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Being inside of Mae was not something he had been anticipating. At any point in her Acolyte journey.
He was supposed to be there as her master to guide her, to allow her to adequately fulfill her task of killing four Jedi with no weapon.
He knew what it was like to be inside of her head, to use his force abilities to encourage her to tap further into her own.
He was never meant to know what it was like to shove his cock along her velvet insides. But Mae had forced his hand.
As she had from the beginning.
He knew from the start that Mae would not be an easy pupil to control.
She was too easily distracted by her own selfish vendetta for revenge to fully focus on the bigger picture.
They had ramped up their intensity in combat training in the months leading up to Indara’s assassination.
They had trained constantly for almost a full year and she still had yet to fully grasp the importance of her force powers in ‘killing without a weapon’. It’s why he deemed it necessary in that same year to create a separate persona to guide her from the outside.
Qimir, he called himself.
He hadn’t meant to fuck her as ‘Qimir’ either, but it still happened. Or rather, to be fair, she had fucked him.
And he remembers the circumstances of it clearly.
It was on a cold winter’s day on an unknown planet. He was playing the role of a bartender in a seedy shop whose upstairs attic doubled as a bedroom and kitchen. He let his mop of dark hair fall over his eyes and over the cut of his jaw. He sat by the bar wrapped in an oversized white tunic that was becoming more browned with wear as the days went on. The fabric was long so that it covered his arms, hid any evidence of his strong stature and kept him warm during the cold winter nights.
He’d done something to really terrify her as the Master the night before as they had trained in the middle of a frosted forest.
And while Mae hadn’t shown much of her fear then, he’d known immediately that he’d in fact pushed her too far when she stepped into Qimir’s bar the next morning.
Her eyes were wide and haunted, deep purple bags made the usual feline curvature of them look more tired than usual. She was shaken. And he’d done that to her. And he knew why too.
The night before had been the first time he’d revealed slightly more about his goals to her as a master than ever before. He’d revealed to her a bit about his own stakes in getting her to kill with no weapon. About how he needed her to do this or else the consequences would be very dire.
She hadn’t known before that point that he’d murder her without a second thought if she’d failed to go through with their original deal. She’d falsely believed that this was transactional. And it was to an extent, but with a condition.
And now she knew for certain that if she failed, he would kill her in the most painful way imaginable. Not even the voice modulator of his mask could’ve hid the salacious and violent tone that had chilled his voice as he’d told her.
So when she comes into the bar, he’s not surprised to see her shaking with her eyes red rimmed and skittish, like something will pop out at her at any second.
He knows the feeling well, back when he was still with the Order, he’d often felt that volatile sense of anguished fear; the type that clogs your senses and makes your stomach feel like it’s perpetually falling from under you.
He extends a comforting hand, as Qimir. A part of him does feel a bit bad that he’d managed to spook her in this way.
But there’s a warning in the back of his brain towards her reaction.
He needs her mind to clear again so she can focus on the task at hand and not so much strictly on her fear of the Master.
Fear is almost always a good thing.
It motivates towards an action.
But it’s not good if it paralyzes from one.
When Mae snatches the half empty beer bottle from the counter before them, he doesn’t fight her on it like he normally would. At least he knows she doesn’t have a meeting with the Master tonight or he’d warn her against getting drunk before training.
He doesn’t like sloppy pupils. But he lets Mae down the drink because at least she’s doing something other than trembling and staring unseeing into the abyss.
She lets out a shaky breath and Qimir can almost see the alcohol settle something in her.
“You alright, Mae?”
Mae jolts a little, like she’d forgotten that Qimir isn’t literally crammed into the small sitting booth with his tunic-clad side pressed against hers.
“Y-yeah I’m—“ she stops speaking abruptly.
Qimir can tell it’s because she doesn’t want to tell him about what happened with the Master.
Something about that twinges annoyance within him. He created the Qimir persona for the sole purpose of helping her and to get her to tell him things that she wouldn’t be comfortable telling him as the Master.
He brushes a hand onto her shoulder. Strong but gentle. Comforting. A test. She doesn’t pull away.
