Chapter 8: The Bound Senator
The air in this hall is colder than the main training floor, like the fortress itself keeps its secrets in the colder rooms. The walls are brushed steel panels that mirror the overhead glow strips, but the floor is worn black mats, their surface scarred with the memory of hours of training. I am on my knees on that mat, my weight pressed onto my bound legs, and the cold is already seeping through the cotton and mesh.
My wrists are tied behind my back, the cord tight enough that I can feel each crossing loop around my skin like woven complaint. My ankles are bound together, too, not spread like I was expecting, just pressed together so tight that I feel the inner seams of the Nike pros biting against my calves. They did not gag me. They want me to speak, maybe want to hear what I have to say before they do whatever this is.
Shin Hati stands in front of me, arms crossed, watching me with those pale eyes that always look like they are measuring the distance between my current state and my complete ruin. Her platinum hair is loose over her shoulders, and the dark tunic she wears is cut tight to her thin frame. She does not look like she is in any hurry.
"There you are," she says, her voice low and satisfied. "On your knees. That is where you belong."
I do not answer. I am not giving her that. My white top is thin, and the cold air is making my nipples tighten under the fabric of my bra. I can feel the outline of the lace against my skin, the mesh of the Nike pros hugging my thighs, and the thong that sits low on my hips. I know how I look kneeling here, and I know she is enjoying it.
She walks a slow circle around me. I feel her eyes on my back, on the curve of my ass outlined by the mesh, on the way the white top has ridden up a little at the hem. When she comes back to stand in front of me, she reaches out with two fingers and hooks them into the neckline of my top.
I breathe in sharply.
"Shiny," she murmurs, looking at the way my cleavage spills against the white cotton. "And soft. Baylan said you were beautiful. I wanted to see for myself."
She keeps the two fingers hooked, and she wiggles them against the fabric. I can feel the small friction of the cotton moving against my skin, grazing the top of my breasts. She is not even touching bare skin yet, and already my breath is catching. I hate that.
"Such a pretty little neckline," she says. "I bet that bra does wonders for that shape." She presses her fingers deeper into the fabric, pushing against the cup of my bra, making my breast shift under her touch. I can feel my own nipple dragging against the lace. "But I think I want to see exactly how much it can hold."
She pulls her fingers out, and then she produces a small glass tube from her belt. The liquid inside shimmers faintly, and I already know the smell. Jasmine, night blooming, thick and sweet. My stomach clenches.
She uncaps the tube, and she does not aim for my skin. She aims for the top of my bra, where the cup meets the neckline of my white top. She tilts the tube and lets a slow, deliberate drip of oil fall into the gap between the fabric and my cleavage.
The oil is cold. It traces a slow path down the center of my chest, weaving between my breasts, soaking into the lace and the white cotton. I feel the warmth of my skin spreading it, and the sensation blooms out from that line of oil like a slow fire. Every breath I take makes it worse, because the fabric moves against my skin with that oil making everything slick and sensitive.
"There we go," Shin says, and there is genuine delight in her voice. She caps the tube and sets it aside on a nearby equipment rack. Then she takes hold of the hem of my white top.
"Off," she says.
I do not move. I do not want to help her. But she does not need my help. She grips the hem and pulls it upward, over my stomach, over the line of my ribs. I feel the fabric slide against the oiled skin of my chest and I bite my lip. She has to work it over my bound arms, but she manages, and then the top is gone, tossed carelessly onto the mat beside me.
I am in my bra and Nike pros and thong now. The bra is thin, a pale color, and it is soaked through in the center where the oil dripped. I can feel the lace clinging to my nipples, and I know they are visible through the fabric.
Shin looks at me for a long moment. Her eyes travel down the shape of my chest, over the line of my ribs, down to the curve of my waist. Then she steps closer and cups both of my breasts in her hands, not directly, but over the soaked fabric of the bra.
"Mmm," she breathes. "There we go."
She squeezes gently, spreading the oil through the lace. I can feel her palms press against my nipples through the soaked fabric, and the sensation is electric. I try to keep my face still, but my hips shift under me.
She knows. I see her smile.
