Tempelj Temne Luči

((Post za Kareema, da bo lahko sam pisal medtem ko me ne bo ))

The decision had been made and the shuttle was already taking her to Dark Victory; the first of the many capital-class cruisers manufactured by the restored shipyards of Khar Shian. While the facilities may have remained dormant and unused for millennia ever since the fall of their primary owner and builder, they have been quickly restored, and even improved, beyond their former glory. The primary weapons of Darth Pride were of course coercion and both force and the Force, but she was very well aware of the fact that, in the long run, it was credits and wise usage thereof that truly won wars. Dark Victory was the epitome of that principle, for there has never been a dreadnought that would combine both the secret knowledge of the ancient Sith with all the technological advancements the Galaxy has achieved from then 'till now. The long, imposing conical tri-pyramid, as black as the starless void upon which it drifted, lay silently in orbit. Like a sleeping monstrosity, it waited. But not for prey: not yet. This time, it waited for its master. And as she approached, even its mistress was amazed by the sheer destructive potential that giant piece of metal seemed to possess. She decided then and there that, should the Dark Victory prove as capable in practice as she did in calculations (and if the interior proved practical and likeable enough), this new acquisition would soon become her new flagship. There was still the question of what the shipyards that built it should focus on next; but at the moment, they had their hands full with manufacturing frigates and smaller dreadnoughts, while their mistress intended to take the time to inspect her new "baby".
It was not long until the shuttle landed inside one of the many docking platforms of the bigger vessel and the passengers of the aforementioned shuttle left their vehicle for the corridor that separated them from the elevators.
"The Victory is yours, milady," a voice greeted the Arkanian woman and her escort, as they stepped out of the elevator and onto the bridge. The voice belonged to the only bearded Zabrak Pride had ever seen; either because he was unique, or because she hadn't seen many older Zabraks. Be that as it may, Commander Admiral Ao'Meedory was one of the best space-combat experts Pride could count as her own. While his physical condition had already begun to deteriorate, his mind was sharp as a razor, and years of experience have made it sharper still. He was to lead the Dark Victory against the enemy in a surprise flanking attack, should the upcoming battle turn in their disfavour. The state-of-art stealth engine, that occupied as much space as a whole courtroom, enabled the ship to fly somewhat like light itself; just as silent, but far less visible. One way or another, Saleucami had already fallen; the enemy was only waiting to be informed of the inevitable.
"I have an appointment I have no intention of missing, and our baby needs a test ride," the white-haired woman responded. "Plot the course for Korriban. Let's see what this bad girl can do."
That being said, the engines grew louder, but the visual on the other side of the several-times reinforced transparisteel window grew more blurry. Not a moment passed when the stars became lines, and the dark matter of the Universe began to swirl in front of them in a sinister blueish vortex. But that only lasted mere minutes. Soon, the twisting vortex disappeared and was replaced by thousands of white spots on a black background. Two stood out; a large shining star on the left, whose strength of lumen lay only in its proximity, and a large, rocky orange orb dead ahead.
A fiendishly amused grin coloured the face of the Sith Lady. She turned to the captain and instructed him:
"Prepare my shuttle for take-off. And don't forget to remotely activate the relay in the holocron chamber in Dreshdae as soon as he gets there. Send him the coordinates, but let him find it himself. I will await his arrival myself, for I have many dealings yet to be taken care of in his absence."
She wanted Kareem to see what she had built, and she wanted him to study where the call was strongest; if he could complete his training here, he would be ready. And then, the real test will have begun.

The spirit was more difficult to deal with than even Pride herself had imagined. The encounter challenged her beyond anything in the last few years and left her drained and spent. And yet, she prevailed, while the ancient ruler of all Sith, the long-dead but never defeated destroyer of the Rakata and the master of darkness, was subdued. And as he was forced to bow in front of her, he was forced to reveal his secrets to her, lest his existence come to the end it should have over 27 millenia ago. Two among those interested the Sith Lady greatly, though they required knowledge she currently did not possess. And mastering one of them would allow her to unlock the other, or so she had hoped, for their foundations were intertwined and similar with respect to each other. These mysteries, or rather mastering their foundations, occupied most of her attention for the following days. However, being the leader of a self-founded Empire did have its perks, and one of them was the ability to simply rip the knowledge out of the privileged heads of Kissai priests instead of learning it on her own, bit by bit. Perhaps the secrets of the highest grade of Sith sorcery were closed to her, due to the fact that she did not possess the bloodline the "pure-bloods" deemed necessary; but she now knew for a fact that all of these mysteries were not limited only to those who shared the genes of the ancient Korribanese. Perhaps some of the Kissai really did believe their blood necessary for their abilities, perhaps even the majority of them did. But there were undoubtedly some who knew better, and those kept the knowledge from her willingly. That kind of behaviour was unacceptable, and none of their minds proved strong enough to ward off her own, to protect their secrets once she chose to take them by force. Most could not stand it and fainted for a few days. Some even died. But she got what she wanted, and she made her point; the Kissai had to be punished for disobedience, and those who couldn't withstand the punishment were too weak to deserve the name of their species. The remaining ones would remember this and remain loyal, for it was their own teachings, the traditions they so desperately clang to, that dictated the rule of the strong and the culling of the weak.

She trained alone, corrected only by the knowledge of the Kissai that was now her own; corrected as efficiently as if supervised by a master (for she had always striven for perfection, and therefore possessed exceptional criticism, even self-criticism). It was during one of these solitary trainings, that her concentration was disturbed through the presence of an intruder. She did not have to ask to know the reason behind the disturbance. Her guest was here at last.
"Order them to empty the torture chamber and sterilize it. Dispose of any still held there. When he lands, seize him and bring him there. I shall 'take care of him' afterwards," she commanded the servant. She did not also need to explicitly tell him to get the hell out of the chamber, for he was smart enough to understand as much from her tone. Silently, she resumed her meditation, this time expanding her consciousness beyond the Temple, beyond the valley, beyond the sky. She could sense him, coming ever closer in a box of un-life that was his vessel. He would have descended the last metres which separated him from the ground near the entrance to the Temple of Darklight and landed at its doorstep in a matter of minutes. It was therefore time for her to change from her meditation robes to something more befitting someone, who was to exact torment upon a transgressor.
She took her time, for she knew that his apprehension would be swift. She had decided therefore to wait until the man was in the chamber his arrestors were ordered to bring him, before dismissing them and arriving in person.

