Chapter 19: Speeder spanking real
The music in Padmé’s suite had shifted, the soft ambient melodies giving way to something with a subtle, pulsing rhythm. The champagne incident was now just a pleasant stain on the evening’s memory, and the crowd had thinned to a more intimate gathering. Charlie, feeling that newfound, fragile equilibrium, found himself standing near Shaak Ti as she listened to a diplomat recount a tedious tale about trade routes.
Her attention was politely on the man, but her presence was a warm, steady hum beside Charlie. She looked regal, her montrals cutting a clean silhouette against the shimmering backdrop of the city through the window. The smooth curve of her leather-clad backside was right there, at his eye level.
It was an impulse, pure and simple.A test.A reclaiming.He reached out and slapped it. Not a hard, aggressive smack, but a crisp, familiar, playful tap of his palm against the leather. The sound was a sharp, intimate punctuation in the flow of the diplomat’s sentence.
Shaak Ti didn’t startle.She didn’t even stop listening. She simply turned her head, just enough for him to see the profile of her smile. It was a smile of deep, private amusement. Her eyes, still angled towards the diplomat, held a glint that promised a universe of retribution.She leaned back slightly, her voice a low murmur meant only for him.
“Go wait by the speeder, Padawan.”
It wasn’t a request.It was a decree. The game was back on, and he had just drawn the first, dangerous card.
Charlie’s bravado flickered. He gave a nonchalant shrug, as if it were nothing, and wound his way through the remaining guests, ignoring Ahsoka’s raised eyebrow from across the room. The hallway outside the suite was quiet, cool. The elevator ride down to the private speeder bay was silent except for the hum of antigrav.
He stepped out into the bay, the vast, echoing space lit by harsh white overhead lights.Their speeder, an open-air two-seater, sat waiting. He leaned against its side, the cool metal seeping through his tunic. The adrenaline from his bold move began to recede, replaced by a creeping, familiar awareness.There was a tightness. A specific, clinging sensation near his groin that had nothing to do with the usual fit of his pants.It was… delicate.Constricting in a way that was unmistakably foreign. His heart, already beating a little fast, started to drum against his ribs.
“No,” he whispered to the empty bay.“No way.”
He glanced around.The bay was deserted. He fumbled with his belt, the clasp suddenly clumsy. He undid his trousers and pushed them down to his ankles in one frantic motion.The air in the bay was cool on his exposed skin. He looked down.Lavender.Again.But not the simple silk from before.These were something else entirely. A filmy, almost translucent lavender lace, with tiny, intricate silver stars embroidered along the edges. The cut was high on the hips, scandalously low in the front and back. They were, without a doubt, the girliest, sassiest panties he’d ever seen. Padmé’s, absolutely. He must have grabbed them in the dark, bleary-eyed, after… everything.The memory was a hazy blur of silk sheets and stolen moments.
A soft laugh echoed from the entrance to the bay.
Two young women, probably junior legislative aides, were walking past, datapads in hand.They’d stopped, staring. One covered her mouth, her eyes wide.The other just grinned, unabashed.
“Nice look,” the grinning one called out, her voice echoing.“Complements your complexion,” the other added, giggling.
Charlie yanked his pants up so fast he almost tripped.Heat flooded his face, burning his ears. “It’s not—this is a… a tactile sensory deprivation exercise!” he blustered, fastening his belt with furious intensity.“Jedi thing. You wouldn’t understand.”
“Oh, we understand,” the first one said, walking away with a final, lingering look. “We understand perfectly.”
They disappeared around a corner, their laughter floating back to him.
He slumped against the speeder, mortification curdling in his gut.This was Shaak Ti’s doing. It had to be.She’d orchestrated this, him putting these on, somehow. It was her kind of warfare.The gentle hum of an approaching speeder broke his misery. Shaak Ti guided their vehicle smoothly into the bay next to his, her expression one of serene calm. She didn’t look at him as she powered down the engine and gracefully stepped from her seat into his.
“Let’s go,” she said, her voice light.
He climbed in silently, the leather seat cold even through his pants. She took off, the speeder gliding out of the bay and into the neon river of Coruscant’s night traffic. The wind whipped through his hair, but it did nothing to cool his simmering embarrassment.He couldn’t stay quiet. The feeling of the lace, the memory of the aides’ smirks, it was too much.
