Work Text:
“Not again,” Obi-Wan whispered. Anakin’s bed was empty and the mastiffs were already barking.
He had had a bad feeling about tonight, so he had come to check in, but he was too late to talk the boy down. He had run again.
It was his last chance today, of course he ran.
Obi-Wan felt cold, remembering the Count’s threats from the last time.
He stared at the empty bed helplessly, frustration and fear bubbling under his skin.
He jolted as a hand squeezed his shoulder.
“Such a challenge,” his husband sounded amused rather than angry. He petted Obi-Wan’s head like he might one of the baying hounds. “Shall we see if they’ve caught him yet?”
Obi-Wan didn’t want to. He wished he hadn’t gotten up and it could have been bad news for the morning. He didn’t want to bear witness to Anakin’s pain and humiliation.
“Now, now, come along my dear,” his husband ordered, taking him by the elbow. Although the Count was much older, he still had a strong figure. Obi-Wan didn’t fight. (he never fought).
“Qui-Gon usually has better taste,” the Count tutted conversationally as they walked down the steps into the dining hall. It would be a show then. He could hear servants knocking on doors, waking up the others. He wouldn’t have been able to avoid it after all, although he didn’t need or want the commentary.
There are worse lives I could have lived, Obi-Wan reminded himself trying to focus on the present.
“I should have said no. Adding a former slave to the family didn’t sit right, but he had been right about you. You grew up so lovely and demure. Obedient and articulate.”
Obi-Wan said nothing and was glad he wasn’t expected to as the Count continued.
“But then, despite your circumstances, you had some breeding behind you. You came from barbarians but they were noble barbarians. A worthy prize of Serenno, not a cheap trinket from Tatooine that had been bought and sold a dozen times already.”
Dooku went to his seat at the head of the table that reminded Obi-Wan of a throne. He tried to move away to go to his own assigned spot, but his husband held him and pulled him into his lap instead. His hand slid down his back. A mockery of a soothing gesture. Dooku liked to touch him. He was the youngest of his wives--or would be until Anakin was wedded. He was also Qui-Gon’s favourite, which put him in the strange position of Dooku treating him much like he might both a grandchild and a pet. The term wife honestly didn’t apply to what they were to the man, save for maybe Qui-Gon and perhaps Rael when he was of sound mind and not escaped to whore and gamble in the city.
He became aware that his hair was being stroked again, strengthening the helpless feeling. Aware that Dooku was fond of him. Fond of him because he was obedient and diligent and charming despite being a barbarian’s child. A civilized savage. A lovely reminder of conquest.
The moors of Stewjon were just more land to Serenno now.
He had been a teenager when his family had sold him so that they would be able to keep a few squares of land for the clan. Qui-Gon had chosen him. He had climbed an old apple tree and Qui-Gon had thought it a lovely picture. He thought it was a sign. He has a fondness for trees and signs.
If Qui-Gon hadn’t seen him he would probably be starving on the moors now, or dead. The Count often bragged about how barren the land he had traded him for was. That he was probably the last of the mighty Kenobis.
Obi-Wan often wondered if that was supposed to make him feel good. He always smiled when the story was brought up, but he felt nothing really. He had lost his parents when he was young and he could barely remember the faces of the cousins that sold him, at least Dooku had waited until he was of age to screw him.
The others were starting to come down now. Rael was being supported by servants and Obi-Wan could smell the liquor off him when he sat down at his place at Dooku’s right. The first wife, out of favor and only tolerated for nostalgia now. As soon as he was placed in his chair his head was in his arms on the table softly groaning.
Obi-Wan wondered who he had charmed to get booze this time.
Next came Feemor who went right to his chair and sat down and faded into the background. Feemor was wife number five. He had been a farmer. Dooku married him because the farm was on a large vein of silver. It hadn’t been pretty from what Obi-Wan gathered of the ‘courting.’ Dooku had poisoned the wells, killed the animals, and harassed the village. Feemor was practically dragged before the Count to marry or risked facing an angry mob.
As he wasn’t of a noble birth or of novel interest, he was treated with particular cruelty. He was older than Dooku usually got his hands on with his other brides, so Dooku had been intent on teaching the old dog strict obedience. The young man was broken badly. Obi-Wan had only known him as detached, with his mind obviously elsewhere. A head in the clouds Qui-Gon had told him.
Obi-Wan wondered how much was real and how much was an act to get everyone to leave him alone, but he was very good at reading people. It was what had kept him safe and he had never seen much going on behind Feemor’s eyes.
Still, Feemor was soft and quiet and kind in his own way. Obi-Wan tried to help him when he could.
Dooku gave Feemor a greeting. Feemor instantly smiled a terrible empty smile.
“Hello,” he said and then was back in his faraway land.
Would that be Anakin? Obi-Wan thought, his stomach twisting. He couldn’t imagine it. Anakin had taken so many tortures at this point he doubted it would be possible.
Anakin, soon the be the eighth wife and currently fiancee was a boy of eighteen. He had been acquired when they had been a guest of the Hutts.
Obi-Wan was only a fiancee then. He had often been brought on trips acting more like a page to Qui-Gon than anything. He was thankful for it at the time. Dooku had no interest in teenagers. He didn’t mind beating them, but he didn’t fuck them.
Qui-Gon took a shine to Anakin and Dooku’s favourite was always to be indulged.
Anakin Skywalker was an indulgence and Obi-Wan wished every day that Qui-Gon had left Anakin alone.
In the Hutt territories, slavery was rampant and legal. Obi-Wan had privately thought of all the times the Count had fondly called him barbarian, and yet the Stewjoni had never brooked slavery on their land and the Count seemed to have no trouble rubbing elbows with the slugs that ran the territories, getting rich of other people’s labour.
Anakin’s downfall came from a broken wheel on the caravan that had held a number of the oddities Qui-Gon had picked up during their travels. As it was his cart Qui-Gon had volunteered to go and find someone to fix it.
It was a guard’s job, but Dooku allowed it, aware that Qui-Gon needed to stretch his legs from time to time. There would be a guard or two shadowing him so that he only had the illusion of freedom, but that always seemed enough for Qui-Gon.
In the meantime, Obi-Wan served his soon-to-be husband which mostly involved serving tea and chatting pleasantly. Obi-Wan had spent most of his time in the library or the gardens. It would have been a pleasant life without the future hanging over his head. He vowed to make the most of it.
It was the first time the Count and Obi-Wan had spent actual time together and the Count was pleased with his manners, often bringing up Obi-Wan’s origin.
