Dreams of Dalliance

[Têhra]

Têhra felt strange. She'd never been afforded such potent attention ever since her father was cast away, the alluring charm of being another person's priority slowly returning as she stood pressed between the pillar and the older woman. It was an unfamiliar scenario she found herself in, one that would surely leave any of her detractors in fits of annoyance. A respected intelligence officer actively spending time with Tarvyn's bastard daughter? If word got out that such a thing was happening then Miss Hadrix would risk the chance of having her reputation dismantled by the social expectation of Hapes and its people which would make political dealings that much trickier. Part of the girl struggled to justify the purpose of all this, allowing the woman to touch her and fill her with the sweet promise of freedom.

You are not a Pelin'a. You're sister is a Pelin'a but you will never be.

The girl forced herself to repeat in her mind, the frigid truth shunning the fleeting joy that the older woman's words gave her. Whilst it was all well and good to throw around such pretty pet names the bastard knew it was just that, a pet name. Her father said the same of her, but he was dead and the bitter taste of reality was enough to leave the girl shying away from the Mandalorian's gentle touch. As much as she wanted to lean into the woman's embrace and to experience this strange drug known as affection the girl forced herself from going too far. Her eyes never remained on the woman's face longer than a second and although her lips quivered and her cheeks blossomed with colour the girl did little in returning any gesture. It all felt too good, too good for a girl like her.

"Miss Hadrix...I don't know what to say." The porcelain skinned bastard mumbled softly, locking her knees against the cool stone of the pillar before offering the woman a fleeting glance, one rife with trepidation and almost childish uncertainty. She was completely out of her element, dealing with someone so brazenly confident, attractive and foreign. Everything this woman said and did was in stark contrast to the refined nature of Têhra's various aunts and cousins. None would dare risk the loss of face acting so intimate with someone of such low status, let alone one that was both unkempt and barefoot. This was all so terrifyingly new that the girl was left mulling over every single possibility as to why this was happening.

What was the catch? What did the woman get out of all of this?

Swallowing her nerves, the girl cleared her throat before slowly scratching a strand of hair from her face, the warmth in her cheeks flaring up as she summoned the voice that had been nagging in the back of her head ever since all of this began. "Miss Hadrix...there's other girls. More experienced and better suited for stuff...like this..." The dancer whispered, embarrassed, motioning with her head at the closeness between them before gnawing on her lower lip as she tried to look anywhere but at the woman's face. If that was what the Mandalorian was seeking then Têhra couldn't fault her, Hapan girls were well known for their beauty and any person lucky enough to attain a royal concubine or escort were guaranteed pleasure beyond anything they'd receive in some back alley Twi'lek bar on Coruscant...or so her cousins firmly believed.

It was a painful truth, if it was the truth, and one that seemed all the more appropriate considering how tactile the officer was. Maybe she should just give the woman what she wanted, it wasn't in her position to say no anyway. If the Mandalorian wanted it then she could freely take it, not that Têhra would know how to respond if such a thing was asked of her. The thought alone left the girl with a deep blush, her skinny arms wrapping around her dainty torso in an attempt to hide her near-starveling figure. Pressing her legs together, the bastard self consciously stopped herself from biting on her lip before releasing a low, drawn out sigh.

She was confused...and she didn't like it.

"What is it that you want Miss Hadrix? Is it...is it just to brush my hair and clean my feet and watch me dance because...because I don't even know your name or why you're doing all this stuff. I want to believe you, I want to know what you're saying is true but if there's something more than just tell me. Please, Miss Hadrix...I'm not scared of the truth." Têhra spoke quietly, but with a notable firmness that was missing previously in her words. Her tone was almost desperate, as if tumbling any further down this metaphorical wormhole would hurt if what she suspected was true. Almost clumsily, Têhra clasped the woman's hand in her own, forcing herself to gaze up at the woman, hoping that her touch would assist in any truth that needed to be revealed.

 

[Ali Hadrix]

Ali felt her jaw clench and she stepped away, her hand slipping away from Têhra's grip. Ali crossed her arms over her chest, her breasts feeling suddenly cold in the twilight air as a gentle breeze whispered through the court. What am I doing? Ali asked herself, staring down at the diminutive slave. Têhra may have been a pelin'a in Ali's eyes, but she certainly wasn't in her own, and Ali was entirely unused to dealing with women that so utterly lacked a sense of self. Ali straightened her stance, standing tall over the other woman, her hands clasped together neatly across her stomach.
"You don't trust me." Ali stated, rather matter-of-factly. She lifted a hand to quell any dissonance coming from the other woman. "It's okay, I wouldn't trust me either. I'm an intelligence agent, manipulation and intellectual thievery are my business, and my pleasure." Ali looked around, and found a small stonework bench some meters away. She moved to it and sat down, her heels resting flat on the ground as she placed her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands. Her fingers laced through her hair, which cascaded down passed her arms in a series of dark brown waterfalls, hiding her from view for the moment.
What do I want from her? Ali asked herself. Têhra hadn't quite said it, but she was right, no act was selfless. Ali wanted something from the woman, and her mind could only consider one thing: Her body.
Ali looked up at Têhra, a tortured look in her own eyes. She dragged her gaze over the woman's lips and porcelain neck, the small hillocks of her young, pert breasts, the sash tied over her flat, stomach. Ali felt her mouth grow wet and excitement parturition within her loins. Ali's chest grew hot and she was forced to breathe more deeply, sighing loudly before tearing her gaze away from the young woman once more.
Ali's habits were few in number, but intense in strength. She drank more than she ought to, and more often than she should. She slept around with any woman who would have her. She could care less about social norms or standards, which left her in deeper poodoo than not half the time. She was impulsive, manipulative and short-sighted. Why then, did she care so much about what this girl thought of her?
Because she rarely has the opportunity to think for or of herself.

That was it. Têhra lived a life of subservience, it was all she knew. Ali couldn't fight that, she couldn't simply change the woman's mind about her entire life with a few sweet words and the willingness to sneak around. Fight fire with fire, Ali heard the saying suddenly in her mind. It was a ridiculous idea, everything had a weakness, fire's was water. You can't fight fire with fire, figuratively or literally, you have to find a thing's weakness, you have to...
Ali's brain crashed to a halt as she realised how to get under Têhra's skin. The girl's life of terror couldn't just end because the unknown was more terrifying than anything the Duch'a might throw at her. Ali looked up at Têhra and stood, slowly, her hands falling to her sides as she walked back toward the young woman. Never had Ali exuded more confidence or control in her mere appearance before.
Her lips were set, pressed together, though not too tightly. Her eyes were locked on Têhra's own. Her hair shimmered dully in the twilight of the courtyard, she took it under control and tied it at the back of her head in a ponytail. Her hands came together before her stomach, fingers laced. Not a thing was out of place, Ali was diffusing the same emotional and physical control she used to hold a room at attention.
Ali stared down at the young woman, her eyes tracing over pale flesh so intently Têhra might have even felt the pressure of Ali's fingers on her skin, though she remained untouched. The older woman closed her eyes and breathed in deeply.

In order to free Têhra, I have to own her first.
Ali reached out with one hand and let her fingers lace themselves through Têhra's hair, sliding along her scalp until the back of the young woman's head was cradled against her palm. Her other hand went to Têhra's stomach, her fingers slipping behind the sash tied around her waist and gripping it lightly. Gentle touches, trusting touches, light, sweet, kind touches.
Such touches were too much for Têhra. She needed something else.
Ali's hands curled into fists, gripping the young woman's hair tightly but not painfully, her other twisting and pulling at the sash. She brought Têhra's waist against hers, their stomachs and breasts pressed together. Her lips went to Têhra's, finding the young woman's mouth with her own, sweet red lips tasteful on her tongue as they kissed.
The explanation was simple: Têhra knew nothing of kindness.
Thus, Ali would give her something she recognized: Force.
But it would be the kind of force the girl benefited from, not lived in fear of.
It would be the kind of force that pleasured, the kind that teased, the kind that taught.

Ali let Têhra's hair fall from her grip and her hand slid down toward the girl's waist. She buried her fingers within the folds of her pelin'a's dress, ivory skin mingling with bone-white fabric, and twisted and pulled it upward, exposing pale thighs her fingers grasped lovingly with both hands.
The Republic Officer was strong enough, and Têhra was small enough, for her to lift the other woman up and press her against the stone pillar at her back, her teeth tugging at the girl's bottom lip, risking scars. Her hands grasped the other woman from behind, holding her up by the supple, muscled flesh of her dancer's body.
After several long moments, Ali ceased kissing the young woman, pulling her head back just far enough to look into her bright eyes. She continued holding the girl, her back against the stone pillar. Ali wondered if her back was growing cold yet.
"The truth?" Ali asked, slightly exasperated, gazing up at Têhra, who now rested slightly above her. "I want you. I do. I want you to be free, I want you to be happy, but the selfish whore in me wants to own you, heart, body and mind. And I will take you if I have to." Ali said the final words with a tone nearing ferocity, her eyes blazing and her bottom lip trembling between tightly clenched teeth. Her nails dug into Têhra's bottom as she held her, and her stomach was pressed uncomfortably against the girl's groin, but she could hardly care at that moment. There was a selfish whore inside Ali, and she was in control.