She kneels in front of me, bringing her eyes level with my chest. She keeps both hands on my breasts, and she kneads them slowly, deliberately, working the oil into the fabric, into the lace, against my skin. Every touch makes my nipples harder. I can feel the oil seeping through the fabric, coating my skin, making everything slippery and sensitive.
"Hold them up for me," she says.
I do not understand. Then she takes hold of the underwire of my bra at the underside, and she lifts. The cups press upward, and I feel my breasts being pushed up, up, until I feel their weight shift and the fabric strain. I can feel the oil, and I can feel the way the lace is clinging, and I know that any moment now they are going to spill over the top of the cups.
"You are so close," she murmurs, watching my chest with utter focus. She shifts the cups slightly, and I feel the swell pressing against the lip of the bra. "Almost there."
She pushes harder, and I feel my left nipple slide free of the cup with a slick pop. Then my right follows, and suddenly my breasts are resting on the top of the bra cups, bare, the oil shimmering on the skin. The fabric holds them in place like a shelf, but they are exposed, the nipples stiff in the cold air.
Shin exhales, satisfied. She releases the wire and lets the bra fall back down, but my breasts shift with the motion, settling back into the cups.
"Now we are getting somewhere," she says.
She slides her hands to my shoulders and pushes. I have no balance with my ankles bound, so I go over easily, landing on my back on the mat with a soft thud. The impact sends a jolt through my body, and the oil on my chest makes the fabric shift against my skin. Shin stands over me, looking down.
She lets her gaze travel the length of me: my exposed chest, rising and falling with my breath; my stomach; the line of my Nike pros; the way my ankles are pressed together. She kneels down beside me, and her hand lands on my hip, just above the waistband of the Nike pros.
"This is a nice outfit," she says, tracing her fingers along the waistband. "Who chose it for you?"
I do not answer. She does not seem to mind. Her hand moves lower, down the front of the pros, following the seam that runs between my legs. She presses her palm flat against that seam, and I feel the shape of the camel toe beneath the mesh. The thong is underneath, and I know she can feel it through the fabric.
"You are warm already," she says. "Or is that just the oil?"
I hate the way my body answers her. I can feel the heat gathering between my legs, the slickness pressing against the fabric. My hips shift again, and she presses harder.
She slides her hand up my body, over my stomach, over the soaked bra, and she cups my chin, tilting my head to look at her.
"I am going to turn you over," she says. "I want to look at something."
She takes hold of my hip and pushes me over onto my stomach. The mat presses against my face, and I feel her hands on the mesh of the Nike pros, tracing down the curve of my ass. She pauses at the line where the thong crosses over my skin, and she runs a finger along the edge of the fabric.
"Nice," she says. "I like this."
Her hand slides lower, between my legs from behind. I feel her palm cup my slit through the mesh and the thong, and she presses, feeling the warmth. Her fingers slide up and down the seam, teasing, not entering, just exploring the shape of me through the fabric.
"You are so wet," she says, and there is genuine wonder in her voice. "And I have barely touched you."
She pulls her hand back, and I hear her stand. I breathe out, hoping for a moment of relief. Then I feel a shift in the air around me, and suddenly my body lifts off the mat.
I gasp. My ankles are still bound, my wrists still behind my back, and I feel the Force take hold of me, raising me horizontal into the air. My body floats, suspended, and I feel the weight of my breasts shift with the motion, spilling out of the bra cups, swinging free in the cold air. The oil makes the motion slick and smooth.
Shin is standing beside me, looking up at me with a smile that makes my blood run cold.
"Let me see you properly," she says.
She reaches out and takes the waistband of my Nike pros. She pulls them down, an inch at a time, working the fabric over my hips, over my thighs. I feel the cool air on the newly exposed skin, and the fabric catches on the thong for a moment before sliding over it. The pros slide down my legs, over my bound ankles, and fall away.
I am in my bra and thong now. My breasts are still hanging loose in the air, swaying with the subtle motion of my suspended body. My thong is black, thin, and I can feel the wetness soaking through it, a visible dark spot at the center.
Shin lets the Force hold me there for a long moment, looking at me from head to toe. Then she lowers me back down, slowly, until I am on my back on the mat. She steps over me, straddling my torso, and looks down at my face.
"You have been so cooperative," she says. "I appreciate that."
She reaches down and traces her fingers along the waistband of my thong.
"Time to take these off."