“Your accent is mostly gone now, just enough left to be charming,” the Count commented after Obi-Wan recited a line of poetry. “ We have done well with you. ”
He had always expected one day that Qui-Gon would try to run, but never did. Two days later he was back, the guards lugging a new wheel and a boy at his side. Qui-Gon begged to keep him. He was a poor slave boy, and wouldn’t he have a better life with them?
Obi-Wan never understood Dooku labeling Qui-Gon as the rebellious one.
Rebellion was Anakin screaming and spitting as he was dragged into the room. Not the mild tantrums Qui-Gon had when he wanted to get his way.
Oh, Anakin.
“LET GO OF ME!” Anakin screamed.
Dooku snorted, tickling Obi-Wan’s ear. “Gag him,” he ordered lazily.
Obi-Wan suppressed a shudder. A shift of positions and Obi-Wan felt his hardness. He doubted it was for him. The Count enjoyed nothing better than the suffering of others and Anakin was about to suffer greatly.
“We’re not all here yet,” Dooku said. “Bring tea,” he ordered a servant. They quickly bowed and hurried to the kitchen. Dooku tutted.
“Should have had something ready the moment everyone was roused. Can’t find good help these days,” he mused as tea was brought and Anakin was gagged, muzzled like a dog. The guards pulled him towards his seat that was directly across from Dooku at the other end of the table, but Dooku shook his head.
“The floor,” Dooku ordered pointing beside his boots.
Usually, Obi-Wan would be sat at the end left of the table and he wouldn’t be able to see Anakin brutally hogtied and thrown before the Count’s feet, but he had a front-row seat this time.
Obi-Wan tried to catch his eye, tried to urge him to calm down with only looks, but Anakin was too enraged to notice anything but his own anger.
Dooku ignored his hissing around the gag, waiting for the others to come.
Qui-Gon came down looking rather rumpled. He had probably been sharing Dooku’s bed and had to throw on clothing. He looked over the scene with a little frown and sat down at Dooku’s left. He also had a front-row seat, Obi-Wan noted.
Qui-Gon looked at Obi-Wan curiously for the position he found himself in. Dooku caught the look.
“He was rather upset at Anakin’s behavior. I thought he might benefit some attention.”
Those words seemed to catch Anakin’s notice. His growls and muffled curses quieted and he quickly craned his head to look.
So this was a part of Anakin’s punishment then?
Those striking blue eyes finally found his.
Bear it, dear one, he mentally begged. We must both bear.
He was almost startled when the Count’s hands traced his jaw. “My seventh wife is quite lovely, but I don’t give him much attention, do I?”
Dooku loved not giving him attention. He had been put in chastity as soon as their wedding night was over. Dooku had claimed that he heard Stewjoni men could bear children and thus he must make sure his fiancee didn’t birth a bastard. As if Obi-Wan could get pregnant from touching his own cock, even if the outrageous rumours were true. It might stem from the Stewjoni concept of gender, that you could live any gender even if you had the wrong body. The idea was either too foreign to Serennian sensibilities to understand, or outright illegal. Everything was hierarchical here. Male above female was an important point to them, which was why they were all given the title of wife instead of husband, it was putting them in place. Placing them in a feminine realm to be below Dooku. Obi-Wan was surprised he didn’t just castrate them if having a cock mattered so much.
As far as Obi-Wan knew though, he was the only one forced to remain in constant chastity baring his husband’s use ‘just in case a servant should impregnate him.’
He didn’t actually mind so much. Despite the occasional groping and the odd night when Dooku felt like something different, he was largely left alone. It was uncomfortable but easier than fulfilling other wifely duties. If he thought about it he had probably sucked the Count’s cock more often than he had taken him up the arse.
Xanatos finally arrived. Was it fashionably late when it was three in the morning waiting for someone to be mercilessly tortured?
He was completely dressed as if going to a ball, a beautiful raven-haired beauty. The finest breeding out of all the wives, titled in a country Serenno cared about. Given up by his father for the promise of good business between their countries, and there was. Telos was one of Serenno’s biggest trading partners, Xanatos had been worth his weight in gold. It meant that he was useful and got away with things that others did not. He took joy in playing cruel jokes on Feemor, but Obi-Wan was his favourite target. He loved seeing Obi-Wan take a punishment through schemes and machinations. Obi-Wan had become good at dodging the more extreme traps and letting himself fall into smaller ones. If he didn’t appease Xanatos in some way he was sure the punishments would be worse, or he would go after Feemor with more intensity.
For all his cruelty though Xanatos didn’t hate Obi-Wan. No, those were just games he would say with an arrogant smile, giving Obi-Wan an affectionate pat on the cheek when he dared to complain. Xanatos found him fun and his little struggles against him ‘cute.’
No, who he really hated was Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan had seen the fall out of the cold war between them. People had died, and all because of jealousy.
Obi-Wan didn’t think Xanatos had affection for Dooku, but by all standards, he should be the favourite. He was younger, prettier, richer, more useful, and yet he was barely taken notice of. Instead, it was a man who spent most of his time in the gardens covered in mud, or reading obscure dusty scrolls about debunked ancient prophecies.
Even more unforgivable, Qui-Gon was nice to him, constantly trying to win the younger man over and make peace, but let it never be said Qui-Gon was a pushover. He played Xanatos’ games and he won, which showed how truly dangerous he was despite his calm and tempered demeanor. How many other rivals and enemies had Qui-Gon dealt with in court?
Obi-Wan loved Qui-Gon, but was very aware he did not know the extent of how dangerous he could be.
If Xanato’s father hadn’t been so important Obi-Wan wondered if Dooku would have gotten rid of him a long time ago for Qui-Gon’s sake.
Xanatos, a prince of ice, sat at Qui-Gon’s side. He wasn’t reprimanded for making them wait. He raised a graceful eyebrow at Obi-Wan sitting on their husband’s lap.
Dooku had a hand in Obi-Wan’s shirt and squeezed his chest once more and then gently pushed him off. Obi-Wan quickly made his way to his seat. Feemor actually noticed and turned his head to smile. It wasn’t as terrible as the one that was reserved for Dooku. It was faint, barely there.
He wished he knew the man. He was certain he must have been kind. Qui-Gon always called him his lamb.
Obi-Wan sat down next to him. He held his hands in his lap so that they wouldn’t shake.
By Dooku’s account, Obi-Wan had been the easiest to tame, but that didn’t mean he had never suffered punishment.
Dooku took a moment and looked them over, pleased with what he saw until he got to Rael, snoring at his elbow. Dooku gave an annoyed glance. A servant poked the first wife awake. Rael crossed his arms. His eyes were red and he hadn’t shaved for days.
“I apologise for waking you my darlings,” Dooku said. “You can blame Anakin for it.”
Anakin was back to hissing on the ground now that Obi-Wan was safely out of Dooku’s clutches. Obi-Wan realized it was worse, not being able to see what was happening from his side of the table.
