Chapter 9: Luminara's Confession
The word gleamed on the whiteboard, a wet, slippery confession written in tongue-slime and shame: BARRISS.
Luminara froze, her back arched, the soap bar clenched tightly between her cheeks the only thing stopping her from fully collapsing onto the polished floor. The silence in the Obsidian Room was absolute, a vacuum waiting to be filled.Bultar whistled, low and impressed. "Damn, Master.Starting strong."
Rey crouched to read it, her scavenger's eyes scanning the messy, glistening letters.Her grin was wide and wicked. "Keep going," she urged, tapping the crop gently against her own palm."You're just getting started."
Luminara’s shoulders tensed.She dipped her head again, her tongue dragging across the smooth surface. The soap in her mouth made her spit frothy and left a chalky, clean taste that was somehow more degrading than any filth. The next words emerged, shaky and slow: has fantasized about bending her former padawan over her knee in front of the entire Council.
A sharp, stifled gasp came from Barriss. Her pale green skin darkened several shades, the geometric tattoos on her face standing out like scars against the sudden flush. Her hands, folded demurely in front of her, clenched into white-knuckled fists.
Luminara’s tongue moved faster now, as if compelled by the sheer momentum of her humiliation. Spanking her until she cries, then making her kneel and thank—
The soap bar, slick with sweat and tension, finally lost its precarious purchase.
It slipped from its intimate berth with a soft, almost apologetic plop and clattered onto the obsidian floor, skidding a few inches away.
The sound was a gunshot in the quiet room.Before Luminara could even process the loss, Bultar was moving. The training crop cut through the air with a sharp whistle.THWACK!
It landed across the back of Luminara’s bare thigh, a stinging, vivid line of fire on her green skin. Luminara jerked violently, a raw, unfiltered yelp tearing from her soapy throat.The sound echoed in the mirrors, a chorus of one pain.
"Rule is rules," Bultar said, her voice cheerful and merciless."Retrieve and reinsert. Unless you want another."
Tears, born from shock and sting and profound indignity, welled in Luminara’s eyes. She shuffled forward on her knees, the movement awkward and exposed, and fumbled for the soap.Her fingers closed around it. With a grimace of pure concentration, she reached back and awkwardly worked the bar back into place, a fresh tremor running through her."Keep writing," Rey commanded softly.She was reading the board aloud as Luminara worked. "‘Spanking her until she cries, then making her kneel and thank—’ thank her what, Master?Finish the sentence."
Luminara, now re-soaped, returned to the board.Her tongue finished the word with a furious, defeated swipe.…me.
Barriss made a small noise, a cross between a cough and a whimper. She was staring at the floor, her entire being focused on not dissolving."Nice," Bultar chuckled. "Real motherly."Luminara didn't pause. It was as if the floodgates had been blasted open by that first crop strike. The words poured out, each a slick, shameful pebble dropped into a still pond.Aayla Secura, she wrote next. The gardens of the Temple of Kyber.After a sparring match.She was sweaty. Her lekku were…
She dropped the soap again.This time, she was expecting the crop. It didn't make it hurt less.CRACK!This one landed on the opposite cheek, lower. She yelped again, a shorter, sharper sound, and scrambled for the soap. Her backside was now cross-hatched with angry red lines.
Kilea Vex, watching from her pillar, let out a shuddering sigh. The air around her shimmered, her form solidifying a fraction more.The ritual was working, feeding on the potent, mixed-energy of dominance and abject shame.
Rey read the Aayla part aloud, her voice catching with incredulous laughter. "Her lekku were what, Master?Don't leave us hanging!"
Luminara, breathing heavily, her face streaked with tears and sweat, licked the board again.…sensitive. I touched one.She laughed.
"Holy stars," Bultar breathed, her competitive ire momentarily replaced by awe."You old horndog."
Shaak Ti, Luminara wrote, the name appearing with frantic speed.A shared bath after the Battle of Geonosis. The steam.Her hands were…
Plop.The soap hit the floor. The crop fell.THWIP! This stroke was higher, catching the already-tender crest of her right buttock.Luminara didn't yell this time. She sobbed, a single, wet hiccup of sound, before shoving the soap back inside with shaking hands.…strong. She washed my back.I wanted to turn around.
