It increases fertility in men and woman, acts as a painkiller, reduces fever. Wealth of benefits. Her master lists them in a clinical voice as he spreads a ruby glaze of strawberry preserves on his crust of bread, with the edge of his butter knife. He brought the bread to his mouth with a gentle crunch.
The mush in Rey’s mouth had just lost its flavor. She worked it around her jaw before choking it down. The cup of chrysanthemum tea they made forced the mass down her esophagus.
Rey thought about her next words, in the guise of wiping off her mouth with the back of her hand. “Um,” she croaked. The rhythmic crunching of bread filled the room. “Is — is it necessary? Could it not be substituted?” Mint substitutes for lavender, pig iron for iron, sugar water for honey, pig blood in place of human. Potion making was often about utilizing what’s on hand.
The chewing stopped as he swallowed, his pronounced Adam’s apple bobbing in the column of his throat. “I wouldn’t ask you if that were the case,” he deadpanned, raising his knife aloft. He sliced a piece of butter and then scraped it over the red jam. “At full strength, this ultimately preserves Lady Holdo’s life by a hair. This won’t be something I stretch out with oil.” Another crunching bite that revealed his crooked front teeth.
Rey fidgeted in her seat, fingers gripping her cloak. She woke up this morning expecting to pick a kitten. Rey’s favorite kitty, Barnaby VIII, had had a litter two weeks ago, and Poe Dameron promised her one. She wanted a fluffy orange familiar as pretty as Miss Barnaby.
In the fall, the great oaks ignited into orange and red, before discarding their foliage onto the forest floor. Wheat is harvested, the last of the meat is cured and stored away. This is the season of extinguishment, said her master. This is the season of when things prepare to die.
Across the table, teacher flipped through his notes with his free hand. His beak of a nose hovered over an open page of One Hundred Practical Uses for Porgs. Tendrils of raven-black hair had fallen over his profile. Obviously, he saw no problem in what he was asking. Rey was a means to an end, like all people in his vicinity.
He glanced up as if hearing her thoughts, dark eyes blinking owlishly as if he just remembered she were still at the table.
She asked, “How will it... How will you,” collect from me.
His emotions, indecipherable. “Digital penetration. You’ll take an oral analgesic beforehand, something to keep you relaxed. You’ll feel a pinch and it will be done.” How simple. “Simple.”
And this will cure Ms. Holdo. For sure.
“Nothing is guaranteed in this life, but I believe Lady Holdo will persevere,” said teacher. He took another bite of his breakfast, before turning to his notes once more. He didn’t care about Ms. Holdo, and he didn’t care about his apprentice; this was a means to earn coin and it was in Rey’s hands to decide what would happen today.
Rey excused herself before running out of their house.
At thirteen years old, a witch leaves her mother’s home.
Rey believed she was thirteen or close enough when she fled Plutt’s hovel. She traveled North for three weeks, until the sun gave light without warmth. Desert fell away to plains, forests, marshland. Rey met a good witch named Leia who was a leader of her town, but she forbade the use of magic and tried to curse her into staying at her side. Rey searched for Leia’s brother, Luke the Grey, and found a filthy hermit who threw rocks at her and screamed in tongues.
Quite by accident, Rey just... stumbled onto this necromancer. It was raining very hard. Those that dealt in black magic were supposed to be evil and feared, for they swore themselves to the Devil. But, beneath his cowl, Kylo Ren was a stork of a wizard. Kylo Ren had a warm house in the middle of the woods. Sometimes, men and women came to his door to ask for somebody to be poisoned or cursed and he obliged. He wanted an apprentice, but Rey had little interest in poisoning, so he taught her healing and sparring.
That was enough. That was everything between them. He didn’t chase her away nor ask her to deny herself. He accepted her as she was.
At dusk, she returned, lightly shutting the oak door behind her. Ren still sat at the table, bent over a book. He could’ve been sitting there the whole day, had the book been the same. It was one of his forbidden tomes, the ones with leathery covers that felt bad to the touch. He said he made them himself. He said he hewed them from oak and bound them in the skins of the people he hated the most. If she had to read them, she had to ask first at least.