 

[Têhra]

For a moment, the girl was convinced that she'd be reprimanded for her insolence, for voicing out the nagging concern that chewed on her conscious ever since she felt the Mandalorian's gaze caress her body during the tumultuous summit. It wasn't uncommon for Têhra to fall victim to a pursuer's gaze, often playing the object of lust for the men and women who thought her to be easy pickings. Whether it was during her performances, of which she was suitably clothed in barely anything, or serving at the side of her Aunt the teenager was all too familiar with the hungry leers that those with power gave her. A bastard like her held no titles nor station and possessed little in the way of self ownership,she was an object, to be used and abused by those that claimed her as their property. Any individuals hoping to relieve themselves of whatever pent up tension churned within their bodies were often excused of their treatment for bastards, whose rights were as fragile as their claims to the assets of their native Hapan parent. Fortunately, for Têhra, her good luck came in the form of her aunt's desire to keep her away from any potential suitor or lover. As strange as it was, Zihanna was excellent at guarding her niece's chastity, her fear of the girl turning into a conniving whore manifesting in strict rules and near-constant surveillance.

It was the blood of Dathomir that made her 'impure', or so her cousins so proudly tauted, the baseless superstitions rooted deep in their prejudice. Touching her was like touching a Rancor they'd titter, completely forgetting how agreeable they were with their bastard cousin during their childhood years. Hate wasn't innate, it was something that was taught and Zihanna's obsessive security of her servant girl's already non-existent sex life was enough to spur more cruel jests from those that saw little in the teenager.

Alas, such measures weren't particularly necessary. Têhra grew up understanding the power of one's sexuality and to have hers so diligently monitored was a big enough deterrent to keep her legs closed and affections smothered. There was the occasional boy or girl she'd fall for but Têhra was a shrewd enough girl to know that nothing would come of her unrequited crushes.

But now...things were a bit different.

She stood frozen by the pillar, the evening chill slowly lacing its frigid wisps against the tips of her toes and the rosy skin of her cheeks, sending goosebumps along her porcelain skin. She was too afraid to move, too afraid to speak anymore lest she insult the woman who'd called for her. The officer's momentary retreat over to the bench didn't relieve the girl's concerns at all, in fact it only strengthened her paranoia. What if she was thinking up ways to punish the bastard for speaking out of turn? Têhra's mind tentatively reached into the depths of her memories, recalling the tales of the Mandalorians, the fleeting whispers of her father's voice recounting the days where the fearsome race would take on the Jedi in bloody battles that waged on for years. They were warriors, Miss Hadrix was a part of them and the mere thought of insulting such a woman only made the dainty dancer feel even more terrible. Têhra couldn't fight the officer and any chance of escape was severely limited to how far her bare feet could take her before she collapsed in pain.

When the officer finally stood up the girl instantly recognized a certain resolve flaring in the alluring blue eyes, like the woman was completely sure of whatever she'd planned next. Such meticulous determination left the girl weak at the knees and dreading whatever was to come next. Têhra released a strained breath, her lashes wildly fluttering as she felt the woman's hands coil around her hair and the sash around her waist. The girl didn't know what to do, her own hands were limp against her sides, fingers nervously twitching as she felt the woman's warmth slowly bathe her diminutive figure. It was gentle, for a mere second.

A stray whimper escaped her lips, although the panicked mewl was muffled by the older woman's mouth, the sound choked by the wet warmth that greeted her quivering tongue. Her breath caught in her throat for a moment, paralyzing the girl as she attempted to make sense of what was happening to her. It was as if her body had somehow relinquished all control over to the woman relentlessly pressing into her. Dainty hands did not push away and chalk stained feet did not kick, whatever struggle remained in her frail limbs was all but spent during the countless times she'd defended herself against her Aunt's wrath. What could she do to halt this? Her mind was ablaze and her throat was filled with the warmth that now dripped down her tongue, the sweet taste of Miss Hadrix's mouth setting her scarred lips aflame with a tingling sensation unlike anything else.

This shouldn't be happening Her mind screamed, beseeching the teenager to push back and run away. But Têhra could not heed the voice of her conscious, it was just another sound in the cacophony of sensations that drowned her body.

A low yelp blurted from the back of her throat into the Mandalorian's mouth as she felt the cool, experienced hands reach underneath her tunic and clasp her by the thighs. Têhra felt herself get elevated off the floor, her feet dangling either side of the woman's figure as her back scraped against the pillar that supported her pursuer's lusty advances. Miss Hadrix was in full control, taking what she wanted and dragging her teenager prey into a sensory overload unliek anything else. The bastard was terrified and confused, her mouth being thrust into auto-drive as she vaguely stared into the distance, her eyes never closing for fear of more surprises.

But then it stopped. She wasn't sure how long the kissing and touching lasted, it was almost as if everything but her body had been torn out of the moment and away from the initial shock that the Mandalorian so gleefully forced onto her.

"I..." Têhra stumbled weakly, too afraid to look at the woman's face as she instinctively tried to close her legs, the warm mass between her skinny limbs halting any such movement and sending shivers down her trembling legs. "I don't know how to...M-Miss Hadrix m-my Aunt, she won't allow this it...it isn't right, I'm...this can't, it won't be g-good and-" She stopped herself, naturally clamping her teeth on her lower lip even though her mouth was once more engulfed in the taste of Mandalorian. Têhra held her breath, the rabid beating of her heart drumming in her ears as she tentatively brought her hands up to shield her pert bosom.

There wasn't much she could do about the hands clutching her backside, except tense up and hope the woman's fingers weren't as curious as her tongue.

"I'm...I'm already very happy Miss Hadrix," She anxiously lied through her teeth, sucking on her lower lip before glancing at the woman's nose, still too afraid to look at those commanding eyes. "I d-don't need this...this gift, it is...I don't know how and-and there's better girls out there, l-like my cousin, Fay'ira...she's beautiful and you would like her more, much more..." Têhra rambled, blushing madly before bringing her face down to hide behind her shaky hands. This was all too much...

...but maybe she deserved it.

 

[Ali Hadrix]

Ali shook her head slowly with every word that tumbled haphazardly from Têhra's lips. Those lips, sweet, red, young lips...Ali stared at them, licking the inside of her own and tasting once again the sweetness of the young woman on her own flesh and tongue. She let the girl speak, feeling she needed to, but kept her hips pressed firmly against Têhra's groin, holding the girl easily against the pillar at her back. Ali wondered if the stone had scraped the tattoo on her backside.

"Do not presume to know what I want." Ali spoke firmly, her jaw set and her eyes locking with the other woman's. Têhra was light as a feather in her grip, Ali felt as if she could hold her there all night. She felt the warmth of the girl's sex against her stomach, and Ali's nostrils flared and she took a deep breath. She wanted to see the girl, smell her, taste her flesh. She wanted to leave a crooked pathway made of teeth marks from her breasts to her navel. Ali stared hard at Têhra, who avoided eye contact at all cost, observing every inch of pale skin and taught flesh from her brow to her breast.

Têhra's words were lies, Ali knew that much. Lies regurgitated from the throats of her pathetic blood-kin. Their lies weren't worth Têhra's lips, Ali decided. But with every movement, every look, Têhra shied away from her like a whipped hound, as if every time Ali looked her way it was to beat her. Maybe she needs to be beaten, Ali wondered, cocking her head slightly and regarding the young woman curiously. After a long moment of introspection, Ali sighed and set Têhra down on her chalk-stained feet once again. If Têhra expects me to be selfish, then I'll be selfish. The girl's thighs slid along Ali's hands as she released her, grasping her supple bottom. Têhra's beige dress gathered in bunches over Ali's wrists, exposing her pale thighs to the cool night air. The backs of Ali's hands felt goose pimples raise on the young woman's flesh.
Ali expertly slipped her fingers beneath the band of the minimal undergarments Têhra wore as the young woman's feet reconnected with the ground with a light pat. Ali looked Têhra in the eyes for a brief, silent moment, her expression the signaling of a tidal wave about to strike land. She ripped at the undergarments twisted in her grasp, breaking the hem of the fabric on either end with a strong, single pull. Ali released her grip as they tore, and out from underneath the hem of Têhra's dress they tumbled to the stone floor. The look in Ali's eyes was fierce, she gripped Têhra's arms and held her against the pillar. Bringing her body close, till their forms touched, Ali dragged her lips across the teenager's skin, from cheek to earlobe.

"I decide what I want, and I take it once I do," Ali whispered quietly, commandingly. "So if I decide to spend my time on you, then you are the one I want, not some Hapan whore. You...you deserve so much more than the deprecation and loathing of yourself and others. You cannot see that, but you will. But until such a time as you do, I can only speak to you in terms you understand."
Ali's words ended there, suddenly frightened of herself. She felt Têhra's soft hair against her cheek and all she wanted was to kiss the girl lovingly, kindly, and to speak sweet words to her. But the teenager did not understand kindness, only control. She did not understand compassion, only loathing. Neither empathy, only lust. Têhra was so used to being an object, to being property, the only way Ali could ever hope to get through to her was to make the girl her property. To set her free, I'll have to own her first. Ali remembered, each unspoken word clutching at her heart. She was trying to evolve passed the ruthless, selfish woman she was, and here she was realising that woman was her only hope to helping another. Suddenly, Ali hated herself. Of all her flaws, this was her most hated, and yet it remained the only weapon in her arsenal to use against the enemy of Têhra's happiness.

