Your eyes open slowly, squinting, to reveal the last place you wanted to be. Back in the cell. Your mind races over the events of what you assume was yesterday, you have no way of knowing. Disbelief laces your thoughts as you recall your actions for the masked Commander. Never will you allow yourself to be so vulnerable to him again. You can't.
After a drink, you wonder if they will feed you. The tray from your escape attempt has been cleared, stripping you of any hope to gain back some strength. Maybe that's why you haven't been fed, they know you're weak and want to keep you this way. Your wrist feels a lot better, which is something.
You decide to drink more water, hoping to fill the void in your stomach that aches for nutrition.
Next, you stretch while you meditate, needing to feel some sort of connection to your old life and happiness. Thinking of yoga back at the resistance base, pretending you have a mat beneath you, you stretch your limbs. Holding your ankles, touching the floor, standing on your head to stretch your legs in the air.
You have to be careful and slow with your wrist but just the small thrill of the blood rushing to your head is enough for your meditation to thrive. You can feel everything. The Force is everywhere. You know where the Commander is, speaking with a General in such passion, such rage it almost leaks into you. You try to clear your thoughts of his negative energy, focusing instead on the location of escape pods.
You can't find them. You drop to the ground, your head in your hands, frustrated that he distracted you. You lay there on the cool floor, flipped over onto your back, and stare at the ceiling. You follow the patterns until you land on something you hadn't noticed before. A way out?
Eyeing the vent, strangely painted to match the tiles of the ceiling, you consider it as an escape. It looks small, but you decide you could fit, pushing yourself to your feet and reaching for it on your tip toes. The ceiling is far too high for you to reach, even jumping your fingers barely scrape the metal. You sigh and relax your body. No chance.
Sitting on the bed, if it can even be called one, you begin to think back to Kylo Ren. Somehow, no matter what you're doing, his broad shoulders and large leathered hands creep into the forefront of your mind. His deep, commanding voice. You play with the hem of your top, reminded of the way he gripped it.
Gods, stop! You have to stop.
Instead of thinking about it, you look to where your fingers fiddle the tshirt, scrunching your nose up at the sight of yourself. Dirtied and bruised.
A wash. You need a wash. Your skin seems to crawl with hatred and dirt the more you ponder a hot steamy shower. Soap. Bubbles. A deep warm bath. You hum under your breath, imagining water coating you, a scrubber or a sponge soaping your smooth skin. Anger bubbles deep inside of you when you snap your eyes open to the sight of the grey cell.
How dare they keep you in here and deprive you of basic needs. How dare he.
Bitter and enraged, you pull the top up over your head despite the stinging of your wrist, to expose your white lace bra. You realised quite quickly that you'd been left in it and must've been wearing it when you were captured. Throwing the top across the room, you stand to wiggle the shorts down, the matching lace panties for your bottom half. Heated by the hatred for your captors you begin to bang on the door, not caring that the bruises from the last time were still stinging your fists.
"HEY." You shout, clanging your hands against the metal of the door. Your wrist is inflamed, but you've stopped caring. "AT LEAST HAVE THE DECENCY TO LET ME SHOWER." Your throat roars, voice cracking at the raised volume. You kneel over, a coughing fit rising in your throat, coughing so hard you feel like your lungs might explode from your ears. Your chest wheezes. "Fucking pricks." You hold your chest, coughing still, holding a middle finger up to the camera in the corner.
You head over to your water source, still lightly coughing, letting the water pour and you fill as much as you can in your cupped hands, then dribbling it across your dirt smudged flesh. Scrubbing at your face, your legs and armpits. You do this repeatedly, careful around any wounds.
You scrub at your hands until they go from ash to pink, then tending to your cuts after you're somewhat confident of your hands being clean. The gash on your forehead, your lip which is healing nicely, your ankles and wrists, the scrapes on your legs. Lastly, the branding. In the mirror you're foreign to your memories, a pink fleshy tattoo of branding on your ribs, unfamiliar and painful. You decide not to clean it. It looks sore, and somewhat clean anyhow. You're scared to touch it.
Leaning your elbows on the sink, your hands support your face. You can't help it, you're so far away from anyone who cares for you, your skin is not your own and your dreams are plagued with nightmares.