“This isn’t funny,” he said, his voice strained over the wind.
“Hmm?”
“The clothing.My… everything.Especially the underwear.” He practically spat the last word.
Shaak Ti kept her eyes on the traffic lane, but a smirk touched her lips. “Complaining now just means you want your punishment sooner, Charlie. You’re being very loud about your intentions.”
“It’s not an intention, it’s a protest!”
“Semantics.”
They were in a fast-moving lane, speeders zipping around them in a blur of light. Suddenly, without warning, Shaak Ti pulled back on the controls. Their speeder decelerated rapidly and came to a complete, dead stop, hovering in the center of the lane.A blaring horn sounded instantly from behind them. Then another. A cacophony of angry shouts and roars of engines filled the air as speeders swerved violently to avoid them.“Hey! Move it, you bantha-brained—!” “What in the seven corellian hells?!”
Charlie gripped his seat, eyes wide. “Master, what are you—?”
She ignored the chaotic symphony of outrage. She turned in her seat to face him, her gaze calm and focused.She raised a hand.
A monstrous, invisible force gripped his trousers.He felt the fabric strain, the seams protest. Then, with a violent, ripping tear that drowned out the traffic noise, the pants were yanked from his body. The force pulled them clean off, lifting him slightly from the seat for a split second. He watched, stunned, as his trousers sailed through the air in a tumbling arc, over the edge of the speeder and down, down into the endless abyss of the city’s lower levels.
He sat there, in the open-air speeder, stalled in the middle of a major traffic lane, wearing only his tunic, his boots, and the absurdly delicate lavender lace panties. The wind was shockingly cold on his bare legs and thighs.Shaak Ti looked. Her eyes traveled downwards, taking in the exposed reality of his situation.The lace, the silver stars, the entire humiliating tableau.
A giggle escaped her.Then another. It wasn’t a malicious laugh, but a genuine, surprised sound of delight.Her hand came up to cover her mouth, her shoulders shaking.
“Oh, my,” she managed, her eyes crinkling with mirth. “Now I see why you were complaining. They are rather sassy, aren’t they?”
Behind them, a speeder roared past, the driver flipping a rude gesture their way. Shaak Ti, still chuckling.
Shaak Ti, still chuckling, reached across the seat. Her hand didn’t grasp his arm, but the air around his waist. An insistent, telekinetic tug pulled him off balance, lifting and repositioning him with absurd ease before gravity returned, dropping him chest-down across her lap.The console dug into his ribs. His bare legs dangled over the side of the speeder, exposed to the entire streaming lane of traffic. “Master, the cars—” he gasped.“They have lanes,” she said, her voice bright and conversational. Her first smack landed then, a sharp, stinging crack of her palm against the flimsy lavender lace. The sound was startlingly loud, even over the speeder engines. The delicate fabric provided no protection at all.He jolted against her knees. She spanked him again, methodically, her hand covering each lace-clad cheek with brisk, efficient swats.The lace heated under the assault. A speeder truck roared past, its driver letting out a long, approving wolf-whistle.
She hooked her fingers into the waistband of the panties. In one smooth, deliberate motion, she peeled the damp lace down to his knees, baring him completely to the wind and the watching city. The contrast was immediate.Her next strike was a clearer, sharper report against naked skin. He flinched, a hiss escaping his teeth. She established a steady, rhythmic pace, each swat blooming a fresh wave of heat across his sit-spots and thighs. His protests were lost in the cacophony of transit. He could only grip the seat cushion and ride it out, his face burning hotter than his backside.
After twenty minutes of this, his skin was a uniform, warm pink, throbbing in time with his heartbeat. Traffic had thinned slightly, settling into a more consistent flow.A small, sleek convertible speeder purred up alongside them, keeping pace. A young human woman leaned over her passenger seat, her smile wide and friendly. “Hey!” she called over, her voice carrying on the wind. “Haven’t been spanked like that in ages. Takes me back!”
Shaak Ti didn’t stop her rhythmic administration.Swat.Swat.“Oh?” she asked, her tone light and curious. “What happened last time?”
“Got caught joyriding my boss’s luxury yacht on Lake País,” the woman shouted back, laughing.“My aunt tanned my hide right on the public dock! Everyone from my pod came to watch. I couldn’t sit for a week!” The woman’s passenger, another girl, giggled, nudging her friend.
