Not Ahsoka’s. Softer. A finger, tracing the faint, pink lines left on his skin by the paddle the night before. He opened his eyes.
Barriss was crouched in front of him, her face a mask of clinical detachment, but her eyes were dark with an intensity that made his breath catch. She wasn’t teasing. She was studying. Her finger followed the pattern of the strikes with a strange, gentle precision.
“These are recent,” she stated, her voice quiet. She looked up at him, then over at Shaak Ti. “This isn’t just about underwear. This is a continuation.”
Shaak Ti’s smile was a slow, secret thing. “Very observant, Padawan Offee.”
Ahsoka peered over Barriss’s shoulder. “Whoa. Someone’s been a very naughty Jedi.” She let out a low whistle. “And someone else has been very thorough.” She looked at Charlie, her smirk gone, replaced by a look of genuine, impressed curiosity. “Padmé?”
Charlie gave a tiny, desperate nod, unable to form words.
“Huh,” Ahsoka said, straightening up. She circled to face him again, her earlier mockery replaced by a frank, assessing stare. She took in his full, humiliated state—the flushed face, the trembling limbs, the undeniable physical evidence of his conflicting emotions. Her gaze was unwavering.
“So that’s the deal,” she said, more to herself than anyone. “You like it. You’re embarrassed out of your mind, but you’re also… really into it.” She shook her head, a slow grin spreading. “You’re a weird guy, Charlie.”
The directness of it, the absolute lack of judgment in her observation, was somehow more devastating than the teasing. It laid him bare in a way the physical exposure hadn’t. There was no hiding now, from any of them.
Shaak Ti stepped close, breaking the spell. She placed a single, warm finger under his chin, lifting his face until his watery eyes met her calm, knowing amber ones. “The lesson, my wayward Padawan, is about acceptance,” she said, her voice soft but carrying through the silent hall. “You hide behind brattiness and jokes. You cling to your secrets and your shame. True strength lies in standing in your truth, however unusual it may be. However exposed.”
Charlie stood alone in the center of the vast room, his clothes around his ankles, more vulnerable than he had ever been in his life. Shaak Ti walked to the bench and picked up her robe. She didn’t hand it to him. She simply stood, holding it, waiting.
The choice was his. To crumble, to rage, to flee.
Or to finally, truly, begin.