The Slavewoman
Darth Gunn
Warning: Rated NC-17. There is rape, and violent sexual situations in this story.
Disclaimer: Yes, Mr Lucas, these characters are yours. I seek not to make money - only to vent my spleen!. .
Summary: This story was conceived shortly after my first viewing of TPM and the bulk of it was written before I'd even heard of DMEB and the young Zabrak. In other words it was written in total innocence and fueled by imagination only, so please do not get hung up on any inaccuracies.
Feedback: Please send feedback to darth_gunn@yahoo.com
Initial posting: On dmeb2.
The Slavewoman.
The woman to whom everyone referred as Phoenix pushed back the stray tresses of hair from her forehead, feeling the sand and dirt abrade her damp skin as she did so. Grit from the daily sandstorm adhered to the inner rim of her lips, causing her to spit, dryly as she toiled. It was a futile task, cleaning the temple floor, one which she undertook daily on the priests' instructions. Phoenix swept the dust out and the wind forced it back in again.
Still, she was able to work, undisturbed and unsupervised, free from torment and interference, with two meals each day, as much water as she needed and a clean bed in which she slept, alone. The work could be physically hard but life was uncomplicated and so she was content.
Her other duties included preparing food for the priests and for their scholars and creating tapestries for the temple. The latter task, she adored, for there was access to sumptuous fabrics and jewel-coloured threads from the off-worlds. They were brought to her so that she could decorate sacred words and icons to adorn the temple, and there, in the solitude of her room, she laboured, lovingly; working by the window into the evening, when it was cool to produce spectacular pieces of art, only to have the Tatooine heat and intense sunlight fade them almost beyond recognition within a season.
Her other solitary pastime was reading. She had unlimited access to books and scrolls and made the most of her time in the kitchen by perching on a high stool, stirring the pot, idly, whilst she devoured page after page. Philosophy, poetry, even accounts of interstellar journeys - she read all of them, though she had no recollection of who had taught her to read, for her childhood memories were lost to her.
Her task complete, Phoenix drank greedily from the temple fountain, which trickled, feebly. This was an exceptionally dry season and worshippers were staying away as a result, for the attraction to the temple for most was hardly a spiritual one. The inhabitants of Tatooine were a fickle mass of fugitives from many other worlds: fugitives from debt and the Republic. Most visitors to the temple made the journey for a cheap drink of clean water. An hour's prayer was a small price to pay for this – except now, the spring faltered and was yielding only a few sips.
So it was that visitors were few and the coffers empty.
Phoenix tried not to dwell upon the certainty of change. She knew full well that the only way in which the priests could raise money would be to sell off either the precious-metal relics, or slaves. She was anxious. Her life involved menial work but for more than ten years she had been left in peace - and in celibacy. Her previous life had not been so easy and so she had been grateful to the temple clerics for buying her, for freeing her from the brothel in which she'd lived and worked since girlhood.
Now, her future was bleak.
Lighting a lantern, she descended the stone steps to the kitchen for the preparation of the evening meal. The pots were heavy and the sand reached even the lower levels of the temple and so every surface and utensil needed to be wiped down before she could begin, but she worked intently, grateful to be absorbed in anything other than the contemplation of her uncertainty. She would die rather than return to the brothel in Mos Espa. Still, she would discover her fate at sunset when the priests gathered for dinner.
**********
The hologram of the hooded Darth Sidious lurked in the corner, a diminutive but broodingly oppressive presence. With a gesture from a small, gnarled hand, he halted the exercise of his charge.
The dark master's tone was even and the words were perfectly annunciated. "Your technique is flawless, as usual, and a credit to my instruction, but you are lacking focus."
The apprentice bowed to the transparent shadow, respectfully. He blinked, momentarily as the sweat poured from his hairless skull into eyes, which showed obvious shame for having caused disappointment. He did not raise his head until Sidious spoke again.
"You display an imbalance!" His master observed. "The force is not flowing within you - it spews forth in erratic bursts."
"Yes, my master," the apprentice spoke in hushed reverence, lowering his head once more. His perspiration-soaked, black robes clung to his body, and his lungs burned from the exertion, but he retained a dignified composure. His master’s ensuing silence chastised him further as he was scrutinized.