Dooku sneered downward and there was a muffled grunt. A kick?
“You will be my eighth wife soon. I can no longer tolerate such crudeness. I have tried every punishment with you, but nothing sticks.”
It was true. Anakin had been whipped, canned, beaten, forced to go without sleep, forced to go without food, forced to lick Dooku’s boots clean, forced to crawl on hands and knees, chained outside, spanked publicly, and Dooku’s favourite for Anakin was electricity. Serenno was almost completely electric now. It had seemed like fairy lights to Obi-Wan when he was young. Now it was a monstrous torture device. Dooku liked the lightning patterns that littered Anakin’s skin. He found them pretty.
“I considered that someone else might take your punishment,” Dooku said looking toward Obi-Wan pointedly.
Obi-Wan didn’t move. It wouldn’t be the first time he had taken Anakin’s punishments, but it was rare he could pull Dooku’s attention away from the cause of his anger.
But Anakin was loyal and good. He suffered more when the people he cared for were hurt more when his own skin was flayed.
Dooku had finally picked up on it and identified Obi-Wan as a potential sin-eater.
A gesture and a servant came over and sound filled the tense dining room.
“DON’T YOU DARE TOUCH HIM! YOU CAN’T DO THIS ANYMORE. I’M MARRIED PADME MARRIED ME! YOU CAN’T–”
Obi-Wan paled. He had guessed that the Princess and Anakin had feelings for one another, but when had they married? Tonight? Obi-Wan and everyone else quickly looked to Dooku for his reaction expecting rage, but there was only good humour and amusement. Obi-Wan’s stomach dropped as Anakin continued. This was a trap.
“SHE’LL SEND PEOPLE AND PUT AN END TO YOU–”
Anakin was cut off by Dooku’s laugh. Deep and horrible.
“Oh, did she promise you, bitch?” Dooku grinned down. “Her guardian told me a different story. Will you shut your drooling mouth so you can hear it?”
“You–!”
“Of course, Lord Palpatine is quite fond of you. He might have let you get away with it if he hadn’t had plans for Padme Amidala. She was meant to be married off to Lord Clovis, but now she’s being sent to a convent swearing away all earthly duties due to her… condition.”
“What?” Anakin gasped.
“We’ll see if she makes it all the way there,” Dooku said, “Palpatine is not a forgiving man, and so I must punish you strictly to his satisfaction for the political mess you have caused.”
“You’re lying!” Anakin snarled.
Obi-Wan looked distantly past Xanatos’ shoulder trying to think of what could be done to stop this.
Dooku snorted. “Lie? No. And as your wife has disavowed all earthly duties to be one with the Force it seems you are still free to marry me and thus you are still my responsibility. Get him on the table.”
Anakin was hauled up, still tied up in rope.
“Have him spread out,” Dooku ordered. The ropes were untied and retied. Anakin was spread across the table. His limbs were secured to each leg.
Dooku stood and took out a knife and started cutting off Anakin’s clothes.
“Please–” It stumbled out of Obi-Wan’s mouth. He was sixteen again and begging.
Dooku met his eyes sharply. He should shut up, but he didn’t.
“Please, it’s my fault. He’s just a boy. I should have taught him better. I should have watched him. I should be punished instead.”
Qui-Gon was white. He was very fond of Anakin, but in the last few years, his attention for him had waned as his interest often did in the pathetic strays he took in, leaving Obi-Wan to take over their care.
Obi-Wan had taken care of many feral creatures. Once they got over their injuries, their pain, or their hunger, and started clawing and biting Qui-Gon would cast them carelessly aside, and Obi-Wan who loved Qui-Gon and who had a large amount of pity for the creatures would bring them into his care until they were ready to be released or they were thrown out and he was punished for keeping them. He had thought carrying for them was a way to pay back Qui-Gon for his kindness, but it suddenly occurred to him now that Qui-Gon hadn’t cared for them at all. Anakin was the last in the long line of feral creatures that Obi-Wan had opened his heart to on Qui-Gon’s behalf.
“Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon interrupted him, focusing on him sternly.
Is it because I was so tame? Obi-Wan asked himself wildly. Is that why Qui-Gon never abandoned him? Because he was so easy to care for? Because it took so little for Obi-Wan to eat out of his hand? Obi-Wan, so quick to smile at any little kindness and ignore any little slight. Weren’t there times when Qui-Gon was unfair to him that he had only blamed himself for?
Dooku waited.
“Anakin is just a stupid boy,” Obi-Wan ignored Qui-Gon and pleaded to the Count.
Qui-Gon let out a heavy sigh. He put his hand on Dooku’s arm.
And asked for Obi-Wan’s clemency instead of Anakin’s.
“It’s like I’ve said. He needs a baby to mind,” Qui-Gon said.
And the idea of that discussion made his skin crawl.
It pulled an amused snort from Xanatos who had been bored the entire time. Rael had collapsed in on himself again. Feemor was staring intently at the ceiling. Anakin was struggling against the ropes, rocking the table with his fury, but unable to free himself.
Dooku smiled in recollection and patted Qui-Gon’s hand.
“He’s not a girl! He can’t get pregnant!” Anakin snapped.
It brought Dooku’s attention back to him which was a mistake.
“Gag him again. His prattle gives me a headache.”
Anakin managed to bite some of the men manhandling him, but they were well-practiced getting the ball in and strapping it tightly to Anakin’s head.
Dooku rolled his eyes, “Yes, it was disappointing the rumours about Stewjoni weren’t true, but we’ll make him maternal enough in the coming months. Dear Obi-Wan will look good with milk-heavy breasts to feed the babe. I have a contact with the Nightsisters who has brewed a potion. As for pregnancy…” his voice darkened meeting Obi-Wan’s eyes. “I’ll make him believe it.”
Despite the terrifying words Qui-Gon seemed settled and relieved.
Everything was getting so far away and he remembered how effortlessly Qui-Gon always got through Xanatos’ machinations and he wondered if this wasn’t something that he had wanted. Was Obi-Wan’s fate an indulgence of Dooku’s?
Qui-Gon, he noticed was eyeing him with a hunger he hadn’t noticed before.
“P-please,” Obi-Wan stuttered.
“It’s already decided. You should be honoured to have my heir,” Dooku said.
“N-no, I mean… Anakin, please don’t he’s a boy–”
“Enough,” Dooku said sharply. “Come here.”
Obi-Wan stood quickly before the servants could grab him. He was too well trained at this point and walked right to the side of the lion.
Dooku nodded, relaxing a little. “Good,” he said soothingly. He spread his legs. “On your knees. You’ll use your mouth for something useful if you can’t keep it shut.”