The atmosphere of the red, barren planet got denser and ever more misty as his ship rose through the layers of air thickly ridden with dust and the dark sand winds had swept from its surface. Thankfully, the coordinates were accurate and his eyes widened in surprise as the first vague forms of what lay ahead began to shape in the impenetrable swarm of dancing debris and particles of Force knows what. He strained to see better through the swirling fog, but with another sharp turn his descent led him to a point where the skies cleared and he could see without trying at all.

The sight was, to say the least, jaw-dropping. In a narrow cwm, tucked between two majestic mountains that were a part of a larger mountain range that now crowned the red horizon as far as the eye could see, there lay what he supposed was a secret sanctuary of a kind. The mists that stretched almost to the ground and dispersed only meters above it made sure that almost no-one could've accidentally stumbled upon the corrie were he not acutely aware of its whereabouts. Nonetheless, it was a sight to behold with nary a breath on one's lips. After all, who would've expected to find a booming waterfall in the middle of an arid desert? The waters that flew over the edge of the thin canyon disappeared into the mists of liquid turned vapor, creating almost a fable-like ambient. If one turned one's gaze a bit to the left or right, though, the temporary illusion was quickly shattered by the imposing black walls carved out of the bare red rock, towering and demanding nothing if not complete obeisance and awe. The hunter complied even without his conscious approval and let the visage ahead devour him.

Everything that happened after the touchdown was a complete, imperceptible blur of dark silhouettes that moved with superhuman agility, reflexes and speed. He tried as much as he could, but the fight and the exploration itself of the Dreshdae Academy ruins had drained him too much for him to be able to confront a large group of beings with such abilities. After landing a few good hits, he was completely spent and the renowned black spots swam into his vision.

When his consciousness and subsequently awareness of the surroundings returned, he didn't immediately open his eyes, nor moved a muscle. He even forced his breath to continue to come in labored, long inhales of someone that's had a rather long, exhausting day. Instead of bursting into a stupid chain of impulsive reactions to his current situation, he reached out with his still functioning senses, trying to measure just how deep he was fucked. There was a low humming noise all around him, coming from no particular direction, so he was forced to abandon that train of assumptions. Trying to figure out what else was there and in what kind of contraptions he'd actually found himself in, he tugged gently at the binds on his wrists. The unmistakable smooth and unyielding feel of plastisteel at his skin left him bereft of any hope to escape. Even with his newfound powers of Force, he wouldn't have stood a chance, provided he wasn't as fatigued as he was at the moment.

His pondering was interrupted by the cold sound of high heels clicking against stone floor, and he barely suppressed the urge to lift his hanging head and look upon the woman that had entered whatever chamber he was being held in. The knowledge they were alone would have made him a very happy man in another situation, but now it brought all but comfort to his troubled mind. He gnawed at his inner cheek, drawing metallic blood and not caring in the slightest, for all his thoughts were for the only other person in the room otherwise painfully sterile of anything else he could reach out to. Here goes nothing, he sighed inwardly and rose his eyes to meet the statue-like pose of the woman that had never before seemed so terrible and yet so beautiful at the same time.

The doors opened with a sinister hiss, and revealed behind them a figure that could at the same time be one man's (or woman's!) fantasy, and another's nightmare. One shiny, black, stiletto-heeled leather boot took a step inside the room, followed by another. On closer inspection, one realized they were high-boots, going up all the way well over the woman's knees, laced with deep-scarlet laces that twined upwards through no less than 66 holes on each side. On her hips, more accurately; bracing upon the black leather belt studded with silver spikes, lay her hands, covered in long gloves of the same material as the boots, and also winding up over her elbows. No chest-piece covered her torso, for she was used to much colder climates than Korriban's arid and warm deserts offered. Instead, all that covered her modesty were a thong and bra, both of course in the same material as the rest of the outfit. Around her throat was a spiked collar, which seemed a lot like a smaller version of her belt. Her white hair was in a tight braid that fell on her left shoulder and then freely down between the curves of her breasts.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk, what have we here?" a maliciously playful voice that came from her full lips wondered. "An apprentice who crossed the borders of his powers, it seems," she concluded without needing to hear his answer. The query was, after all, a rhetorical one.
"Now, I'm sure you have a mind full of questions right now. Why did my shuttle bring me here? Why was I knocked unconscious and brought here? Why am I bound? What is this place?" she went on with her monologue.
"I've heard them all before, but you are one of the few that will actually hear them answered. And the answer to all but the last is: 'because I ordered so.' The answer to where you are would be in a secret temple; once a tomb for a being of such immense power that your pitiful imagination cannot fathom even a fragment of it, and now my sanctum on this dead rock of a planet."
A few more steps, and she was only inches away from the plate of sith-forged alchemical steel, which held the man in an upwards position, only slightly angled backwards, and fastened with chains of the same material. This nigh-indestructible and incredibly-difficult-to-achieve metal proved immensely useful in some of the practices which took place upon it.

"You are of course wondering why for the Force's sake I would order such a thing. Maybe this will refresh your memory," she whispered in his ear, so close he could almost touch her, were he not chained to the surface behind him. Her voice resounded with hidden anger and vengefulness. And even as the last word manifested into sound, she drew her twin lightsabers from the part of her belt behind her back, and attached them onto the man's shoulders. Two simultaneous switches of a button, and the solar heat of twin blades of pure energy shot through flesh, incinerating muscle, vein, nerve and bone like dust, and stopping only once they reached the laser-resistant surface behind the man. For a moment, Pride let her weapons linger in place, prolonging the man's agony. Then she switched them off and put them back onto her belt where they belonged. She took his jaw in her palm and lifted it to force him gaze into her eyes.
"Oh don't worry, it won't be permanent," she said with fiendish amusement. Then she placed both of her palms upon his chest and let the power flow through her. Where the Jedi begged the Force to preserve life for the perseverance of life itself, she ordered it to restore that which she was not finished with. In a matter of moments, the man's injuries began to regenerate with exceptional speed, until both the wounds inflicted by her lightsabers and the beasts he encountered before vanished without trace.