He lilts his voice to be even higher, even more non-threatening than usual when he speaks next.
“You know, you can tell me what’s bothering you, Mae. No judgment. And if it’s about your training—“
“—It’s not about that. I just,” she lets out a puff of air and her locs shake around her forehead, “the stakes are suddenly a lot higher now. If I fail, I will be punished for it. The Master…he’ll—“ she chokes up then, the first major sign of emotion that isn’t anger or annoyance wafts towards him.
He feels satisfaction deep in his belly at her admittance. This was good.
He decides to test his luck. “Qimir” has never been this close to her before. He wraps a comforting, friendly arm around her shoulder.
“Hey, hey. It’s ok, Mae. You won’t fail. I’ll make sure of it. We still have a few weeks until you face Indara. You’ll be more than ready by then.”
He can tell immediately by the way her eyebrows furrow that she wants to protest his words.
Instead, she diverts the topic.
“I’m not in the mood to talk about this anymore, Qimir,” She snaps at him, harsher than he was expecting since he’d believed his dulcet tones had soothed her a bit. He’d assumed wrong.
He retracts his hand from her shoulder, and nearly misses the way her shoulders deflate slightly from the loss of contact.
“Sorry. Sorry. I was just trying to hel–” when she suddenly presses her lips against his, Qimir can confidently say that he was not expecting her to.
This was the second time in their interaction today that she’d surprised him.
And something about that was almost harrowing.
He was usually unnervingly good at reading people, stealthy and perceptive almost to a fault. He hadn’t believed Mae would stoop this low. To seek comfort in the exact person she’d barely even considered worth being comforted by.
He stays stock still. Doesn’t reach to kiss her back. Doesn’t feel anything but her desperation through the force.
“I just,” her voice cracks and she swallows. She’s staring right into his eyes now, still frantic and skittish like she’s looking for something.
He knows before she does that she won’t find it. He’s far better at suppression than she is.
“I need something to forget about last night. Anything.”
“Mae, I don’t think this is a good ide–” but she’s cutting him off again.
Her lips press against him harder than before.
He immediately wants to shove her off of him, berate her for her reckless behavior. But he thinks somewhere in the back of his mind that his anger towards her unwillingness to face her problems would give him away. He wouldn’t be able to speak to her as Qimir through the bubbling of frustration in his throat.
And deep down, he knows that she needs this. To move forwards.
Not necessarily because she wants him, or ever did, but because she wants more desperately than ever, control over something. And he of all people knows that feeling well.
So he lets her take.
He hadn’t expected her to be so violent in her taking, although part of him is almost proud.
She kisses and grabs at him like she’s fighting him; sucking roughly and harshly on his lower lip, shoving her tongue to lick warm and sloppily around the insides of his mouth.
He can’t help but get hard immediately at her treatment.
He thought he’d be annoyed by her desperation, but something in his veins boils at the unhinged display. She’s usually so reserved and stoic around Qimir, falsely timid and obedient around the Master, only showing her true viper-like tendencies to both of them primarily in moments of frustration.
So this, her finally bearing her true self to him even in this way, is delicious.
He’s almost lost track completely on where they’re going with this, but doesn’t bother asking her to stop, not even when she unfurls him, hot and aching from his cotton pants.
Not even when she grabs really fucking hard at his velvet-wrapped iron flesh.
He unintentionally yelps, and the sudden sensation makes him almost forget that he was supposed to be acting the part of Qimir. But the sound that’d escaped him is embarrassingly strangled and intrinsically pathetic enough that it still works in his favor.
He doesn’t miss the way her eyes light up at the pained sound as she digs her thumb into the mushroom head of his cock. He lets out another pained groan, and he immediately knows then, what game she’s playing.
“Aw come on. You can handle it,” she coos softly, her voice wraps sensually around his ear, and he wants to shiver at the sweetness juxtaposed with the hard grip she has on him.
Though she may sound it, she’s still not being gentle with him at all. In fact, he’s not so sure most people would even be able to get off from the tightness in which she’s holding his throbbing skin.
But he does. Because of course he does.
He’s ashamed, but also isn’t really ashamed by how quickly she gets his balls to tighten. It couldn’t have even been a minute.