You miss your close friends Poe, Finn and Rey. You miss LJ. The four strongest fighters and nicest people you've ever met. Tears slip from your eyes, dropping down your palms to your wrists and arms.
You need to stop crying into this fucking sink. Instead, you wipe your face of the tears and collect your grey attire from the floor. You wring them of dirt under the water from the tap, hanging them against the sink to dry, before you lay down and shut your eyes. Hoping to sleep through the cold, and wake when your clothes are dry.
In your dreams, the Commander flashes before you. The mask looking upon you from above as his gloved hand holds your face. The thumb slipping onto your tongue past your lips and choking you, again, except this time it's just a distorted memory.
A memory that pools heat to your core, a growing sensation of need between your legs. You remember the taste of the leather so well... too well... as you kneel there, captured by his cruel stare, held by his dominant hands, hanging onto his every word. You see him in your mind, glowing with dominance, distant yet close, his hands reach for his helmet... grasping it... he's about to take it off...
You wake with a groan, upset at your dreams for being so traitorous against your will, turning on your side to face the wall in an effort to forget. Your senses prickle with a knowledge of danger, a presence of someone as you rub your eyes of sleep and sit up to face whoever it is.
He stands in the doorway.
Ren. The door is shut behind him. You have no way of knowing how long he's been there. Your knees bolt to your chest from nervousness as you sit up, feeling so exposed to his gaze, more than usual in your underwear. The cold air grips at your bare legs, arms and torso. He remains there, not saying a word, the sheen of his unforgiving mask sending a shiver up your spine.
"What do you want?" You narrow your eyes as you reach out for your top, grabbing it and sliding it over your head. It's slightly damp, but almost dry... you'd rather suffer a little than accept his eyes on your body.
He steps toward you, each slow deliberate footstep casting a chill of dread and anticipation from your feet to your fingertips.
"Your thoughts are a distraction." A beat passes and when he realises you won't reply, "you will stop," he tells you, walking around the cell before turning back to face you again.
"How might I stop something I have no control over, genius?" You look to him as you speak, deadpan, but instead of the flare of anger you expect in return, he just casually approaches you. Your breath catches in your throat.
He stops in front of you, you have to crane your neck up to see his mask. You're scared of the mask. But you're not sure you're as scared of the man underneath.
Your heart jumps. Ren's hands are on your knees. He pushes them down, his large grip enveloping your lower thighs, forcing them over the side of the bed. Exposing you to his eyes.
The familiar leather glove traces your arm as he towers over you, sending goosebumps in its path, trailing from your elbow to your shoulder. Your lips part subconsciously, apprehension rife in the air.
Before you can react, his finger runs swiftly along your collar bone, where you grow increasingly more aware of your heavy breathing and the fact you're in your underwear. You're frozen in fear, your legs pressed together, hoping it conceals at least something.
He doesn't stop, his finger skimming your neck, then down, brushing over your chest. But he stops, right as he reaches the peak of your breast. Your heart pulses into your ribcage, air caught in your throat. Your nipples harden against the top, under his finger.
"No control, hm?" Ren leers. You hate that deep robotic voice. His fingers of the other hand smooth over your outer thigh, slowly edging toward the inner. He's so close. He leans further down toward you, before you can turn away his other hand forces the side of your face back toward him. He is inches away now, his breathing distorted but at this distance a human can be heard. Your eyebrows crease with worry. What is he doing?
"Can't you just ignore me?" Your voice is breathy, shaky, nothing like you had expected it to come out. He chuckles as he straightens back up, a soft and pleasing sound. Even with the masks disguise. A man.
"No." He is stern now, scaring you. Your hands are crossed in your lap, a silly attempt to hide yourself. You can't stop worrying about how naked you are. Though the shorts don't provide much, they're better than this. And you don't want him to see the wetness that has begun to seep into your panties. His large hands touching you seemed to have an unprecedented effect.
The shorts are too far, he blocks the way, a human wall. You think, human, at least. He sounds human, sometimes. Heat rises to your cheeks.
"Though, it is tempting to just..." He continues in that same gruff voice.
Frowning, "what?" you blurt, quietly, almost as if you're saying it to yourself, trying to understand what he means.