"Now, perhaps you will recall that, while I do support competitiveness in general, I find it incredibly stupid and reckless when it endangers the overall success of the mission. Not to mention you also failed to bring me the holocron yourself," she lashed at him.
"Fortunately for you however, your rival turned out to be not only that, but also a traitor and an enemy. I can, therefore, be much more merciful regarding your punishment." She brought her face once more only millimetres away from his.
"So," she asked in the purring tone that was so typically hers. "Since I don't have to torture you to near-death and bring you back so many times until you go half-mad with pain, what am I to do with you? Obviously I can't just let you go, for I have no desire of appearing soft to my subordinates. But perhaps I can think of some alternative, one that you would not find *entirely* unpleasant." She reached forward and bit his lower lip forcefully, almost to the point of drawing blood.
"Well?" she asked when she let go. "Do you have anything to say?"

"G," was the whole elaborate answer that slipped from between those suddenly dry lips. But for all the credits in the Galaxy, he could not bring himself to care just what damage the action may have done to his pride or manhood. With eyes almost as wide open as his hanging jaw, he devoured her perfect figure with a burning gaze. Sleek, svelte and inviting, she stood there covered in next to nothing, were it not for the skin-tight black leather that hugged those long legs and elegant yet ever so strong hands that rested imposingly on the spiked belt. His stare travelled upwards, not caring in the least how rude of him it was to do so; after all, what could even be deemed rude and proper when one was chained up to a cold metal slate, watching a woman clothed, or, better, not clothed in body-tight black material that was an essential in any dreams of a man with darker fetishes.

Even the cold and derisive playfulness of her voice scarcely did anything to break through his stupor and it took the harshness her tone undertook with further talking to finally pull him out of his lustful haze. She was downright insulting, demeaning and abrasive, but it seemed befitting their suddenly very different positions, and the hunter couldn't help but wonder just how much he had he been fooling himself before. Equals? Associates? he laughed bitterly in his mind, feeling each word like a whip upon his skin, like a fresh, searing wound torn into his muscle without a trace of gentleness or mercy. He bared his teeth defiantly and leveled his gaze with those icy white eyes, firm in his resolve not to show weakness or pain, even with the knowledge that it would not change a thing.

He had never in his life been so profoundly humiliated, or shown his own smallness compared to someone much greater, and he felt it like a grating agony, eating away at his self-respect and power of his will. But then she closed in and the insane rhythm of his heart sped up even more, but not for her closeness or the lust that felt so out of place at the moment, no. It was because Kareem Tyriani was afraid. Not even afraid, but rather in fear for his very life. The predatory leering that graced those usually so beautiful features settled a dread deep into his fluttering heart, every bodily instinct screaming for him to get away. He even tried to buckle against his bindings, but all was in vain.

He barely even had time to draw a sharp breath before his vision exploded with black and white, his whole body feeling like it was on fire. The trails of fire sneaked deeper into his flesh, charring both muscle and bone, turning the blood to sticky ash even before it had time to spill from the seared veins. There was no stopping the cry of pain that erupted from his chest and unadulterated in his agony, the man screamed to the top of his lungs. He had been hurt, cut, shot and beaten before, but never, ever like this. He could feel every single nerve ending begging for mercy, for the blissful unconsciousness and blackness to take over, but none of those ever came.

He was left hanging limply in his chains, too shocked, mutilated and twisted into himself to do anything. He didn't even jolt when she leaned in again, resting her gloved hands onto his lifeless body and undoing the damage she had caused mere seconds ago. A soft, yielding sigh blew past the lips of his hung head, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. It grew in power, however, parallel to the words that left those sweet lips of Darth Pride, turning ever more into a chuckle. Slowly, he raised his head, storm-like eyes finding the stark whiteness.

"Does it matter what's my say on the subject?" he grinned, his voice harsh and husky from all the screaming. "It seems to me and my pitiful imagination," he tried again, a clear strain both on his body as on his mind, "that you wouldn't have it any other way than yours. And who am I to oppose that?" the smirk turned into a leering, ragged smile and his eyes sparkled for a moment with that hint of crazy, that pinch of unhinged that made him so distinctively different than others. Somehow, he wasn't surprised when another bout of pain shot up from his lip at Pride's ever so gentle ministrations, and he just let her show her strength and superiority. After all, he was in no position to shy away, even if he wanted to.

"My lady, whether I want it or not, I am at your mercy and something tells me you have very little of that when it comes to disobedience. Thus, I am yours to do with what you will," he husked, leaning ever so slightly forward, beckoning at her to take him with the power and force she'd shown before and that still radiated from her, her aura now outright red and black, swirling and lashing, inconsistent and screaming danger. If he was to be had, he would do it to indulge himself and mostly to appease the bloodlust he could easily spot in those white eyes. It was a familiar feeling for the hunter and he had every intention to have it turn into pain and pleasure rather than pure agony.

And so he is broken, she thought to herself amusingly. No, not broken. The way he repeated that "pitiful imagination" was just not subordinative enough to signify a broken man. No, he still had a spark in him, he still possessed that defiance that was so central to his being. But in fact, she preferred him that way; had she managed to break him completely with such ease, she would have lost all interest in him quite quickly, not to mention that his usefulness would be severely diminished. A broken man is an easily swayed and non-creative man.
"Well aren't you suddenly subservient?" she threw at him with a half-amused, half naughty smile. "We can exploit that."