Her eyes stayed glued to his face the whole time, tracking every micro-expression, every furrow of his brows, and drag of his jaw. So he lets her see each and every expression on his face; he doesn’t hold back his pathetic whimpers and cries as he bucks his hips. Because he knows this is what she wants.
This isn’t about him anyways.
He digs his fingernails into the edge of the wooden bench below him, clutching the ledge in a vice grip, his knuckles turning a stark white. He lets her think the way his body violently shudders and trembles is because of nerves. It’s really because he’s using every last semblance of will power he has to keep himself from doing what he really wants to do. From grabbing her and fucking into her like the Master would.
Like he really would.
She squeezes her hands tight and moves them up and down faster than he’s ever done it himself, but he lets himself succumb to the rough burning sensation that causes his body to pull taught and frigid like a coil. Qimir wouldn’t be able to hold himself back anyways, he reasons.
When he explodes, streams of it shoot upwards, painting long stripes against his tunic.
He barely notices Mae’s eyes widen as she watches him twitch and let out drawn out and tortured moans even after her hand has stilled. He thinks she may be surprised by the sheer amount of cum she’s able to wring out of him. He’s not.
They’re both quickly coming to realize that he needed this too.
Himself more so due to finally releasing the months of frustration with her for a multitude of different reasons. He’ll just let her think that it’s because “Qimir” is sexually repressed.
…
Letting her use him as Qimir, he can kind of excuse. That wasn’t personal. It had nothing to do with him.
What he’s doing to her now as her Master, is much harder to excuse.
But he can still manage to fault her for it.
Because even despite his warning, Mae has somehow gotten worse in her training. She’s more distracted.
He can sense the way her mind dips and swirls in the force, and he can see clearly the gaps in her thoughts when she should be focused solely on their sparring and hand to hand combat moves.
It’s not until he feels her thoughts slink away unbidden towards the way “Qimir’s” neck had chorded and strained as she’d gripped his cock in her hand, in which he’d turned off his saber and dropped it to the forest floor in silence.
He’d had enough.
It wasn’t even the thought of it that had done him in, or the feeling of her confused, ashamed, and slightly disgusted lustful thoughts of Qimir wavering into him, it was more so the flooding and bleeding feeling of power and satisfaction she had gleaned from being so in control.
Because suddenly, all he could think about was taking that control away from her.
He’s the Master now, and only that when he forces her onto all fours, pushes her face into the dirt below them with one hand smashed against the soft skin of her cheek.
He doesn’t care if she’s enjoying this, but he knows she is. From the way her neck had flushed and her eyes had fluttered at the first barking command for her to turn around and crawl to the ground, he could see clearly that she’d thought deep in the recesses of her mind, ashamedly, of this exact scenario.
He can’t say he’d thought the same.
So he fucks into her like he has something to prove. He fucks her as punishment.
And maybe also to live up to her fucked up fantasies. To surpass them. He wants her to feel all encompassed, like she’ll have no escape. Not that she would need or ever ask for one. He wants her to feel like she won’t be able to think about Qimir ever again, not when there’s her Master.
He grunts and snarls as he slams into her, like an animal, and he’s only somewhat glad that the voice modulator in his mask partially masks his feral noises. Unfortunately for Mae, there’s nothing to mask hers.
She wails and shrieks with each hard slap of his balls against her clit, with each slap of his palm against the fleshy fat of her ass, and it only fuels him to become more violent.
He doesn’t even think when he uses the force to push inside and badger against her asshole too, so that she’s thoroughly stuffed.
Filled with him and only him. He’s overwhelming her very being, he knows.
Overstimulating her to the point of delirium.
But he doesn’t care. She did this to him. She made him like this.
She should’ve been a better student.
…
He shouldn’t be thinking about this, but he had felt it immediately. Right after he revealed himself to her in the jungle of Khofar.
Qimir is no longer just Qimir, and neither is her Master.
He is now a stranger holding his failed pupil by the throat, and knowing how much she likes it.
And it makes him want to fucking laugh in her face.