Ali pressed Têhra against the pillar by her shoulders, ordering her to remain there with naught but a look. Once again, Ali wondered if the stone was cold against Têhra's skin, or if she was too frightened to notice. Ali's heels clicked and clacked softly as she stalked around the pillar against which the young woman stood, as a predator approaching wounded prey.
As she stepped around the pillar in circles, Ali fought with herself over what to do next. If she simply let Têhra go, the girl would return home and never see her again, fear would grip her and Ali might never hear from the young woman. At the same time, she couldn't keep her, by the customs of the Hapans, as despicable as they were, Têhra belonged to somebody, and that somebody was not Ali. How does one acquire a slave? Ali wondered, looking at the young woman out of the corner of her eye. She pursed her lips and turned away, running her fingers through the pony-tail that hung down across one shoulder.

Soon, however, Ali returned to Têhra, grasping her by the wrists and holding her arms up against the pillar over her head as she stared down at her. Ali's gaze bored into Têhra's eyes, searching the eddies and pools of color within the girl's irises for any hint of thought or desire. "I will not threaten you to stay with me, like they do.. I will not punish you if you do not, like they will. I will give you nothing but what you need to be happy if you choose to stay, which they will not. But you will be mine, and freely so. But until you are ready to do so..."
Ali's words trailed off and she kissed the girl gently this time, refreshing the taste of both Hapan and Mandalorian in both their mouths. Ali let her lips wander along Têhra's neck, down her collar to her chest, until she found the soft tissue of a breast through the fabric of the teenager's dress. She opened her mouth and felt the outer walls of her teeth drag against fabric, before biting down sharping on Têhra's flesh. She bit hard, intent on leaving a bruise, though soon enough she released her grip and looked down at the diminutive girl.
Ali undid the front of Têhra's dress, pulling the panels of fabric apart and exposing her chest. Inch by inch, pale flesh glowed dully in the moonlights as Ali exposed her. They were in a public place, though the court was deserted at the moment. Ali could hardly care either way. She took the girl by the jaw, forcing her head down. "Look at that. That is my mark." Ali told her, her voice soft, but dark. "No one will know, but from now on, you belong to me. You will answer to the Duch'a, you will remain with her, you will suffer her." Ali pulled Têhra's chin upward until their eyes met. "But you must never forget who owns you now." Ali pressed a finger against the reddened bite mark left on Têhra's right breast. It was already bruising, though not grossly so. To set her free, I must first own her, Ali reminded herself as guilt and shame washed over her. She hated having to be this person. She hated Têhra for being so alluring that Ali couldn't resist, but simultaneously so damaged that Ali had to be...this, just to help the girl. Ali almost glared down at the teenager, whispering dangerously, "When that mark begins to fade, you will return to me for another, understood?"

 

[Têhra]

Têhra always envisioned her first time with another like something from the romantic tales of old, where the young couple would blissfully collide together in a sweet storm of gentle caresses, greedy kisses and lingering embraces. The romance captivated the bastard as she grew up, the whispering promises of finding someone to share in her pain and pleasure ensuring she didn't stray into needless flings with the men and women who thought her easy pickings, they were rejected by her aunt and rightfully so. Alas, the girl knew little of the intimacy she often read about and was rarely, if ever, afforded the same physical affection her female cousins received on the daily. Her yearning for someone to hold and touch slowly blossomed as she quietly watched the girls in her family grow up find a suitor, or suitors if they were so inclined, to spend the nights with, tumbling around in cashmere sheets and experiencing all the joy and ecstasy that young love and lust could offer. A sullen envy drove Têhra's desires, one that was silent in its loneliness and never ever given the satisfaction it craved. She knew she was worth love, her father told her so every day he was still alive to protect her, but seeing such a thing eventuate felt like playing with impossibilities far from her grasp.

But now, trembling and whimpering, frozen by the cool evening air and the fear that gripped her, the young bastard knew that her dreams of dalliance and tender affection were far from blossoming into reality. This was humiliating and painful, the words that spilled from the Mandalorian's lips only confusing the shivering teenager even more. Requesting to meet this woman was a mistake, if she'd just stayed in the kitchen and scurried back to her apartment none of this would be happening. The hot, sweet taste of the woman's kisses were like fire on her lips, fire that burned the scars that scoured the supple pink skin and set the teenager's mind alight with panic and regret.

It didn't matter how good it felt to be kissed, she didn't want it...not like this anyway. But there was nothing she could do, nothing but pitifully whimper into the other woman's mouth and flinch every time she felt the officer's hands caress her skin.

Even when she was returned to her feet, Têhra felt her body freeze under the predatory gaze the woman gave her. With knees locking together and toes scrunching in silent protest, the teenager could do little more than feebly shake her head and plead with her eyes as she felt the woman's hands slip underneath the thin material of her undergarments and viciously tear them apart. A trembling yelp escaped her throat as she felt the frigid licks of the cool air creep up her legs and now exposed sex, skinny thighs instinctively clenching together to halt any more invasive action. If things were different then maybe she'd of willingly stripped for the woman, offering up her body like a good girl should...but now she felt nothing but hollow sickness in her stomach, the need to flee back home stronger than it ever was before.

Every sweet promise the woman gave her only moments before seemed like distant memories, fleeting wisps conjured from a forgotten dream. Was this the Mandalorian's ploy all along, to warp a bastard into some puppet made for sex and self satisfaction? Têhra did not know, she did not want to know. Her mind struggled to comprehend all that was happening, as if there were several key instances in her dealings with the woman that could have averted this crisis. Her eyes focused on nothing, the shimmering hope that sparkled within the deep pools of blue waning till there was nothing but dread swimming within her forlorn gaze. Every word the woman spoke was now a muffled slurring of sound and vibrations, the attempts at justifying her behaviour falling on deaf ears that couldn't bear such noise anymore. Lips sparked with warmth but never kissed back, never savouring the wet taste of the woman who'd so defiantly pursued her. If she was a Pelin'a then she definitely did not feel like one, Têhra felt little more than a quivering husk of herself, possessing none of the assertive charm that her royal brethren easily threw around.

Her frail whimpers of protest were strained noises that didn't seem to impact the woman's advances, the slick supple sensations that crawled from her lips, down her neck and onto the soft fabric hiding her pert bosom sending shivers down her rigid form. Her breath caught in her throat the moment she felt the sharp stab of pain erupt on her right breast, a mortified squeal escaping trembling lips as she bit back the tears that threatened to drench her cheeks. Barbs of fire cut deep into her porcelain skin, marring her flesh and sending needles of pain throughout her core. She could barely stand up anymore, whatever strength she had in her legs all but disappearing the moment the officer branded her. Whimpers turned into snivels, the experienced fingers that unlaced her top feeling like insects clawing at her flesh, her innocence.

The Mandalorian left her exposed under the violet sky, a snivelling, trembling mess of a girl with a new mark to shamefully hide.

Even when forced to gaze at the woman's cruel present Têhra ensured she kept her eyes shut, the tears now falling from her lashes like dewdrops after a great storm. She wanted to gag, she wanted to scream, she wanted to tear the marks from her flesh and abandon whatever promises this stranger was giving her. When the woman finally spoke once more, the girl felt something ignite within her, something strange and hot and dangerous.

"NO!" The bastard cried out, wrenching her arms from above her head and around her now exposed chest, shielding herself from the woman's hungry leer. Panicked snivels caught in her throat, momentarily choking her as she inched away from the woman, stepping over the fragments of her underwear before collapsing onto her knees into an angry fit of sobs. Crumpling onto the cold hard ground the girl wept, clinging to her shivering body and making a tear stained mess by the feet of the woman who now claimed the girl as her own. Her knees were numb and her feet scraped against the ground, marking the floor with more chalk as the terrified bastard feebly tried to crawl away like some wounded animal.

Her rage ended just as soon as it ignited. The cold and empty void of reality welcoming the teenager back into an existence only worth begging and pleading through.

"P-Please...I-I-I can't, it hurts..." Têhra sobbed, staining the ground with her salty tears. The golden calligraphy that trickled down her spine shimmered in the evening light, but it's beauty only made the girl feel even worse...it was just another mark, another claim to her flesh. "I'm sorry..." She whimpered softly, feebly, pitifully, her voice smaller than it had ever been before.

 

[Ali Hadrix]

Ali didn't fight as Têhra yanked her arms downward and collapsed to the stonework ground. Ali wondered if it was cool against her skin, if she felt anything at all after what life had done to her. After what I have done to her now. Ali reminded herself painfully. She watched Têhra crumple into a ball on the ground, shaking and sobbing, and Ali felt her heart break. I can't do this, she realised. I can't fight fire with fire. I can't fight, and neither can she. Ali wanted to collapse, to let herself down besides Têhra. What am I doing? She thought to no one in particular, knowing there was no one to answer.
Ali looked up, the courtyard was open-topped, the night sky exposed. Soft currents of cool evening air moseyed through the open roof, kissing Ali's cheeks and neck. Suddenly the air cooled sharply and Ali felt as if she'd been slapped. She found herself shaking nearly as terribly as Têhra. I don't want to hurt you. Ali told the younger woman, reaching out for the girl's shoulder. Têhra recoiled from her touch and Ali's fingertips tugged along the fabric of her tunic, pulling the open fabric downward and exposing the girl's marred backside.