Once more, she crept closer. Her nails, only slightly longer than her fingertips, were now polished black as the void of space and filed into small arrow-shapes. Those nails now dug into his skin just under his shoulder and continued diagonally downwards over his chest, drawing blood. Petite drops of ruby life fluid trickled down his chest and down her fingers. She withdrew her hand to her face and licked the stains with a lustful exhalation. The taste of liquid iron inflamed her passions and she pounced upon the man, holding herself unto him with her hands around his neck and with her thighs firmly on his hips. Her head descended unto his neck, teasing it with moist kisses. And just when she suspected for him to have begun enjoying himself, her teeth descended upon the muscle on his head and injected him with bitter-sweet pain. Her hips moved on her own, rubbing up and closer, and down and further in rhythm with her lust. She knew she would drive him crazy, sooner or later.

Finally, she drew back enough for him to be able to see her eyes. Without a word, her right hand descended, lower and lower, while she still held on to him. As she went below his belt, she could reach just far enough. And her grasp was so strong, it must have been just as painful to the man as it was pleasurable.

Something warped inside of him that day, he mused many years later. Something profound in him changed, molding him into the shape he was to be in after it was all said and done. But in that very moment, he had no knowledge whatsoever to what It would bring him. Frankly, he wasn't sure he was even thinking at the moment. She could feel her lording over his essence, and not just with her physical presence and the way it seemed to crush him like an insignificant speck of nothing beneath her thumb; no, what made him grit his teeth and fight back was how that smug smile played at the edges of her lips, smirking like she already knew everything there was to be known about life. You might be strong, he grinned to himself and the defiant spark reappeared in his silver eyes. "Yet still you want me," he half husked, half chuckled; unwise an action, it would seem, considering the position he was in. Tied to cold, hard metal and pinned there by a woman who could easily kill him in a blink of an eye…let's just say it wasn't a situation most people would choose to make jokes in.

Luckily – or not so fortunately, perhaps? – he never was an ordinary person and so he just chortled again, throwing his head back in a maniacal streak. The air caught in his throat when she scratched at his skin without any warning whatsoever, a surprised yelp of sudden pain escaping his chest. His gaze remained involuntarily glued to her sleek fingers that were now freed from the long leather gloves, even as she pulled away from him with the red red blood trickling down the curve of her palm. With a look that would've melted the hardest diamond, she licked it off her white skin, the contrast burning the eye in the sweetest of ways. He was sure that drool was already trailing down his chin from the corner of his mouth, for he was so intently staring that he had forgotten to breathe for a moment.

Yet still there was no time for reactions as she was again all over him, her unique aroma invading his nostrils, inflaming the low fire that burned away slowly, yet surely in his abdomen. This is going to leave some marks, I reckon, he closed his eyes and leaned his head even further back into the plastisteel slate behind him, relishing for a moment the cool, comforting feel of its coldness against his hot flesh. Her teeth were all but gentle to his neck and a low growl formed in the back of his throat as he expressed his appreciation of the raw gesture; not so smart a move, it seemed, because the encouraging was taken very seriously on her part.
He gasped, a string of cursewords leaving his mouth just a second later, finishing with a flourish. He screwed his eyes tight shut and bit hard on his own lip to cut the stream of swearing and strained moans he barely held down. He should've been alarmed that he was taking pleasure in such perverted, dark situation, but, let's be real; he was a man who killed fellow sentients for a living – why should he concern himself with a vice so little?

Kareem, it seemed, was of the same thoughts, and ground out, pulling her closer with his thighs. "Just fuck me already," he growled in her ear, biting down on the flesh and showing her the same mercy she had shown to him. Even chained and bound, he had his Pride.

Their gazes met and he could swear his brain charred in an instant. There simply was no resisting the pull of those eyes and before he could stop himself, the words spilled from his lips

"You know you want to," he purred, abusing her own tone,

"throw it at me," little more than a whisper,

"I can take you all," a bite,

"My Lady."

"And yet I still want you," she echoed his words. Was it that obvious? she wondered. Yet, she couldn't deny that it must have been; if she had no use for him, he would have been dead by now. And if she had no desire for him, she would have given him a hundred lashes with a heat-stun sabre across the back and sent him away. Either way, had her feelings been different, they would not have been having this conversation.
He may have been chained to the wall, nearly killed and regenerated, yet his arrogance was unyielding. So much better, at least he posed a challenge. And his tone, when he called for her to ravish him, awakened a distinct and most pleasant mixture of lust both for the man, as well as to prove her dominance over him.

The nails of her left hand dug into his back while the fingers of her right gripped his manhood with such force, that there was no way in Hell he wouldn't be completely agonized by it.
"Well then, since you put it *that* way," she purred, then made a small leap backwards. The man couldn't hold her as long as he was chained to the diagonal table, try as he will. And she knew that the very fact that she got so close and then drew away must have been an exquisite torture of itself.
"How about we test the verity of your statement, mmm? We'll see how much you can take after you've actually had some." Saying this, she outstretched her arm towards the left. In less then a moment, a lightsaber-like handle appeared in her palm. A very thin metallic cord seemed to wind itself from where the lens-emmiter should have been.

"You've met Darth Vanity, have you not? You certainly must have seen her on the council meeting last time," she began, knowing the hunter would be perplexed by a seemingly unconnected topic. "Well, Vanity is a Nightsister. I wouldn't be surprised if you never heard of those; after all, few who have have ever left their home planet. But here's the interesting part..." Her eyes gleamed with a wicked blaze, hot coals heralding the impeding wave of magma. She flipped the switch on the handle. The cord seemed as if wrapped into a crimson lightsaber blade; but a lightsaber blade would have been straight, while this one could be bent and curled, almost like a whip.
"The Nightsisters have developed their own variant of a lightsaber. Personally, I wouldn't use it in combat... but there is more than one use for a weapon such as this, wouldn't you agree?" She didn't let him respond; her hand rose and descended with speed and strength, and the blade lashed across the chest of the hunter. Pride had no way of knowing how he'd feel, though she knew it would not be pleasant. The two focus crystals, a Barab-ore ingot and a Firkrann prism, made the blade unleash both fire and lightning upon the sorry flesh of the victim. It was only the Kathracite primary crystal that suppressed the awesome pain- and death-inflicting power of the blade. Well, truth be told, it only made the blade incapable of rending flesh from the bones in a single strike. There was no guarantee that it also protected the victim from death by brain breakdown due to incredible amounts of pain.
A perfect tool of torture, the dominatrix thought fiendishly to herself as she wallowed in the agony she wrought upon her plaything.