Because she’s this close to death, yet is still able to feel a thrill. He feels her pulse flutter and throb under the pads of his fingers because she actually likes being choked like this. He can see it even through the sheer panic and fright in her eyes.
He almost feels drunk on the way the lack of oxygen slogs a bout of dizziness through her, the way it causes a deep red to flush from below her neck to her cheeks. Almost enough to surpass the sheer anger flooding his body at her cowardly betrayal.
He sees more clearly that she is twisted.
Almost as much as he is.
He may kill her tonight, but he also wants her to sit in her shame too.
…
He’s captured Osha.
The better foil.
The more reverent twin.
His chance at redemption.
He will finally have the chance to mold her the way he wants to, to harness and develop her power in ways he would’ve never been able to with Mae. In the way he knew he needed to do the minute she stepped into his apothecary pretending to be her twin.
It’s too perfect. He watches her unblemished face as she sleeps in his bed in his cave. His fingers twitch and he wants desperately to pull a loc between his fingers, to stroke at her skin with a feather light touch.
But he’s almost too afraid to touch her, too scared to tarnish her like he’d done to Mae.
He’d made a mistake with Mae.
He couldn’t afford to do the same with Osha.
He had hidden himself from Mae for too long and as he watches Osha fall deeper into sleep, he decides immediately that he wouldn’t do that with her.
He would bear himself to her, let her see his intentions with her. Approach her honestly so that they could build a strong foundation and trust as master and pupil. He needed to let her know how sacred she is to him already. How destined she is to walk this path to the darkside with him.
He almost wants to allow himself to rest after he tends to Osha’s wounds with his med kit, but something in him is still restless. He sits on the small stool behind the desk where his partially charred and broken cortosis helmet lays.
He closes his eyes. Centers himself.
And then he finds the withered thread within the darkness of the force that calls to Mae’s mind.
He tugs on it, he tugs and tugs himself towards the inside of her force energy, and pulls a darkness and salaciousness along with him. Because that dark, twisted part of him still wants to punish Mae.
It still seeks her.
She had escaped him after all.
But she didn’t get to do that unscathed.
He was determined to haunt and punish her any way he could. He had dedicated his life, his time and efforts into teaching her. Into making her the perfect acolyte.
Even if she had failed, she didn’t just get to leave him.
No one did. Not like he’s been left before.
When he finds her in the force, she’s sleeping too, wherever she is. Almost like she’s floating, but that doesn’t matter. All that matters is that his connection to her is still strong enough that he’s able to force his way unto her mind.
This way, pressed so close to her thoughts, he is able to bring her into a nightmare.
One where he’s fucking her from behind as the Master, his mask on. They’re in some unknown bedroom, a dark room with a mirror straight across from the mattress he fucks her on.
And then the mask melts off, strong fingers grab her jaw and forces her to look at herself in the mirror. To look at them. Because the image they paint is almost obscene. And he wants to remind her of that.
His large shirtless figure absolutely dwarf’s her frame as he yanks and pulls her smaller body back and forth onto his cock. Tendrils of inky black hair frame and sway around his face with each snap of his hips, one hand slides to grip her shoulder, and the other clutches around her waist, forcing it to arch.
She gasps in fear and shock as their eyes connect in their reflection, as the realization dawns on her.
And he can see it in her expression. That now she remembers. Her master. Qimir. They are the same.
“You really didn’t know it was me, huh?” he growls onto the back of her neck, keeping pointed eye contact in the mirror.
He can see the feral glint in his own eyes from the reflection, but doesn’t bother dampening it like he would’ve as Qimir.
He’s free to be himself now. His true self. Finally.
He hopes his words from before echo and haunt repeatedly in her head. Berates her over and over for being so selfish and oblivious even when facing his wrath.
“Not even deep down?” he continues to mimic himself, snarling just as his cock hits deep into her insides.
She tries to detach from him then, her legs scramble to take her far far away from the onslaught of his brutal fucking. Her fingernails dig into the taut muscles on his forearms as she tries to yank his hold off of her.
But he does not budge. His large hands sloppily and lazily re-grip onto her, one now grasping around her throat, the way he now knows she likes.