“... Have you made your decision,” he deadpanned, turning a page.
Rey nodded, realized he couldn’t see, and muttered “yes”.
He turned the page, perused it as if hadn’t heard her, then closed the book with one hand. He sent it to its place on the bookshelf before rising to his full height. His spine crackled audibly as he stretched his arms to the ceiling. When had he gotten so tall..?
An enamel cup of drink floated into her hand. “Drink that. Change into your bedclothes. Wait for me on the bed,” he said, “mine.”
Rey sipped at the brew. The heat singed her tongue and ran warm down her throat. The nausea whirling around in her head settled into a dull humming at the back of her conscious. She went to her room (former closet) and peeled off her coat, then the simple dress from over her head. Her breasts were small and bare, mere bumps beneath her nightgown. She walked into his spartan room and laid herself down on his larger, made bed. It was warm and smelled of him, that strange mix of salt and the masculine element and something belonging to the other side. Particles of shadow danced on the ceiling.
His voice was low and pleasant in her ears. “Good. Rey, are you awake?”
She swallowed, her tongue a thick slab in her mouth. “Yes,” she managed.
Her teacher appeared in her vision. He looked different, his nose a little longer or his eyes larger. He loomed over her, unspeaking. She heard something wet squelching, and when she raised her head she saw in his hand a wet towel.
Her head flopped back onto the bed. “I - I cleaned myself,” she muttered. Outside by the river in the dead cold, she did.
“Rey, listen to my voice,” he said, patient. Warm fingers pinched the bottom of her underwear. He slid them down her waist, the hem dragging along her skin. “You need to be cleaned so that the sample isn’t contaminated.”
“I cleaned -.” Her panties fell to her ankle. Her teacher grabbed her thighs and pushed them apart, when rough heat touched her there. Rey inhaled sharply and arched her back.
The towel was warm, and the rough wool running along her folds gave her a constant stimulation. She fisted the sheets, head twisting awkwardly. She’d forgotten to undo the buns in her hair and they pressed against her neck. She didn’t hear her teacher’s small moan.
When the towel left, she quietly regretted it.
“Did you like that?” teacher asked. “I can give you more, Rey. Please, sweetling?”
She nodded, mindless.
Breath skittered along her inner thigh. When she looked down, she saw a dark head of hair between her legs, her teacher kneeling before her. He gazed at her, eyes black pits in his head, before dipping lower.
He was licking her down there, in her most sensitive place. Rey cried out, trying to kick away her teacher, but his hands held down her pale thighs. His tongue felt kitten-rough as it ran up her folds. Each stroke teased the clit at the top.
He moved lower, tongue dipping inside of her. The thick muscle thrust in and out of her tiny cunt. Her body clenched around its absence. As naive as she was, Rey knew what men did to women, but this was wrong. His nose rubbed against her clit, hungry breaths tickling her skin and the soft down lining her cunny. The rough stubble on his face rubbed against her sensitive skin.
Tears came to her eyes. She was humiliated and she feared that she would pee on her teacher. She had to hold out as long as possible. She told herself that he wasn’t himself, that her teacher was possessed, but her very first orgasm rippled through her regardless. She released with a small cry: his name.
She felt him lick her slowly, greedily, tongue running along her labia. Her thighs clenched around his ears. At last, her teacher stood up to his full height, saliva glinting off his bottom lip before he wiped it off with the back of his hand.
“I think that. That should’ve loosened you up,” he hummed, his voice light and singsongy, as though he told a joke or she did something funny. “My finger goes in next, alright?”
“Kylo,” she managed.
He met her eyes and he smiled, a genuine one that crinkled his dark eyes. “There’s just a pinch,” he said, leaning down over her. “Just a stretch.” His palm ran down her mound. Where his tongue once was, his thick middle finger pushed inside of her. It was a lot bigger, and it hurt! Rey raised her hands and tried to push him off, crying.