The bounty hunter smirked like there was no tomorrow – which, in his case, could very well be possible – as the woman above him was no goody-two-shoes. But strange as it may seem, he found the pain she caused him enjoyable in a depraved, dark way that made his cold soul rejoice and relish every moment of the new, all-encompassing sensation. The way her full lips curled up in a sneering smile, he knew he'd won in his persuasion. And the way her hips moved against him, he knew the worst had only just begun.

She backed away from him, leaving him writhing in pain the squeeze of her hand had caused, shaking enough that the chains he was bound by rattled against the cold metal of his restraints. But hell if he wasn't enjoying it at the same time, taking pleasure in one of the greatest feelings the human body could provide; just like love quickly turned to hate, so thin was the line between pleasure and pain. Especially with people like Kareem Tyriani or Darth Pride. Only then one could really say how thin the line truly was; that is, practically nonexistent. Still dwelling on the burning marks her fingers had left in places there should be none, he barely heard the hiss of the thin metal cord springing to life.

Raising his eyes to meet her torture tool of choice, he pulled back his lips, eyes sparkling again "Well, fuck me if I care," he rasped out with a dry voice, licking the cracked skin of his mouth, "you're going to do it anyway, so better just get on with it and rip me to fucking shreds," he laughed a wicked laughter and stared her defiantly in the white of her eye, even when the whip lit up in the darkest, bloodiest shade of red. "Mm, excellent selection, your Ladyship," he grinned at the sight, her form hugged in her lingerie of choice, combined with the flogging she was about to deliver just too priceless a visage for him to refrain of commentary.

Sure, he bit his lip until the blood flowed freely, but no scream whatsoever left his mouth. When her arm was again resting against her hip, the crackling whip coiled harmlessly on the floor beside her stilettos, he opened his eyes again. Looking down, he examined the scorching trail the chord had left on his chest, an eyebrow arching up. "That the worst you can do?" he threw in her direction, barely bothering to raise his gaze. "My lady, I've suffered more when I was ten. I do believe that a bit less restraint is in order now that I'm a decade and a half older, don't you think?" he chuckled, provoking her, luring her in. To put further emphasis on his words, he spit out the metallic blood that trickled from his lip.

"Come on, whip me harder," he laughed, his aura growing ever darker.

"My lady, I've suffered more when I was ten... Come on, whip me harder." Her anger rose rapidly at those words, but she forced herself not to show even a hint of it. He was the prisoner and she was the torturer, and it would do her no good to show how easily he could agitate her. In fact, she was partially mad at herself for being so easily swayed: it was beneath her.
"Well, since you're literally asking for it..." her voice trailed of as her hand snapped, smacking his left cheek with enough force to bang the right side of his face into the metal he was bound to. After that, she stroke from underneath diagonally, hitting his right thigh, and then, with a flourish over her head, sent the whip down once more, this time hitting the other leg in the same place.

Where the lash touched him, it incinerated the fabric and charred the flesh underneath. However, it also had an effect Pride did not anticipate: all of a sudden, there was sparkling electricity all over the man's pants. While the fact that the cortosis-weave in them acted as a conductor did escape her, she was well aware it must have been everything but pleasant to the man.
"Most amusing," she said with a smile that was more devilish than amused. "I wonder what happens if I do this next," she added with faked innocence and turned a switch, then flicked the whip. This time however, it didn't strike his thighs, but somewhat higher; just a few inches under the belt. When it hit, his breeches literally went on fire in addition to the sparks from before.

She let him "enjoy" it for a few moments, then waved her hand in a swift movement that made the invisible force she commanded tear the fabric away from him. The next thing she did was take a small black object from the table next to her and hide it in her hand, then walked towards the enchained one.
"Hold still," she commanded firmly as she grabbed his chin with her left hand in the same manner. It wasn't really necessary; she most likely had far more strength in her arm than he in his neck.
"Good night," she said seductively and placed the black object she picked up before (and that was now easily identifiable as a blindfold) over his eyes and fastened it behind his head. Now that he was effectively blinded, she slowly descended and began to touch him. She started just barely, only the tips of her fingers sliding down his chest, lower and lower... She deliberately avoided that part and continued downwards. When her fingers almost reached his knees however, they stopped and began to backtrack their traces, but even slower than before. She could feel him burning, throbbing, almost trembling.
To be teased in such a way, to be so stimulated, yet so far from what one needed, unable to take any action to satisfy the burning lust... it must have been maddening.

And she was in no way finished. For when her fingertips had finally reached that place she deliberately avoided before, they did not entwine around him, as he no doubt wished. Oh no, not yet. While her fingers barely touched the lower parts, sending a pulse of desire through him, her tongue slowly extended until its tip touched his tip. And a moment later it retreated, while its owner observed the man's reaction with utmost pleasure...

His face contorted in twisted pleasure and his breath left his lungs in ragged, shallow gasps; and still he kept smiling like a madman, inextinguishable a flame burning in the storms of his eyes. Even while the whip fell time and time again unto his body, tearing the flesh, utterly and completely breaking the skin, leaving little streams of blood trickling down at the sides of his fresh wounds. Even the light-whip struck too quick and too fast to burn away every single bead of liquid life that continued to flow out of him, albeit at a slow pace, but nonetheless. He ground his teeth, bracing for another hit, inhaling through widened nostrils and gazing at her with unrelenting and unyielding a stare; but the next slash never came – or maybe it did, but he never noticed – because he was so consumed and overcome with the fire that literarily raged in his loins he wouldn't have noticed the whole Galaxy coming down in apocalyptic flames and ashes.