He won’t let her get away. Can’t. Not now that she’s seen his face. He can’t let her go anywhere.
Not now that she’s failed him either. He has the upper hand here. He always has. And now they both know this.
He fucks into her harder, faster, his hips speed to a jackhammer, and the debauchery of it makes her come almost immediately. He can feel her insides clenching so hard it must be painful. And he thinks she deserves that kind of feeling. The sort of pleasure that’s so white hot and brutal that it’s painful.
A shiver of anger floods through him though at the feel of her legs trembling, like she wants to try to leave him again.
“Please I-please I-I’m sorry, Master!” Mae cries. But it’s not enough.
Eventually, the ferocity of his fucking becomes too much once more, her knees buckle, and then she’s screaming, tortured and shrill as his hands grab against her chest and stomach to hold her up right. She's cumming again, her body twisting and bucking helplessly forwards. She cums so hard she’s dripping down the back of her thighs and onto his, and when he plunges back inside, his cock slides into a wet slippery mess.
And still he doesn’t let up his pounding. Not even when her hands alternate between gripping tightly onto the sheets below them to grappling at his forearms like she wants to tear him off her again.
Because they both know as much as she wants to leave, she also doesn’t want him to ever stop.
So he throws her own words back at her, back when he’d been Qimir, and she’d been fine eliciting pain on him if it meant her sick pleasure in seeing him at her control.
“Aw come on. You can handle it,” his dream self hisses low in her ear.
…
He had tried to be good with Osha.
With her, he really had.
Fuck he’d tried.
But he clearly wasn’t as disciplined as he thought.
Not when it came to her.
He had a chance to start anew. To train his acolyte properly this time. To not allow himself to succumb to his emotions and frustrations as he had with Mae, and unwillingly forge a relationship that was unsalvageable from any angle.
Those first few weeks after she’d agreed to be his pupil, he’d been patient, gentle, understanding.
A different approach to what he’d used with Mae. Because she was deserving of it.
She was precious.
Her presence in the force was beyond his wildest dreams, beyond what he’d ever seen with Mae or any Jedi or Sith.
But she drove him just as mad with violence and darkness as Mae had. If not more.
And his hand had been forced yet again, but this time, he can blame himself for how easily he had given himself to her.
It had been edging him for weeks. Her strength in the force was too powerful, she hit him hard even without her realizing it. With Mae, it had felt like he needed to dig to feel her most of the time, but with Osha, he always felt her immediately, from the beginning. And he was assaulted with her force energy after she’d killed Sol.
It had mostly been curiosity at first. Towards him. Her suppressed feelings were still fragile and spindling, but they would peak out uncontrolled and unfettered at random times after being tampered down so long.
Then, he could feel her frustration. He assumed after she began unwillingly dreaming about him.
It was sexual frustration over not being able to touch him the way she was too ashamed to admit she wanted to. And it fucking killed him.
He had watched her grapple with it for weeks, her thinking he knew nothing of what she was going through; the guilt over it, the shame, and anxiety and loneliness she felt for feeling an attraction to the only other warm body in their desolate hideout.
The way that even despite her turmoil, she slowly began to trust him more and more with each training session they had, with each sure swipe and firm placement of his warm and innocent touches against her skin.
He could feel the moment she believed him to not feel the same way. He was too good at hiding himself from her. Even though he had dedicated himself to being truthful towards her when he spoke, that didn’t mean he let her see everything. He only let her see what he wanted her to see. He needed it to be that way. For both of their sakes.
It was the only way this would work.
Even still, it was hard to block out the feeling of disappointment she had towards him when she realized that he wouldn’t touch her, not the way she wanted him to.
Not when her touch or her body lingered near his after a particularly grueling training session, or when she’d gotten the courage to stare unashamed at the muscles on his slick chest after dipping in the cave hot spring.
Not even when those same rounded doe eyes would darken and land on his lips as he said her name like he was rolling the taste of it on his tongue.
He knew it made her angry and confused, embarrassed, and exasperated, especially when she became more comfortable and unabashed as more time went on. But he couldn’t budge.
He couldn’t.