What Ali saw was beautiful and terrible, for she knew what it was. A branding, a sign, a warning. It branded the teenage girl as a slave in all but actuality, signaled to others her lowly status, and warned those above her to avoid her touch or gaze. Ali had seen slavers marks on dozens of worlds, and knew one when she spotted it. They were always located on the body where the individual could not see, as if to allow them to forget their status until cruelly reminded by others.

This mark, as disgusting as its meaning was, was truly beautiful in design. The calligraphy that ran down her spine disappeared behind the curtain of her tunic. The characters twisted and curled, emboldened themselves and faded away, each letter like the waves of a tide, rising and falling and growing and shrinking, one always leading to another. Ali stood behind the girl, mesmerized.
As Têhra cried, each sob crushing Ali's heart, she gently, softly, lovingly even, pulled the teenager's tunic further down, exposing the entirely of the brand. Suddenly the characters began to blur and Ali realised she was crying. Her eyelids felt strained, her breath caught in her chest. Tears built in her eyes and began to drip steadily from her lids and onto her cheeks. She wiped them away with the palms of her hands swiftly. She cannot see me like this if I am to remain who I need to be for her. It was killing her to do so, but Têhra had to know and understand what Ali could be for her, or she would never trust or want her.

Ali remained apart from Têhra after having exposed her fully. She stood off to the girl's side, her face set in stone, looking down at her young, ripe figure. Her tunic had fallen down to her wrists, exposing her breasts. They were small and pert, with pink nipples and wet with tears. Every inch of skin was a blank sheet of flimsi, pale and white and ripe for feasting. Ali's lip curled in disgust at herself as a small part of her took pleasure in the teeth marks that blossomed on the teenager's right breast. The skin was not broken, but the bruise had grown and shown as a light purple series of flares.
Ali stood over Têhra and reached down, her hands sliding softly along one of the girl's arms until Ali felt her fingers lace themselves through the pelin'a's. She tugged gently on the young woman's arm, trying to bring her to her feet. Têhra didn't move. Please forgive me. Please don't make me treat you this way. Ali begged Têhra silently. She tried once more before her frustration got the better of her. Reaching down, Ali gripped Têhra's fleshy nipple and pulled upwards forcefully. The girl cried out and rose swiftly. Ali held onto the nipple, feeling it between her thumb and forefinger, feeling it press against the inside of her hand. After a moment, she released it.
She ran her free hand through the girl's hair and gripped her firmly but not harshly, bringing her mouth close and kissing her softly. The lips she kissed were warm, but the feeling behind them was cold and still. When they separated once more, Ali gently brushed a lock of stray hair from across Têhra's brow. "I will put you down, yes. But unlike her I will always lift you back up. That I can promise you, Pelin'a Têhra." Ali muttered smoothly. Têhra had known little more than lies and ill-treatment for the greater part of her life, and Ali couldn't bare the thought of becoming just another emotional burden. If she was going to own Têhra's heart, she would have to earn it, not take it by force. Goodness knows her aunt's been trying for years, and is only now just succeeding. I have to beat her to Têhra's heart.

Ali leaned back and gently pulled the fabric of Têhra's tunic back up along her shoulders, then refastened it closed over her bare breasts. I just want to help you, pelin'a, and I don't know how. But don't make me do it like this. Ali thought to herself. She looked down at her hands as if they were covered in innocent blood. Ali had been cruel, yes, but only ever to herself. For others, she held much compassion and empathy. She was used to abusing her own mind and body, poisoning herself with liquor in order to help forget the string of failures that had been her life thus far. But to do so to another, especially one so deserving of better...Ali wasn't sure she could. I deserve to live as marred as Têhra, but no where near as beautiful. She ran her hair through with her hands, struggling to understand why she could feel so much for someone she didn't even know.

Ali took Têhra's chin into her hand and brought the teenager's gaze to level with her own. "Now, I asked you a question. Answer me." She said firmly, gripping Têhra by the throat, though the movement was intended to merely frighten the girl into replying. She was resolute in the necessity of her tyranny over the teenage girl. Zihanna Syle'a was a horrid woman, that was indeed true. Yet she held such a grip on Têhra that Ali could hardly believe. I have to win her from Zihanna, Ali knew. She had to beat that woman, in order to free this one. That meant outclassing her at her own game. As much as Ali hated the idea of treating Têhra like a kath hound, she felt it was necessary to helping shape the girl's frame of mind in a more positive manner. Zihanna punishes and never truly rewards, Ali realised, the knowledge spreading like wildfire through her mind. I need to be her reward.

 

[Têhra]

There were a few moments growing up that Têhra faced undue physical attention from her aunt and cousins, the rare chapters of both genuine affection and terrifying aggression playing out for a day or two before disappearing into the neglectful void the bastard was so accustomed to and resurfacing several weeks or months later. Although scarce, Têhra wasn't a complete stranger to the fickle affection of her cousins, the immaculate flock of young women oftentimes dragging 'their bastard' out for a night of revelry and mischief. Whilst the diminutive teenager was often brought along to clean up the mess left behind or receive any possible blame for her cousins occasionally questionable actions she was at least granted a small window of joy knowing what it felt like to be a young woman of house Syle'a. Her time was spent servicing the girls in their most darkest, most embarrassing or volatile moments, and it was an almost intimate experience if one considered how uncommon it was to witness Hapan girls at their lowest. Nights being used as a makeshift bed warmer were a favourite, closely followed by the strangely amusing minutes holding back her 'regal' cousins hair when they've had too much to drink or being used as makeshift target practise for kissing, although such a thing became increasingly more uncommon as her cousins grew older and more experienced.

Têhra knew them better than most, if not all, and it was this possession of such intimate and damning memories that made her a 'threat'. Their hate and wariness of her would always trump whatever affection they felt for their porcelain skinned cousin. As much as her anger and loneliness compelled her to hate the girls she grew up with the young bastard knew that their prejudice was a learned behaviour, a heartbreaking side effect of their upbringing and the powerful people that raised them. The nights she was afforded to keep her cousins warm were treasured experiences, fleeting hours of quiet contentment that existed only between the soft indigo of Hapes' evening and the shimmering gold of its morning sky, for she knew that when her immaculate kin woke up she'd be kicked from their side and dismissed back her to her lonesome existence.

Through her tears she feebly glanced up at the Mandalorian, the woman who would stake her own claims on who the bastard would be keeping warm at night. She wasn't bound by blood like the women of House Syle'a. What drove her wasn't pride or prejudice, Têhra could not fully comprehend what it was but she knew a lusftul leer when she saw one and every second she spent exposed in front of the human the more she felt herself turn into a piece of meat, a virginal conquest for a great warrior to break into.

The mere thought made her shudder and sick to the core.

Alas, her trembling contemplations could only last so long before she was torn back into reality by the stranger who so eagerly wanted her. A choked whimper broke past lips stained with red and saliva that wasn't hers, frail limbs locking in place as she felt the hand clutch the base of her throat. Têhra felt small and powerless, like a rodent under the foot of a Rancor. There was no time to beg or plead and she was too exhausted to even think about running away, let alone wrenching herself from the woman's touch. There was nothing to do, nothing but drop her gaze down to her numb, chalk stained feet and pitifully nod her head.

"Yes M-Mistress..." Têhra sniffled weakly, her voice barely a whisper as she scraped heavy tears from her reddened cheeks with trembling fingers. What if Zihanna was watching her right now? This was treason at its purest and the very thought of angering both her aunt and the woman clutching her throat summoned another feeble wave of mewling sobs.

What was to happen now, would the woman mark her successful conquest by taking her captive's chastity? The thought terrified the girl and she instinctively clenched her legs together just in case such a thing were to come of this fresh and painful pact.

 

[Ali Hadrix]

Têhra finally surrendered herself to Ali, cries fading and her sniveling voice saying the words, "Yes, M-Mistress." Ali held her grip on the young girl's throat for several long, quiet moments, the tendrils of air leaking from her nostrils as she breathed caressing the teenager's cheek and lips. Ali kissed her again, then lightened the grip she had on her throat.
Têhra was shaking with fear and Ali could see her heart racing by the intense throbbing of the artery in her neck. Ali hadn't considered the notion of forcing herself on Têhra sexually, though the young woman clearly had. Her voice had lifted in pitch, strained with the stress Ali had put her through, and her thighs were clamped tightly together. As comfortable as Ali might be treating Têhra as something less than the woman she was (which she was not comfortable doing), she certainly could not stomach the idea of...
"Good." Ali said, interrupting her own thoughts. She looked down at the girl, feeling she needed to do something to help make her feel more comfortable with Ali. Lightening the grip she had on Têhra's neck until it her palm simply rested against her collar bone and chest, Ali spoke softly, yet firmly, to the teenager. "I'll never do...that...to you," Ali muttered, gesturing vaguely to the sex between Têhra's legs. "Not without your leave."
Hoping Têhra believed her, Ali kept herself close to the young woman, their bodies pressed together. Ali could feel the pelin'a shivering, and she doubted the cool night air was the cause. Ali used her pelvis to keep Têhra against the pillar, though not so forcefully as to cause undue discomfort. Well, what's next? Ali asked herself, not entirely sure. She tried to imagine the abuse Zihanna had put Têhra through, and what she might say or do after dragging submission out of her niece. Whatever it was, Ali needed to do better. She needed to be the more valuable side of Zihanna's coin, so to speak, in order for Têhra to continue choosing her.
Ali thought back to the summit meeting earlier that day, and the things Zihanna Syle'a had said, how she had treated not just Têhra but everyone in the room. She was dominating, strong, confident, driven, demanding, cruel; Ali was only half of those things. She needed to be more, but at the same time needed to avoid making her treatment of Têhra feel too similarly to the treatment she suffered from her aunt. I have to be better, I have to be wanted.
Ali dragged her thumb up along the young woman's chin to her lip, pulling it softly downward and opening her mouth. Slowly, Ali slid her finger between Têhra's teeth, feeling the wet warmth of the thick tongue inside her mouth. Intently, Ali stared down at the girl, lightly brushing the back of Têhra's tongue with her index finger, sweeping it before pulling away. The girl didn't gag or choke, she held fast. Someone's done this to her before. Ali thought sadly, drying her wet finger on Têhra's tunic. "Your aunt said she'd gag you. She's done it before." Ali said matter-of-factly. "I will treat you better than that. Your subservience to me will become a charm, a drive, a goal, rather than remain shackles that hold you back, something to fear." Ali kissed Têhra softly again, tenderly even. "I want you to know that you can be happy." Ali took the teenager's hand and stepped back. "Come with me, Têhra, and you'll experience tonight what it means to be treated like the pelin'a you are."