She hooks her fingers under the elastic and slides them down my hips, over my thighs, down to my bound ankles. She has to work them over the rope, but she manages, and then the thong is gone, tossed aside.
I am naked except for my bra, and it is soaked with oil, clinging to my skin. Shin looks at me, and I can see the hunger in her eyes.
She moves away for a moment, and I hear her rummaging in a bag. When she comes back, she is holding a thick, rubbery wand. It is long, and the tip is rounded and smooth. She runs her hand along it once, twice, then looks down at me.
"You are going to love this," she says.
She kneels between my spread legs. My ankles are still tied together, so I cannot open them for her, but she kneels there with the wand resting against my thigh. She brings the rounded tip to the inside of my thigh and drags it slowly upward.
The sensation is electric. The rubber is cool but it conducts warmth, and the pressure is just enough to make my skin tingle. She drags it up my thigh, over the crease where my leg meets my hip, then back down. She does it again, higher this time, and I feel my hips arch.
"Mmm," she says. "You like that."
She teases me like that for a long time, dragging the tip over my thighs, over my hips, over the sensitive skin of my lower belly. I can feel the wetness pooling between my legs, and I hate myself for it. I hate the way my body responds to her, the way I want her to stop teasing and just touch me.
Finally, she drags the wand tip down the center of my body, over my stomach, past my belly button, and down to the top of my slit.
I gasp. The rounded tip presses against my clit, and she holds it there for a moment, just the pressure, not moving. Then she starts to slide it up and down.
Slowly. Teasing. She slides the wand tip down the length of my slit, pressing the rubber against my folds, spreading the wetness. Then she slides it back up, catching my clit on the way, and my whole body jolts.
"That is it," she says, watching my face. "Feel that."
She maintains the rhythm, up and down, up and down, the rubber slick with my own wetness. My hips are moving now, trying to match her rhythm, desperate for more. She does not give it to me. She keeps the teasing pace, never speeding up, never slowing down.
"Please," I hear myself whisper. I do not even know what I am asking for.
Shin smiles. "That is the sound I wanted to hear."
"That is the sound I wanted to hear."
She says it like she has been waiting for it, like my whispered plea is some kind of trophy she has been collecting. The wand keeps its slow rhythm against my slit, the rubber slick with my wetness, and I can feel the pressure building in my belly, a coiled heat that I cannot control. My hands are still bound behind my back, my ankles tied together, and I am naked on a cold training mat while this pale-eyed woman watches me come apart.
"Do you know how long I have been looking forward to this?" she asks, sliding the wand tip up to my clit and circling it slowly. "Baylan told me about you. Said you were defiant. Said you would need to be broken in."
I do not answer. I cannot answer. The wand is pressing against me, teasing, and my hips are moving on their own, chasing the sensation.
"He was right," she continues, dragging the wand down again, spreading my wetness along the length of my slit. "Look at you. Barely touched and already begging."
Her name is Shin Hati. I know that now. I have heard it whispered in the halls of this fortress, spoken with a mix of fear and reverence. She is Baylan's apprentice, his blade, his instrument. And right now, her instrument is that rubber wand, sliding up and down the length of my cunt while I lie helpless beneath her.
"You will come for me," she says. "Not because I want you to. Because your body wants to. And that is the most beautiful thing about breaking someone. They do it to themselves."
She presses the wand harder against my clit, and I feel my back arch off the mat. The sensation is overwhelming, the oil she dripped into my bra still making my skin tingle, the cold air kissing my exposed breasts, and now this rubber pressure against the most sensitive part of me.
"I can feel it," she murmurs. "You are close. I can see it in the way your thighs are trembling."
She is right. I am close. I hate it. I hate that my body is betraying me, that I am about to come on this mat under her teasing touch, that I will give her that satisfaction. But I cannot stop it. The wand keeps moving, up and down, up and down, and the pressure is building, building.
"Come for me," she whispers. "Let me see it."
And I do. The orgasm crashes over me like a wave, and I cry out, my hips bucking against the wand, my whole body shuddering with the force of it. I can feel myself clenching around nothing, the pleasure radiating through my thighs, up my belly, curling my toes against the rope at my ankles.