"You might be fun to play with." He mocks you, the grumble of his deep voice upsetting your stomach, as he tilts his head ever so slightly to the side. Blush crowds your cheeks and you look away from him, staring at the ground, the sink, anything but him.
"Get the fuck away from me." It comes out as a whisper.
The harsh grip to your neck comes almost to no surprise, yet a squeak escapes you anyway, the back of your head knocks against the wall behind you as you force your eyes to the ceiling to avoid his masks secretive stare.
His fingers press at the sides of your neck, restricting blood flow to your brain. Fogginess follows, a strange haze of lightheadedness clouding your mind.
"I heard you." Ren hisses. His other hand grasps at your hip now, surely bruising, you struggle with your hands, one at his by your neck attempting to pry away his tight fingers, the other on his wrist begging for release of your hip. You meet where you think his eyes are, almost pleading with a look.
Heavy gasps escape you when his grip shifts and its hard to breathe, his hold is too firm for your tugging to do any good.
"Is this not what you want?" He growls, you drop your eyes, scared to keep the eye contact, but his hand shifts as he places his thumb under your chin and digs in until you've moved your head to his bidding.
You shake your head in his hold, hoping, wishing to deny any account of your thinking of this man in any positive light.
He's a coward of a Commander. A murderer.
SLAP. He heard you. A breathy groan leaves you, your head flinging to the side from the force of his assault.
"You dare to question me?" Ren's deep, booming voice sounds out as he inches closer, a slight laugh behind his words, he's enjoying this. Toying with you. Holding you limp in his grip.
"So defiant..." He releases you, standing back straight to look down at you, your body quivering after your hands flew straight to your neck and hip to soothe.
Standing in front of you right now, you don't hesitate to take advantage of your positioning, not even stopping to think as you know he can intercept it. You push your foot out, aiming straight to kick him in the crotch with all the force you can muster.
He catches it with no hesitation, instantly, his fingers wrapped around your ankle. Your foot is so near, if you wriggled you might touch him. Swiftly, he yanks you forward by your ankle, causing you to yelp, pushing your legs apart painfully with his other hand. You shrink back to avoid the close proximity of your faces, pushing at him and trying to wriggle away - but he holds your hips steady, pulling them against his. Your eyes widen.
Here, looming above you, gripping onto your hips, heat pools between your legs. He emits raw sexual energy, the dominance of his figure and actions is undeniable and you're so disturbingly attracted to him. You don't even know what he looks like. You boil with animosity, hoping and praying you can somehow get the upper hand.
He's so close to you that you've suddenly forgotten how to breathe, your bare inner thighs are pressing against the material of his cloak. Even under these layers, you can see his body. His huge body. That's when you notice the hardness of his erection against you. Holy fuck. You bite your lip, unable to stop yourself from looking. His large hands clutching at your smaller frame sends butterflies to your belly.
He's hard for you, holding you here, looking at you, naked stomach and legs, white lacy underwear. You're entirely vulnerable and yet your heavy breathing exposes something you cannot admit. The hardness of his length presses into your thigh, all logic flying from your mind as you anticipate what he looks like, beneath all the cloth and the armour. But you're not sure you care right now. You want him to fuck you regardless.
Kylo growls, gripping the back of your head by your hair, jerking you into the air toward him, your face an anxious mess only a finger breadth from the ominous mask. He holds you up, a hand clutching at your thigh, the other tangled into your hair.
"That's what I thought." He steps back, pushing you to your knees in front of him. You gasp at the sudden movement.
The pounding in your chest feels close to eruption, feeling your pussy clench in exhilaration as he tilts your head up to his crotch. Your knees burn from the sudden impact, but you don't care, he palms at his cock over the cloth until he pulls on the buckle. Finally, his erection springs free, the length before you. Your eyes are so wide, shocked, though for his size you suppose it makes sense. How the fuck is that gonna fit in y-
You don't get to finish your thought before Kylo uses the hand still tugging on your hair to bring you toward him, shoving his huge cock past your parted lips. You respond, taking as much as you can and gliding your tongue underneath with a muffled moan.
Groans escape from his mask, unexpected but welcome. His other hand grips the side of your head as you work your lips back and forth despite how enormous. He grunts in response, pushing his cock deeper, filling your mouth, using the hand on the back of your head to force you to comply to his speed and depth.
