Secret Pages

by Rahalia

ARCHIVE: m_a, TMI (cross-posting, sorry for those who get it twice!)

PAIRING: Q/O

RATING: NC-17

WARNINGS: Like you lot need warnings! [*snort*] Oh okay then: bdsm ;O)

DISCLAIMERS: George's. Not mine. He's rich enough, dammit.

FEEDBACK: ... is like oxygen!

THANKS: To Glim. This arose from late-night AIM tag-fic sessions with her. And to Tem-ve for the encouragement to post and the exhiler__ exhilarating beta - hehe.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: I can just see this becoming an occasional series...

SUMMARY: Pages from a Padawan's Diary

Obi-Wan's Diary

Oh, how I ached this morning! I could barely walk and it was an effort merely to dress myself. My wrists were painted red with chafe marks and my jaw hurt from the cruel way in which my Master had gagged me.

Now I know that he shares my fantasies, and that I should no longer be afraid to write them here. Shameful though they may be to say I can still pen them in these secret pages, even if I will not speak them aloud... save in the most desperate of passions.

He tied me last night. Bound my wrists hard behind me with strips of cloth torn from my own tunics, but not before he had also quieted my lustful babblings with another strip. He tied it without remorse or compunction; coldly, clinically. The cloth bit deep into the corners of my mouth, having already separated my lips and teeth. It held down my tongue and I was helpless to do anything but whimper as he knotted the gag tightly behind my head.

I am looking now at my wrists. They are banded with a beautiful pinkish red, for I struggled as anyone who is tied will do; although I struggled purely so that these marks would arise.

I knelt before him once he was naked, unable to bear looking at him and wanting him when I could do nothing about it. I nuzzled his feet and made myself as low as I could to my beautiful Master. And then he took me; inflamed with lust and half-crazed with seeing me so helpless. I could not support my body with my bound hands and so I was reliant upon him to hold me steady. Such a sweet, pure feeling, that total faith in another for your safety and pleasure. A clean feeling, like the keen blade of a knife cutting away your self- reliance. It is exhilarating.

So forceful... he took me so hard; his hands leaving dark, smudged bruises where he gripped me. Bruises outside, bruises inside. I groaned with the feeling of it as I got up this morning. Every step hurt me, slamming home anew the feel of him inside me, the feel of his power over me. I wish I had him inside me always. I miss him so when he is not buried deep...

And now here I sit, about to transcribe new fantasies. I would be bound as before, but tighter if that is possible. I need my limbs to scream their agony while my Master takes me gently in his mouth. I need to fight through my pain to find my way to the most delicate sensations of pleasure. And then... I would take him in my mouth as he pulls so hard on my hair...

Gods, if he should see this!

Well, what of it? It is no worse than that which he read last night; that which excited him to read as it excited me to write.

My Master, with his sweet domination. My life, in everything. I need his cruelty and love with everything that I possess. Let him withhold food, drink, pleasure, even the very air I need to breathe if I displease him. He owns my body and as such I have no voice in what he does with it. I exist merely for his pleasure - whatever form that pleasure may take. But I know my Master. His love for me goes deeper than any lusts, and he will always know my limit.

Oh, my Master! Your boy is so excited by this, and you are not here to chastise him for these inappropriate feelings! Would that you could devise some punishment that I could self-inflict at these times when you are not here to administer it yourself! I must think of my own punishment, which I tremble to do. If I choose wrongly and it is not severe enough, you will be so angry with me. But what can I do? It is so hard to willingly hurt oneself...

I wish you were here, my Master. You would know how to give me such beautiful pain for these disgusting thoughts... How I wish you were here to do this for me, Master!

I cannot sleep.

The chrono has just marked the third hour of the morning and here I sit, bent over my diary and wondering where I can find the words for what I experienced last night.

My Master, unbound. Unfettered. Unhinged. My beautiful Master, standing over me; his blue eyes brighter than the evening star, his hair wild and loose, his intentions less than gentle. Stripped to the waist - his belt in his hand - he painted me with bright strokes of devotion and love. Tenderly surrounding me with strong, thick chains of the Force, he prevented me from releasing all but the worst of my pain into it. He told me that I suffered so beautifully and I basked in his praise, even as I choked back yet another sob.