Shin watches me with satisfaction. She does not stop the wand. She keeps it pressed against my clit, riding me through the orgasm, drawing it out until I am gasping and twitching, until my eyes are wet with tears I refuse to let fall.
"There," she says, pulling the wand away. "That was your first. There will be more."
I collapse onto the mat, chest heaving, body trembling. The bra is still soaked with oil, clinging to my skin, and I can feel my nipples aching against the lace. My thighs are slick with my own wetness, and the air is cold against my overheated skin.
Shin stands, walking around my body. She crouches down beside my hips and I feel her hand land on my ass with a sharp slap.
I yelp. The sound is involuntary, and she laughs softly.
"That is for being so pretty," she says.
She slaps me again, harder, on the other cheek. The sting blooms across my skin, and I feel the heat rising, a different kind of heat, one that I do not want to acknowledge.
"Defiant," she muses, stroking the reddened skin with her fingers. "But not so defiant now, are you? Not when you are lying here with your ass in the air and your cunt dripping onto the mat."
She slides her hand between my legs from behind, cupping my slit, and I feel her fingers press against my still-sensitive clit. I flinch, and she laughs again.
"Too much?" she asks. "Or not enough?"
She slips a finger inside me. Just one, sliding into my soaked cunt with no resistance. I gasp, and she curls it, pressing against the spot that makes me arch.
"That is it," she murmurs. She adds a second finger, stretching me, filling me. "You are so tight. Does Baylan not fuck you properly?"
I do not answer. I cannot. Her fingers are moving inside me, stroking, and I can feel the pressure building again, so soon after my last orgasm that it feels almost cruel.
"Maybe he saves me for this," she says. "Maybe he likes to watch me break them first."
She pulls her fingers out and I whimper at the loss. She brings them to her lips and tastes me, slow and deliberate, holding my gaze.
"Sweet," she says. "I always wondered."
She stands, and I feel the air shift again. The Force takes hold of me, lifting me off the mat, and I am suspended once more, horizontal, my body floating in the cold air. My breasts sway with the motion, the soaked bra shifting against my skin.
Shin walks around me, looking at me from every angle. She is enjoying this, I realize. The power. The control. The way I dangle in the air like a prize she has won.
She reaches out and takes the bra, pulling the straps down my arms. The fabric peels away, soaked and heavy, exposing my breasts to the cold air. They are still sensitive from the oil, the nipples hard and aching.
"There," she says. "Now you are perfect."
She releases the Force and I drop, landing on the mat on my back with a thud that knocks the breath out of me. Before I can recover, she is kneeling beside me, the wand in her hand again.
She presses the rounded tip against my belly, dragging it upward between my breasts. The rubber is cool and smooth, and it leaves a trail of sensation in its wake. She drags it over each nipple, circling them, and I feel my hips shift involuntarily.
"Your tits are beautiful," she says. "Baylan said so. But I wanted to see for myself."
She kneels over me, straddling my torso, the wand in one hand. She uses the other to cup my breast, squeezing gently, feeling the weight of it. Then she brings the wand tip to my nipple and presses it flat against the sensitive peak.
I gasp, arching. The sensation is too much, too sharp. She holds it there, grinding the rubber against my nipple, and I can feel the pleasure shooting straight to my cunt.
"Yes," she breathes. "I like that sound."
She does the same to my other breast, and I am writhing beneath her, my bound hands pressing against the mat, trying to find purchase. She has me pinned, straddling my chest, and I cannot move.
"You will come again," she says. "But this time, I want to watch you do it."
She slides down my body, positioning herself between my thighs. My ankles are still tied together, but she does not seem to care. She takes the wand and presses it against my slit, sliding it up and down, spreading my wetness.
"Look at me," she says.
I do. I look into her pale eyes, and I see the hunger there, the satisfaction. She slides the wand into me, just the tip, and I gasp at the intrusion.
"That is it," she murmurs. "Take it."
She pushes deeper, the rubber sliding into my cunt, filling me. I can feel every inch of it as she pushes it in, slow, deliberate. Then she pulls it out and pushes it back in, establishing a rhythm.
"Look at me," she says again. "I want you to see who is making you feel this way."
I cannot look away. Her eyes are locked on mine, and she is pushing the wand into me, fucking me with it, and I can feel the pressure building again, coiling in my belly.