Slowly coming back to his senses, he barely had time to open his eyes, before a thin, but impenetrably dark piece of cloth was put over his eyes with incredibly gentle a touch. One could scarcely believe that those were the same hands that administered the burning lashes still very much visible on his bared body, trails of crimson and ash making their way down his body. What was the most surprising and at the same time not unexpected at all, was that he was still, somehow, amazingly, aroused beyond belief. Be it the outrageously odd and intoxicating mixture of pleasure and pain, or maybe just the sensation of being so profoundly out of control, that gave him such a freeing feeling.

The very tops of her fingertips danced across his numbed skin, seemingly finding the only places his nerves weren't overcharged to death or simply charred by the gentle touch of her whip. Darth Pride was, he learned that day, strangely forgiving in her punishment; for the worst of all he suffered at her hand was the pleasure she brought upon him afterwards. There was no greater torture than the comforting, cherished wetness of her tongue upon his flesh, soft and ghost-like like the caress of a tentative lover, and not that of a cruel mistress she really was.

He had no strength left to buckle against the chains holding him down, nor had he any more will to confront her. All of his arrogance had been blown away by her strikes; all of his pride trampled into the dust by her words; all of his fighting spirit razed to the ground by her agonizing touch, by her twisted loving, by her destructive lust. He let his head lean on the cold metal of the slate behind him, the harsh coolness a welcome antidote to the burns he had to endure.

"Just take me," he growled out, his voice that of a man that had lost a battle. Yet with a battle lost, the tides of war could still easily be swayed. He clenched, then unclenched his fingers that had spent entirely too much time balled into fists of pain, rattling the plastisteel against the alloy at his back. "You know I'm yours. Isn't that what you wanted?" he licked the blood off his lips, lifting his head. "Come on, just fucking take me, any way you desire," a low laughter left his chest, his face tensing with the pain the movement brought with it. "I swear I'll never disobey again," he muttered into the air pregnant with the smell of arousal, blood, sweat and anger, defeat and lust.

"I can't really do anything for you, since I'm so beautifully tied up. I'd love to atone for my sins in a way other than you flaying me alive, you know. Let me down and I solemnly vow I'll do my mortal share," a languid smile crossed his face and he shrugged slowly.

"Let me fuck you, my lady."

((Tokrat nekoliko krajše))

"That's exactly what I intend to do," she said when he so desperately asked her to take him, any way she desired. What he didn't know however, was that such a statement made no difference whatsoever; after all, she had been doing exactly what she wanted to him ever since he regained consciousness. It was only due to her own excitement that she was inclined to oblige his wish. After all, she wanted more of him than just his manhood.

Thus, she flicked her palm against a lever at the foot of the metalwork that held the table he was chained to in place. As if of its own volition, it moved to the opposite side and at the same time, the table suddenly dropped backwards until it lay completely horizontally. Then, she tore off the blindfold, for she wanted him to see her next move. After all, being aroused yet unable to take action was something she meant to deprive him as little as possible. But the lady herself was becoming excited, and she was used to having what she wanted.
She ascended the table and stopped when she stood above his legs, just in his sight, but still so far out of his reach. Incredibly slowly, she began to peel down the petite excuse for panties she was wearing. They slid with her fingers, lower and lower, gliding over her soft white skin, but slowly as if time had ceased to have meaning. Finally, with a sly smile playing on her lips, she took them off and threw them onto his face.
Only after that did the Arkanian deign to wave her hand towards the shackles that had been binding the man all this time. With a chorus of clangs, all four of them opened in the same second and released his ankles and wrists from the chains. At the same time, she pounced on him, her hands pressing down his chest, her legs around his, and both of their bare lower sections incredibly close, almost touching.

"Well then..." she teased as she moved her hips forward and back, rubbing herself on him, sending waves of anticipation through both of their bodies. "..."persuade" me."

((ni frke, nisi mela dosti materjala. (; ))

The change in his position was so abrupt he barely had time to gasp before the cool metal at his back hit him hard in the vertebrae. He groaned at the sudden, piercing pain, but tried instead to concentrate on the body that appeared above him, her lithe form pressing on the sides of his thighs, barely touching, yet agonizingly so. He rattled at his shackles, but there was no more need to complain as the light and vision returned again with the absence of the blindfold.

His eyes took its time to take her in as a whole; her lithe body only an outlined silhouette, backed with the scarcely lit room. No matter what she'd done to him in the past hour, on the outside, she was still so amazingly unblemished and untainted one could hardly believe she was a Sith Lady, let alone she was threatening the very Galactic Republic. The beckoning smoothness of her thighs and the creamy tan of her bare abdomen just pleaded to be touched, and oh how would've he complied, had he the freedom of movement the woman had not yet granted him

Instead she decided to subject him to a completely another form of torture, this time taking entirely too much time to strip off the barely-there fabric of her panties. When she was finally done, she threw the soaked material on his face and he cherished the tangy aroma, his body instantly begging for more. He hated how weak he was that way, how easily manipulated by womanly charms; and yet, if he had to have a weakness, he was happy it was that and not something potentially far more lethal.

Now freed from his binds, he moaned without restraint, his fingers immediately committing themselves to her silky skin, travelling the length of those strong arms that kept pressing him down. He bit his lip at her words, sighing with built-up impatience. "As you wish, my Lady," he bowed his head slightly at her sultry command, reaching below her extended arms. The rough skin of his fingers danced across the exposed flesh around her having mounds, tracing various patterns and gliding playfully lower, slithering along the lines of her abdominal muscles that were so beautifully tensed in the position they found themselves in. Ghosting the strokes of his hands ever down, he encountered the apex of her thighs, avoiding it purposefully and moved further downward, gently moving in sync with the pulse of her heart that pumped the hot blood through her thighs. He lidded his eyes in pleasure, snaking his fingers around her body, promptly caressing the elusive curve of her back, eliciting a low hum from the woman above him.

Finally halting to a stop, he looked up into the stark white eyes that were wide open with eagerness. "May I?" he inquired, more for the rhetorical enjoyment than anything else, for in the next moment, his hands were on her hips and he pulled her down with all the force he could muster, growling out his pleasure at the long-anticipated unison.