The confessions kept coming, a torrent of repressed desire given wet, clumsy shape.Each memory was a fragment of war-time loneliness and forbidden longing. A fantasy about being pinned to a viewport by a certain Chalactan Jedi Master. A dream about getting caught in the archives with Master Tiplee. Each revelation was punctuated by the inevitable, humiliating plop of the dropping soap, the subsequent, slicing correction of the crop.Luminara’s body became a canvas of stinging lines. Her composure was utterly shattered. She knelt there, a Mirialan Master of the Jedi Order, tear-streaked, drooling soapy spit, her most private yearnings literally licked onto a child's whiteboard for her juniors to witness.Finally, she reached the bottom of the board. She paused, her tongue hovering over the clean surface. Then, with a final, trembling effort, she wrote the last one.Rey and Bultar.Together.You dominate me. Make me call you Masters.She finished.The soap did not drop. She held it, clenched tight, as if her life depended on it. She was spent, hollowed out, kneeling in a puddle of her own making.The laughter that followed was not cruel, but it was overwhelming. Bultar whooped, doubling over, slapping her own thigh. Rey howled, the crop dangling forgotten from her hand, her face pressed into Bultar's shoulder as she shook with glee.
Barriss did not laugh.She walked forward slowly, her composure a brittle shell. She looked down at her former Master, at the pathetic, glorious, striped mess of her. Then she looked at the board, at the slurry of saliva and shame chronicling a secret life of desire.
She picked up the whiteboard marker from where it had rolled.
With a dry, precise hand, she drew a neat checkmark next to the first entry about herself. Then she drew a line through the entire list, one after another.Finally, she knelt beside Luminara. Her voice was quiet, meant only for her Master's ears, but the mirrors carried it to everyone.
"The fantasy about me," Barriss said, her tone analytical, almost clinical."The Council chamber is acoustically poor for that. The echo would make the… impact sounds dissipate.A smaller hearing room would be more effective. The humiliation would be more concentrated."
Luminara stared at her, eyes wide, soap forgotten in her mouth.Barriss stood, brushing non-existent dust from her knees. She addressed the room, her deadpan delivery perfect. "Given the volume of actionable data provided, I propose we adjourn for logistical planning.And perhaps topical ointment."
She extended a hand to Luminara, not to help her up, but to take the soap bar from her mouth.
Luminara released it, her jaw aching. Barriss examined the diminished cake of soap, then looked at the other, more intimately used bar.
"These will need to be replenished," she observed, her green cheeks finally betraying the faintest hint of a blush. "For follow-up sessions."
“For follow-up sessions,” Barriss said, her voice echoing faintly in the vast, mirrored quiet.
The words hung there, a promise and a threat.Bultar was the first to move, her energy restless and practical. “Right.We can’t plan anything in here.Too many reflections. Gives me a headache.” She grabbed Luminara’s discarded outer robe and tossed it to her. “Cover up, Master. We’re relocating.”
“Relocating?” Luminara managed, her voice rough from the soap and her crying. She fumbled the robe around her shoulders, its familiar weight feeling alien now.
“You gave us a list,” Rey said, her eyes bright with scavenger’s zeal.“A menu. We need a proper venue to… discuss the ingredients.” She offered a hand to Kilea, who took it, her grip stronger now, her form less translucent. “And she needs to be there for the finale.”
Barriss simply nodded, already heading for the door, the used soap bars collected neatly in her hand.The implicit understanding propelled them forward. This was no longer a spontaneous ritual; it was an interrogation with purpose.
The temple kitchens at this late hour were a cavern of dormant industry.Stainless steel counters gleamed under dimmed utility lights. Enormous, cold stovetops lined one wall, their black iron grates like rows of silent teeth. The air smelled of cleaned surfaces and the faint, yeasty ghost of the day’s bread.“Here,” Bultar announced, patting the flat surface of a wide commercial burner. “Perfect spot for a chat.”
Luminara’s serene composure was in tatters, replaced by a wary, petulant exhaustion. “This is undignified,” she mumbled, but the protest was hollow, stripped of any real authority.