"That is it," she whispers. "Come for me again. Show me."
And I do. I come apart on her wand, my body shuddering, my eyes locked on hers, and I hear myself cry out, a sound that is half pleasure and half shame.
She watches me, a satisfied smile on her lips, and when I finally collapse, spent, she pulls the wand out and brings it to her lips, tasting me again.
"Perfect," she says. "Just perfect."
The door to the training hall hisses open, and I step through. The cold air hits me like a slap, but that is not what makes me freeze. It is the sight of Padmé, suspended in the air, naked except for the oil-soaked bra Shin has just peeled from her arms. Her body is limp, trembling, her thighs slick with her own wetness, and Shin Hati is standing over her with that rubber wand in her hand, tasting her fingers.
I have been through enough of Shin's games to recognize the pattern. The oil. The teasing. The way she makes you feel like you are choosing to break, even when your hands are tied.
"Ahsoka," Shin says, her voice smooth and amused. She does not look surprised to see me. She looks delighted. "I was wondering when you would come. Baylan said you might want to watch."
My hands clench at my sides. Padmé's eyes find mine, and there is shame there, and fear, and something else. Pleading. Not for rescue. For something I cannot name.
"Let her go," I say.
Shin tilts her head. "Why would I do that?"
The wall behind her shatters.
It is not an explosion. It is not a crash. It is the sound of reinforced steel panels tearing apart, bending inward like paper. Shin spins, her hand going to her lightsaber, but she does not have time to ignite it. The Force hits her like a physical wall, sending her flying across the training hall. She slams into the far wall and crumples to the mat, the wand clattering out of her hand.
Padmé drops. The Force that held her vanishes, and she lands on the mat with a soft thud, gasping. I rush to her side, my hands finding her shoulders, pulling her into a sitting position. Her skin is cold and slick with oil, and she is shaking.
Anakin Skywalker steps through the hole he just made.
His robes are dark, travel-worn, and his face is carved from stone. His eyes are not on me. They are on Shin, who is struggling to her knees on the far side of the room. His hand is extended, and I can feel the rage radiating off him like heat from a furnace.
"Anakin," I breathe.
He does not look at me. "Are you hurt?"
"No. I'm fine. She was... she was just..."
"I know what she was doing." His voice is low, controlled, and that is somehow more terrifying than if he had screamed. "I saw it from the corridor."
Shin laughs. It is a shaky sound, but it is still a laugh. She pushes herself to her feet, wiping blood from her lip. "Skywalker. I was wondering when you would show up. Baylan said you had been... distracted."
"Where is he?"
"Who? Baylan?" Shin spreads her hands, a gesture of mock innocence. "He is not here. He left me to entertain your little Togruta friend and this one." She nods toward Padmé. "He said you would come eventually. He was right."
Anakin's hand twitches, and Shin is lifted off her feet, her body slamming against the wall behind her. She gasps, her feet dangling an inch above the mat, and I see her hands clawing at her throat even though he is not touching it.
"You will tell me where he is," Anakin says, "or I will pull this fortress apart brick by brick until I find him."
Shin grins. It is a bloody, defiant grin. "He is not here. He left an hour ago. He said if you came, I should give you a message."
"And what message is that?"
"Tell Skywalker," Shin says, her voice strained, "that he has until dawn to leave the sector. If he is still here when the sun rises, I will burn his apprentice to ash and scatter her bones in the forest."
The room goes very quiet. I can feel the temperature drop, or maybe that is just the cold radiating off Anakin. I hold Padmé tighter, and she is shaking against me, her breath ragged.
"That is the message," Shin says. "And here is mine." She looks at Anakin, and there is a wild light in her eyes. "You broke me in a forest once. I remember that. I remember what you did. But this is my territory now, Skywalker. And I do not forget."
Anakin holds her there for a long moment. I think he might kill her. I think he might snap her neck right here, right now, and the thought does not fill me with horror. It fills me with something else. Something cold and hungry.
But he does not. He releases her, and she drops to the mat in a heap, gasping for air.
"You will take me to Baylan," he says. "Now."
Shin laughs again, pushing herself up on her elbows. "I cannot. He is gone. Truly gone. I do not know where. He does not tell me everything, Skywalker. That is not how he works."