Presently, a decision was reached. "You shall come to Aldaraan at once."
The apprentice stood to attention; an eager light flickering in his eyes.
"I am unable to diagnose your---malady without seeing you in the flesh." The hologram shimmered and vanished.
An angry grimace replaced the impassive expression of respect on the student’s face. He should be nearing the apex of his ability as a warrior but today his demonstration had been pitiful. His eerie yellow irises blazed as a light erupted within him. He grasped the staff with which he had been exercising and exploded into his punishing combat routine, destroying invisible foes and imaginary assassins. He became a vicious vortex of fists and feet - the instruments of his channeled fury. He leapt into the air like a cat, sweat spraying from his etched nose as he brought the staff down upon each of the effigies, smashing at them until the pain in his lungs and limbs melted a craved-for and exquisite numbness.
**********
The Sith were an ancient order and were believed by all except the truly enlightened, to be extinct. Only two of them existed in the universe, a master and an apprentice, but they were seldom, if ever seen together. It was not yet time for them to reveal themselves, especially not to the Jedi.
Sidious assumed a respectable persona, enabling him to move, unencumbered, in influential circles, manipulating the weak and the greedy.
The apprentice, however, moved in the shadows and traveled in a cloaked ship, for his appearance rendered him too conspicuous, with his crown of short, hooked horns and tattooed visage. His countenance filled all who looked upon him with dread. Even when he was hooded, most who encountered him trembled and avoided the intensity of his gaze, the fierce intelligence and derisive mockery of their very insignificance.
What purpose did others serve anyway, when the ultimate satisfaction could only be derived from the servitude of his Master; being the very instrument of the dark force and having the honour of having his life extinguished for its glory?
**********
The middle-aged scholar moved, un-noticed amongst the traders and travelers at the spaceport. They bustled past him as he maintained his even, unhurried pace, concealing his small bands beneath the voluminous sleeves of his purple robes.
Around his neck he wore a heavy, metallic talisman, bearing a hologram, which, upon brief inspection, would suggest that it was the emblem of his beloved order of learning. In fact, it was a meaningless form, fashioned only to serve as part of Darth Sidious’s disguise.
His apprentice stepped out of the shadows and the two of them fell into step beside each other without a word. Apprentice was no taller than master and neither would have been described as tall. He was graceful though, walking smoothly and evenly with silent steps. Only the quiet wisp of his robes could be felt as he passed by.
As they turned into the tunnel leading to the city walkway, a young woman overtook them. She was clearly in a hurry, walking at twice their pace and breathing, heavily. Sidious caught a faint aroma of perspiration as she advanced through the tunnel, becoming a shrinking silhouette against the bright sky at the end.
The master sneered, knowing in an instant what ailed his apprentice. He read all of his apprentice’s involuntary physical response to the girl's passing - the flaring of nostrils and pupil dilation, though he was certain he had paid no conscious attention to the girl. He was oblivious to her face and the shape of her body, but Sidious knew that his charge was under the spell of the basest hormonal awakening.
Still, no eye contact was made between the two of them and their pace remained unaltered as they stepped into the sunlight. The master spoke quietly, though he left no scope for questions or discussion. "I think it is time I found a suitable receptacle for your loins."
**********
Yavin had a pleasant climate. The landscape was green and lush and the air wafted cool and fresh from the snow-capped mountains, which spanned its girth.
Phoenix was enjoying her walk about the courtyard with the other slave women. They milled about, making social small talk amongst the hanging blooms and trailing ivies which covered the ancient walls of the market. The tiles on the floor were cracked and faded, the original designs forever obscured by time, but their blues and creamy-whites blended to make a cool, misty pattern in the morning sun.
She tried her best, as instructed, to ignore the lenses, which followed each of them, randomly around the courtyard. They served as both security - protection for the women - and as a marketing tool, generating holographic images of each of them for potential buyers to peruse from the observation suites. Slavery was illegal, of course, but then these women were not 'for sale' but were for 'introduction' to men who required wives.
The introductions were made for a fee, naturally. This was no slave-market, but an agency. Monetary arrangements were made privately and thus all transactions were legal. The fact that almost every girl here had been implanted with a chip at some time in her life to enable her to be located at any time was purely incidental; a historic happenstance, but it was unlikely that any of them would have their chips removed once monies had been exchanged.