“Less dignified than licking a whiteboard?” Rey asked cheerfully.She guided Luminara to the stove.“Up you go. Granny panties are the dress code.”
With a defeated sigh, Luminara hitched her undertunic up around her waist again. The stark white briefs stood out against her green skin, a ridiculous flag of modesty. She perched nervously on the cold, iron grate of the burner, her striped and sore backside making contact with the unyielding metal.
Barriss walked to the control panel on the wall.She studied the dials with intense focus. “Low simmer is level two,” she stated, as if beginning a scientific report.Bultar leaned against the counter opposite Luminara. “Okay.Confession one.Barriss.Council chamber spanking. Elaborate.”
Luminara shifted, the metal already feeling unpleasantly hard. “I… I have said enough.”
Barriss didn’t hesitate.Her hand turned the dial. A low, electric hum filled the quiet kitchen. A faint orange glow began to emanate from the coiled burner beneath Luminara.The heat was subtle at first, a gentle warning. Then it intensified, seeping through the thin cotton of her underwear and into her already abused flesh. Luminara gasped, her body tensing.“It was a fantasy! A stress-relief thought!”
“Details,” Rey pressed, her arms folded.“What was she wearing?”
The heat climbed. It was a deep, penetrating burn that built upon the crop’s sharp sting.Luminara’s breath hitched. “Her… her regular robes.But they’d be hiked up. Over my knee.”
“And?” Bultar prompted.
Luminara squirmed, the metal beginning to truly conduct the heat into her.“And she’d be crying!Real tears! And she’d say… she’d say ‘Thank you, Master Luminara, for my correction.’”
Barriss, her face impassive, turned the dial back to zero.The glow faded. The immediate, escalating threat receded, leaving behind a deep, throbbing warmth. Luminara sagged slightly in relief.“See? That wasn’t so hard,” Rey said, though her own cheeks were pink.“Confession two,” Bultar continued, relentless.“Aayla Secura. The gardens.Her ‘sensitive’ lekku. What did you do?”
Luminara closed her eyes.The memory was vivid, soaked in stolen sunlight and the scent of kyber blossoms. She hesitated, clinging to the last shreds of privacy.The hum returned.The dial clicked. Level three this time.The orange glow was brighter, hotter. The heat radiated up, an insistent, painful pulse.
“I touched one!” Luminara blurted, her voice rising in a whine.“Just the tip!It twitched! She… she laughed and said it tickled.” The words tumbled out, specific and shameful. “Then she touched my cheek.With her other lek.It was soft. Warmer than I expected.”
The girls were staring now, their own embarrassment manifesting as flushed skin and wide eyes. Rey’s mouth was slightly agape.Bultar’s smirk had vanished into something more like astonished respect.
Barriss turned the heat off again.They worked through the list. Shaak Ti’s strong hands in the steamy ‘fresher.The imagined pressure against the viewport. Each prompt was met with initial resistance, then the searing threat of the stove, then a gush of explicit, beautifully honest detail. Luminara’s voice shifted from whining to a desperate, confessional monotone, painting scenes of longing and imagined intimacy that were both poignant and shockingly graphic.The heat was her arbitrator. Each lie, each omission, each delay was punished by Barriss’s cool, precise adjustment of the dial.The cotton of her underwear grew hot to the touch. The stripes from the crop seemed to burn anew, glowing against her skin.Finally, they reached the last entry. Rey and Bultar.Together.“So,” Bultar said, her voice uncharacteristically quiet. “We ‘dominate’ you.”
The dial was at four. The burner was a fierce, hungry orange. Luminara was panting, sweat beading on her forehead, her whole universe narrowed to the agonizing, sizzling heat on her sit-spots. The cotton of her panties was now scorching.
“Yes,” she hissed, her elegant composure gone, replaced by the raw need for the pain to stop.“You would… you would make me call you Master. Both of you.You’d use the crop.Not like tonight.Harder. You’d make me thank you for it. You’d make me… want it.”
She was so lost in the confession, in the desperate relief of speaking it, that she didn’t notice the thin wisp of smoke at first.