Anakin moves. I do not see him cross the room, but suddenly he is standing over Shin, and she is being lifted again, her body pinned against the wall. His face is inches from hers.
"Then you will tell me everything you do know."
Shin meets his eyes. "You will have to do better than that to make me talk, Skywalker."
He smiles. It is not a kind smile.
Padmé is shaking in my arms. I realize I am shaking too.
The next hour is a blur of movement and tension. Anakin does not let Shin out of his sight. He binds her wrists with a length of cord he produces from his belt, and he drags her through the fortress, making her show him every room, every corridor, every hidden door. She is defiant at first, but she is also smart. She knows that Anakin will not kill her, not yet. She is bait. She is leverage. She is a tool.
I follow them, my arm around Padmé, who is still naked and trembling. I manage to find a discarded cloak in one of the rooms and wrap it around her shoulders. She does not thank me. She just holds the edges closed and walks, her bare feet silent on the cold metal floors.
The fortress is old, vast, carved into the bones of a mountain. It was built by someone long before Baylan, and it has the feel of ancient power, the stones themselves humming with something that is not quite the Force. The training hall where Shin held Padmé is at the heart of the structure, but the rest of the fortress is a labyrinth of corridors and chambers, each one more barren than the last.
I watch Shin as Anakin drags her along. She is pale, thin, her platinum hair plastered to her face. There is a cut on her lip, and a bruise flowering on her jaw where she hit the wall. But her eyes are bright, alive, watching everything with that predatory focus.
"You are wasting your time," she says, as Anakin shoves her down a final corridor. "Baylan is gone. He is probably a thousand kilometers away by now. He knows you would come. He planned for it."
"Then why are you still here?" Anakin asks.
Shin smiles. "Because someone has to keep an eye on you. And because I wanted to see what you would do when you found your little apprentice." Her eyes flick to me. "She is doing well, by the way. I have been training her."
"Training her," Anakin repeats.
"Teaching her how to obey." Shin's smile widens. "She is a fast learner. Almost eager, sometimes. You should have seen her in the forest. She was beautiful."
Anakin does not respond. He drags her into the main hall, a vast cavernous space with a high ceiling and a view of the mountain valley below. The stars are visible through the huge windows, and the forest stretches out beneath them, dark and endless.
"This is it," Shin says. "This is the whole fortress. There is nothing else. No hidden chambers, no secret passages. Just this."
Anakin looks around. I can feel his frustration, a sharp edge in the Force like a blade held too tight.
"Where is the ship?" he asks.
"Your ship? It is still in the forest. I did not move it." Shin shrugs, as much as she can with her hands bound. "I was not planning on leaving. I like it here."
"And Baylan."
"I told you, he is gone. I do not know where. He does not tell me everything, Skywalker. That is not how he works."
Anakin stares at her for a long moment. Then he turns to me.
"Take Padmé to my ship. Get her warm. Dress her, feed her. I will be there shortly."
"And her?" I jerk my thumb toward Shin.
" She is coming with me. We are not done yet."
Shin looks at me. There is something in her eyes, not fear, not defiance. Something else. It almost looks like approval.
"Goodbye, Ahsoka," she says. "We will see each other again."
Anakin shoves her forward, and they disappear down the corridor.
Padmé and I make our way out of the fortress, through the main doors, into the cold night air. The forest is dark, the trees towering overhead, and the ship is where Anakin said it would be, a dark shape among the shadows. I help Padmé inside, find her a blanket, make her tea from the galley stores.
She sits on the edge of the bunk, wrapped in the blanket, and she does not speak for a long time. I sit across from her, watching her face. She is beautiful, even in this state, even with her eyes hollow and her body shaking.
"He is going to kill her," Padmé says finally. "Your master."
"He will not. He needs her to find Baylan."
"Will he?" She looks up at me. "Or will he find a way to make her talk first?"
I do not have an answer for that.
The ship hums around us. The forest rustles in the wind. Somewhere out there, Anakin is doing whatever it is he does, and Shin is helping him or resisting him or playing her own game. I do not know which.
I do not know if it matters.
Padmé finishes her tea and sets the cup aside. She looks at me, and there is a question in her eyes that she does not voice. I do not ask what it is. I do not want to know.
The night is long. The stars wheel overhead. And I wait.