Obi-Wan gracefully kneeled. There were tears in his eyes and he wanted to beg again, but the Count caught his chin in warning.
Obi-Wan opened his mouth and took the cock in his mouth.
“He’s not a boy anymore,” Dooku continued. “It’s his birthday today. He married the girl at midnight so it would all be legal. Alas, well-laid plans. He made his choices.”
That was right. That’s why Obi-Wan had been so worried. It would be Anakin’s last chance to escape. He should have stayed with him– why hadn’t Dooku guarded the door? He had with Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan had only silently cried that night. He hadn’t attempted escape for years.
He could feel Dooku relax and his hand began to run through Obi-Wans’ hair.
A pet. A tame well-trained pet.
The Count didn’t even fuck his mouth, just used him as a cock warmer. His mouth of better use holding his husband’s cock than pleading for his friend’s wellbeing.
He caught Qui-Gon staring down at him. He didn’t look bothered. He even reached down and caressed his head as well. His big hands warm and gentle and Obi-Wan wanted to sob for being so betrayed. So taken in. He still didn’t know what he was to Qui-Gon Jinn, but he certainly wasn’t a friend.
“Now then,” Dooku sighed, relaxed now that Obi-Wan could no longer protest. “The punishments.”
Obi-Wan wanted to fall into the gentle strokes. Forget the pain in his knees on the stone floors and the semi-hard cock in his mouth, but he owed it to Anakin not to fade away.
“I’ve always thought it a cruel practice, but making you a gelding might be exactly what’s needed and ensure this foolishness will never happen again.”
Anakin gave an alarmed cry, trying to protest around the gag.
Obi-Wan looked up. Dooku continued to rub his head while he reached with his free hand to something on the table.
Oh stars, oh stars. He made the smallest twitch and Dooku’s soothing fingers were gripping his hair tight in warning.
“But it’s our wedding today, I would be remiss if I didn’t let you have one last bit of pleasure.”
Anakin let out a stream of muffled huttese expletives that only Obi-Wan understood. Dooku moved his hand back and forth. Obi-Wan couldn’t see from his position but knew he was forcing Anakin to get off.
The Count grew harder in Obi-Wan’s mouth and started to jerk his hips every now and then, but didn’t bring himself to completion.
White splattered from above, getting on the Count’s black shirt and in Obi-Wan’s hair.
Anakin was getting louder and more creative with his threats choked down by the gag.
“Now then,” Dooku said. He held out his hand. A servant handed him a silver item that Obi-Wan had seen when he watched the stable hands care for the horses. The horses that the Count deemed as weak, or unruly. Bad breeding stock.
Obi-Wan gagged and Dooku gave three quick fucks in his mouth.
“Hold still dear,” Obi-Wan realized the Count was talking to him as his brown eyes met his. “You don’t want me to get it wrong and have him bleed out over the both of us, do you?”
Obi-Wan froze.
The table was thudding from side to side.
“Hold him down. Get ready to take care of it.”
More feet surrounded the table. The other wives moved out of the way. Dooku stood and Obi-Wan straightened his back to not lose the cock in his mouth.
“Hold his head,” Dooku ordered Qui-Gon as he moved his hand away.
Those big hands took his place keeping him steady. Obi-Wan met Qui-Gon’s eyes. He smiled. He stroked Obi-Wan’s temple.
There were terrible screams from above. The gag was gone again.
Then Dooku was jerking hard into his mouth letting out a triumphant bellow, discordant with Anakin’s shrieks.
Dooku pulled Obi-Wan off his cock. Obi-Wan had somehow managed to swallow it.
“Back to your seat, darling.”
Obi-Wan shakily stood, trying to focus on the pain in his knees and not look at anything happening on the table. Anakin was still screaming and cursing and promising he would be the one to kill Dooku.
Obi-Wan bonelessly sat in his chair. Even Xanatos looked pale at the turn of events.
“Now the arm,” Dooku said, not raising his voice at all.
But everyone went silent, even Anakin.
Even Feemor looked towards their husband’s face to see if it was a mean joke.
Dooku looked up at them and chuckled. “The first punishment was for fucking someone else and getting her pregnant. But the arm is for Palpatine. You stole from him, and Courscant is a place where thieves' arms are removed so they can steal no more. I’m only taking one. At the elbow, I’ve decided. I’ll take more later if necessary.”
“Please,” Anakin finally whispered, his situation completely clear. He knew this was no bluff. Not after the emasculation.
Dooku tutted, “Where was this before your misbehavior?”
“Obi-Wan,” Anakin whimpered in fear, and Obi-Wan felt himself moving. He picked up the knife that had cut away Anakin’s clothes. He almost got to Dooku’s neck, but was caught by the servants before he could damage him.
Dooku didn’t even look alarmed.
The knife was pulled out of his hands.
“He really does have a mother’s love, as misguided as he is. Take him to his room, Qui-Gon. You may as well start his treatments while I finish up here. We don’t need you for the vows.”
Obi-Wan was screaming now as he was being pulled away. The man he recognised as the High Bishop and a man with a sword passed, moving with ceremony and Obi-Wan screamed louder. He was in someone’s arms. It was Qui-Gon who easily lugged him up the steps with the help of the servants. He flailed and fought but there were too many hands to escape.
“There, there, now,” Qui-Gon said his voice lost to Obi-Wan's pleads of protest. Anakin’s screams echoed up the hallway.
“I know, I know,” Qui-Gon cajoled as he was flung into Qui-Gon’s room. It was filled with plants and odds and ends, and in the middle of the room was a breeding bench.
“NO!” Obi-Wan shouted as he was wrangled down and strapped into place.
“It was a hard day for you, wasn’t it? It’s not your fault. Yan wanted a challenge and when I saw Anakin I knew how wild he would be. How much it would take to tame him. He’s beautiful beaten down, isn’t he? I know, I know, but he’ll be much happier now, I promise,” Qui-Gon soothed him as Obi-Wan sobbed. His clothes were being cut off and he couldn’t struggle away anymore. Why hadn’t he fought before today?
His chin rested on a headrest, his pecs were in open air, and a cushion supported his stomach stopping just before his groin. His arms and legs were tied down on either side of a frame and his arse was in the air.
Qui-Gon sighed and wiped his face and hair with a handkerchief. Obi-Wan realized Anakin’s cum was still in his hair and he began to gag.
“Easy, easy, morning sickness already,” Qui-Gon chuckled as he placed a bucket before Obi-Wan so that he wouldn’t make a mess.
Obi-Wan shook, his entire body frozen and icy.
“I can’t get pregnant,” he whispered. He was out of tears. Anakin’s pleads had cut off. He hoped he was unconscious. “I don’t have a fuckin’ CUNT!”