 

[Têhra]

Têhra was stranded on the precipice of pain and utter exhaustion, her waifish figure pinned between the cold stone pillar and the ambitious woman that was relentless in her demands and physicality. The girl knew not why the officer was so tactile, maybe it was a simple show of dominance, claiming every inch of the bastard's skin as her own in some crude attempt at wiping away any and all traces of Zihanna. Maybe the officer simply liked kissing, Têhra didn't know nor did she particularly want to. Her lips and tongue tingled with warmth and an unfamiliar taste, like salt and cinnamon. Scarlet smears of the stranger's lipstick stained the girl's quivering mouth, cheeks and jawline, a smudged red trail trickling down her ivory neck and over her collarbone till it snuck beneath her tunic and marked the garish bruise that blossomed on the girl's right breast.

Têhra was a scarred, stained, shivering and snivelling mess and the mere idea of this woman finding her so alluring in such a unkempt state riddled the teenager's mind with more concern and confusion, making her all the more self conscious as she forced herself to endure the woman's touches. Yes, Miss Hadrix was being exceptionally more gentle than before but a dollop of ointment after a burn still hurts and even the slightest bit of contact resulted in stifled winces and flinches from the petrified teenager.

Gazing at the torn remnants of what was once her undergarments by her feet, the girl forcefully swallowed back a mortified whimper before slowly bending downwards and picking up the scraps of cloth. She couldn't just leave them there! Trembling hands fiddled with the mutilated garment, glistening eyes furtively glancing around to see if anyone noticed the shameful scenario she found herself in. Barefoot, tear stained, covered in lipstick...she was very image of the wanton bastard the suspicious few believed her to be.

Why, any passerby would think her a street walker profiteering off a wealthy foreigner. The thought alone made her feel dirty.

The woman's offer to treat Têhra like a real pelin'a was met with a hollow stare, the moisture that still dampened the girl's eyes slowly peeling off into stray tears that were ignored by the tormented teenager. She didn't know what to believe anymore, everything this woman said and did kept the girl on edge and the very notion of rejecting her new owner's offer seemed like an exceptionally stupid thing to do. The dainty dancer simply wanted to scurry back home and cry in her tub. She didn't want to be a pelin'a, not if it meant dealing with painful instances such as this.

It was only a few tentative steps into following her new owner did the girl stop and hesitantly tug backwards, hoping the woman wouldn't punish her for such insolence.

"Mistress...I...I can't be s-seen outside like this..." The girl stumbled, not even daring to look at the Mandalorian as she brushed her toes over each other, sniffling away the moisture that threatened to leak from her nose. Wherever the woman was planning on taking her there was bound to be hundreds of Hapans still out and about, if word got out that a foreign intelligence officer was escorting some battered little bastard around then surely House Syle'a would hear of it, the risk seemed too great...for Têhra anyway.

Alas, the girl's concerns were seemingly dismissed by the Mandalorian and before she could consider yanking herself from Miss Hadrix's grip the young bastard was whisked away from the upper courtyard of the Lotus towers and in the direction of the prestigious embassy apartments in the grand plaza.

The soft pitter patter of the teenager's bare feet were in direct contrast to the confident strides of dark haired Mandalorian who claimed the girl as her own. The sharp clicks of the woman's heels against the permacrete walkway echoed into the vast city that sprawled around them, signalling her arrival to any wandering Hapan perusing the boutiques and offices that swarmed the nearby business district. Têhra shied away from making eye contact with any of the passersby, her gaze firmly fixed on the shimmering polish that adorned her toenails. The girl still quivered and sniffled, her limbs stiff in their movement and possessing a clumsiness rarely ever seen for a dancer as talented as her. Every remnant of energy and pride left within Têhra demanded she tear herself away from the woman and escape into the safety of her own apartment but she couldn't, her hand was caught in the vicegrip of her new mistress and she was left wandering behind her like a wounded pup.

The scent of the perfumed gardens surrounding the grand plaza was carried by the gentle evening breeze and eventually drifted into the duo as they made their way closer towards the woman's apartment, the aroma growing stronger and sweeter with every step the trembling teenager took.

She was rarely ever allowed in such a privileged domain, her aunt deeming the girl's presence in such a refined part of the city unbecoming to the Syle'a household. It was only during excursions with her cousins or the sabotage of a rival family was the young bastard ever granted freedom to enter the perfumed plaza. Normally she'd find new flowers to add to her greenhouse or dance in one of the more secluded gardens, but any thought of enjoying such a beautiful area was stifled by her own exhaustion and the terror that gripped her.

Eventually, after some prodding by the older woman the girl eventually found herself ascending the great steps leading up towards the embassy apartments, the soft golden glow of the open foyer welcoming the duo as they entered the prestigious building. I don't belong here. the girl repeated in her head, shying away from anyone who even bothered to give her a second glance. This was the resting place for visiting expats, royals and even some Jedi and the young bastard felt a sickening sensation fill her gut as she was dragged into a crystalline lift by the officer.

Têhra always wanted to visit this place but not like this, not in the slightest.

Pressing herself against the corner of the elevator, the girl coiled her arms around her torso as she waited in silence for the door to chime their arrival to the woman's apartment. The floor was transparent, thick glass that possessed a rosy hue, and its presence made the girl feel all the more vulnerable and humiliated. What if someone were to look up and see her nakedness? The torn garments were now tightly scrunched in her dainty hands, knuckles trembling as she tried to force herself from not having another panic attack.

DING!

The life chimed, tearing the girl away from her paranoia as she was led by hand into a wide carpeted hallway which trailed up to two heavy, black doors. It was like staring into the gates of hell, the final obstacle until the woman had the bastard all to herself.

Têhra whimpered, offering the apartment doors a wary look as she gave the descending elevator a tormented gaze. It was too late now, too late for anything.

 

[Ali Hadrix]

Throughout the duration of their journey to Ali's government provided apartment, she argued with herself over what to do with Têhra once they arrived. Should she put her to bed and simply let her be? Ali believed more and more with every step that's just what she would do. She couldn't take her mind off Têhra's predicament though she knew with every moment the girl remained away from the dwellings of House Syle'a the teenager was sinking into deeper and deeper trouble with her Aunt. I wonder if Zihanna's even noticed she's gone yet. Ali wondered, checking her chrono. They'd only met thirty minutes ago, and though their commlink conversation had lasted for a time, Têhra hadn't been missing for more than an hour.
What are you going to do? A voice asked in Ali's mind. She recognized it as her mother, Myra, ever wise and understanding. I don't know, what would you do, mother? Ali asked, knowing the woman couldn't possibly reply. She was still on Mandalore, millions upon millions of miles away. Even so, it didn't stop Ali from considering as best she could what Myra Hadrix might tell her.
Do what you can. That's all the girl needs.
Ali's lips pressed together, almost frowning. Well that doesn't help much, I already knew that. She replied bitterly, glancing back at Têhra, who was following her shamefully, her head bowed and her eyes fixated on the ground. Ali began to feel anger building within her at the sight of how beaten and subdued the young woman was. No one deserves this, she thought angrily, tugging Têhra forward with renewed motivation to get her out of the public eye. No doubt every moment spent outside like this was eating at Têhra's innards, crushing her already battered soul.
I can't changer her, mother. Ali thought suddenly, not expecting an answer. But as her heels clicked and clacked away upon the granite floor of the complex lobby, she was shocked to receive one.
You don't have to. You just have to be there to help her change herself.
Ali stood before the turbolift, her finger resting against the calling key as she considered her mother's logic from the depths of her own mind. You raised me right, mother. Ali thought, smiling inwardly to herself. With a renewed sense of confidence Ali pressed the key for the turbolift, its crystalline panels sliding outward to let them in as the carriage arrived. Within moments they were at their destination; Ali's apartment was on the fortieth floor of the sixty. Her apartment was the only one on the fortieth, the key card she had let them onto the floor. The lift doors dinged and slid open, revealing a short hallway and a large set of heavy dark-stained wooden doors. Ali used the key card again and the lock clicked open, she stood aside and pulled it outward, revealing the room within.
"Welcome to my home on your world," Ali said, releasing Têhra's hand and gently pushing the girl forward into the apartment by the small of her back. Ali closed the door behind her and stalked immediately to the bar in the main quarter, behind which there was a set of double-doors leading to the kitchen.
The apartment was indeed lavish, as was the way of the Hapan people. The far wall opposite the entry way was a single, long window that stretched from one end of the floor to the other and encompassed every room on that side of the building. The main quarter itself had two entry ways leading to the two bedrooms to the left and right of the main door where Têhra stood. The floor in the middle of the main quarter sunk into a pit, where steps lined with cushions centered around a glass coffee table in front of a viewscreen, like a miniature amphitheater. The bar, where Ali stood making drinks, was opposite the gathering area. Beyond the two bedrooms were refresher rooms, a den, an exercise room, a study and a library room.
The curtains that hung from the ceiling over the long wall-window were golden shimmersilk, along the window sat a pair of love seats that could each seat two. An ottoman rested before each one. The carpet was a dark shade of gold, short cut but soft to the touch. The cushions in the sunken gathering space were of all sizes, shapes and designs, and tapestries of the various worlds of the Hapes Consortium hung along the walls, original hand-painted works in frames of precious metals.