"Do you have to AAaask?!" were the words that came through her lips in response to his inquiry of permission, the last word prolonged in a surprised and joyful squeal as he thrust into her with all his strength. Oh the feelings were beyond words to describe! She had been focused for so long, with the war, the spirit of Adas, disciplining the Kissai and mastering new abilities, that she had almost completely neglected her body's desires. If it weren't for Lust and that last night before she left Ziost for Korriban, she would have been raving by now. But it has been almost a week since then, and there were certain... assets, that female love lacked and eventually left her wanting.

Her hands slipped upwards until she gripped the tendons of his shoulders with her palms, digging her fingers into skin and sinew, and used that grasp as leverage to pull herself up, then release and let herself slide down him with a most pleasing motion. Her hips and in fact her entire abdomen moved back and forth, touching him when she almost slid off, then moving away as she took him inside of herself. The "foreplay," so to speak, aroused her quite efficiently, and controlling herself during it proved to only increase the effect desire had had upon her. On and on, back an forth, up and down, in and out... Her entire perception was reduced to wallowing in the sensations her body was experiencing. Streaks of sweat started trickling down her forehead and soft moans began to escape from her slightly open lips while her breathing became faster...

When she climaxed, she threw herself upon him and her head plunged backwards in ecstasy, just as her back arched forward and a long, loud voice of pure satisfaction parted her lips. And without even realizing it, her fingers sparked in a weak variant of lightning, sending volts of excitement through the man under her, tingling every nerve in his body, but probably not causing any significant pain. Well, not much at least. Then, she released him and slowly moved her head downwards do look at him, yet staying completely in place. Her breathing was still heavy, but it was slowly stabilizing. An unspoken question gleamed in her snow-white eyes.

Oh, the sweet vengeance the ecstasy brought upon the ruthless, merciless Empress of the Sith. And he was the wielder of it; the one to wreak havoc unto the feelings that coursed through her body; the one to…the one to be left wanting and bereft of any chances to make her yield before him. That was the simple, yet the only truth. Every movement, every single undulating motion of her form – a form without compare – had him mesmerized, entranced with each sway of her hips, each heave of her breasts covered with a thin sheen. In the harsh light of the torture chamber they mated, savagely and without any tenderness whatsoever; flesh against scarred flesh, skin against marred skin, blood and sweat mixing together like the sweetest aphrodisiac for the beasts they truly were.

He came bare seconds before her, whatever reserves he'd been going on finally spent; his eyes screwed shut, the usually painfully pleasurable sensation now literally sending his fatigued muscles into spasms of short lived agony. He gnawed at his lower lip, quickly re-opening the wounds that had barely stopped seeping blood. There was no elegance to their motions; him being to broken and her too primal for any of the seductive, playful comportment their trysts usually had about them. In the instant Pride reached her peak, thin lightning bolts rushed from the fingers clawed into his flesh, strangely but delightfully enough prolonging the apogee of this night.

For a long period of time, there was no other sound in the room but the sounds of their mutually ragged breathing and the faint buzz that persisted throughout their whole bout; Kareem smiled at the irony of their position. Their situation was fairly similar to the one they'd started in, the only difference being the uncountable injuries now scattered across his body and, of course, the complete lack of clothing whatsoever. He finally pried open his heavy eyelids, a shadow of a smile tugging at the edge of his thoroughly bitten lips. "Well, my lady, I am still fully at your mercy," the grin grew ever so slightly, but his eyes gleamed with the post-coital spark of rakishness and newfound energy. His body might've gone through a hell of a battering and his mind was spared none of the humiliation brought with it; yet the hunter was a man with honor nary worth a mention.

"So what am I to do for you?" he propped up on his elbows, grimacing for a second at the sting of pain in his shoulders; the lightsabers had left their mark nevertheless, it seemed. "Would you like me to carry you to your chambers, perhaps? Or polish your leathers?" amusement twinkled in the gray of his eye and he raised his chin minutely in defiance. "My lady?" he inquired, licking a thin stream of blood off his lip.

((Tokrat malo krajše))

His face was a mask of twisted pleasure, intertwined with pain, yet there seemed to be not a flicker of regret to be seen or sensed in him. She was pleased; she proved her point, reminded him who was in charge, yet managed to keep his desire and his loyalty. Not to mention she had indulged in a most amazing and pleasurable experience along the way.
"Sarcasm never leaves you, does it?" she replied to his questions without answering, and with an amused smile on her lips. Bending downwards, she caressed his body with hers, and placed her lips close to his ear.
"I think you've learned your lesson," she whispered. "Pain for your transgression and hint of betrayal, and pleasure as a reward for where you were successful and loyal. You can expect similar treatment in the future, depending on your actions." She wrapped her hands around his torso, still taken over by the afterglow. Normally, she would have savoured the moment; but this was neither the time nor the place for that.

Slowly, she lifted herself onto all fours, once again revealing all the glory of her perfect figure to the man's eyes.
"I suggest you spend the next few hours in a kolto tank, over in the medical quarter. You will need all your senses and your abilities soon, perhaps in no more than a day or two. Besides, you wouldn't want to look all haggard in front of your peers at the ceremony." The tip of her index finger touched his nose in a playfully chiding manner, like a parent might do to a child who did not listen the first time and needs another explanation. Then she came across a most interesting idea, and decided to state it without giving it almost any thought.
"Now, since you were insisting to assist me..." she teased with an obviously exaggerated nonchalance. "...you may dress me," she concluded and nodded into the general direction of where her underwear had landed. This is bound to be interesting, she thought.

A smile, as thin and as vile as a snake that he was, shimmied its way onto his face, curling up the broken lip, his face never twitching despite the pain it caused. As if it was comparable to the searing agony that had been tearing him apart just moments before. His eyes bore no submission, however, as he bowed his head in laughter, propping himself up on his sore elbows. "No, it never does," he admitted as rakish and teasing as ever. Though he was afraid of the naked woman that straddled him still, he would never, for the life of him, say it out loud. Even for him, there was such a thing as pride; not much of it, admittedly, for it caused nothing but hindrance and placed obstacles on his professional line of work. There was nothing he was too good to do; no conduct too low to stoop to; no means too wicked to be a means to his ends.