Qui-Gon took the bucket away and pressed a glass of liquid against his lips. Obi-Wan drank away the bitter taste of bile. It was overly sweet.
“You’ll believe it soon enough. Honestly, Anakin’s timing couldn’t have been better,” he added. He put the glass down on the side table and leaned behind him. He started kneading Obi-Wan’s chest. Obi-Wan quivered.
“I can’t wait to see you filled with milk, feeding the little heir. You’ll look beautiful and you’ll be so happy. You’re always so sweet a motherly, you’ll be perfect.”
“Was it on purpose?” Obi-Wan asked.
“Shh,” Qui-Gon said, not answering, just rubbing his large hands against Obi-Wan’s flat chest.
Obi-Wan could only think of all the stray animals, and forgotten houseplants, and the left behind hangers-on, and finally of Anakin. It had been a test. He had passed some horrible test.
Qui-Gon kissed his neck. He had never done that before. Obi-Wan didn’t move. Didn’t respond. He couldn’t pull away. He was trapped.
Qui-Gon let go and then his hands were sliding down his hips. The sound of a familiar key in a familiar lock. Suddenly the old annoyance felt like armor that Qui-Gon was stripping him of.
He had been fucked by Dooku before. He was Dooku’s wife, and although not the favourite or the prettiest, Dooku had his appetites and cravings.
And yet the idea of Qui-Gon fucking him made him want to cry again.
Qui-Gon released the chastity device, pulling the shallow plug out of his hole and the cage off his cock.
“It’s not that big is it?” Qui-Gon chuckled, playing with Obi-Wan’s cock in amusement. “It’s been shut up so long I suppose it didn’t have any space to grow.
Obi-Wan gasped trying to hold it back. He was sensitive so sensitive and so rarely touched there.
Qui-Gon played with him some more and he quickly came.
“That feel good?” he asked, his hand already moving to Obi-Wan’s hole. Obi-Wan’s orgasm didn’t last long.
“What are you going to do to me?” Obi-Wan asked, steeling himself.
“I’m readying you for our husband,” Qui-Gon explained calmly. “After Anakin is seen to he’ll come up here and he’s going to fuck you. He’ll want to after all that, and Anakin will be too unstable to fuck. Our husband deserves a wedding night. The two of us are going to breed you for the next few months. That’s all you’ll be for. You’ll take your medicine, grow lovely large natural breasts that will fill with milk, and you’ll beg us to get you pregnant.”
Obi-Wan tried to turn his head to glare at him and Qui-Gon started playing with his cock again making Obi-Wan gasp.
“I made sure you would be nice and sensitive when we were ready to breed you so that you’d be eager. Your medicine will add to that too. Poor thing, it will be hard to think of anything but cock once we get going.” He squeezed Obi-Wan’s shoulder and continued stroking him off. “It will be difficult,” he said seriously. “And then once the baby is born you’ll nurse them and care for them as you so beautifully care for everything you come in contact with. You’ll be a beautiful mother for your husband, Obi-Wan. I knew when I saw you in the apple tree. Apples symbolize fertility, your hair is even a lovely reddish colour. I almost believed that you might actually be able to get pregnant when I saw you. The perfect Stewjoni barbarian with such androgynous pretty features. When Yan told me there was only a hole and a cock I was disappointed, but the more time we spent together the more I knew you would be the perfect mother.”
“You’re insane,” Obi-Wan said bitterly. Hadn’t he long been aware of his own circumstances? Why did this surprise him? Why did this hurt so much?
Anakin, he thought. If it weren’t for Anakin perhaps he wouldn’t even have been afraid. Just accepted it like he always did, the whims of his husband absolute. Perhaps he would even take comfort in Qui-Gon’s gentle words, think he had nothing to do with the preposterous torture they were about to subject him to.
Qui-Gon was stretching him out, a cream that made everything tingle pleasantly.
Obi-Wan pressed his face down. He zoned out and let Qui-Gon do as he pleased. Let himself hiss and whine as his skin turned more sensitive from the tea or the drugs or both.
Something moved in him, although Qui-Gon wasn’t using his cock. Just fucking him with a dildo setting his nerves on fire. He couldn’t help but twist and turn and push into the feeling, there was a fire in him and he was hard again.
The door opened and the Count walked in, looking over the scene with interest.
“How’s Anakin?” Qui-Gon asked casually. He was rubbing Obi-Wan’s chest with his free hand as if breasts might spring up any second. He continued to fuck Obi-Wan with the other.
“Asleep,” Dooku replied, sighing. “I regret not doing that from the beginning. He didn’t need to lose the arm, but no matter. He’s finally learned a lesson. He’ll be crawling on the floor and licking my boots with no complaints now, unless he wants me to remove the rest of his limbs so he doesn’t have a choice in the matter.”
Obi-Wan bit the inside of his lip hard trying not to make a sound.
“And this one?”
“He’s all prepared. Ready to be bred by his husband.”
“Good,” Dooku was pleased.
Obi-Wan couldn’t see them, he had his eyes shut. Weren’t they tired after ruining Anakin’s life?
“Present yourself properly,” Dooku chided.
Obi-Wan did, automatically, adjusting himself to be at a better angle for his husband.
“Good,” Dooku complimented, his hands running against his skin and Obi-Wan shivered, he was more sensitive, his hair standing up on end at the lightest breeze.
Dooku’s cock went in, usually a dull affair but now it felt like too much and Obi-Wan gasped in surprise.
The old man pounded against him, sighing as he came.
“I’m too old for so much action,” he muttered to Qui-Gon.
Qui-Gon chuckled. “I know love, I’ll take care of him. Just come whenever you want.”
He heard kissing. Dooku and Qui-Gon, then he felt Qui-Gon’s hand on his backside. Obi-Wan whimpered at the touch. It felt like too much. Overstimulation at every brush of skin to skin.
“Alright then, let’s go again. You want to be pregnant for us, don’t you?”
“Fuck you!” Obi-Wan spat.
Qui-Gon shoved the dildo into him and Obi-Wan keened.
It didn’t take long for him to start begging for it to stop, but Qui-Gon didn’t stop, and when Qui-Gon left there was someone else that would fuck him to make sure he was bred thoroughly. And then they would stop and his whole body would be on fire and he would beg for them to touch him and breed him and make him pregnant.
And then they would fill him up to clean him out and the water would make him so full and cramped and he really thought he might actually be pregnant as Qui-Gon rubbed his belly, laughing as Obi-Wan said he felt contractions even as his little cock grew hard from Qui-Gon’s gentle belly rubs.
“That’s right, good,” Qui-Gon would tell him. “It’s only false contractions, you still have a ways to go yet.”