Except one day, when he’d slipped. He had finished his cool-down swim in the lake earlier than usual, and headed back to the cave to let Osha know she could take her turn.
As he’d stepped into the cave, Osha’s back was towards him.
She wore a loose black tank top and was in the middle of unstrapping her bra from under the fabric. As she tossed her bra, she turned to grab a towel, but it was too late. He’d already seen the curvature, the side of one of her breasts peeking out from the open side of the tank.
He couldn’t even see them in its entirety, but it was enough.
The thought of one soft fatty palm full was enough to break him.
Because now he was wondering what they would look like, swollen and veiny, her nipples leaking with milk if she’d ever let him cum inside of her. He knew immediately if that ever happened even the first time, he wouldn’t be able to let up.
He’d want her pregnant all of the time, so anyone who saw her would know what he did to her. So she’d never be able to leave him. Not like Mae had.
There would always be a reason for his acolyte to return to him. And the lust that floods him at the thought is dizzying and almost so sickening that it makes him want to sink into the floor.
But then Osha’s turning around fully and stopping upfront at the sight of him frozen by the entryway.
He realizes his mistake immediately at the same time he realizes that Osha’s eyes are locked on him. He wipes the expression off his face as quickly as it came, his familiar mental wards click back into place, but it’s too late.
He knows from her expression that the look on his face must have been unexpectedly violent. And dark. He can tell just from the way her eyes widened, and her brows shot up, from the slight twinge of fear that crosses her expression, that she’d forgotten.
She’d forgotten that he wasn’t good.
But he sees her tamper the fright just as quickly as it came because now he’d been caught, and from that day forward, she officially had leverage.
...
In the days following, she throws his words back at him.
Wonders outloud why he won’t let her act on desire despite that being an emotion he wants her so desperately to let in as part of her darkside training. He doesn’t have a good answer for her.
He instead weakly insinuates that he wants for her to succumb to her desires alone.
But the thought of even her touching herself to the thought of him without him, makes him want to kill someone. And he’s not about to suggest she go off planet to find someone else to itch her scratch, or else he actually would kill someone.
It turns out, he doesn’t last much longer anyways.
They’re arguing when he finally snaps, after she’s now blowing attacks at him for not following his own teachings, he finally tells her the real reason he can’t touch her.
“I am not going to jeopardize your training and that’s final, Osha,” he barks at her hard and mean.
His fists clench.
He wants to punch something, but he needs to remain in control.
Her face scrunches, like she wants to throw a tantrum, and in that moment, he’s reminded of how much younger than him she is.
He’s expecting her to fire something petulant back at him, but there must’ve been something in the strictness of his tone because instead, he sees her eyes water.
She swallows hard, and averts her gaze. And then those doe eyes become hard again and it’s like the flash of emotion was never there.
But he’d seen it. She’d been hurt.
And something inside of him breaks.
He’d walked closer to her, grabbed her smaller palms in his. He needed to make one last attempt, to get her to see why this can’t happen. In a way she’ll understand.
“ Osha,” he breathes her name gently, “I’m sorry but…I just-it’s better this way. For your training.”
All of a sudden, he can’t quite get the words out. His tongue feels too heavy in his mouth. He’s so afraid he’ll scare her, with the screaming intensity of his want, if he lets her accidentally see it.
So he doesn’t want to say anymore, wants to leave it at that, but then she’s speaking to him, just as soft and gentle, like now she doesn’t want to hurt him, and it almost makes him want to crumble.
“Better for you, or better for me?” Barely a whisper.
He closes his eyes, letting her soft voice waft against him just for a second, just to pretend like they’re under different circumstances.
“Better for me, Osha.”
He knows that when he opens his eyes, even despite his best judgment and attempt to rein his emotions in, his pupils are blown wide, pitch black and intent. He can tell by the way her lips part in surprise at the shadowing on his face.
His mouth opens again before he can stop himself.
“I can't…it’s not that I don’t want you, Osha. Trust me, I do. I just can’t let myself have you. Not even this once,” he murmurs softly.
“Why?”
“Because I know that once I get a taste, it’s all I’ll ever think about. I won’t want to train you anymore, Osha. I’ll want to keep you.”
