Chapter 7: Midnight Sparring
Shin didn't drag me by the collar this time. She gripped my upper arm with those thin, strong fingers and pulled me out of the room like I was luggage she was tired of carrying. My wrists were still chained in front of me, the cold metal biting into my skin where the cuffs had rubbed me raw over the past hours. I stumbled after her, still wearing the red nightshirt she'd given me, the thin fabric barely reaching mid-thigh, and the panties that felt more like a taunt than clothing.
The fortress corridors at midnight were a different beast. The lights had dimmed to a dull amber, casting long shadows that writhed against the cold steel walls. Machinery hummed somewhere beneath the floor, a constant vibration I could feel through my bare feet. Shin didn't speak as she walked, her boots clicking against the metal grating with a rhythm that matched the hum of her plug. I could hear it, that faint electric buzz, coming from between her legs with every step she took. She wore a loose dark tunic over her usual tactical gear, and the thin material betrayed just enough of the shape beneath to make it clear she was wearing something more than simple underwear.
"Where are we going?" I asked, my voice hoarse from hours of disuse.
Shin didn't answer. She just pulled me harder, and I stumbled along beside her, my montrals scraping against the low ceiling of a maintenance corridor before she shoved me through a heavy steel door.
The training hall was vast. Bigger than the medical bay, bigger than any room I'd seen in this fortress. Cold steel panels lined the walls, interrupted by dark stone pillars that rose toward a ceiling lost in shadow. The floor was a polished metallic surface that reflected the harsh, rhythmic pulses of light from fixtures overhead, each burst of white light casting sharp, elongated shadows across the room. There was a scent of ozone and old sweat in the air, the smell of a place where violence had happened many times before.
Shin let go of my arm and walked to the center of the room. She turned to face me, and in the pulse of light I could see the hunger in her eyes, that predatory focus that made my stomach clench despite everything I'd been through tonight.
"Fight me," she said.
I stared at her. "What?"
"Fight me, Tano. Spar. I want to see what you've got." She spread her arms wide, inviting. "I've heard so much about your skills. Anakin trained you well, didn't he? Let me see it."
My chains clinked as I raised my hands. "I'm chained."
"Not for long." She lifted one hand and made a slight gesture. The cuffs around my wrists clicked open and fell to the floor with a clatter that echoed through the empty hall.
I flexed my wrists, feeling the blood rush back into my hands. For a moment, I considered making a run for it, but there was nowhere to go. Shin stood between me and the only door I'd seen, and I knew enough about her abilities by now to know she could pin me to the floor with a thought.
She reached into the satchel she wore across her body and pulled something out. It clinked as she tossed it to me, and I caught it out of reflex. A weighted belt, the kind used for strength training, heavy with lead plates sewn into the leather.
"Put it on," she said.
"What?"
"Put it on. I'm not going to fight you at your best, Tano. That wouldn't be any fun at all." She smiled, and it was all teeth. "Consider it a handicap."
I wanted to refuse. Every instinct in my body screamed at me to throw the belt back in her face and sprint for the door, to try my luck against her Force abilities, to do anything but comply. But I'd seen what happened when I resisted. I'd been bound to that tree in the forest, oiled and teased until I begged. I'd been strapped to that medical table while Baylan's hands worked me over. I knew the cost of defiance, and I knew that right now, Shin held all the cards.
So I buckled the belt around my waist. It was deceptively heavy, probably thirty or forty pounds of lead pressing down on my hips, throwing off my center of balance. I shifted my stance, trying to adjust.
"Good," Shin said. She reached down and unclasped her belt, letting her tactical trousers slide down her legs. Beneath them she wore nothing but a small string of leather that held a vibrating plug inside her, the silicone base visible just above the cleft of her ass. It was humming, I could hear it, a low buzz that set my teeth on edge. She kicked her trousers aside and stood there in her tunic and the plug, bare-legged on the cold metal floor.
"Ready?" she asked.
I didn't answer. I just raised my fists and settled into a fighting stance, trying to compensate for the weight at my waist.
Shin laughed and lunged at me.
She wasn't slow. Despite the plug buzzing between her legs with every movement, she was fast, trained, her body moving with the fluid grace of someone who had spent years learning to kill. Her first punch was a feint, meant to draw my guard up, and when I took the bait she spun low and swept my legs out from under me.
I hit the metal floor hard, the impact jarring through my spine. Before I could roll away, she was on me, her knee driving into my chest, pinning me flat. Her hands found the hem of my nightshirt and tore it upward, baring my breasts to the cold air of the training hall.
"Nighty night," she murmured, and then her hand cracked across my right breast.
The slap sent a shockwave of pain through my chest, and I gasped. I was sure she'd oiled her palm before we came, because I could smell that night-blooming jasmine scent, and sensation flooded through me from the impact, an amplified burn that made my back arch.
"Get off me," I snarled, and this time I put all my training into the roll, using her weight against her. She toppled sideways, and I scrambled to my feet, my breasts swinging free beneath the torn nightshirt.
Shin laughed as she rose, wiping her hand on her tunic. "There you are. I was starting to think Anakin had broken you after all."
"He didn't break me," I said, and I lunged at her.
The sparring went on. I was faster than her, even with the weighted belt dragging at my hips, but she was wily, using the Force to nudge my strikes off course just enough to slip past my guard. My breasts were slick with residue from her oiled hand, and the cold air of the training hall made my nipples ache and harden. Every time she landed a hit, every time her knuckles grazed my skin, the sensation amplified, arcing through my body like an electric current.