His voice had the quality of smoke. “So tight,” he grunted. He leaned down to kiss her face. “Preparing you made you nice and wet for my finger.” Her breath hitched. His finger squeezed inside of her wet pussy. For every part he gained, Rey felt as though she were being ripped in half. Her fists gripped his shirt and she closed her eyes with the patience of one waiting for trauma to end. His forehead bumped against hers, nose nuzzling against her. “A few more seconds. I’ll make you something to go to sleep after, like you’re my wife.”
Rey opened her eyes, feeling her walls pulse tight around the intrusion. Her teacher hovered over her, nuzzling her neck. He gave one more gentle thrust, before pulling out slowly, giving her a humiliating last tinge of pleasure. He showed her his left hand, and in the faint light she saw something red glinting on the lad of his middle finger. He held it to his mouth and for a split second, she believed he was going to place it between his plush lips, when he sighed hot over her face. “This goes in the vial,” he said, “as soon as possible. Wait here for me.”
He pushed himself upright, lightly straddling her lap. “You did well,” he said. The mattress squeaked under his weight. Before leaving, he gave a quick peck on her brow. Her insides twisted.
She felt he had tested her, somehow.
Her teacher returned with two cups of tea and set them on the nightstand. He had changed into his own night clothes and rolled the sleeves to his elbows. He had scrubbed his hands clean, so they were warm and dry to the touch.
“Ren?” she croaked. His hands hooked beneath her armpits and pulled her towards him. She still ached, and at a gentle push, she rolled onto her stomach beside him.
“Lady Holdo will have her draught in three days,” he deadpanned. He carried his reading to bed, one hand on a small book and the other curled absently around her shoulders. “The drink will help you sleep, if you want it.”
“I think I want to sleep in my own bed...”
Teacher shook his head, eyes returning to his book. The spidery gold title read... The Magic of Swordplay. “In all honesty, that room was never meant to be permanent. I don’t mind, little one. Just tell me when you want the light to be off.”
Chapter 2: In Winter
TW: Literal punishment, w a little aftercare
wish i had more time to write
With the commission that he collected over the year, her Master procured a small box-television. He placed it on the dining table in their sitting room, beside the radio. Only one was allowed to be on at any given time. He preferred the radio for music and white noise while he studied, whereas Rey simply wished to see the grainy airship on the television for as much as possible. They often spent their evenings in this way.
“I see that thing falling from the sky.” When Rey turned to her master, he sighed and elaborated: “I see that device exploding into a ball of fire.” He raised his hand and made a fwoosh sound with his mouth, before returning to his book.
Anger flashed in her. “You’re just jealous,” she blurted out, before turning back to the news program. To spite him further, she turned the dial of the television by two degrees. The announcer’s nasal voice cut thick through the air.
She could feel his gaze burning into the back of her head. Cold sweat beaded on her forehead.
She heard him set down his reading, and the creak of the floorboards beneath his weight, before his hand reached over to turn the tv off. The little airship blinked out of existence. “That is enough for today,” said Master. “You’ll ruin your eyes.”
He lumbered to his chair once more, the one by the fireplace. Rey knew she shouldn’t test him more, but the anger still lingered. “I’m going to ride on one of those someday,” she declared. Master’s lip curled into an indulgent smile. “I will,” she insisted.
“Enough. Go to bed,” he sighed. “Your voice grows tiresome.” He made a shooing motion with his hand. When she tried to argue, he raised his hand and made a zipping motion with his fingers — and her voice failed her. “Much better,” he hummed.
Rey rubbed at her mouth and at her throat, so great was this anger that it rendered her stupid, incapable of undoing his work. An ugly man in an ugly house with an ugly heart. She grasped at whatever was in her reach — the radio — and threw it at his feet. It smashed into debris before the fireplace.
He flew off the chair. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came forth — Master took her by the collar of her shirt. The door to the cabin flew open and the cold wind poured into the little house. No no no no no, she wailed.
It was winter. There was little to harvest. Everything was preserved in specimen jars or hanging from the pantry ceiling. Winter was for studying and taking the occasional commission from people, old grudges stewed before a sputtering hearth.