He didn’t notice he wasn’t even on the breeding bench anymore. Just in Qui-Gon’s lap, stupidly begging for Dooku’s cock.
Qui-Gon would happily squeeze his breasts as their husband fucked him. Obi-Wan crying his thanks barely noticed that his chest had expanded in the coming weeks to be a full handful in Qui-Gon’s meaty paws. He squeezed and nipped at them and they felt so full. So achingly full until he begged that Qui-Gon milk him.
His fellow wife was more than happy to, squeezing his tits like udders before latching on to one himself, complimenting him on his sweetness as suckled.
Then one day he woke up and his body wasn’t on fire and Qui-Gon was stroking his head and there was a doctor holding a baby.
He did it, he had the baby.
Obi-Wan cried with relief and happiness, his purpose being fulfilled. He had carried the heir for his husband.
And then there was another baby crying.
“I had twins?” he asked stupidly. Deep down he knew it couldn’t be true, distantly he heard a woman’s screams and she begged for her children, but his body was so convinced. He had birthed them, he would nurse them with his large milk-filled tits and be their mother.
Qui-Gon looked at him with so much pride and the babies were put in his arms, each latching to his aching breasts effortlessly. He whined a little, his nipples still sensitive, but relaxed as he was used to feed his babies. The sensations might have made him hard, but he felt the squeeze of the cage around his little cock again. That was for the best. He was a mother, the pleasure had only been to help him conceive.
He noticed his husband on his other side and he smiled up at him painfully. Dooku watched impassively, a faint smirk appearing.
“What are their names?” Obi-Wan asked.
“Luke and Leia,” Dooku pronounced.
“Really?” Qui-Gon asked.
“May as well let her have that,” Dooku rolled her eyes. “She won’t get anything else.”
“Luke, Leia,” Obi-Wan smiled. Luke would be the little heir, and Leia their little princess.
He suddenly became aware of a terrible moaning sound. He shifted, trying to look to the floor. His husband was holding a leash.
Qui-Gon caught his chin and turned his head back towards the babies.
“Don’t mind the dog,” Qui-Gon said. “He’s still being trained, but we thought it was only right that he was here as well.”
The dog… they had a lot of dogs. Vicious hounds who were not allowed indoors despite Qui-Gon sneaking in a few during the years. His husband had never brought a dog in willingly, but Qui-Gon held his chin firmly so that he couldn’t look.
“Focus on your babies, little mother,” Qui-Gon ordered. He sighed happily as he watched Obi-Wan kiss each newborn on the head. Obi-Wan didn’t have to look to instinctively know that Qui-Gon was hard. It was the first time in a while he felt revulsion and pulled the little ones closer to him, but it was Obi-Wan he was staring at which made him calm down some.
The hound on the floor continued to whine and sob.
Anakin! Obi-Wan remembered with horror.
He snapped out of his bliss, finally clear-headed and remembered all the things they had done to him all the things they had done to his body. Making him beg to be filled and fucked and made into a mother, but they never filled him properly except for his husband who was rare with his visits. Obi-Wan had sobbed knowing he was the only one that could cum inside him and fill him with children.
And Anakin? What had they done to Anakin?
He only let his eyes widen, then he threw himself back into cooing over the children. Luke and Leia. These were–
Despite his acting, Qui-Gon seemed to notice. He stroked his cheek and Obi-Wan automatically leaned into his hand, muscle memory. He tried so hard not to tremble.
“You just have to be a good little mother, Obi-Wan. Nothing will please your husband more,” Qui-Gon said conversationally. “You’re their protector now, and the best way to protect them is to be the best mother you can be. Understand?”
Obi-Wan nodded.
“Very good, are you pleased Yan?” Qui-Gon asked looking to their husband expectantly. Dooku mostly had his eyes towards the ground now looking very pleased indeed.
“Oh yes, the little barbarian has done a fine job.” Dooku stood from his seat and gave a vicious tug to the leash. “Come on mutt, let’s let him rest.”
The sound of scrambling on the tile floor, and growling and choking and then they were all gone.
Qui-Gon stayed, just staring at him with a wide smile. He caressed his face.
“I’m so pleased with you, Obi-Wan.”
And then he left as well.
Obi-Wan lay in bed with the two children suckling at his large breasts. Large and over-sensitive, but at least the feeling of fullness was going down at each small mouthful.
He shut his eyes and tried not to think of the blurry months as he begged like an eager bitch for this.
Instead, he swore he would protect them. He would do better with them than he had with their father. They would grow up happy and safe. Luke would be the heir and whoever Leia was married to he would do all within his power to make sure it wouldn’t be a monster like Dooku.
Qui-Gon went to his room and let himself fall back on the bed, taking his cock in hand and closing his eyes. It had all been for this moment, and there was no disappointment. Obi-Wan glowed so beautifully as the children drank from his lovely breasts, caught up in the reality, and in all the training that went into making his body recognise the babies as his own.
Of course, without the drugs he quickly remembered, but even that moment had been beautiful. A widening of blue-green eyes. Horror and terror, but so quickly protection. His mind understood his role as perfectly as his body did when Qui-Gon explained it to him and he pulled the children closer.
Obi-Wan had always been his favourite and he had always wanted something soft for him. He was a gentle soul and this would suit him perfectly. He even got to keep his mind, as long as he obeyed the rules.
Feemor hadn’t obeyed the rules. Poor little lamb. Alas.
He quickened his pace, his mind moving back to his months of work. Obi-Wan begging for Qui-Gon to make him pregnant, begging him to fill him with babies that he could feed and nourish and nurture. He repeated it all so diligently some of his Stewjoni accent slipped through.
‘Fuck my cunt, fuck my cunt,’ he would plead. ‘Please fill me!’ he would sob. The drugs made his whole body sensitive, each touch was pleasure and pain, overwhelming him, making it hard to think of anything else but relief.
Qui-Gon wished he could, but he could only play with him, using fingers and toys and occasionally his mouth, but Obi-Wan belonged to Yan, even if he was just a trophy to the Count. Obi-Wan’s body craved cum. Only Yan could provide it. The Count only had so much time for his needy seventh wife. Qui-Gon did his best to make him comfortable, seeing that he had toys in him at all times.
Soon there were other matters to attend to. Obi-Wan’s breasts grew like beautiful fruit becoming weighty handfuls, soft and wonderful to squeeze. The Nightsister had said they would grow big and fat and filled with milk. They instructed that stimulation would help the process, so Qui-Gon was diligent in making sure to squeeze and rub Obi-Wan’s lovely tits making the younger man whimper at how full he was.
Eventually, he needed milking and Qui-Gon was graced with the first taste of him. He made sure to pump extra for his morning tea.