Then a small, bright flame licked at the edge of the white cotton, right where it met the searing iron.There was a sharp, acrid smell.
Luminara’s eyes flew open. “Oh!”
The flame caught, a quick, eager blossom of fire eating the aged fabric.
She shrieked, a high, undignified sound, and launched herself off the stove. She stumbled across the kitchen floor, frantically slapping at her own burning backside with both hands.“It’s burning! It’s burning!”
The girls watched, momentarily frozen by the surreal spectacle of the revered Jedi Master dancing in a panic, swatting at flames on her own underwear.Barriss moved with serene purpose. She strode to a large refrigeration unit, pulled open the door, and emerged with a full, clear tub of vanilla ice cream. She pried off the lid.“Master,” she called, her tone calm.
Luminara, whimpering, smoke curling from the scorched fabric, turned.Barriss placed the open tub on the floor.
With a final, pathetic whimper, Luminara backed up and planted her flaming posterior directly into the soft, frozen mound.There was a violent, angry hiss as fire met frost. She sank in up to her waist, the cold so intense it was a new kind of shock, a stunning relief that stole her breath.She sat there, perfectly still, in the tub of ice cream. Tears of pure embarrassment welled in her eyes, but she held them back, her jaw clenched.The fire was out. The cotton of her panties was a blackened, melted ruin around the edges.
A soft, digital click echoed in the kitchen.Rey had her datapad out. She took a picture, then another from a different angle. The image was absurd: the noble Mirialan, her face a mask of pained dignity, her lower half submerged in dessert, two perfect, pale green moon-shapes pressed into the vanilla where her cheeks had landed.The service door hissed open. A protocol droid, its silver plating buffed to a dull shine and a faded “Mr. Clean” label stenciled on its chest, wheeled in.It surveyed the scene with photoreceptor indifference.
“Scheduled sanitization cycle commenced,” it intoned. It extended a claw arm clutching a large, damp sanitizing cloth. With efficient, impersonal strokes, it began wiping the melted ice cream from Luminara’s legs, her back, the ruins of her underwear. She endured it, eyes closed, as the droid worked her over like a dirty countertop.
Kilea Vex, now almost completely solid, walked forward.Her eyes were soft with gratitude. She knelt behind the ice cream tub. She placed a single, gentle kiss on the center of Luminara’s scorched and sore right buttock.A jolt went through Luminara. It was a surge of bright, startling sensation—not quite pain, not quite pleasure, but a sharp, alive feeling that made her gasp.The pink stripes faded.The burn redness cooled and vanished. The throbbing heat dissolved into a mere memory.The damaged skin smoothed over, perfect and unmarked. Only the lingering, psychological humiliation remained, warm and heavy in her gut.
Kilea stood, her form shimmering with stable energy. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice clear and strong for the first time in centuries.Luminara climbed out of the tub, the melted ice cream dripping from her. She was whole.She was healed. The physical ordeal was over, leaving behind only the profound, vulnerable echo of her confession.
She looked at the three young knights—at Rey’s sympathetic grin, Bultar’s impressed nod, Barriss’s quietly assessing gaze. She felt the ghost of Kilea’s gratitude.
A wave of sheer, unadulterated gratitude washed over her, clean and bright.It was the gratitude of a prisoner released, a burden shared. It was the gratitude of being seen, in all her secret, shameful want, and not being rejected.
She nodded once, unable to speak, her hand briefly touching her perfectly smooth, cool cheek.
She nodded once, unable to speak, her hand briefly touching her perfectly smooth, cool cheek.
The silence was different now, charged not with anticipation but with a strange, shared exhaustion. The kitchen’s clinical lights felt too bright, exposing the melted ice cream puddle and their own disheveled states. Bultar broke it, sniffing the air. “We all smell like a bakery fire. And vanilla.”
“A distinct olfactory profile,” Barriss agreed, eyeing the ruined tub.
Kilea stepped forward, her movements no longer spectral but solid, assured. “You have given me hours,” she said, her voice a clear, warm tone they hadn’t heard before. “More substance than I’ve known in ten generations. I am in your debt.” She looked at Luminara, a knowing glint in her eyes. “And I believe your… menu… requires a proper kitchen. One without inconvenient witnesses or cleaning droids.”