The temple elders had been sorry to let Phoenix go, but she bore no bitterness and was philosophical. The past years had been kind to her. She was still fit and healthy; a strong woman for her thirty-five years and though she did not relish the idea of becoming a bride, this was infinitely preferable to servicing numerous clients of dubious origin with even more dubious sexual tastes in one of the brothels.
**********
The introduction clerk was not a young man, but he clung to his youth with every fibre of his being. His hair was dyed an oily black and his teeth had an artificial even whiteness about them. He had already been with this prospective customer for some time, but he was as tenacious about his work as he was with his appearance.
"May I be so bold as to suggest that one, My Lord?" He singled out yet another holographic figure for his client, determined to make a sale.
"Too young," came the breezy but decisive reply. The customer smiled, sweetly. "My son has such delicate sensibilities," he explained. "He neglected to marry at a tender age and I must put that down to his shyness." He smiled again and returned his hands to the depths of his purple robes.
"This one, sir?" A slim, olive-skinned girl with wide set eyes and high cheekbones drank from the fountain in the courtyard. Her brown hair was a corkscrewed mass about her beautiful face.
"Too pretty," he snapped, "and too thin. My son can't waste his time fawning over some sickly girl."
The clerk laughed, nervously. "Of course, sir." He fidgeted with the controls in order to locate further candidates, his mouth drying at his growing discomfort. His client still smiled but there was a distinct undercurrent of menace.
"What about that one?"
Finally, there was a spark of interest. "Ahh."
Relieved that some progress was being made, the clerk enhanced Phoenix’s image. This one was not young; almost certainly older than the clerk imagined his customer's son would be. Her skirt skimmed her hips and swathed her legs down to the ankles, revealing only sun-browned feet in straw sandals. Her shoulder wrap, which she now wore tied about the waist, accentuated the thickness there and her short, wrap-over tunic fit snugly so that the full shape of her breasts could be seen, though it covered the flesh to her neck.
Her hair tumbled abundantly down her back in heavy, caramel-coloured curls, which were kept free of her face with a band of plaited straw around her crown. Her skin was golden and her mouth, full. She bore an expression of calm, worldliness, not present with the other girls.
However, the sales patter faltered as Phoenix’s record was called up onto the screen. "I'm sorry, My Lord, but I doubt her suitability…" his voice trailed away as Sidious withered him with a disapproving gaze. He continued, nervously, nevertheless. "She would not be a virgin bride… "
"That is of no importance!" the client silenced him. "You can only rupture a hymen, once." The obvious malevolence and contempt seemed incongruous with his original demeanor and it became apparent to the clerk that this was not simply the father of a shy young man in need of a companion.
"If I may explain, sir…" the clerk continued admirably. He did not relish the prospect of handling any returned goods in this case. He was interrupted again, however.
"Is she…clean? I trust you understand the question."
"Y-y-es, sir. She has been celibate for over ten years - serving in a temple, "But before that, you should know that she…"
"She was a whore?" Sidious halted his flow, but the clerk was grateful for being spared the task of spelling out the facts. His heavy arms hung in relief.
"Yes, sir. It is unlikely she can bear any children."
His client sniffed. "No matter," with an air of dismissive cheer. Clean her up and send her over to the academy tomorrow morning. Will Republic credits be in order?"
Once the papers had been signed and the satisfied client dispatched, the clerk sank into his chair and with shaking hands, reached for a small flask of strong liquor from his pocket. He gulped at it and contemplated the destruction of all the records attached to this particular transaction. Something wasn’t quite right and he was determined not to be involved in any further business with this individual. Perhaps a spell in a retreat would be in order.
**********
Phoenix walked nervously through the narrow, unpaved streets towards the academy, clutching her few possessions - a change of tunic, a few threads and needles she’d been allowed to keep from the temple and her permit. Slaves were prohibited from traveling without their masters (or, to take the official line, brides were ill-advised to travel without the protection of their husbands). She took small steps, pausing occasionally to regain her composure. After all, she was on her way to her wedding.
She’d been informed her that she was to marry the son of a scholar - a shy man, younger than herself. She consoled herself with that notion. It would not be so bad. Perhaps she could have a good life, after all.