Master dragged her to an iron stake drove deep into the frozen ground, light provided by an iron lamp. He made her kneel before the stake, before chaining her wrists to the post. He grabbed the hem of her shirt and wrenched it over her head, exposing her back to the arctic night. Her knees pressed against the cold ground.
Anger had left her an eternity ago; there was only the sweet pang of betrayal and mindless fear. She waited so long that she wondered if maybe he had left her, when the first lick of the switch touched her back.
She screamed voicelessly.
When Rey asked her mother who her father was, her mother said that while she slept, Satan in the guise of a man entered her tent and raped her.
At last, a blubbering, mild sound issued forth from Rey’s lips. She pressed her forehead against the iron post. The fabric of her shirt froze to her damp eyes. Truly, she was a wretched creature. She had not been whipped in many years, and yet in that moment she had been cast into those terrible, terrible ages.
She had not escaped; she had never escaped, and no matter how far she ran or flew she would be starved and burned and beaten. She would wander the earth unloved, forever, until she died, and then at last the pits of Hell would open beneath her to receive her wretched soul. For this, the girl wept pitifully and raggedly, willing the frozen earth to open up and swallow her feeble, bleeding husk.
So great was her misery, so blighting was the cold, that she did not feel her master unshackle her from the post. She did not feel herself hefted into his arms. Darkness turned to flickering light as he carried her back into the house, but she could not see through her tears. There was the warmth of a wet cloth against her back and shoulders, the solidity of his body where her head rest against his collarbone. There was his steady breath against her ear. Helpless and sad, she buried her face into the bend of his neck.
Rey snuffled against the pillow. She turned slightly, and watched him from the peripheral of her eye. Each word became a labored effort. “I think, I’m sick,” she confessed lowly, the words muffled by goosedown.
Regardless, Master turned his gaze away from his book and smiled down at her. He had brought her television and his reading to the bedroom so that he could tend to her. Rey didn’t like lying on her back, so instead she would lie on her tummy, until he presented food or water or a wet cloth.
She watched him from her peripheral. If she asked, he would read aloud whatever he had on-hand. Sometimes, he would have fiction with him: men’s adventure magazines or cheap mysteries, purchased from the supply store. She liked watching him. She liked the sound of his voice.
“... Master?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said, turning towards her.
“I’m... sorry,” she said. When he didn’t respond, she elaborated: “for breaking the radio.”
A slow smile spread across his face. “It’s not your — I can afford a new one,” he said. He pushed his dark hair over a large, well-shaped ear.
“I will fix it,” she said. She was very good at machines, better at machines than people. “I saw, Lady Holdo,” Rey said. “She was very happy, and she told me, to not blame you.”
“That’s wonderful,” he said. “I... When you are well, then yes, I would like my radio fixed.”
The delight in his voice made something tighten beneath her ribs. Heat flushed into her cheeks and she buried her face into the pillow. She felt his hand ruffle companionably through her hair, to run lightly over her back. The sensation made her body flinch; in turn, his mouth brushed the crown of her head.
— ... I love him, she thought.
But the thought only made her burn hotter; it was no good, she told herself, so she suppressed it. But this darkness, this room, this house that he welcomed her in smelled like him. The sound of the page turning was made by his gentle hands, the fullness of her tummy bought by his care. She loved her master.
The lick of the whip, the feel of his tongue on her pussy she loved her master. She loved her master she loved her master.
Rey twisted in the dark and whimpered, agonized; her fever would not break.
Chapter 3: New Year's Eve
U guys caught on fast... Even w my galaxy brain I couldn't come up with the term 'luv bug', which is too pure a word for what i am doing.
Thank u for reading! ;w;
TW: sick in bed, lewd
... She suspected that she was dying. At times, her poor master would wake her up with his raving in the room over. He argued, screamed at, and beseeched an unseen figure almost nightly, his mythic grandfather, in the same way that a suffering priest would address his god. Then he would make his way into their room, and draw his hand tenderly through her hair, before slipping beneath the covers so as not to wake her.
“Oh, Rey, please wake up,” he begged. It was enough to keep drawing air into her lungs. He pleaded with her, muttering in her ear and rubbing her sore back, until at last, she opened her eyes. The lamplight cast him in an orange glow.
