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OP
OP
TheCorsair
Pēdicãbo ego võs et irrumäbo
- Joined
- Dec 17, 2013
“My inhibitions are lies that I tell myself to fit into the contours Jedi teachings," she challenged.
He understood that all too well, although he bristled a little at calling them lies. His entire life in the Order, after all, had been one of discipline, of channeling the darker impulses in his soul. It was why Master Windu had chosen to train him.
The momentary reflection was broken by the sight of Aurianna kissing Lysa, and then by the oredatory way she pressed against him. “Tell me you don't want this," she breathed, her hand tracing the strong lines of his physique, without touching. "Tell me, and I'll leave you alone and fuck Lysa by myself."
“I never said I don’t want it,” he replied, voice husky. His thumb traced her lips and the line of her jaw. It’s… well…” He hesitated, deliberating for a moment. “I trust you.” Then he opened his mind to her.
Darkness and cool, clammy air surrounded him as he made his way into the depths of the cave. There was a faint phosphorescence, just enough to make him wonder if he was really seeing anything. Ahead he could just make out the opening into a broader cave.
“The Trial of the Spirit,” he narrated, gut twisting. “My Trial of the Spirit.”
The cavern held… a room? A dingy room lit by a single dangling light. Figures stood in shadow around a shabby mattress, watching as… he caught his breath in horror. Watching him, wearing a suit of unfamiliar cut, holding a knife to a red-haired woman’s throat as he raped her.
Looking away, he saw a statue in another part of the cavern. A golden woman, holding a spear aloft. He was there as well, wearing some sort of uniform, thrusting hard into Ari as two other men held her down. “Whore,” he heard himself snarl as he watched himself backhand her.
More images of himself joined the throng. A twisted version with fangs and marble skin. A version dressed all in black with twin silver lightning bolts on his collar. On an on. All of them petty and cruel, hurting there in an attempt to feel bigger. “You’re one of us,” they mocked. “Join us.”
“No…” he gasped out. “I’m not…”
“One of us,” they sneered. “Just like us.”
“No…” he gasped again. But it would be so easy. Just, just give in. He had power. He…
Laughter. “Just. Like. Us.”
“NO!”
He snapped back from his memories, eyes wide, staring down at Ari. “I… do… want… this.” The words were ragged, shaky. “But… I have to know, Ari. Know that you’re in your right mind. That I’m not…”
His saber blade blazed in the darkness of the cavern, purple with a thin crimson core. “I’m not like you,” he gasped, winded by the battle with his own demons. Tears streamed down his face as he fell to his knees, flooded by the memories of all of the thoughtless, petty cruelties he’d committed. “I’m not.”
He understood that all too well, although he bristled a little at calling them lies. His entire life in the Order, after all, had been one of discipline, of channeling the darker impulses in his soul. It was why Master Windu had chosen to train him.
The momentary reflection was broken by the sight of Aurianna kissing Lysa, and then by the oredatory way she pressed against him. “Tell me you don't want this," she breathed, her hand tracing the strong lines of his physique, without touching. "Tell me, and I'll leave you alone and fuck Lysa by myself."
“I never said I don’t want it,” he replied, voice husky. His thumb traced her lips and the line of her jaw. It’s… well…” He hesitated, deliberating for a moment. “I trust you.” Then he opened his mind to her.
Darkness and cool, clammy air surrounded him as he made his way into the depths of the cave. There was a faint phosphorescence, just enough to make him wonder if he was really seeing anything. Ahead he could just make out the opening into a broader cave.
“The Trial of the Spirit,” he narrated, gut twisting. “My Trial of the Spirit.”
The cavern held… a room? A dingy room lit by a single dangling light. Figures stood in shadow around a shabby mattress, watching as… he caught his breath in horror. Watching him, wearing a suit of unfamiliar cut, holding a knife to a red-haired woman’s throat as he raped her.
Looking away, he saw a statue in another part of the cavern. A golden woman, holding a spear aloft. He was there as well, wearing some sort of uniform, thrusting hard into Ari as two other men held her down. “Whore,” he heard himself snarl as he watched himself backhand her.
More images of himself joined the throng. A twisted version with fangs and marble skin. A version dressed all in black with twin silver lightning bolts on his collar. On an on. All of them petty and cruel, hurting there in an attempt to feel bigger. “You’re one of us,” they mocked. “Join us.”
“No…” he gasped out. “I’m not…”
“One of us,” they sneered. “Just like us.”
“No…” he gasped again. But it would be so easy. Just, just give in. He had power. He…
Laughter. “Just. Like. Us.”
“NO!”
He snapped back from his memories, eyes wide, staring down at Ari. “I… do… want… this.” The words were ragged, shaky. “But… I have to know, Ari. Know that you’re in your right mind. That I’m not…”
His saber blade blazed in the darkness of the cavern, purple with a thin crimson core. “I’m not like you,” he gasped, winded by the battle with his own demons. Tears streamed down his face as he fell to his knees, flooded by the memories of all of the thoughtless, petty cruelties he’d committed. “I’m not.”