"It's too much, I know," Ali said, looking up at Têhra from the glass she was pouring. Corellian vermouth and Shesharillian vodka, with a splash of Kavasa fruit juice. Ali took the thin-stemmed cocktail glass and sipped from it, "I told them I'd be fine in a spaceport motel, but they insisted," she muttered, drinking more. After emptying the glass of its contents, she set it down, gesturing to the empty glass. "I'd offer you one, but I can tell you're still frightened and ashamed and Force knows what else."
Ali rested her palms on the bar and leaned against it, looking Têhra up and down. I don't know what to do with you, she probably wants to run. Maybe you should just let her. What good is freedom if you're just trading one master for another? Ali silenced herself for the moment, taking a deep breath and returning to the center of the room where she'd left Têhra. Turning the teenager's chin upward, Ali looked into her eyes.
"I told you I would put you down, but that I would lift you back up as well." Ali repeated the words she'd spoken earlier at the tower. She took Têhra's hand and led the young woman into the master bedroom, which was draped in lavish shimmersilk curtains, bedding and pillows. The carpet here was a deep red, and thicker than the one in the main quarter. Ali's personal items were seen here and there throughout the room, resting on the dresser and desk, and the chest at the foot of the large bed.
The Mandalorian woman led her further still, through the door at the far end of the bedroom to the refresher. Inside were golden walls and marble tiled floors, a large porcelain basin rested upon a pedestal along the left wall and claw-foot tub as white as Têhra's own pale skin sat confidently upon a raised marble dais in the center of the room. Beyond the bathtub itself a large round window took up the wall, giving a beautiful view of the color-stained painting that was Ta'a Chume'Dan's night sky.
Ali's heels clacked sharply against the floor as she entered the room and closed the door behind them, locking it. Releasing Têhra's hand, Ali left the girl alone once more and went to sit at the edge of the bathtub, leaning over to the gold and silver-handled faucets and turning on the water. She crossed one leg over the other, her black slacks breaking just above her ankles, showing the light skin hidden beneath. She reached up and removed the earrings she'd been wearing, simple opal studs, and placed them on the counter by the basin.
"Têhra, take off your clothes and get in the bath," Ali ordered in a gentle voice as she leaned back and let her fingers play within the water that streamed from the faucet. It was warm, but not too much so, just enough to redden her pale skin. Ali removed her hand after a moment and shook it dry, then unbuttoned her blouse from top to bottom. The fabric hung loose as the buttons were released from their slots, drifting away from Ali's skin and exposing her breasts. She pulled the top off and let it fall to the floor, then reached down and unlatched the bronze buckles that held her heels against her feet, letting them fall one at a time to the floor. They tumbled end over end off the dais and onto the marble tile below. Ali shook out her hair, running her hands through her long brown locks, twisting tendrils of it between her fingers as she watched Têhra undress herself.

 

[Têhra]

Part of the girl already embraced herself for the incoming visual splendour once she was escorted into the room, but her mind was not prepared for the sheer scale and wonder of the lavish apartment. It was everything Têhra thought it would be and more, an expansive living space made for the most regal and important guests visiting Ta'a Chume'Dan. Her little apartment space was dwarfed in comparison to just the main quarter, and that included the greenhouse extension she begged her Aunt to give her. What it must feel like to be so frivolously spoilt, Têhra couldn't help but shuffle in her place as she gawked at woman's apartment. It shouldn't of surprised the girl, the impeccably designed quarters were made to leave an impression on the visiting dignitaries and like everything else on the exquisitely maintained planet, beauty and form were in natural cohesion.

The marriage of Hapans aesthetic choices alongside the calming interior should've eased the teenager, but her body was so rife with exhaustion and wariness that she couldn't even give herself the proper time to explore the main quarters before her new Mistress dragged her away.

Bare feet skimmed against the soft golden carpet, the lush fibres tickling her soles and brushing away any remnants of chalk that stuck to the girl's smooth arches. It was a harrowing little expedition, mindlessly being led by a woman whose name she still did not know. Regardless of how gentle the Mandalorian was being the young bastard was still internally reeling that happened in the last few hours. How could've she allowed this to happen to her? To walk through the most exclusive part of Ta'a Chume'Dan dressed like a prostitute, even worse, actually submitting to a stranger that had already left a mark on her. The bruise on her breast throbbed in pain, the purple splotches marred by the woman's teeth seemingly sprouting with stinging pain every step further into the expansive apartment.

Turning a corner, the girl was led into a bedroom, which immediately sent shrill alarms ringing in the back of her mind. This was it. This was where she would be taken and mounted by the officer. Had other girls met this fate with the Mandalorian? Was she a serial collector of all foreign bastards before stealing their virginity and leaving them to rot in their despair and regret? The girl did not know, nor did she want to...if this was what the Force planned for her then the porcelain skinned girl could barely complain, let alone summon the energy to run away from the sight.

Such a bed deserved the presence of real lovers...not a women and her servant girl.

However, several regretful steps further and Têhra was escorted into a room she did not want to be in. The muffled click of the lock on the refresher room door sent a jolt down her spine, the expansive view of the city from the marble tiled space seemingly mocking the girl as she stood frozen, arms coiling around her chest as she listened to the splashing symphony of water careening into the large porcelain tub. This shouldn't of frightened her but it did, the reality of her Mistress' thinly veiled lust giving the girl a good enough reason to remain clothed and dry. She'd cleaned and bathed with her cousins numerous times, mostly out of necessity than anything else and seeing their naked forms did not bother the girl in the slightest. Yes, witnessing such beautiful and immaculate beings devoid of any scar or blemish was a shattering blow to the girl's self esteem but at least they were polite enough to not make their dainty little bastard dance in the nude.

As much as Têhra loathed to admit it they were family, the people she was trained to clean and wash after...this was different.

Keeping her gaze trained on the polished tiles at her feet, the teenager forced herself from watching the woman strip off her gear, a fact that left her with cheeks blossoming with pink and legs firmly clamped together as she felt the cloud of steam slowly creep up her bare legs. This was all too much too soon. Even if it meant a night without cleansing herself the girl was convinced that she'd prefer anything else rather than getting naked in front of the other woman. Was the Mandalorian getting gratification out of this? Did it please her to see a girl trapped under her bidding?

"M-Mistress I-" Têhra started before biting down hard on her lower lip, reinvigorating the taste of the unwanted kisses she'd experienced not long ago. How could she argue? What could she say to convince her Mistress otherwise? Sucking in a deep breath and turning away from the woman, the girl felt piercing brown eyes trace her every movement, the self consciousness blooming like the red that coloured her cheeks and breasts. With trembling hands Têhra unbuttoned the front of her tunic, whimpering softly as her eyes caught sight of the fresh mark that now blossomed above her nipple. Goosebumps rose along the porcelain skin in the heavy waves, sending all of her nerves into a very heated frenzy as she gingerly untied the sash around her waist. It was the only thing keeping her outfit from falling to her feet and after fumbling for several moments with the knot the girl was left quivering and exposed, her tattooed back facing her owner.

Skinny arms instantly collapsed over her pert breasts and the naked pink flower that blossomed between her pale thighs, the girl's quivering palm covering all that could be covered before she stiffly tip toed into the water with head bowed and teeth firmly clamped on her lip. She could've screamed or cried but what good would that do? No one would hear her and the fear of being punished by the Mandalorian outweighed her desire to remain clothed. The water was warm but she still trembled. The girl didn't feel comfort, she felt trapped. Even the reflection of her captor's naked figure on the rippling water was enough to force the girl into closing her eyes and bringing her knees up to hide her face.

Water lapped against her bare body, the fragrant scent of oils and incense that lined the adjacent wall filling the room with a cloud of sweetness that stung her nose and the corners of her eyes. It was all too much...