Rey perked up, her scavenger sense tingling. “A secret place?”
“The Temple is a sieve of secrets,” Kilea said, turning towards the delivery corridor. “Follow me. Mind the third step on the left; it triggers a sonic cleaner in the ‘fresher above. Unpleasant for the toenails.”
They traded glances, a collective shrug passing between them. What was one more absurdity? They fell in behind her, a procession of Jedi in various states of undress and disarray, leaving the kitchen behind.
Kilea led them not up into the grand halls, but down, through a sub-level laundry corridor humming with industrial washers. She stopped before a seemingly blank wall of riveted durasteel, the end of the passage. With a precise, three-knuckle tap in a specific rhythm, she waited. A deep, resonant hum vibrated through the floor.
A section of the wall, seamless a moment before, hissed and slid sideways, revealing not a room, but a vertical transit tube with a floating disc of polished black stone. “After you,” Kilea said.
They stepped onto the disc. It sank smoothly, a silent drop into the Temple’s bedrock. The air changed, growing cooler, carrying a scent of ozone and old stone. The disc halted in profound darkness. Then, light bloomed—soft, sourceless, and amber—revealing a chamber.
It wasn’t large, but it felt infinite. The walls, floor, and ceiling were a single, continuous surface of a reflective, mutable material that looked like liquid gold held in stasis. It shifted subtly, responding to their presence, reflecting not just their images but warping them, softening edges. In the center of the room sat a single, plain chair of dark wood.
“The Echo Chamber,” Kilea announced, her voice perfectly absorbed without an echo. “A Convocation relic. What happens here resonates only for those within. No sound escapes. No consequence in the world outside can be traced back to actions within these walls. It is a space of pure… potential.”
Luminara felt a jolt straight through her core. The memory of the stove’s heat, the crop’s sting, the crushing exposure—all of it was real, but here, the fear of being found out evaporated. Here, only the experience itself remained. Her eyes widened, scanning the gentle, shifting gold.
“No consequences,” she breathed, the concept unfolding in her mind like a forbidden flower.
“None,” Kilea confirmed. “The Temple’s memory of events here is… silky oblivion. It was designed for meditation on one’s shadow. For confronting desires without fear.”
Bultar let out a low whistle, running a hand over the wall. It yielded slightly, like firm gel, then reformed. “So we could… I dunno, reenact the ice cream thing, and no one would ever know?”
“Precisely,” Kilea said. “Not even a droid’s log.”
A slow, transformative smile spread across Luminara’s face. It wasn’t her serene Master’s smile. It was hungry, relieved, and giddy. The last vestiges of her dignified shell cracked and fell away. She clapped her hands together, a girlish, uncharacteristic gesture that made Barriss blink.
“Oh, this is perfect,” Luminara exclaimed, her voice bright with excitement. She spun to face the three younger women, her eyes alight. “You have no idea. The things I’ve imagined in dusty corners, in Council meetings… all possible here!” She paced, the gold floor shimmering under her bare feet. “It makes me remember. The beginning.”
Rey sat cross-legged on the floor, leaning forward. “The beginning of what?”
“Of understanding the… appeal,” Luminara said, coming to a stop. She looked at them, her expression turning nostalgic. “I wasn’t always the one administering the corrections, you know. I was a terror as a Padawan. Worse than all of you combined.”
Bultar grinned, plopping down beside Rey. “No way. Prove it.”
Luminara’s gaze grew distant, seeing another time in the golden walls. “My master, Tera Sinube, was endlessly patient. But the other Padawans? Less so.” She took a breath. “There was a human boy, Jax. Thirteen. I was twelve. I’d hidden his practice saber in a ventilation duct.”
She paused, a faint blush on her green cheeks. “He cornered me in the archives. No words. Just grabbed the waistband of my leggings and my tunic, and hoisted. He gave me my first atomic wedgie right between the stacks of historic treaties. Lifted me clean off the floor.”
Rey snorted, covering her mouth.