The Academy was a crumbling building, long since deserted by many of its scholars. It was little more than a public building now, with rooms for hire for the purpose of private study or religious contemplation.
Phoenix slipped her hand into a hollow in the stone gatepost and felt for the handle of the bell. Feeling the cool, hard metal ring, she tugged at the mechanism until a positive clunk engaged the bell, which rang within. There was no turning back now, no escape. Not that there would have been much prospect of that with her chip still functional.
Presently, the door was opened by two robed clerics who admitted her to the premises. They crossed a short pathway through a small kitchen garden and ushered her inside a great hallway. Magnificent paintings once adorned the high, ornate ceiling but they had been allowed to peel and spoil. The floor tiles were also in disrepair – cracked and loose with some missing altogether and the bookshelves lining the walls, long since plundered of their ancient manuscripts, were rotten with mildew and emitted the sickly sweet stench of decay.
Their footsteps echoed, uncomfortably as she followed the clerics through the hall into an external, covered walkway which was shaded by a tangle of neglected vines but the morning sun managed to penetrate it, dappling her skirt with a dancing design.
At a small door at the end of the walkway, the clerics halted. They pointed, wordlessly toward it, so she approached, obediently as they departed. She gave a tentative knock and awaited a reply.
The door opened, slowly and Sidious, resplendent in his black robes, offered his hand to aid her in the descent of a few stone steps, which led into the chamber. She accepted it in an attempt to steady herself but the cold touch chilled her to the bone. Phoenix knew nothing of the Sith, but today, she knew fear.
"Come and meet your new husband." The quiet, measured tone almost mocked her as she placed her belongings on the stone floor and proceeded through the dusty gloom. The chamber was not well lit, but it was by no means, dark. Ventilation was poor so the air was stale and cloying.
At the centre of the room, there stood another hooded figure, motionless and mysterious. She was unable to see his face beneath the deep hood. She could not hear him take a breath, though each of hers became an effort. Her top lip cleaved to her teeth - her mouth now devoid of moisture. Her heart beat solidly in her chest; rapidly; forcing the blood to her head; sending it coursing and screaming through her ears as she took her place, meekly, beside the figure.
At once, Sidious made a gesture and spoke a few unintelligible words, which were in turn repeated from beneath the hood. The first sentences whirled about her head, unrecognizable.
She struggled for air until at last she regained control and was able to concentrate on the low voice. She listened. This was not a familiar tongue. Only the gods knew what these incantations implied, what oaths were being sworn on her behalf. Her fingernails bit into her palms until they bled, for only pain fueled her resolve to remain dignified and not crumple, sniveling and begging to be spared whatever fate was in store.
"You should turn to face your husband." It was done. The dark cleric was at last using a language she could understand. "Look upon him."
The bride turned, obediently, as did her partner. She regarded the deep hood with morbid curiosity. Two black gloves grasped the soft folds of fabric at the edge of the cowl and Phoenix gasped with unabashed horror as the apprentice, Darth Maul revealed himself.
His face was etched with red and black designs - ancient dark symbols that were his expression of dedication to the dark force. The yellow irises were rimmed with red, bleeding across the cornea and they flashed with a strange delight. His scalp was hairless and crowned with short, white, hooked horns. His appearance was startling rather than grotesque, for his bone structure was perfectly humanoid, in fact, save for the tattooing, he may have been handsome, but his expression belied something deeply disturbing. Phoenix had no doubt that her reaction entertained him.
On his master's command, he reached for her left hand and placed a device over her smallest and ring fingers. It was a tattooing instrument, used for placing a permanent marriage marker. She felt the needles puncturing her skin and her eyes welled at the sting as the ink penetrated the tiny wounds. At that juncture, the device could have been removed, its task complete but Maul tightened his grip on her wrist and forced the needles deeper into the flesh just for a moment.
Phoenix questioned him with her eyes and at last, he spoke to her, his voice low and velvet-soft. "Just a taste of what it means to belong to me." He smiled faintly and removed the device, finally turning his attention to his master.
"It is done," Sidious declared. He turned to his apprentice. "Now," he looked disdainfully upon the trembling woman and sneered, "make her yours."