 

[Ali Hadrix]

Ali tilted her head slightly and observed Têhra intently as she sputtered her short-lived refusal. Ali didn't say a word nor shift her gaze. She merely remained silent, watching her pelin'a as she too fell quiet. Finally, after several moments in which Ali heard nothing but the subdued sounds of the city through the pane of the window at her back, Têhra turned away and began removing her clothes.
As Têhra stripped, Ali watched from her seat on the side of the tub, one arm crossed over the other and both resting atop her knee. She let her eyes linger on the girl's shoulders, watching the ivory hills rise and fall as the pale gown slid down her back and onto the floor at her feet. Ali gazed sadly at the tattoo marking her young woman's back, though she quickly hardened her expression as Têhra turned about, covering her breasts and the sex between her legs.
The young woman stepped passed her and left the periphery of Ali's vision as she dipped herself carefully into the bathwater. Ali remained still for a moment, staring at the place Têhra had been standing as she made herself naked, seeing only the tattoo that marred the young, beautiful woman. Ali struggled for a moment to quell the rage that built inside her heart and mind, potently wishing she'd adopted her mother's affinity for the Force. In that moment, Ali wanted nothing more than to scratch her name into the interior of Zihanna Syle'a's skull as she had fantasized that afternoon during the summit meeting. The woman deserved little else, and Ali's exposure to the woman was still rather premature.
The sound of water droplets splashing broke Ali from her reverie. She turned her head, long locks drawn across her naked chest, and watched Têhra sitting with her knees drawn up to her face. The girl's hair was hanging in the water, fanning out around her shoulders.
Ali stood, still garbed in the black slacks she'd worn that day, though her top remained as bare as did the young woman's she was about to bathe. Walking quietly to the side of the room, near where the incense and candles rested atop a shallow wooden shelf, Ali reached for the washcloth that sat folded on the edge of the washbasin. She returned to the bathtub and sat atop a small wooden stool that rested aside it, facing Têhra's tattooed back. Ali dipped the washcloth in the water, watching it soak into the fabric and darken it, then drew it out again and squeezed it lightly before rubbing the balled up material softly along Têhra's shoulders.
"When I was a girl, my mother used to tell me, All people are deserving of love." Ali spoke in a voice that was a hair louder than a whisper, so that Têhra would have to strain to hear her. She wouldn't be able to move, lest the splashing of water drown out Ali's words. Her voice was crystal, her words well chosen and from the heart.
"I would ask her," Ali continued, setting down the washcloth and running her wet hands through Têhra's soft, lustrous hair, "What about evil people? Bad people?" Ali reached for a bar of ivory white soap, which she used to lather the washcloth. She brushed it softly along Têhra's back, up and down, sometimes following the curves of the characters of her inked marking.
"My mother would say, Evil thrives in the absence of love," Ali said gently, washing Têhra's shoulders before gently pulling her backward to rest against the side of the bathtub. Ali leaned forward and reached around Têhra's frontside, caressing her naked flesh with frothy water, cleaning her neck and chest and her small, pale breasts. Ali's fingers brushed across her nipples, and the bite mark on her breast.
"I would always tell her, But that doesn't answer my question. Do evil people deserve love?" Ali continued her story softly, remembering those times with her mother when she was young. Myra Hadrix was a beautiful, compassionate woman, and Ali used to blame her father's calculating mind for washing some of that love from her own personality.
"My mother would laugh and tell me, I said all people, did I not?" Ali ran her bare hands along Têhra's shoulders and back, sloughing off the soap with wet, watery hands. She gently cupped the other woman's bare breasts in her hands as she washed them, feeling their smallness, their vulnerability, before moving more downward and washing Têhra's stomach, then her arms. She bathed the girl gently, caringly, taking each wrist and resting the arm across her own, then stroking it softly with the soapy washcloth. Tendrils of water dripped from Têhra's limbs and onto Ali's chest and legs, but she didn't care. This is her time. Ali thought to herself, smiling. Her own happiness could not live entirely free, however, as the bracelets worn around her woman's wrists clinked lightly against the side of the bathtub, reminding Ali harshly that she hadn't freed the young girl yet. Ali shook the thought from her mind, determined to make the most of the night.
"See my mother was leaving the choice up to me, ultimately, though she was implying what the right answer was." Ali explained as she dipped Têhra's arms into the water and rinsed them slowly. After that, Ali stood, leaving the washcloth to hang over the edge of the bathtub as she moved sit atop the far edge of it. Ali signaled for Têhra to forfeit her leg, letting her wet calve rest atop her clothed thigh; she felt the water soak into her slacks.
Ali reached for the washcloth and lightly brushed the soft, supple skin of the teenager's leg and thigh, leaning forward and drawing the girl's foot forward. She felt her hand cup the girl's buttock, then slide back along her thigh till it reached her knee, then Ali adjusted her arm and slid downward once again. Ali felt her fingertips brush lightly along the lips of Têhra's sex; she withdrew them smoothly, focused only on washing the other woman. Again and again Ali ran her hand along her pelin'a's leg until it was rinsed with water from the bathtub. Ali stood once more and sat atop the adjacent edge and took Têhra's left leg into her care.

Lastly, Ali rested the backs of Têhra's ankles atop the far edge of the bathtub, then sat before her on the wooden stool and washed her feet. "Just as I promised I would, pelin'a." Ali whispered, looking over at the girl. She abandoned the washcloth gladly, preferring to soap her own hands and lightly massage the young woman's feet, which were starved for attention. She watched as her wet, sudsy fingertips drew trails through the dancer's dust that stained the young woman's feet, washing it off and sending it running in small rivers and streams up Têhra's legs and into the ocean of bathwater below. After cleaning and rubbing both of Têhra's feet, Ali lightly kissed them each and left them resting in the cooling water.
"It's time to get out, pelin'a," Ali said softly, her lips hardly parting as she spoke the words. She pulled the plug on the bathtub and listened to the water as it began to drain. Ali reached back for a thick, blue cashmere towel, which she draped over Têhra's shoulders after standing her up in the water. The water disappeared slowly at first as Ali helped her pelin'a step out onto the marble tile of the dais, escorting her out of the refresher and into the bedroom. Ali sat Têhra down on the edge of the large mattress, patting her dry with the soft fabric of the thick towel. She stood once more and took the towel, tossing it aside before she drew back the sheets and comforter of the bed and gesturing for Têhra to lay down.
"You'll have to decide. Do evil people deserve love? And if so, will you be the one to give it to them?" Ali said softly, thinking more of her self than anyone else at that moment. How could she? I can hardly love me...

 

[Têhra]

The very notion of being bathed by another was one that deeply troubled the young bastard and it had a lot more to do than simply being naked in front of her Mandalorian Mistress. Fragmented memories of times spent with her only parent tumbled into the girl's mind, the hazy images of her father cleaning her in during her childhood summoning a painful nostalgia that scraped within the fragile confines of the quivering teenager's consciousness. Têhra had a modest upbringing at best, those wonderfully short years spent with her ostracized father giving the then child a suitable portrait for what real love was. They lived in relative squalor compared to the rest of the Syle'a household and Pal'da Tarvyn, for all of his faults, knew exactly how to treat his bastard child in the face of adversity. The man never let the water run cold whenever his daughter was bathing, even if it meant cleaning himself in the lukewarm excuse of a puddle that was left behind once his child was finished. Love was a sacrifice, it drew in pain just as it drew in pleasure and the girl was left deeply conflicted with the thought as she was gently tended to by a woman who was desperately trying to win her over.

Têhra did not know what to do or what to say. She was stuck in a fickle state of limbo that refused to let go even if she wanted to accept the older woman's promise of care and kindness. She felt hollow and exposed, a pitiful sight for a woman who clearly saw more than what was in front of her. Maybe she enjoyed romanticizing the plight of the lonely teenager and some part of the girl grudgingly accepted that as fact. Did she not also romanticize the possibilities of affection and kindness from another? Denying the woman such a dream seemed hypocritical at best and selfish at worst...and the girl was much too afraid to deny such a frightening individual her desires, even if it costed her her chastity.

Maybe it was it the simmering spite for her aunt that made the girl eventually comply to the Mandalorian's request to strip and submit. But her subservience could've similarly been linked to her own exhaustion that riddled her stiff limbs and sore feet. Regardless of what compelled Têhra to bend to her new Mistress' will the girl was left in a dazed state, as if her mind switched her body on to autopilot so that it wouldn't risk hurting itself when the woman's hands strayed too far or lingered too long.

My body now belongs to her the blushing bastard tried to convince herself, as if the futile argument would quell the awkwardness and humiliation she felt when Miss Hadrix's hands brushed over parts of her body no else has ever touched.

The little girl in her welcomed the warmth and tenderness but Têhra, torn by the blistering shards of her reality, could not bring herself to find comfort in the woman's gentleness. There had to be a catch. Surely the woman was gaining something from this...this generosity. Even when the dancer felt the soft hands knead and massage the lingering cold and pain from her dainty feet, she refused to relinquish the grateful sigh that bottled up in the back of her throat. Toes wriggled contently, as if they were separate entities from a mind that dared not accept the stranger's kindness, and teeth drew blood from the supple flesh of her lips as the bastard halted herself from falling into whatever elaborate ploy this all was.

Maybe she was being 'refreshed' for something else...