“I dangled,” Luminara continued, her voice dipping with the memory. “It was agony. The fabric, the sheer, violating lift. I was so shocked I couldn’t even scream. I just… kicked. He held me there for a full minute, my own tunic muffling my face, before letting me drop. I hobbled away, humiliated. But that night… I replayed it. The helplessness. The strange, sharp focus of the pain. It was all I could think about.”
Barriss listened, her analytical mind categorizing. “A formative experience in power dynamics.”
“Exactly!” Luminara said, pointing at her. “Then there was Vool, a Twi’lek girl. She caught me cheating at hologame strategies. Her punishment was… creative.” A shiver, not unpleasant, went through her. “She dragged me to a ‘fresher on the lower levels. One of the old, deep-basin ones. Held my head in the toilet.”
“A swirly?” Bultar gasped, delighted.
“A Master-level swirly,” Luminara confirmed, her eyes closing. “The water was ice-cold. She flushed. The vortex, the noise, the bubbles rushing up my nose… I came up sputtering, my head-tails soaked, coughing toilet water. I cried from the sheer indignity. She just laughed and said, ‘Cheaters get whirlpools.’ For weeks, I flinched at the sound of a flush.” She opened her eyes, gleaming. “And I dreamed about it. The absolute, shocking loss of control.”
The girls were utterly captivated now, seeing the unflappable Master Unduli as a hapless, victimized child.
“The spankings were more formal,” she went on, leaning against the warm golden wall. “But not from Masters. From a fellow Padawan, a brute of a boy named Grenn. He’d use his own belt. He’d make me bend over a meditation stool in an empty dojo. Six strokes, every time I beat him in a public sparring match. He said it was to ‘curb my pride.’” She rubbed her lower back absently. “The leather was stiff. It bit. He’d make me count them aloud. My voice would shake. I hated him. I craved beating him just to feel that sting afterwards, to have that secret between us.”
Her confession hung in the non-echoing space. Rey’s playful smirk had softened into something like understanding. Bultar’s competitive glee was tempered by fascination.
“So what changed?” Rey asked softly.
Luminara’s face hardened, then relaxed into that serene, powerful smile they knew. “I grew. I got stronger. Faster. And one day, I saw Grenn trip Jax in the refectory. Jax went sprawling, soup everywhere.” She pushed off the wall, standing tall. “Something snapped. Not in anger. In cold, clear opportunity. I marched over, grabbed Grenn by the ear, and dragged him, yelping, to that very same dojo.”
She began to gesture, painting the scene. “I didn’t say a word about justice or revenge. I simply took his own belt from him. I sat on that stool. I pulled him over my knee—he was bigger than me by then, but I had the Force and sheer certainty on my side. I yanked his trousers down. And I gave him twelve strokes. Six for Jax. Six for every single one he’d ever given me.”
She paused, letting the memory settle. “He cried. Real, messy sobs. And when it was over, I made him thank me. He did, through his tears. ‘Thank you, Luminara.’” She sighed, a sound of pure, satisfied revelation. “In that moment, I understood everything. The power wasn’t in the pain. It was in the framework. The giving and receiving. The shared, secret language of it. The sheer, thrilling fun of turning the tables.”
She looked at each of them, her gaze intense. “That’s when I started. Little things at first. A strategically forced wedgie after a failed negotiation simulation. A playful swat during lightsaber drills. I saw the same shock in their eyes I’d once felt. Then the same dawning, secret thrill. It became a game. A connection. A way to say, ‘I see you, and you’re safe with me, even like this.’”
Barriss was staring at the floor, her face a complex map of emotion. She was thinking of all the times her Master had corrected her, the precise, almost clinical spankings that had always felt oddly grounding. The love in the discipline.
Bultar shook her head, a laugh bubbling out. “So you’re a kink pioneer because some kid gave you a swirly?”
Luminara’s smile was beatific. “Because some kids gave me a vocabulary. And in this room,” she said, spreading her arms to encompass the golden chamber, “we have a whole library to play with. No consequences. Just… exploration.”
Her eyes landed on the simple wooden chair. Then she looked at Barriss, her expression softening into an invitation, a question, and a promise all at once.
The air in the Echo Chamber grew thick, not with tension, but with boundless, shimmering possibility.