He doesn’t mean for his voice to get so velvety and dark towards the end, but he can already feel the throb of heat racing up his cock as he finally gets the words that have been weighing on his chest out.
He needs her to know that his obsession with her will become dangerous if she lets him do this.
But it was the wrong move. Clearly it was.
Because instead of backing away, nodding her head like the good obedient pupil she’s been so far, she throws herself into his arms instead.
Her lips crash into his and he knows in his heart of hearts that this is the beginning of the end.
He didn’t know if Osha only wanted this because she was alone and frustrated, or if it was actually because of him. He decided ultimately, that he didn’t care, because he would make it about him either way.
...
Unfortunately for Osha, being inside her felt like salvation. And he wasn’t giving it up for anything.
He wanted to fucking pray to her that first time. Instead, he thanks her.
“Thank you, thankyouthankyou,” he breathes into her skin for letting him inside of her like this.
Because the first time, he can’t even fit all the way in.
With Mae, he’d forced his way inside straight to the hilt, but with Osha, he could only shove himself halfway in before her insides were clenching hard, painfully, and she was shaking her head with tears in her eyes.
Even after he’d spent all that time fingering and tonguing her hole to get her nice and slick and ready for him. Telling her how good of a girl she was for being able to suck in two of his thick fingers with her warm wet cunt clearly wasn't enough. He would need to shove more of himself inside of her next time.
Especially because her small body was trembling with the sensation of already being so overwhelmed, so full despite not being given all of him yet.
So he’d fucked her like that, shallowly, watched unblinking as her cunt snagged and caught on the taught skin, wetting it with each slide and sensual roll of his hips into her.
“Look at you.” he’d said as he kept her spread nice and wide open for him. Even like this, even in the gentle but devastating slide of his hips, he couldn’t stop the darkness from spreading over his tone.
Sol had once told him his mind had been twisted by darkness. He was right.
Even though he wasn’t as aggressive when fucking her, he was just as cruel, if not more than he’d been with Mae.
He was fucking possessed when it came to her.
He couldn’t let up on her. Even when she became a sobbing, clawing mess with swollen, throbbing insides. How could he be normal when she was acting like this only over half of his fucking cock?
Even when she told him she couldn’t even cum anymore. He kept pressing her. Kept doing it until her juices spurted and sprayed around them.
Even after she’d drenched his entire front with cum, he can tell she’s ashamed still. Of the way her body reacts to him. The way despite not being physically able to take him fully, she still surrenders to him. Shivers and mewls and fucking keens with each slide of his velvety hardness into her like a good pupil would.
“You’re such a good girl, Osha. So fucking tight… wet,” he grits out, and revels in the pathetic and broken whimper that leaves her at the dark growl in his voice.
Each orgasm he yanks from her after that is devastating in the way it makes her resolve shatter more and more. It beats down on her like she’ll never be able to pull herself together again, and he’ll take sick satisfaction in being the one to do the breaking over and over and over again.
It’s not until she’s been thoroughly wrecked and fucked out, drooling and panting below him with tired droopy eyes, in which he lets himself go.
And the build up is devastating.
He feels his balls tighten and fill, and it’s like someone has tapped a lightning rod against his spine because he’s suddenly abandoned the languid pace he’d been using to half-plunge into her earlier, and instead, his hips snap frantically back and forth against her’s. He moans loudly and wantonly with each slap of hot skin against his ballsack.
Somewhere far away, he can hear Osha squealing and shrieking as he inadvertently plunders his cock deeper into her, far past that safe halfway point he'd been at earlier. Her hands may have been scrambling and clawing against his ab muscles to prevent him from getting any deeper at that point, but he doesn’t stop. He can’t.
Her voice is far away, it’s drowned out by that bout of dizzying delirium that floods his synapses. He somehow gets his pelvis to plaster himself tightly against hers, stuffing his cock as far as it'll go, still snapping his hips deep and hard into her as the fire in his stomach bubbles and flays brighter.
“Fuck!” He yells and grips onto her waist, and he's fully lost in the delirium now, using her body like a fucktoy to bring hard onto his cock over and over.