Shaak Ti chuckled, her hand still falling. “Public lessons are often the most enduring.”
“You’ve got a real brat on your hands there, huh?” the driver said, nodding at Charlie’s prone, blushing form.“The brattiest,” Shaak Ti confirmed fondly.“But responsive to correction. Aren’t you, Padawan?” Swat.
Charlie managed a muffled, “Yes, Master.”
The driver whistled appreciatively.“Looks it. He’s adorable like that, all helpless and pink.Makes me wanna pinch his cheeks.” She paused, then grinned. “Hey, can I have a turn beating his butt? For old times’ sake?”
Charlie’s breath hitched.He risked a glance sideways.The driver was cute, her eyes sparkling with playful mischief. A secret, traitorous hope fluttered in his chest, buried under layers of humiliation. He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting.Shaak Ti’s knowing grin was audible in her voice. “I don’t see why not. Pull off at the next service alley.”
The two speeders veered off the main lane, dipping into a dim, narrow alley cluttered with discarded shipping containers.They settled onto the grated deck, engines winding down to a low hum. The sudden quiet was profound, broken only by the distant whine of traffic above. Shaak Ti helped a wobbly Charlie to his feet, then guided him over to the other speeder. The woman was already out, stretching her legs.
“Here he is,” Shaak Ti said, as if handing over a parcel.“I expect him back at the Temple in a couple of days. Unharmed, if not unmarked.”
The woman nodded, looking Charlie up and down with an appraising eye.“Sure thing. On one condition, though.”
“Name it.”
“You first,” the woman said, her smile turning sharp.“Let me see how the Master gets it. Give me the business end of a spanking like his.” She jerked a thumb at Charlie, who stood half-bare and utterly fascinated.Shaak Ti raised a brow montral. A slow, appreciative smile spread across her features.“A fair trade,” she purred. She walked to the front of the woman’s speeder, leaning forward against its hood with deliberate grace. She glanced back over her shoulder, her lekku shifting.“Well? Don’t keep us waiting.”
Charlie watched, utterly captivated, as the cute driver didn’t hesitate. She stepped up, took aim, and brought her hand down on Shaak Ti’s leather-clad backside with a solid, respectful thwack. Shaak Ti let out a soft, satisfied sigh, her eyes sliding closed for a moment.The woman chuckled, shaking out her hand. “Tough hide!”
Shaak Ti chuckled, the sound low and rich in the quiet alley.“You have no idea.But you’re doing splendidly. What’s your name, my dear?”
“Mara,” the girl said, pausing her efforts. She was human, with intelligent green eyes and dark, tousled hair that fell just past her shoulders. A smattering of freckles crossed her nose and cheeks, and her smile held a fearless, infectious energy. She wore simple civilian clothes, a fitted jacket over a plain shirt, but carried herself with an unpretentious confidence. “Mara Vale.”
“A pleasure, Mara,” Shaak Ti said, her voice smooth.“Now, where were we?”
Mara’s grin widened. “Well, if we’re trading equals, I think it’s only fair. Let’s see what the Master’s packing under all that leather. Show some skin.”
Shaak Ti rolled her eyes with dramatic, performative reluctance, but a spark of genuine amusement lit her gaze. “You drive a hard bargain, Miss Vale.”
She pushed herself upright from the speeder hood. With deliberate, unhurried movements, she began to undress. Her boots came off first, then her outer robes, folded neatly on the passenger seat. The soft leather of her tunic followed, revealing the tight, functional bodysuit beneath. She paused, her fingers at the hidden clasp at her hip. “You’re certain?”
“Absolutely,” Mara breathed, her earlier bravado softening into something like awe.Shaak Ti opened the final clasp. The bodysuit peeled away from her red-orange skin with a whisper. She stepped out of it, leaving it in a puddle at her feet. Now she stood in the alley’s dim light wearing only her underwear: a set of simple, practical black briefs, plain and unadorned.
Mara blushed deeply, the color vivid on her freckled skin. She let out a soft, incredulous laugh.“Wow.I don’t know what I was expecting, but… not that. So serious!”