Phoenix's stomach lurched and her knees began to buckle, but she fought to retain her composure. Would she survive this? She anticipated great pain and desperately tried to call upon her past experiences in order to cope with what was about to happen. 'Relax the pelvis, lie still.' Would he stop at the consummation? He wouldn't put his mark upon her if he intended on killing her, surely.
She shuddered with revulsion at the possibility that the older man would remain to oversee this terrible act and was grateful, therefore when he approached the steps leading to the door. Maul, too, was watching his master's departure.
The master spoke to his apprentice as he left them. "When you have…finished," he seemed to search for the correct words, "you may join me and resume your training." He looked at Phoenix with dismissive contempt. "You can collect her, later." The door closed with a terminal click.
*******
Upon his master’s departure, Maul turned his attention to his bride, casting off his hooded cloak onto the floor, revealing further layer of soft, black robes which swathed him from neck to mid-calf. A broad, black, pleated leather belt secured his tunic along with what resembled a weapon. A pair of robust but pliable black boots disappeared into his wide leggings. Phoenix took in all of this in the blinking of an eye. Here was no cleric. He was a warrior.
He paced from left to right, never once taking his eyes from her but what she saw there was neither desire nor lust. He seemed amused by her terror for he watched with a thin smile, fascinated and triumphant as her shoulders heaved and her breathing became shallow. He paused to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand, smearing his soft leather glove with a glistening streak of saliva then thrust his hand forward, stabbing the air with the heel of his palm.
A blow sent her Phoenix off her feet and brought her crashing to the floor. She felt her scalp being grazed against the stone blocks but she detected no injury to her face. It was then she realized that he hadn't touched her, but focused all the power of his rage into his fingers and used the force to assault her. She had heard tales about the force and had encountered Jedi years before on Tatooine but this was the first time she’d ever seen the force at work.
A primal need to survive motivated her and she scrambled to her knees, still stunned and in spite of her knowledge that there was no prospect of escape.
Maul seized the top of her arm and hauled her to her feet, dragging her across the floor, and then he offered another demonstration of his power. At his bidding, a stone table by the far wall growled along the floor toward them. He pushed her onto it backwards, grasping the fabric of her skirt as she fell, causing the stitching to tear. Her legs were exposed now, so he positioned himself between them and gripped the back of one of her knees, then jammed his groin against her thigh.
Phoenix felt the thickness of his erection; the rough fabric of his breeches against her newly exposed skin. She felt compelled to look at his face, even though it terrified her, but amidst the fury in his eyes, she saw a momentary glint of uncertainty. He’s never done this before.
Maul glared at her and his face distorted with fury; lips curled back from his teeth in a venomous grimace. He knows. In an instant, he brought the back of his hand, wickedly across her face, but then he stilled himself and concentrated on removing her lower garments to give him access.
Even in her shocked state, Phoenix began to experience a strange calm, urging her body to relax. It would be over, soon. She could survive this if she continued to breathe, deeply, slowly.
Slipping the tunic from her shoulders Maul sank his teeth into the top of her arm, causing her to tense, briefly. The skin was not broken and she decided that it was intact only because he had intended it. He was taking charge of the situation using fear and pain. There was no frenzy, only calculated control.
Phoenix did not cry out, but he was well aware of every response to his tormenting and biting. In spite of his obvious ardour, he was taking his time. Eventually, he released the front of his tunic and moved toward her, placing a hand over her face, forcing her knowing eyes away from him. The heel of his hand pressed her lower lip into her teeth and ground her head into the table.
Phoenix endeavoured to relax even further and as she exhaled, she felt a deep ache within her abdomen and then... nothing. She heard herself whimper but she did not feel its origins in her throat, for she was now apart from her body, watching herself from the corner of the room as this monster - her husband - violated her.
**********
When Phoenix awoke, the room was brighter. The sun, higher in the sky, had found the narrow panes, which rimmed the ceiling on one side of the makeshift chapel. Her cheekbones and chin hurt. She was on the floor, metres away from the stone table upon which her marriage had been consummated, but she had no recollection of crawling there.
Lifting her face from the stone blocks was an effort. The throbbing in her groin was a sickening reminder of what had transpired, but she was thankful that Maul had not subjected her to a more humiliating and painful rape. She dragged herself to a seated position and the room lurched, so she decided to remain for a while to assess the damage, to try to recall her husband's departure. She could not.