“Need you… bred,” he grits out.
He knows the look in his eyes is deranged.
But he doesn’t care.
He palms at her toned stomach. Possessively.
And then all it takes is for him to feel the tell tale sign of her fluttering cunt against his cock for it to be over for him.
When he cums the first time, he actually blacks out for a few seconds.
The feeling of pleasure is so powerful that all he can do is grab hard onto Osha’s hips.
He goes completely rigid for a second, then his back arches, and then he howls with the force of it.
His cock throbs violently like a heartbeat inside of Osha, so hard, his blurry vision can still make out the outline of his appendage thumping against the walls of her stomach from the outside as it splurts more of his cum inside of her.
He clenches his ass cheeks in tangent with each rush of cum that shoots into her cunt, his knees bending and thrashing against the mattress below them. The gasps and cries leaving his lips are pained and heightened, like he’s trying desperately not to let his heart stop from the intensity of it.
He stays inside of Osha even after he finally collapses on top of her. She stays quiet and still kind of whimpering and crying pathetically below him, her fingers trying to weakly slide along his broad shoulders to ground herself.
She’s no doubt kind of frightened by the fervor in which his orgasm had hit him, especially because he’s still trembling and his cock is still twitching with phantom bursts every so often that leaves him groaning from sensitivity.
But clearly, it’s not enough for her to care, or to be concerned if the way she rolls him onto his back with him still inside of her is anything to go by.
Even so, the simplicity of it all is very bad for him.
…
Osha’s ruined his life by now, but so has Mae.
He just hadn’t realized that together, they could actually salvage it.
Osha as his wife, and Mae as his (reformed) student. It turned out that the two of them in combination was enough to get them to stay with him.
Mae would go where Osha would, and Osha wanted him. But this way, he didn’t have to focus on making Osha his acolyte.
He could hide and protect her power for himself, and work on repairing his damaged relationship with Mae, make her the pupil that she was always meant to be.
They balanced each other in a triad.
He had been wrong before. Had seen through Mae and Osha’s explanations on the thread power from their own coven in Brendok. The power of two was an outdated Sith code; with the pupil destined to overcome the master. In reality, darkside power is more than that.
It can be anything they want it to be.
That is the meaning of true freedom.
It can even be the power of three.
So when he first takes them both together, he supposes that it’s why there’s a sort of synergy, a balance that’s not present when it’s just one or the other.
One licks and gurgles his ballsack while the other suckles and swirls their tongue in a long, languid stripe up the vein on the underside of his cock.
There's enough of his cock for both of them this way.
Mae’s eyes don’t have to bulge in nervousness or fear as she chokes and gags on him, and Osha doesn’t have to eagerly try to make up for the remaining skin by wrapping her fingers tightly around the rest.
When it’s the two of them here, like this, laid out naked and bare before him, he’s able to see even more about the two of them than he’d ever thought possible. He can understand them more fully through constant comparisons.
He’s noticed that Osha cries a lot when he fucks her. The sensation of pleasure overwhelms her so fully that she’s sobbing and hiccuping with each thrust of his hips.
Mae never cries, but Qimir’s never able to fuck her gently either. So she screams, and wails and pleads every time he’s impaled himself into her, until her voice is hoarse and all she can do is take the rest in silence.
He always fucks Osha first. In front of Mae. He thinks, no, he knows Mae prefers it like this.
She enjoys seeing her sister well taken care of and thoroughly used.
And while Osha’s body is limp and her mind is up in subspace, he fucks Mae hard and fast and painful.
It’s almost disgusting how he’s able to remain half hard even after fucking his soul out into Osha and getting milked by her tight cunt to high heaven. How he’s still able to shove his semi hard and messy cock that’s covered in sticky cum straight into Mae right afterwards without so much as a break.
He’d always felt so insatiable even after fucking either of them, always ready to go multiple rounds even after coming inside.
So this, this arrangement between the three of them makes the most sense to him.
He needed both of them to bring him to completion.
Fully.
So when he pumps them both full of his cum, leaving them both satiated and wrecked, almost on the brink of passing out, he can’t help but think that this is how it was meant to be.
Him and them.