“That’s it,” he sighed, his breath ghosting against her cheek. His brow unfurrowed and a measure of relief touched his face. He looked... different to her — his features more gaunt, his skin sallow.
“Good morning, Rey,” he said, smiling.
Her tongue waggled in her stale mouth. She mouthed good morning back to him.
“Do you - do you know what day it is?” he croaked. She glared balefully at him, in envy of the glint of snow on his shoulders and hair and eyelashes. In reply, he reached into the pockets of his coat, and pulled out a little parcel. It was wrapped in newspaper, and tied with a neat red bow. He placed it onto the pillow, beside her face.
“I wanted... I - I wanted you to stay here, with me,” he said. His hands enclosed around the little gift, and he tore away the wrappings disdainfully, revealing a small, black box. He flipped open the lid and plucked out a ring, a small band of silver with a ruby in the center.
He grabbed her (cold, remote) right hand in his, threading the band over her ring finger. His grip hurt, and she tugged weakly at her limb, afraid and irritated. His eyes had glazed over. He leaned in close, his breath stale. His canines flashed as he hissed his next words — “I saw it.” He drew a shuddering breath. “I saw you, and I, together. He showed it to me; you would’ve turned to me, you would’ve been mine.” A flash of anger; he gripped down hard on her wrist, and Rey bit back a cry. “But I must have — I must have made an error. Some overdosage or cross-contamination, Rey. I’m so s-. I.” He squeezed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth.
He was in pain, her Master was in so much pain.
... Her eyes wandered to the now discarded box, and then the calendar that he kept on the far wall. She stared at it dumbly: DEC... Ren wasn’t in the very important habit of crossing out the days, but every night he would turn on the television for the nightly news...
It occurred to Rey that she had missed Christmas Eve. She had spent a whole week languishing in bed from this awful flu. Finn and Poe would not get her presents, she would not get a kitten, and she would not partake of Maz Kanata’s world famous eggnog. The realization settled like a stone in her stomach.
Kylo Ren sniffled through his generous nose and made suppressed whimpers. She really wished he wasn’t like this. The most she got out of Leia was a stern talking-to (if you disregarded the whole cursing-incident). And at least Leia could heal a flu.
His hands slipped beneath her chest, and against her will, he turned her over onto her aching back. “I’m sorry, little one,” he said, his hand cupping her face. The mattress sank with his weight. What little breath she drew pulled his scent into her lungs. That strange thing in her chest twisted; her Master stared at her and she looked away, a pink blush coloring the bridge of her nose.
He leaned in and something soft pressed against her mouth. Thought left her. When he pulled away, her breath escaped her, too. Her Master searched her eyes for something, his face vacant.
Just as she opened her mouth, he leaned in again. His sweet tongue met hers, and in her haste, her tongue ran along his bottom lip. A low sound escaped him.
Her Master pressed himself flat against her — his nose snuffled against her cheek, her nipples rubbing against his hard chest separated only by their clothing. His hand snaked beneath her head so he could deepen the kiss, while the other gripped the side of the mattress.
Her little cunny grew slick again. Her Master felt nice and warm over top of her, and she fit just right beneath him. Those coltish legs twisted against the bed as she imagined another nice, thick finger slipping in and out of her. Mindless, she wrapped her legs around his waist and bucked her hips against his side, chasing pleasure. She mewled against his mouth, and he withdrew with a wet pop.
His bottom lip glistened in the light of the lamp, until he wiped it away with the back of his hand. “Um. I -,” he breathed, his voice deeper than she had ever heard before. At once he pushed away her legs and stumbled off the bed; in profile, she briefly caught the sight of the generous tent in his pants.
“Master?” she chirped. “I - I need... I need...” Tears filled her eyes. Her hand wandered down the hem of her wet panties and she rubbed her small fingers between her folds. It hurt; she didn’t know what to do and it hurt. “Ah...”
Her Master’s head turned imperceptibly and he moved mechanically toward the door. “I’ll - I’ll make you something,” he told himself.