“Comfort and utility,” Shaak Ti stated, though a slight, self-conscious shift in her stance betrayed her.“Uh-huh,” Mara teased, stepping closer. “Well, they’re about to get a whole lot less comfortable.” She placed a guiding hand on Shaak Ti’s shoulder.“Over you go. My speeder this time.”
With a fluid grace that belied the situation, Shaak Ti bent forward, resting her torso on the cool hood of Mara’s speeder.Her montrals dipped toward the grated deck. Charlie watched, a slow, smug satisfaction spreading through him.The power dynamic had flipped completely.Mara didn’t hesitate. Her hand came down in a crisp, sharp smack that echoed off the alley walls. She found a steady, demanding rhythm, each impact landing with a solid, flesh-on-flesh finality that was utterly different from Charlie’s earlier, lace-muffled punishment. Shaak Ti’s breath hitched.Her knuckles whitened where they gripped the edge of the hood.
The pale skin of her backside quickly bloomed a warm pink, then deepened to a furious, uniform red. The color seemed to glow in the shadowy alley.Shaak Ti’s head bowed lower. A faint, wet sniffle escaped her. She bit her lip, trying to stifle the sound, but another followed as Mara’s palm found a particularly tender spot on her upper thigh.
Charlie watched, mesmerized.He saw the subtle tremor in her lekku, the way she squeezed her eyes shut. There was no pretense of serenity now, only the raw, physical experience of the discipline she so often dished out. Mara delivered a final, searing swat that made Shaak Ti jolt, a soft, choked sound finally breaking free.
“Okay,” Mara said gently, her own breathing slightly elevated.She rubbed the small of Shaak Ti’s back. “Up you get.”
Shaak Ti straightened slowly, movements careful and tender. She wiped quickly at her eyes with the back of her hand, composing herself.The deep blush across her face mirrored the one on her backside. “Thank you, Mara,” she said, her voice thick but sincere. “That was… expertly administered.”
She began to dress with the same deliberate pace, wincing slightly as the fabric of her bodysuit made contact.“Great. Now I have to fly all the way back to the Temple like this.” The whine in her tone was utterly genuine, and Charlie had to fight not to laugh aloud.He was immensely, quietly pleased.
Shaak Ti finished fastening her robes, moving with a newfound caution. She nodded to both of them, a faint, chastened smile on her lips, and walked stiffly to her own speeder. Charlie and Mara stood side-by-side, watching as the sleek craft lifted off and disappeared into the streaming traffic high above.
They waved until she was gone.The alley felt suddenly larger, quieter. Charlie became acutely aware of his own state of undress, the cool air on his legs. He turned to Mara, who was looking at him with open curiosity and a lingering spark of amusement.“So,” she said, extending a hand. “I’m Mara.Obviously. You must be Charlie.”
“Yeah,” he said, taking her hand.Her grip was warm and firm.“Charlie. Shaak Ti’s… padawan.”
“I gathered,” Mara laughed, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “The lavender lace was a dead giveaway.”
“The lavender lace was a dead giveaway.”
Her hand was still holding his, warm and confident.He realized he’d been staring, caught in the weirdness of the moment. He pulled his hand back, suddenly hyper-aware of the city’s chill on his bare legs. He scrambled to pull the delicate lace back up over his hips, the fabric feeling more exposed than being naked.“They’re not mine,” he mumbled, fastening his belt with a definitive click. The ordinary weight of his tunic hem against his thighs was a small relief. “It’s a… long story.”
“I bet it is,” Mara said, leaning against her speeder’s hull.Her eyes traveled over him with an appraiser’s calm interest. “The color actually works with your skin tone.Brings out the pink in your cheeks. And other places.”
Charlie’s face flushed a deep, predictable crimson. He sputtered, searching for a retort that wouldn’t sound utterly pathetic.“That’s— I’m not— it was an accident! A stupid laundry mix-up!”
“Uh-huh.” She pushed off from the speeder and took a step closer.Her grin was infectious and knowing.“Sure, it was. A Jedi Padawan, master of the Force, gets mysteriously defeated by a washing machine. Happens all the time.”
“You don’t understand the context,” he protested weakly, the fight leaving his voice. The memory of Padmé’s darkened room, the silk sheets, the deliberate choice he’d made flickered behind his eyes.It hadn’t been an accident at all.
“I understand enough.” Mara reached out and plucked at the edge of his tunic, near his hip. “The fact you’re still wearing them tells me everything I need to know.Stop blustering. It suits you.”