Sometimes he allows me to look at him when we have these precious hours together, and I was glad that this was one of those times. I have rarely seen anything so raw and powerful, so pure and true. My Master in every sense of that wide-meaning word, he tore sounds from me that I never thought my lips were capable of forming. His eyes shone with untrammeled heat and his mouth was set in a thin line that gave evidence of his dedication to my suffering.

His hair... Oh Gods, his hair! As he moved, it whipped his face like a thousand dark flails lashed with silver. I wanted to rise from my submission and bury my face into his hair, releasing my pain in its softness and inhaling the clean scent of it. And now, as I look at him sleeping in our bed, that hair is draped over the pillows and I want to bury myself anew.

The moons are so very bright tonight. My Master obviously deemed their light to be sufficient, because when I arrived back at our quarters a little late - a drink with Garen blurred into several drinks - the common room was lit solely by their glow. I knew then that my Master was either feeling particularly mellow, or he was waiting in some shadow to punish me for my tardiness. I halted in the middle of the room, sensing his presence.

"Strip."

I never disobeyed that tone of voice, and I swiftly undressed, throwing my clothing far from my reach, in case his intense scrutiny proved too much for me and I grabbed wildly at my robe, as I had done once before. Gods, I never want to relive that night. Too much, even for me...

"Who did you fuck tonight, my Obi-Wan?" That voice was dangerously low, moving closer as my Master cat-footed across the floor to me.

"Nobody, Master," I whispered.

"Truly?" he asked softly, his fingers skimming down my spine, over and between my buttocks, testing to see if I spoke the truth.

"Truly," I said, in full confidence. I have let no other take me since my Master let me enter this incredible hushed world of his. I shuddered as his fingers teased and stroked, delving deep into me up to their bony knuckles.

"Good boy." He kissed my lips briefly and those two words were like a whole library of love poems. To earn his approval and love is all I ever wanted, and I had it then. I smiled up at him, sure of his love and knowing that I was so beautiful to him.

"You are, however, still late. It is past your curfew, Obi-Wan."

My smile faded. "I'm sorry, Master," I whispered. "I met with Garen and__"

"I wish to hear neither excuses nor reasons. You have broken an order, Obi-Wan, and you shall be punished for it."

I remained standing, gazing mutely at my Master, thinking how - in this strange, low light - he looked like some barely-tamed animal; his superb musculature only thinly veiled by his clothing. In fact, I was so enraptured that I completely forgot my duty to him.

"Obi-Wan!" My name snapped from his lips like a blaster-shot. Startled, I stared at him, and then dropped to my knees, still gazing at him. He prowled around me - yes... like some great feline creature...

"Better," he murmured, swiftly and surely stripping off his own tunics until he stood before me in only leggings and boots.

Those boots... I could write pages and pages on the subject of those boots...

He held out his hand and his belt flew from the floor into his grasp. He tested the leather briefly, giving my fear a little time to grow, and then he walked around me once more. But this time, he stopped right behind me.

I trembled as I felt the warm leather loosely encircle my throat. Something firm - his boot - began to press on the nape of my neck, pushing my head down; lower and lower as the belt started to bite. It was tight enough to constrict, but not to choke by the time my Master's boot had my forehead pressed against the cold wood of the floor.

He tugged slightly on the belt and I felt my world fill with stars. Then, without warning, he let go of one end while pulling on the other. The leather whipped around my throat, decorating my flesh with a long, thin burn that made me yelp. Then, his hand was in my hair, wrenching my head up, and he was teaching me the meaning of good timekeeping with every hot stroke of leather across my skin.

When he had finished with me and I was wrecked with pain, he dropped the belt. His body was gleaming with a harsh sweat and I longed to taste it. He pulled me into his arms and drew his tongue delicately across the welt he had inflicted upon my neck.

"You will not be late again, will you, my Obi-Wan?" he murmured.

"No, Master," I sobbed into his hair, clutching at him through our bond and begging him to relieve some of my pain, for it truly was awful this time.

"Then this was a lesson well-learned," he said, tenderly, carrying me to our bed and tucking me in. I nestled up against him as he settled beside me, twining my fingers in his hair. He was asleep in an instant, but my agony had now distilled into a worse pain: that of arousal.

I have tried so hard to sleep this night, but I cannot. I don't understand why my Master didn't take me, for he was as needful as I was. Maybe he thought he might cause me even more pain. I have no idea.

The moons have drifted behind a cloud and I can no longer see to write. My Master is stirring behind me, calling me back to bed.

Something in the quality of his voice tells me I will fall asleep soon enough.