Qui-Gon had gotten what he wanted, as he always had. Torturing and breaking Obi-Wan down with sex had been fun, but the real moment was seeing him accept his life as a mother. A mother’s instincts to protect the twins so clear and bright Qui-Gon had almost cum there and then. Becoming exactly what he was supposed to, like they all would in the end.
Qui-Gon smirked. He had been pulling strings. Crion wouldn’t last much longer, then the last one could be put in their proper place and everything would be as it should be.
Qui-Gon loved his games, Dooku mused fondly.
He was out on the lawn teaching Mutt to play fetch. The creature was still stubborn despite being properly neutered, but he knew better than to be so openly rebellious now. He had lost his other arm last month and Dooku was seriously considering removing his legs for the sake of symmetry. He would move better on prosthetics without the weight on the back legs to drag around. He would save it for a moment of naughtiness though, or when the Mutt’s mind was completely broken and he would pant and wag his tail without prompt.
He sat on his new chair, all his lovely wives surrounding him.
At first, he thought his second wife would be trouble. He was quick and manipulative. Dooku long suspected he was the one that drove Komari to her mad end, and he was certain he had been the one to convince Rael that little Nim was better off dead than to be the wife of a sadistic old man. At first, he thought Qui-Gon just didn’t like feminine competition, but realized with Rael’s descent into depression it had been a move against him too. Two birds with one stone.
“I want to be the only one with your favour,” Qui-Gon had begged when he had whipped the boy for his behavior trying to decide what to do with him.
Despite himself, Dooku had found it sweet. Rael had always been obnoxious and unaffectionate. Komari had tried to bite him on more than one occasion. The fifth wife was boring and honestly not to his preference. Had Qui-Gon really done anything wrong, or had he just made things more to his husband’s preferences? Manipulating the little harem into something more pleasing, keeping the others in line and in place.
It would have been an easy enough thing to take the farmer’s land and the silver underneath it, but Qui-Gon proposed something different.
“He’s a sweet one, a lovely lamb. You should have him.”
Dooku really had no interest in yet another wife, but he knew Qui-Gon wouldn’t let it be boring, so he gave in.
Feemor was dragged to them by the village they had harassed and he begged on hands and knees for Dooku to take him. Qui-Gon took over the lamb’s education and let Dooku know when he needed a beating. Qui-Gon told him not to hold back and he never did. Feemor became nervous, twitching and whimpering with so much as a glance or a sudden move.
It had been fun but he was growing annoyed with the terrified sheep. Sometimes he would beat him just for the annoyance he caused.
Qui-Gon then found a procedure at the right time, knowing number five had grown into a nuisance.
“This will help your fifth wife’s nerves,” he promised. Dooku hadn’t ever heard of the icepick procedure. Qui-Gon certainly had interesting reading.
And Fifth was much calmer. A handsome presence that faded nicely into the background. Utterly stupid, but Qui-Gon had always been comparing the blond to a sheep. Dooku supposed it was fitting.
The next wife had not been Qui-Gon’s choice, and although he accepted the necessity of Xanatos, he didn’t like it. The boy was pompous and cruel, and oh how Qui-Gon wished to put the little prince in his place. He would whisper what he would do to him in his husband’s ear as they made love. All the plans he had for the little bitch’s fate.
The fact that Xanatos tended to bully the little lamb and Qui-Gon’s favourite barbarian only added fuel to the fire. Qui-Gon relished when Xanatos made moved against him if only so he could nip at the boy’s heels.
Xanatos had no idea his fate until the night his father was deposed and his house’s favour was no longer needed.
Qui-Gon took great pleasure in shaving off the coal-black hair, piercing his tongue nose and nipples, and putting him through the wall, mounting him in the greeting hall and one by one removing all his teeth so that he might serve any cock that entered, or needed a quick piss from a long journey. There was little training required and the effect was quite magnificent. He still tried to beg Dooku’s guests for freedom, which was a terribly funny sight.
Dooku was even generous and let the servants make use of him, after all, how many little tricks and beatings had they suffered under his sixth wife’s heel? As long as his hole wasn’t touched he didn’t see a problem with it. Every now and then Dooku would indulge in taking out the large buttplug Qui-Gon had placed (after a good cleaning of course) and fuck Sixth as he deserved.
In the summertime, Qui-Gon surprised the Count again by bringing out the greeting hole and shaping him into a lovely lawn chair, his long legs pointed to the sky and his body folded to put pressure on his arms, carved wood forcing him to keep his position. He would go back in his wall come fall, but wasn’t it nice to let him see some sunshine?
Dooku leaned back and heard soft whimpers from below.
Mutt unenthusiastically brought the ball back.
“Good boy,” Dooku said, ruffling the dirty blond curls. He only touched him softly with the accompanying phrase, and a vibrator would buzz in his ass. He’d develop a love for his Master’s praise eventually. For now, he shuddered in unhappiness at the resulting pleasure.
Wife number seven was by far the most interesting and obviously Qui-Gon’s favourite. It might make him jealous, were it not for Qui-Gon’s eagerness for the Count to enjoy the man as well. He so desperately wanted to share him, but honestly, Qui-Gon’s little masterpiece was all his taste and none of Dooku’s. The little savage was pretty, and then grew to be lovely and polite. What Dooku would think of as a perfect wife. No scheming, no madness, no arrogance. He just accepted his lot and did his best to avoid punishment, while looking pretty for guests. He had a traditional appeal.
But Qui-Gon was the one who felt like a partner. A spouse that shared interests.
But when Qui-Gon heard about Stewjoni pregnancy he wanted a Stewjoni. When he had seen the boy in the apple tree he was sure it was a sign. Qui-Gon doted on him in comparison to the others. The boy obviously loved Qui-Gon, doing his best to please him. Qui-Gon did a lot of research about how to get the effect he wanted when they learned it was all misunderstood rumour, not at all put off by the challenge of making the boy a mother. The Nightsisters had been most helpful, and coming to know them led to some good business.
Dooku wasn’t quite sure what it was about it though. Did he like the large whorish breasts, or did he like the motherly nature or both? He had spent months fucking the Stewjoni with a dildo and weighing his breasts in his hands with a mad eagerness as the younger man, drugged out of his mind, nerve endings on fire begged to be bred like a bitch in heat.
Dooku did enjoy that part. Prim little Seventh was rarely undone so completely. Making him into a needy whore had been pleasing. The whining and begging. Listening to him squeal with happiness when Dooku came inside begging for his cum to breed him.
But that part was a means to an end for Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan, the last Kenobi, sat with them now in a low-cut top with perfect posture to show off his heavy breasts. His attention was fully on the baby carriage containing Amidala’s twins. He pushed them back and forth, seeing to their needs. He would sing them lullabies, play with them, and yes, feed them with his new tits. The needy breeding bitch was gone, replaced with a refined young mother, his cock once again in chastity and his hole plugged, utterly sexless despite his enticing form.