You gag, struggling under his hold as he fucks your face, ruthlessly thrusting his length past your lips to hit your throat. Your eyes water from the gagging, keeping your lips wrapped around his girth, looking up at him with drool dripping from your plump lips as he relentlessly guides your head backwards and forwards.
"There's a good little slut," He groans at you with his length sliding into your mouth. "Fuck." The voice modulator over his grunts, disguising his true tone, sends a dangerous chill over you.
You struggle to breathe, catching breaths occasionally as he pulls back slightly, before pounding at your throat again.
Then, SLAP. He smacks you, grunting as he does. You feel his cock twitch on your tongue as your cheek glows red and you almost drop it from your lips in shock, but he doesn't allow it - his hand at the base of your skull keeping you hostage. Your face stings.
Instead, Kylo continues the brutal fucking, increasing the pace as your eyes brim with more tears. Pre-cum coats your tongue as you take it, the salty taste filling your mouth, you moan against his dick without realising.
He groans, speeding up the ruthless face fucking, you feel dribble run down your chin as you appreciate the feeling of his hard cock on your tongue. "You like this, don't you?" He mocks you, you almost feel embarrassed at the sight you must be, moaning onto his dick as you take it into your mouth, tears spilling from your eyes as he forces you to take it deeper and you like it...
He rips out of your mouth, and you can suddenly breathe, his hand grips your cheeks so hard you might cry, "don't you?" His voice has dropped lower, and you know what he wants to hear.
"No," you breathe, shakily, hatred crowding your heart. He forces your jaw open further, roughly, sliding himself back in, and you're gagging over him with your nose in his pubic hair in mere seconds.
"No?" He grits, choking you with his cock, and you're panicking. You can't breathe at all now. He holds you there, his dick in your throat, as you gag, searching for air.
Finally, he pulls out, allowing you to fill your lungs and cry, and with his hand grasping your hair tighter, you give in. "Yes."
He pushes his thumb over your lips for a moment, considering you. A small chuckle sounds quietly, and you keep your eyes on his mask. He's a fucking sadist. He likes to see you in pain.
When he's positioning the tip at your lips again, you can't control yourself. You lick the tip, tasting him, feeling him against your tongue. He pauses with your jaw in his hand, looking at you, slides his cock into your mouth gently, and mutters, "such a good little bitch."
A tightness grows between your thighs.
He builds back up to his roughness, and before long you're struggling, and messy, and his cock is too fucking big.
The sheer force, the repetition, your shallow and infrequent breathing, you're not sure how much more you can handle. Your core throbs, arousal rising you press your thighs together as you admire the V line now exposed to your gaze.
You want to reach and touch it, seeing his flesh out, feeling his cock in your mouth as he groans and twitches under your lips, you want him to fuck you and you don't even care who he is anymore. His huge hands engulfing your head and the cock forcing your mouth open, it's so much all at once, and suddenly he speeds up. His hard length twitching as your tongue and mouth slide over it with even more force.
Then Kylo yanks himself from your lips once more, your mouth feels empty as you gasp for breath, you watch eyes wide as he jerks it in his fist, the length still impressive in his large hands as he grunts, spurting warm cum onto your face, your lips and cheeks coated.
As soon as he has, he drops his head back with a sigh - helmet facing the ceiling for a moment. He pieces himself back together, then tucking himself back into his pants. Your head throbs from the yanking of your hair, now relieving. You kneel there, hands on your knees, panting for breath, waiting for his next move with his cum dripping from your face.
Kylo stands back, admiring his masterpiece, the mess that you are. Next he takes his fingers, swiping his load from your cheeks and lips.
"Open." He orders, in a low and gravely voice. You obey, though your lips were already parted, you open them further, sticking your tongue out ever so slightly. He pushes his cum soaked leather gloved fingers into your mouth, and knowing what he wants, you suck it off. A blush fills your cheeks at what he'd just done. What you'd just done. You lick the last taste of his semen from the leather, enjoying the dirtiness of it while he watches you.
"Good little padawan." His gruff, altered voice praises you for the horrific act you'd just committed. He pats the cheek he'd slapped moments ago, before turning and leaving the cell, abandoning you on the floor confused and ashamed, recalling how you'd thought that you'd never allow yourself to be vulnerable to the Commander again.