She remembered the completion of the act, when Maul had released his hand from her face and gripped the edge of the table. She had expected him to howl like a tormented beast - so strong were the contractions of his loins - but instead, he raised his eyes skyward and emitted a long, controlled sigh of satisfaction. He seemed both relieved and delighted as he smirked at her and withdrew, but Phoenix had no further recollection.
Presently, she clambered to her feet and limped across the room, to where a large pitcher of clean water stood next to a large stone washing bowl.
As she gulped water from the pitcher, it stung her cut lip and poured onto her chest and ran onto the floor so she stood in the bowl and doused herself, using her saturated wrap to dab at her cuts and grazes, wincing and sobbing as she did so.
Exhausted, she sank to her knees beside the bowl and was startled to see her reflection in the murky water. Her shoulders and chest were crazed with purplish-red, crescent-shaped bruises, the ultimate signature of her new owner.
Bread, meat and dried fruit lay in a basket by the steps so she ate, not to satisfy any appetite, but because she knew that she must in order to remain strong and keep from losing consciousness again. She needed to drink a lot of water with the food because her mouth was so dry that the food was as palatable as wood-shavings.
When finally, the light of late afternoon failed, Phoenix started from her doze at the sound of footsteps outside the door. She had been too disturbed to drift into a real or restorative sleep and each time she succumbed for a few moments, she relived the attack. Adjusting her clothing, hastily, she stood, clutching her belongings, watching the door in anticipation. A key turned, slowly in the lock, the handle turned; the door swung open. Maul stood, framed in the doorway.
He did not descend the steps. Instead, he made best effect of his silhouette for a few moments. At last, he spoke. "It is time to leave." His voice was almost a whisper but it penetrated the darkness with not a trace of an accent.
Phoenix pulled her damp and shabby wrap about her shoulders and shivered as she passed through the doorway. Maul walked beside her silently, pausing only to drop credits into a bowl on a stone table where the two clerics bowed their thanks. As they crossed the dank, candlelit hall, only Phoenix's footsteps echoed. Maul's soft footsteps disturbed not a single tile.
Few people occupied the evening streets. Soft lights glowed from tiny windows and Phoenix longed to be within, stitching or cooking by the fireside, but instead, she allowed herself to be guided until she and her husband entered the stark-white tunnel, which was the entrance to the spaceport. Suddenly, there were lots of people, all of them in a hurry and all of them bustling and babbling in a hundred different tongues. She wished she could lose herself amongst them.
Feeling a tug on her wrap, she turned suddenly to see Maul holding it. Without breaking his step, he removed the garment and tied it about her waist, thus revealing the marks of their encounter on her neck, arms and shoulders. Phoenix bowed her head, feeling deep humiliation at being paraded thus. He owned her now. His face was hidden from sight beneath the deep hood and Phoenix was curious with regard to the expression it bore, deciding eventually that it would bear none. She was mistaken.
**********
Phoenix had only ever traveled in large cruisers, designed to ferry slaves and farmers. They were huge vessels - small cities in fact - though they offered no view of the space outside and there was no sense of motion or distance on board them unless they were being battered by meteors or under attack. She had experienced neither of these. As a consequence, she ascended the ramp into Darth Maul's own ship, dubiously.
The craft was matt black with wings that curved inwards extending out on rods from a central snipe-nosed pod, which housed the cockpit.
Inside the pod, there was room for her to stand comfortably, but once Maul stood between herself and the ramp, she caught her breath at a sudden wave of claustrophobia.
The hatch closed behind him. "Sit down." His tone was flat and unsympathetic but she took her seat, battling the urge to scream and demand to be let outside. Maul secured her safety restraint with a deft snap and she closed her eyes and swallowed, still determined to conduct herself with dignity although she didn’t care if he noticed how white her knuckles had become as her hands gripped the end of the arm-rests.
It became apparent that he’d observed her trembling though, for he took a thick, soft, red cloak and draped it around her shoulders. This act surprised her and she looked at him with a degree of puzzlement.
"Space is cold,” he said simply.
She clutched it at her throat and shrank into it, as much for comfort as for warmth.
Maul discarded his own cloak and his gloves, then took his own seat and passed strikingly etched digits over the controls. His palms were broad and strong but the fingers were long and dexterous.