He was still a lovely conversationalist and a charmer at parties. Despite everything, they hadn’t broken him permanently like the others, but Dooku suspected Qui-Gon never intended to break him. Just mold him into something he found perfect. Now and then Dooku would catch Qui-Gon staring at the younger man fondly while Seventh pretended not to notice. Now that the transformation was complete Qui-Gon didn’t touch him, other than to milk him of his excess in the evening. Otherwise, he had gone back to treating little Seventh exactly as he had before, with affection and favour. Seventh very carefully accepted Qui-Gon's fondness fully aware of where struggling could get him.
Eighth was to make up for Seventh being for Qui-Gon, although Dooku hadn’t realized it at the time. Qui-Gon dragged the Stewjoni everywhere with them, treating him like a pet, even a son at times, and despite how Qui-Gon whispered his plans it was never something that got Dooku excited.
On the visit to Gardula he actually spent time with his seventh fiancee while waiting for Qui-Gon’s return. He felt his own fondness grow. He really was well-behaved and pleasing, and he made Qui-Gon happy. He could see the appeal beyond the war prize of the Kenobi clan, but it was the fondness for a pet. There was no real desire behind it.
He accepted that his seventh wife would remain to him a pleasant ornament, and then Qui-Gon came back with the slave behind him.
He had been disgusted at first. The lowest born of his wives was Fifth, and he at least had the silver mines under his name now. This was a little piece of garbage Qui-Gon wanted to bring into his bed.
But Qui-Gon had been persuasive promising the Count that Eight would be his favourite.
Dooku smiled lazily throwing the ball again. They had been at it an hour now and the mutt panted in exhaustion, drool running down his chin, blue eyes blazing with a savage rage that still hadn’t completely died. Dooku’s cock was hard thinking of all the nasty promises the mutt was making in his head as he forced himself to crawl after the ball.
Qui-Gon had been right of course. He always knew what he wanted, and Eight was perfect in his way. Rebellious and wild. There was always a good reason to beat him and hurt him. Molding him into Dooku’s fantasies. Qui-Gon would whisper encouragement in the boy’s ear. Offer keys and lock picks, and routes of escape, and somehow the boy never became the wiser of it.
He would be hauled back home and Dooku could enact any punishment he liked on the little garbage slave they had picked up. It was wonderful. Eighth was so wonderfully tenacious always bouncing back from his beatings and Seventh very soon started minding the boy, caring for him.
Two birds with one stone, that really was Qui-Gon’s way.
The last verse of course was the most beautiful. Qui-Gon had planned well in advance. Having the trash meet Padme Amidala, seeing that the two fell into a hopeless tragic romance, urging the boy to marry her at midnight on his nineteenth birthday while Dooku spoke to Palpatine, known to be unforgiving and merciless. Once he learned Amidala was pregnant she was no longer of any use to him, her cunt contaminated by a slave’s seed. He was more than happy to let Dooku buy her whelps.
“Do as you please,” Palpatine threw his hands up in the air. “At least they’ll be useful to someone.”
The girl was sent to the convent but brought to castle Dooku for the birth so that Qui-Gon could watch motherhood bloom in Obi-Wan. Oh, how she screamed and begged as her babies were taken away, not even allowing her to hold them. She was then shipped out to Mother Talzin’s care where she would be a plaything for the nightsisters. In exchange in the coming months, his ninth wife would be sent. A woman that Mother Talzin trained herself called Asaj. Dooku was sure there would be a new game for Qui-Gon to enact with her.
Dooku had brought the mutt to the birthing too. While Qui-Gon shaped the little mother, Dooku was shaping the unruly brat. Emasculating him had been a wonderful idea, and taking his arm ensured there would be no more picked locks, not that he would have easy access to keys anymore, Qui-Gon was completely focused on Seventh and hadn’t visited Eighth at all.
Now he finally had the slave cowed. He knew that his master didn’t bluff. Seeing the little bitch crawl Dooku realized what the slave had been all this time, an unruly dog. He no longer allowed the mutt to walk on his two legs, and viciously beat him when he tried to parody a human. Qui-Gon had a discrete doctor come who for a price modified his vocal cords so that the dog could only whine and moan and bark. It even made him drool more, having a harder time swallowing down his saliva.
He was kept naked and fed mush, and forced to piss on the lawn, no humanity would be left for him. He was less than even a slave now. Just an animal that lived by Dooku’s whims.
When he brought him heeled on his leash Qui-Gon walked beside him as they discussed the long-awaited birth, and the mutt, at last, realized what had happened when he heard his once wife screaming.
As expected afterward he lashed out, and Dooku removed his other arm. There was no need for it as he expected the boy to be on the ground the rest of his miserable cur life. He was fitted with prosthetics to make it easier for him to move along the ground, and now here he was opening his mouth and letting the drool-covered ball fall into Dooku’s hand.
Dooku wiped his hand on the side of his chair, letting the ball fall to one side.
“Thirsty Mutt?” He asked, scratching his dog’s head.
The mutt panted heavily, drool sliding down his chin, but he only glared up at Dooku.
“If you beg, I’ll let you drink.”
Nothing.
“No eagerness at all? Not even for sweet Obi-Wan’s mother’s milk?”
The aforementioned mother was pointedly not looking, eyes fixed on little Leia as he dangled a toy for her to grasp, but his cheeks had gone a lovely pink. Beside him, Qui-Gon sighed in admiration.
There was a pause from the ground, the dog was having thoughts. Dooku was very pleased. They had to do something with all the excess milk. Qui-Gon enjoyed the overly sweet taste in his tea, but no one else did, so he had been using it as a treat for the dog. Something sweet with a pleasant taste easy to lick up and swallow. It had made training much easier.
But the dog started to glare again. Dooku tutted. “Then we’ll keep going, and once you’re thirsty you can drink the cream from my cock instead.” He reached down, picked up the disgusting ball and threw it for the mutt.
“Go on now,” Dooku ordered when the dog didn’t give chase. “If you wanted a treat you should have acted appropriately. Bad dog.”
The mutt yelped in pain, the phrase triggering the electric collar around his neck. He was soon running after the ball, exhaustion very obvious, but he did it to himself.
Dooku sighed in satisfaction in his new whimpering chair. His beaten but not broken dog was still an endless entertainment. The rest of his lovely wives all surrounded him the perfect picture of obedience, his heir and spare babbled happily under their mother’s total attention.
He took his second wife’s hand. Qui-Gon squeezed it back affectionately. What a lovely afternoon.