Shaking her mind of the terrifying thought, Têhra conceded to the woman's command to stand up, a cascade of warm water trickling down her naked form and leaving shimmering stripes that glistened from the deep scarlet glow of the sky just outside the window. Instinctively, the girl wrapped one arm around her chest and cupped her sex with the other hand, a shameful look coming over her face as she was wrapped in a thick towel and escorted back into the bedroom to be dried. Her feet moved slowly, tentatively even, to where the woman wanted her and as she gingerly suckled the coppery taste of blood from her lip the girl prepared herself for the worst. What now? Lie down and spread her legs? The tunic she wore was now a crumpled remnant back in the refresher room and there was no signs of sleepwear anywhere in the nearby vicinity. The reality of her situation dawned her just as quickly as the manic fluttering of her heart and the girl was left fumbling with her own paranoia. Was there really no escape from this? Her palms grew sweaty against the lips between her legs as the bastard offered the bed a wary look before anxiously glancing up at her new owner.

Nothing to wear but the cuffs on her wrists and ankles, how terribly fitting.

"I-I..I umm, Miss Hadri - Mistress, I c-can't sleep like this...I-I have my moon's b-blood..." The girl feebly lied, looking anywhere but at the topless woman in front of her. The lie might have made more sense if she could even get her moon's blood, unfortunately Zihanna's cruel expedition into the future of her bastard niece's lineage ensured that such a thing could never occur. The little 'v' shaped scar just above the girl's groin tingling with a shallow burn. It mocked her lie just like the House that abandoned her father.

 

[Ali Hadrix]

Ali arched a silent brow in inquisition of Têhra's refusal to climb into the bed. Ali let the sheets fall from her hand and she reached for the young woman's left nipple, clasping it gently between her forefinger and thumb. She didn't squeeze, but she left her hand there while she looked down on the diminutive teenager. "You're a poor liar," Ali said softly, gazing at Têhra with an interested expression displayed on her visage. "Did you honestly think I wouldn't notice the lack of hygiene device, or the presence of blood in the bath?" Ali asked, her voice smooth and even, betraying no emotion. She wasn't angry, of course, and she didn't want Têhra to think she was. She wanted the girl to be comfortable. But she had to know the rules, and the first on the list was do not lie.
Ali squeezed the girl's nipple, just barely, just enough to let her know she would cause her pain if she had to. "You can be honest with me, Pelin'a." Ali whispered, stepping forward so that their bodies were close enough for Ali to feel Têhra's heat against her still bare breasts. Ali reached down and pulled Têhra's hand away from her groin, then slid her own fingers between her legs in their place. She felt the young woman's warm, soft lips, still slightly damp from the bath. She ran her fingers between them until she brushed lightly against her sex before drawing her hand up and inspecting the nothingness that was there. Ali pursed her lips slightly and pressed her fingers against Têhra's lips, feeling them quiver against her touch. Ali tugged uncomfortably on Têhra's nipple until the teenager opened her mouth, then Ali ran her fingers into her mouth and held them there, gripping her jaw slightly with the rest of her fingers.
"Taste yourself. Taste your lie," Ali said, somewhat roughly, then gestured again to the bed. "I'm not going to touch you," Ali promise, "Not like that." Ali released Têhra and glanced down between her legs. The woman was bare, the skin above her pale pink lips a blank slate. Ali reached up and cradled the Hapan woman's jawline, wiping a droplet of blood from her lip. She sucked the blood from her thumb, tasting the metalicity on the tip of her tongue. Ali gently pushed Têhra backwards onto the bed, then waited for her to lay down properly before drawing the sheets back up.
"I'm not a monster, as long as you follow the rules," Ali said, her voice soft and casual, as if she were reciting a list of food items for purchase. "Firstly," she began, reaching for the wall panel that dimmed the lights of the bedroom, "We do not lie to one another. Ever. And it is just as important for me to be honest with you as it is for you to be honest with me."
Ali reached for the clasp of her slacks, unbuttoning them and letting them fall from her waist. She wore no undergarments. "Second, you always tell me if you do not feel safe." Ali stepped forward, sitting on the edge of the bed. She was as naked as Têhra was, and as pale skinned, though Ali was full breasted and did not shave herself entirely. She ran her fingers through her long locks whilst caressing the wiry strands between her legs, then crawled into the bed beside Têhra, pulling the sheets over her naked waist. Her breasts slid sideward off her chest, the cool air brushing along her nipples and stomach.
"Thirdly," Ali said, suddenly rolling onto her side and reaching over to touch the scar along Têhra's lower abdomen. Ali had not yet thought much about the mark, having remained fascinated by the tattoo on her back. Now, however, she wondered what it was from, and feared what it might represent. "You never, ever, wear undergarments again, unless I give you leave," Ali looked up at the girl, her face serious. "Understood?"
Ali didn't wait for the young woman to respond, but instead cuddled herself against Têhra and draped an arm over her bare stomach. The girl's skin was warm from the bathtub, contrasting the relative coolness of Ali's own body. She felt her groin press against Têhra's hip, and gently lifted her thigh and left it to rest on her pelin'a's own. Ali sighed quietly as she felt the warm cleft between her legs brush against the soft skin of the other woman. Gently biting her own lip, Ali let her mouth rest slightly open against Têhra's naked shoulder, secretly wishing the young woman would turn to kiss her. "Sleep." Ali breathed, her own eyes fluttering slightly as warm waves began to wash over her.

 

[Têhra]

The sheer disappointment and humiliation that crawled over the girl's body after her dishonesty was unveiled skittered under skin like gnats on a rancor, sending goosebumps sprouting atop the porcelain flesh. The hair on the back of the girl's neck stood on edge as she felt the woman's gaze wash over her naked body, every scar and blemish that marked her skin burning under the Mandalorian's blue eyes. A low whimper broke past Têhra's lips and like a wounded animal she flinched at the woman's touch, feeling the tips of her breast tingle with a static warmth that made her discomfort all the more obvious. She was ashamed at herself, for not being able to stand up and take claim of her body and not daring to accept the peculiar sensations this entire experience was giving her. Miss Hadrix was like a fire, vibrant, warm and dangerous. Every inch of skin that the Mandalorian touched, grazed or caressed burned with sizzling heat that ignited the teenager's supple ivory skin. Every movement seemed deliberate, every punishment seemed justified and the bastard couldn't help but feel that she would have to adapt to this treatment or face more pain from her Mistress' hand.

However, the mere thought of being forced deeper into whatever this was terrified the girl, it felt like a hand tearing into her gut and pummelling the organs that kept her alive. She was confused, not only by the woman's harsh affection but also by her own feeble compliance. Was there no fight in her? Was this the life her father wanted her to live?

It was only until she felt her hand wrenched from the tight cleft between her legs did the quivering teenager utter one last defiant whimper. The soft sound trailed meekly from her blood stained lips as she felt the woman's touch invade her lower abdomen, the sensation sent a jolt through her core, up her spine and into the swirling midst of her consciousness. Instinctively, the girl's legs clenched together, her body recoiling from the Mandalorian's shameless handling of her supple, sensitive body. Têhra felt her eyes water, the mere notion of having someone even dare venture that far down ripping away any notion she had of her own agency.

I belong to her now.

The girl's mind whispered, shutting away the sensations that washed over her body in an attempt to numb the suffocating humiliation and discomfort. Porcelain cheeks were flushed with a vibrant red, the frantic throb of her heartbeat echoing in her ears as she felt the woman pry open her jaw and punish her for her insolence. She felt broken, the dream of sharing herself with that special someone dashed in the cruel winds of reality. Miss Hadrix owned her in all of her insecurity and shame, claiming the last remnant of what Têhra thought was hers to give away. The realisation stung, so much so that when the girl was finally forced to lie down she was biting back that tears that welled up in her gleaming sapphire eyes.

The woman's demand that she no longer clothe herself in the necessary attire for daily living shocked the girl to the core, the very thought of going about the rest of her days wearing any undergarments making her so self conscious that the girl was certain she'd throw up.

As much as the bastard wanted to claim feelings of discomfort and wariness she was so utterly terrified of the Mandalorian that she even made no comment when the lights to the room were dimmed. It may have seemed normal to such a foreigner but the instance the golden glow receded from the lavish bedroom Têhra's vision was instantly swamped in a murky darkness. She could see nothing, gone was the figure of the woman beside her and the vibrant colours that once danced throughout the room. Everything was bathed in black. The girl felt trapped, her entire body stiffening up in fear as she heard the gentle rustling of movement beside her. The woman promised not to touch her but could it of been a lie, a cheap cover for the sins that would be committed under the heavy darkness that crept into the bedroom? Hands instantly returned to covering her chest and sex, as if it would somehow make a difference when the Mandalorian returned to exploring her servant girl's body.

The girl waited in silence, biting on her tongue as she felt something hot and wet trickle down the side of her face. There were no sobs or whimpers, whatever strength her voice once possessed now all but disappearing alongside her hope and self esteem. She didn't know what else to do. In the silence of that pitch black room the bastard wept, drenching her pillow with salty tears as she felt a woman's flesh press against her own.

An unseen hand slid over her stomach, caressing the gentle curve of her abdomen and sending silent screams into the tempest of her mind. The girl could feel the woman's heartbeat against her arm and feel the heat of her sex rub into the side of her bony hips, the grip on her own privates tensing in anticipation.

Seconds turned into excruciating minutes which rolled into hours laying in the darkness, her eyes never closing lest her beautiful captor hoped to peruse her lust further. Têhra did not know how long she remained awake, the tension in her muscles sending pained throbs through her dainty figure until she could remain still no more and curl into a ball, her back facing the woman sleeping next to her. With her arm still slung between her quivering legs and her knees meeting the edge of her chin, the girl's mind lulled itself into a tentative rest that would not be broken until morning finally came...

FIN