The ship heaved forward; so did Phoenix’s stomach. They were out of the spaceport in a second, advancing out of the planet’s atmosphere and into space at breathtaking speed. Exhilaration overtook the nausea and provided a sudden release from her claustrophobia as she was catapulted into vast, new world of blinding colour against black.
There was no need of words. All superlatives were unuttered but she had the oddest notion that her partner had total awareness of all she was feeling. He offered no encouragement and made no enquiry but she sensed anything but indifference. It was almost as though he accelerated the ship, banked and switched direction just to provoke a response. He provoked many - fear, relief, excitement - until she felt overloaded, breathless and giddy, but the most intense was yet to come.
Presently, they approached a planet and their ship entered its atmosphere, descending slowly through a burning sunset; the sky was streaked crimson and apricot, and silver highlights shimmered on a placid expanse of water. She felt the imagined warmth of the sun’s final golden rays on her face and though exhausted, Phoenix could have wept from the sheer beauty of it, never before having witnessed such radiance and natural splendour.
She turned to Maul and stopped herself short of asking him to comment on the beauty but she was taken aback by the expression of fascination he bore. Had all of that been for her benefit?
**********
By the time they touched down it was twilight. Phoenix surveyed the horizon for signs of life or civilization but she could see no lights save for the pricks of mauve in the sky as the stars revealed themselves. From the ground, her view was obscured by sand-dunes but this was no desert, for these dunes were swathed with wisps of grass, their blades blackening in the gathering darkness and when the hatch was opened, her nostrils met with the odour of vegetation instead of the familiar smell of baking earth.
Maul did not speak. He released her restraint and made his way to the hatch. Phoenix followed him down the ramp onto soft sand, which ran between her toes in cool, smooth rivulets as she sank into it. This was most unlike the grit of Tatooine and she thrilled to walk upon it. She paused as an unfamiliar, salty aroma met her senses. The air was clean and fresh, but warm. She heard a distant roaring, which intrigued her. Perhaps it was an ocean. She had never seen an ocean before. Nocturnal insects brought the air to life with their intermittent song.
Her husband paused to punch controls on his metal wristband and at once, low lights appeared from within one of the dunes, not twenty paces away. This was not a sand dune at all, but a cloaked dwelling.
She teetered forward a few paces but Maul suddenly turned on her. Without warning, he shoved her backwards against one of the landing struts, which locked the ship into place. With one arm across her, he secured his fingers at her waist and allowed her body to jar to a stop against the metal.
At once, her adrenaline coursed and the sickening dryness returned to her mouth. 'Not again,' she thought.
Back in the chapel, their encounter had been a clinical one, in that only the most essential parts of their anatomies had touched in order to seal their oath. This had repulsed and terrified her, but now there were no relics, no stone tables and no theatrics. As the whole length of his body pressed against hers, she experienced the fear of his physical body.
This time, he did not hide from her. He did not turn her face from him. Gone was the doubt of their first coupling and so he held her gaze as he pushed against her, his eyes scrutinizing her expression, even as they narrowed at the moment of penetration. A low sound passed his lips as he moved slowly, much gentler this time, but Phoenix was detached, her eyes clouded and unfocused.
Her expression remained impassive, even though Maul’s physical pleasure was apparent. Something in her subconscious was registering the tension in his body as he neared his release. Not a ritual this time, just plain and simple recreation, although his orgasm was managed with the same deep exhalation. There was no moan of grateful release, no whimpering from the devastating rush of ecstasy, just a casting of his face, skyward and a glimmer of triumph at the closure.
Phoenix’s conscious self, meanwhile, was high above her physical body, feeling the sea breeze in her hair and watching the silvery-blue shimmers over the water as the planet's two moons danced over the black waves. Glancing downward, she found herself looking directly into Maul's yellow eyes as he looked skyward and in her euphoria, she wondered if he could see her, somehow. If he could, he certainly gave no indication.
Her knees gave way as he released her and she thought it strange when he took her elbows to prevent her crumpling into the sand. He assisting her, gently as they walked toward the entrance to the dwelling, but she sensed no kindness in his actions. He was helping her inside quite simply because that was where he wanted her to go.
15/07/2002