Charlie blushed, protesting a reply. Mara teasingly told him it suited him.
Mara’s hand didn’t retreat from his tunic. Her fingers curled into the fabric, holding him there with a casual possessiveness that made his breath catch. “Blustering definitely suits you too. But the lace is a better look.”
She gave a gentle, testing tug, pulling him a half-step closer.The distance between them vanished. Charlie could smell the clean, citrusy scent of her shampoo mixing with the alley’s industrial odor of engine oil and damp concrete. Her green eyes were unwavering.“So,” she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial level. “Your Master’s gone.You’re dressed for a scandal. What’s your next move, Padawan?”
He had no script for this. The entire night had been a series of exposures, each stripping away a layer of his composure.He felt raw, electrified, and painfully seen. “I, uh… I should probably get back to the Temple,” he managed, the statement sounding hollow even to him.“Probably,” Mara agreed, her smile playing on her lips. She didn’t release his tunic.“But you’re not going to. Are you.”
It wasn’t a question.Charlie looked down at her hand, then back up at her face. The defiant brat in him, the one Shaak Ti spent so much time meticulously disciplining, stirred awake.He put on his best attempt at a scoff. “You don’t know that.”
“I know a boy wearing another woman’s fancy underwear doesn’t rush back to a temple full of monks,” she said flatly. Her other hand came up, her fingers brushing lightly over the thin lace visible above his belt line.The touch was a bolt of static. He flinched, but didn’t pull away. “I also know he just got a pretty thorough warming, and he’s still standing here.That says a lot.”
Her assessment was brutally accurate. The heat from his spanking was a low, insistent throb, a constant reminder of his submission. Yet here he was, vibrating with a reckless energy.He swallowed. “What does it say?”
“That you like the attention.” Her thumb traced the intricate embroidery of a silver star.“That you crave the consequence. And that right now, you’re wondering what I’m going to do about it.”
Her directness was a sucker punch, leaving him defenseless. He could only stare, his pulse hammering in his throat.She chuckled, a low, warm sound. “Don’t worry.I’m not gonna spank you. Your butt’s had enough ministry for one night.” She finally released his tunic, her hand slipping away. “But I am gonna make you presentable.”
She walked back to her speeder, opened a small compartment, and pulled out a sleek leather purse.She rummaged inside for a moment. When she turned back, she held a flat, pale blue rectangle in her hand.Talcum powder.She shook it lightly. “For naughty bottoms,” she said, as if answering an unspoken question. “Prevents chafing.Also feels… refreshing.”
Charlie watched, mesmerized, as she stepped close again. “Lift your tunic. In the back.”
He hesitated for only a second before obeying, gathering the fabric at his waist and holding it up. The cool alley air washed over his sensitized skin, raising goosebumps. He heard the soft puff of the powder container, then felt the immediate, startling chill of the scented powder dusting across his warm, punished skin. She used her free hand to gently spread it, her touch clinical yet intimate. The sensation was paradoxical—a soothing coolness layered over the deep heat, her fingers smoothing the powder in light, efficient circles.
“There,” she murmured, more to herself than to him. Her fingers lingered for a moment on the crest of his cheek, then trailed away.“All powdered up. Like a newborn.”
He let his tunic fall, the fabric now whispering against the powdered skin.A strange, soft vulnerability settled over him. Mara capped the talc and tossed it back into her purse. She looked at him, her head tilted.“Feel better?”
He nodded, not trusting his voice. The raw, stinging edge was gone, replaced by a muted, creamy ache.It felt cared for.It felt marked.
“Good.” She slammed the speeder compartment shut with a decisive thud.“Now get in. I’m not leaving you here in an alley with no pants.”
“I have pants,” he said automatically, then remembered.They were somewhere in the lower levels, a thousand stories down.“Okay. I don’t have pants.”
“Exactly.” She slid into the driver’s seat and powered up the engine.It hummed to life with a low, potent growl. “So get in. Unless you want to explain your outfit to a Coruscant Security speeder.”
Charlie moved on instinct, circling the speeder and lowering himself carefully into the passenger seat. The leather was cool through the thin lace. He stared straight ahead as Mara guided the speeder up and out of the alley, merging seamlessly back into the orderly lanes of traffic. The colossal towers of the Galactic City streamed by, illuminated windows like scattered stars.