“Please,” she begged. “D... Daddy, m-my my...” The door opened and shut. Ah, he left anyways. Her sweet, careful Master did not love her after all. She sobbed, before clumsily pulling up the hem of her nightgown. With one hand she squeezed her nipple, and with the other she rubbed herself, using the ring finger to dip inside of her. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine him beside her.
Chapter 4: New Year'ss Day
decade's about to expire.
When he returned in the night, he let the cold into the bedroom. He sniffled in the dark. As if to spite her further, his boots thumped wetly against the floorboards, and the acid sting of cheap spirits lingered on his breath.
“Rey?” he whispered loudly. “Are you awake?”
Tears of indignation stung in her eyes. She kept her breathing as steady as possible, but inside willed him to go away. The blanket lifted and his touch ghosted over the surface of her cheek. A chill ran down her body.
Her Master sighed through his nose. She could hear him behind her: long, heavy limbs made cumbersome by drink, shrugging off wet snow boots and untangling from the depths of a woolen coat. The quilt rose, and the mattress sank as he lay himself behind her.
Too-big hands wrapped around her waist: she shuddered, repulsed. But he didn’t stop; his palm pressed flat against her tummy, and he pulled her towards him, even as she whimpered and pulled at his thumb.
He spat away her hair and pressed his face to the curve of her neck as he asked, “Are you well now?” His voice smelled like death. Maz Kanata warned her and Finn not to touch the ‘country brew’ no matter how cheap or free it was, because they used cheap grain distilled in moldy bathtubs. Rey flailed in an attempt to escape, but her unused limbs were no match for his strength.
Her throat constricted, and it took all the breath in her lungs to voice the words, “Leave - me - alone.”
He huffed silently, and rubbed his nose against her shoulder. “You’ll be alright,” he muttered. “Yes. I’m certain of it.”
The self-assurance in his voice made her roll her eyes. “Lei...a,” she said. When he didn’t reply, she turned in his embrace, to lay on her still-sore back. “South... of here, is... Witch, Leia.” That woman could heal anything.
“Oh. Well, yes, I know that,” he said, “but I fear that if Mother catches hold of either one of us, she won’t tolerate our leaving. We do not need her; you are stronger than you know.”
His words were so nonchalant, but in her state, Rey could barely process them. Was he... Did he say ‘mother’?
“You would be... one of her handmaids,” he said, “a pretty, happy little thing, and... ah, I took your maidenhead — no, she would marry you off to one of her favorites. Perhaps she would allow one coupling for myself to preserve the lineage, but I would never see the child...” Absent-mindedly, his fingers played over her thin belly. “She’s probably shored up a prison especially for me,” he mused.
Talk of handmaids brought up memories of Kaydel, and those other beautiful and perfectly vacant women and girls. Even to the end of her life, Holdo still called out to her former mistress — so great was that enchanted devotion. And the men were as docile as a flock of white ducks; the tavern was quiet in the night, and there were no whores in the traditional sense, save for the unions approved by the Mistress. It was a most perfect, Christian town. Had Kylo Ren escaped that?
A witch leaves her mother’s house at thirteen, but a wizard stays within the house of his ancestors’ to carry on his bloodline. She used to be so jealous; if she were born Ray instead of Rey, perhaps her father would’ve come to collect her.
How did Leia beget Kylo Ren?
His arts focused on the reversal of hers.
The questions Rey had outnumbered the words that her tired mind could conjure, and the stimulation over her tummy did not help. She trapped his large hand in hers, braiding her small fingers between his long ones. He inhaled sharply (she didn’t realize that she kept his engagement ring on, that he could feel the little ruby scratching against his ring finger, that suddenly the only sound he could hear was the beating of his galloping heart).
“Ren?” she said. “Master?”
“... Yes, sweetling.”
She thought of a very good question, if she could learn one thing about her master. And while she thought, she felt something wet touch her neck. It tickled very much. She turned to face him, and his mouth touched hers again, in a soft kiss. “St-ooop,” she whined, but a smile graced her mouth. “Listen to me.”
“I am listening,” he muttered, before placing a gentle kiss to her chin.