He acquiesced her suggestions with a nod of his head, following in her tracks and getting off the alloy table. Nearly every muscle in his body groaned in protest, but he continued nonetheless, grinding his teeth and biting his inner cheek. A kolto tank was going to be a long, comfortable stop on his path anyway, so there was no reason at all why he shouldn't do it. Though his last memories of the special medicine and its favorable affects were distant and foggy at best, he could still recall how rejuvenated he felt when he emerged from the tank. A new surge of energy flowed through his veins at this anticipation and he turned to gather a neatly folded robe that rested not far away on a stark white countertop.

Donning the light fabric that concealed the freshly abused form of his body, he sighed at the bitter-sweet contact, closing his tired eyes for a moment. It was the voice of Darth Pride that drew him out of his fleeting haze and he turned to face her with a faint grin on his face. "With the greatest of pleasures," he offered in response and bowed, part as a mocking sign of respect and part to pick up the discarded black thong. He knelt before the woman whose only piece of clothing still adorning her body were the thigh-high black stilettos. He drew the panties slowly up the expanse of her long legs, gracing the scarce patches of skin with ghostlike kisses. When the lace was once again in place, he reached for the matching bra and rose to put it on; to his great sadness, nonetheless, for the creamy, soft skin of her breast was a thing most wonderful to (be)hold.

After finishing her apparel with the spiked collar and belt they'd somehow gotten of in the midst of their heated lovemaking, he placed a lingering kiss in the corner of her mouth and left without another word.

She let him kiss her farewell and take his leave, unbidden though it might have been. The ghosts of recent kisses and embraces caressed her skin where they had been laid mere moments ago. She was so overwhelmed with the mere memory of sensations, that she might have summoned him back and done it all over again. But she did not; her pride wouldn't let her show how much she enjoyed the company of those beneath her rank. Pride. While she possessed in abundance every aspect of the ones after which the members of her council were named, from fury to greed, from wrath to envy, vanity and lust, her greatest strength (and her greatest weakness - though she'd never admit that) was still Pride. One might say that those too full of pride feel shackled by it; and yet she felt nothing of the sort. Instead, she felt most pleasantly free.

She left the chamber not long after Kareem's leave-taking, paying no attention to the torture equipment that seemed to lay everywhere but where it should. There were servants to make sure that would not be the case when she returned. She intended to continue with her solitary training and meditation for another day or two; perhaps a day longer, were it to turn out that Doran would linger on Khar Shian. But no more than that; for she had no patience for those that came late and last. Considering both Azaria and Kareem had succeeded and Vis'Nah was a traitorous corpse, Doran wasn't leaving the best impression about his capabilities. Besides, the two who did succeed had deserved their ceremony, and getting that over with would make them less of a burden and more of an asset with every day after.
While pondering she arrived at her own chambers, smaller than the ones on Ziost, but no worse equipped in terms of luxuriousness, décor, darker auras and hidden weaponry. She changed into her more comfortable meditation robes and began to once more study the first of the two secret Force techniques that Adas' spirit taught her. She was relentless and restless; for the first time in her life, it seemed that one of her highest-priority ambitions had finally come within her grasp.
Forever young, she said to herself with devilish amusement while arching over a several-decades-of-millennia-old stone tablet, inscribed with the secret of how an ancient Dark Lord of the Sith had learned to cheat death and time...

Celo več kakor desetletje uličnih, nizkotnih bojev, v katerih je človek staknil še veliko več od običajnih prask, ga ni pripravilo na količino poškodb, ki jih je bil utrpel tokrat. Že na poti do medicinskega oddelka Akademije je čutil vsako mišico v telesu in vsako koščico, ki je kričala usmiljenja. A šele ko se je gol potopil v blažilni kolto, je zares spoznal, kako ga je Pride zdelala. Kite so ječale in vezi so ga pekle kakor razbeljeno železo, a zaškripal je z zobmi in se do konca spustil v želatinasto tekočino, ki ga je objemala s svojim hladom in utopila bolečino, ki je utripala v vsaki žili njegovega telesa.

Preko obraza si je napel kisikovo masko in v tank povlekel še glavo, oči pa je zatisnil, preden bi mu mrzli kolto zamezel prek roženice. Twi'Lek ki je gospodoval medicinskemu oddelku mu je sicer odločno zaukazal, naj se spravi v nezavest, preden se mu rane pričnejo zares celiti, a ga je Kareem lahkega srca preslišal. Vedel je, da ga bo svinjsko bolelo in da se mu bo nekje na pol poti zazdelo, da je storil strahovito napako, a celjenje je hotel doživeti buden; če ne drugega, mu bo izkušnja vsaj zvišala toleranco za bolečino. In to je bila zmožnost, ki je v vojni, ki je že trkala na vrata, prišla še kako prav.

Šele ko se je še poslednjič prepričal, da je res suh in očiščen zadnje kapljice kolta, si je navlekel generično obleko, ki jo je našel v bližnji omarici, in se napotil proti hangarju v prepričanju, da ga tam čaka njegova ladja.

V svojih pričakovanjih ni bil razočaran in s senco nasmeha na obrazu je v naviračunalnik vnesel že znane Ziostove koordinate. Četudi se je psihološko še vedno počutil precej pretepeno, je bilo njegovo telo čilo in zdravo, kar je nameraval tudi izkoristiti. Zdelo se mu je, da je v zadnjih mesecih uspel prilesti nekoliko bližje k temu, da zdrži več kakor uro proti Darth Fury; in to je bil velik dosežek, če je pomislil, da je v manj kakor petih minutah lahko pretepla polovico treniranih asasinov. Zmajal je z glavo in se nagnil nazaj, da bi na poti ujel še nekaj spanca.