They drove in silence for several minutes, the events of the evening coalescing into a dense, heavy knot in his chest. He glanced over at her profile, lit intermittently by passing lights. “Where are we going?”
“My place,” she said, not taking her eyes off the traffic.“It’s closer than the Temple. And I have a feeling you could use a non-judgmental landing pad for a few hours.”
“You don’t even know me.”
“I know you take a spanking like a champion and wear lace like you mean it,” she said, glancing at him with a quick grin. “That’s a more interesting bio than most people have.Besides, I owed your Master one. Consider this the balance of the trade.”
The simplicity of her logic was disarming. He leaned back against the seat, the events of the night—the party, the slap, the exposure, the punishment, the powder—finally overwhelming him. A deep fatigue, tinged with a buzzing, surreal exhilaration, seeped into his bones. He was adrift, but for the first time all evening, he wasn’t alone in it.
Mara’s apartment was in a mid-level residential sector, far from the opulent senate districts but clean and modern. She parked in a small, private bay and led him inside through a silent lobby and up a turbolift. Her unit was compact, dominated by a large window with a decent view of neighboring towers. It was comfortably messy—datapads stacked on a table, a colorful blanket tossed over a sofa, a single dirty cup in the sink.
“Home sweet home,” she announced, tossing her keys into a bowl by the door. “Bathroom’s there if you need it. I’ve got some clothes that might fit you, more or less.” She walked over to a drawer, pulling out a pair of soft grey sweatpants and a simple black t-shirt.She tossed them to him. “They’ll be short on you, but they’re pants.A definite upgrade.”
He caught the clothes, the normalcy of the gesture oddly touching. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.” She kicked off her own shoes and padded into the small kitchen area, opening a conservator.“You hungry?Thirsty? I’ve got some takeaways that probably won’t kill us.”
“Water would be good,” he said, his voice rough.She grabbed two bottles of water and came back, handing him one. He took it, his fingers brushing hers. He stood there, holding the clothes and the water, feeling like a displaced visitor from a stranger, wilder planet. “Why are you being so nice to me?”
Mara took a long swig from her bottle, studying him. She leaned back against the kitchen counter.“Because I’ve been where you are. Not the Jedi part, or the fancy panties part, specifically. But the part where you’re trying to figure out what you like, and you’re caught between being embarrassed by it and terrified you’ll never feel it again.” She shrugged.“It’s a lonely spot. Doesn’t hurt to have company.”
Charlie’s throat tightened.He looked down at the floor, nodding slowly. Her understanding was a quiet earthquake in the rubble of his composure.“Yeah,” he whispered.
“Go change,” she said softly, pushing off from the counter.“Then come sit.We don’t have to talk. We can just… not be alone.”
He did as she said, retreating to the bathroom. He changed quickly, slipping out of the lace panties and into the soft sweatpants. They ended a few inches above his ankles, and the t-shirt was tight across his shoulders, but the normal fabric was a profound relief. He folded the lavender lace carefully, as if it were a secret dispatch, and tucked it into the pocket of his discarded tunic.
When he came out, Mara was curled on the sofa, a datapad in her lap, the lights dimmed. She’d put on some soft, instrumental music. He sat on the other end of the sofa, tucking his feet beneath him.They sat in a comfortable silence, the city’s eternal glow painting soft shapes on the ceiling.
After a while, Mara spoke without looking up from her datapad. “You know,” she said, her voice casual.“If you wanted to stay the night, you could. The sofa folds out.It’s not fancy.”
Charlie watched the lights play across the room. Going back to the Temple meant facing the quiet, disciplined halls, the unspoken questions, the return to a role that suddenly felt two sizes too small.Staying here meant… he wasn’t sure. But it felt like momentum.“Okay,” he said.“Yeah. If it’s not too much trouble.”
“No trouble.” She put her datapad aside and looked at him, her expression unreadable in the dim light. “Just one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“Tomorrow morning, we find you some proper pants. And you tell me the real story behind the lace.” Her smile was just a faint curve in the shadows. “Deal?”
Charlie held her gaze from across the sofa, a new kind of calm settling over him. The night’s humiliation was receding, transforming into something else—a story, shared.He nodded.
“Deal.”