Something fluttered beneath her ribs and she found herself floating somewhere above herself. No! No, she had a very important question! “Why do you do this to me?” she huffed.
“Because I love you,” he said. He pulled her closer to his chest, and accompanied this with a kiss to her temple.
As for Rey, her purpose left her. Heat bloomed over her face, and she extracted her delicate hand from his. She felt as though she
She felt as though it were spring, when she was a little idiot and she wore a dress while flying, and then Poe laughed at her knickers until she flew home crying and Master went pink in the face while he consoled her and promised to curse Poe with death.
She felt as though it were summer and she caught sight of her Master bathing outdoors once and she couldn’t look him in the eye without imagining that pale, hard trunk of a body and its other generous facility underneath his gloomy cloak.
She felt as though it were fall and Master accidentally took part in her secret hair coloring potion and he went cornsilk-blonde save only his eyebrows for the next year, and his regular clients couldn’t recognize him.
This was the combination of all three things multiplied to the twentieth degree. Rey hid her face in her hands so he couldn’t kiss it anymore.
“Rey?” he asked the back of her hands. “May I ask you a question?” — No, she thought. She wished to turn into a little cat, or even a frog, if it would make these feelings go away. He took a small breath, and asked, “Do you love me?”
At once, she noticed the feel of silver on her finger, against her face. He had given her a ring. When they first met in the woods, what seemed to be years ago, she thought him to be a fully-realized necromancer. Time had patiently dotted his face with beauty marks, and lined the corners of his downturned lips. She was afraid of him, and cold and wet because it was the rainy season.
“Do you love me, Rey?” he asked. That musical lilt returned to his voice, as though she’d done something sweet for him.
She was paralyzed. She could see his two fingers slip down there, and she could feel him part her folds. “Don’t,” she choked out. — Please don’t. Let me go to sleep.
Kylo hushed her gently. “You don’t have to cum if you don’t want to,” he assured her. “So wet already... I hope you didn’t hurt yourself,” he cooed.
He was bigger than her own fingers. It stung as he pushed them in, and Rey could feel the band of her body squeeze tight around them. The quality of his scent didn’t matter once she began to pant for every breath. Her limbs jumbled mindlessly and she felt hot, hot, as though she were a freshly reanimated body. Quite possibly, her master found the body of a girl in the woods and named it Rey and gave her a home.
He thrust back and forth and she could feel him rub her slick inside of her. It was a form of ecstasy, like flying in the night and seeing the lights of a town far below.
This feeling crested over her in a wave, and as it crashed, exhaustion flooded across her senses. She would’ve fallen asleep, but weight sank the mattress at her sides. Something pressed between her drippy sex. Rey’s eyes shot open, and she glanced down to see nothing in the dark. Lips pressed against her temple.
As her master leaned down, the head pushed its way inside. Rey opened her mouth and not a sound came out.
“It hurts,” he confessed, embedding every word into her skin. “I know, little one.”
He eased in deeper. She felt overstuffed, that surely she would break apart at the seams. Her body shuddered all over. He braced one hand against the headboard and one on her thigh. “Raise your legs, Rey. Put your arms around my neck,” he urged. “That’s it, just like that.”
Slowly, he began to rock his hips. Stars burst in her vision. Rey squeezed her eyes shut, and from the corner of her mouth fell a bead of drool. Her fingernails dug into his back. Her master was kissing her neck and fucking her.
“Do you love me, Rey?” he asked, his voice muffled against the pillow.
“Ky-lo,” she managed.
“Say ‘yes’, little one,” he supplied, thrusting harder. He thickened inside of her, and Rey shuddered.
She was going to have his kittens — all the pretty kittens she could ever want. Missus Rey Ren.
“‘Yes’,” he urged, and he rammed himself deeper making Rey cry out. His teeth nipped into her collarbone, making her his forever. At this she came undone.
(The sky turned dark gray, and in a moment a wall of water threw her down to the hard forest floor. When she came to, he sat before her in bed, his reading tucked away in his lap. The sensation of falling was never far away, always lingering in the back of her mind . )