And every time I faltered, every time I stumbled or dropped my guard, she'd reach through the Force and snatch something from her satchel. The flat of her lightsaber, she called it, though it wasn't a lightsaber at all, just a hilt-shaped piece of dark metal that she'd hidden among her gear. She'd crack it against my breasts with a sharp, wet sound, the impact sending waves of amplified pain and something else, something I didn't want to name, surging through my chest.
"Fight better," she'd say, smirking.
Slap. The flat metal against my right breast, the flesh jiggling with the force of the blow.
"Fight harder."
Slap. My left breast, the skin already reddening from her attentions.
"Show me what Anakin taught you."
I wanted to kill her. I wanted to wrap my hands around her throat and squeeze until that mocking smile faded from her face. But every time I got close, the plug between her legs would hum louder, and she'd smile wider, and I'd remember that she was doing this for fun, that the ache in my chest and the heat spreading through my core were all part of her game.
And gods help me, the heat was spreading.
My breasts were swollen and sensitive from the slaps, my nipples so hard they ached against the rough fabric of my torn nightshirt. My thighs were slick with sweat, and I could feel a wetness between them that had nothing to do with the exertion of the fight. I hated it. I hated my body for betraying me like this, for responding to her touch even when I was furious, even when I was fighting for my dignity.
But I was fighting. That was something. I was forcing her to work for it.
I saw my opening when she overextended a kick. I caught her ankle, twisted, and brought her down hard. She hit the floor with a muffled grunt, the plug between her legs slipping slightly and making her gasp. I pounced, my knees landing on either side of her waist, my hands closing around her wrists and pinning them to the metal above her head.
"Got you," I snarled.
She looked up at me, and I expected to see anger in her eyes. Instead, she laughed. She laughed, and it was a bright, delighted sound, full of genuine amusement.
"Look at you," she said. "All that fight. All that defiance. I knew you had it in you, Tano."
And then she twisted her hands, and I felt the Force slam into me like a physical blow, shoving me backward off her body. I flew through the air and hit the floor on my back, the breath whooshing out of my lungs. Before I could move, she was on me, her weight dropping onto my chest, her thighs straddling my head.
"Time for a different kind of lesson," she said, and she pulled at the waistband of her leather thong.
The plug came out with a wet pop, slick with her juices, and she tossed it aside. It landed somewhere on the metal floor, still buzzing, a low drone that filled the silence of the hall. Her pussy was bare, shaved smooth, wet and glistening in the pulsing light. She pressed it against my lips, and I tasted her, musky and salty and raw.
"Open," she said. "Lick."
I wanted to refuse. I wanted to bite her, to hurt her, to do anything but obey. But her thighs were clamped around my head, and one of her hands was buried in my montrals, gripping me hard, and I could smell the jasmine oil on her skin, so strong now that it made my head spin.
And somewhere beneath the fury, beneath the shame, there was a dark, hungry need that I had been suppressing for hours, for days. A need that had been building since she first touched me in that cabin, since she made me come with her fingers in the forest, since Baylan's hands worked my body while I writhed and begged.
Hating myself for it, I opened my mouth and licked her.
She tasted like sweat and honey and sex, and she moaned softly as my tongue found her clit. It was swollen, engorged from the vibrations of the plug, sensitive, and when I licked it she shuddered, her thighs tightening around my head.
"Just like that," she breathed. "Just like that, Tano. You're learning."
I hated her. I hated her so much, but I couldn't stop. My tongue moved against her, circling her clit, tasting her dripping heat, and she rolled her hips against my face, riding me with the same rhythm the plug had hummed.
"That's it," she gasped. "Eat me out, you little bitch. Eat me like the whore you are."
The words pushed me closer to the edge. Not anger anymore, but something darker, something that made my own cunt throb with want. My hands came up and gripped her thighs, pulling her closer, burying my face deeper, and she let out a choked cry of pleasure.
"Yes," she hissed. "Fuck, yes. Don't stop."
I didn't stop. I couldn't stop. I licked her until her thighs were trembling, until her hips were grinding against my face with desperate abandon, until her hands were fisted in my montrals so hard she was pulling the sensitive head-tails at their bases.
I licked her until she screamed.
Her orgasm hit her hard, her whole body convulsing, her thighs clamping around my head so tight I thought she'd crack my skull. She shouted something incoherent, and I felt her hot release flood my tongue, and I swallowed it down, hating the taste, loving it, everything tangled up in one confused knot of need and rage.
When she finally let go of me, panting, her body trembling, I lay there on the cold metal floor with her juices on my lips and my own cunt aching with unshed arousal.
She pushed herself up, looking down at me with a satisfied smirk. "See?" she said. "I told you you'd come to me willingly eventually."
I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. "I didn't come willingly. You forced me."
"Did I?" She laughed, sliding off my face and standing, adjusting her tunic. "Your tongue was in my pussy, Tano. Your hands were on my thighs. I didn't have to force anything."
"I could have bitten you," I said. "I could have hurt you."
"But you didn't." She knelt down in front of me, her face close to mine. "You licked me until I came, and you loved it. I could feel your arousal, Tano. I could feel your body responding. Don't pretend it was just about submission."
I said nothing. Because she was right, and I hated that she was right.
She stood up and walked toward the door, picking up the plug from the floor on her way. She tucked it into her satchel, then turned back to look at me, still lying on the floor, my breasts red and swollen, my nightshirt torn, my body aching.
"Get some rest," she said. "We'll do this again tomorrow."