Will (Gwendolyn)

[As Day Fades]

(The is a roleplay based in the Star Wars world, and is likely to incorporate a number of extreme fetishes.)


The sensors set the door to shut behind them, and with the door's sound came the culmination of the day's surreal feel. It was like a period at the end of a sentence, a sentence Anakin had been crucial in crafting, yet even now was unsure of its necessity. It bore a degree of gravity, though, a very real degree; an undeniable swan song of what they once were, and could never be again. The Imperial Senate had been slain on Coruscant only two days prior, as had the Jedi Council, his own brethren, and all by his hands... Wincing his eyes shut as all that had occured really settled into his mind, lingering just inside the door of the royal chamber he and his wife would share for the evening, Anakin swallowed down the lump in his throat, swallowed it all the way to the pit of his stomach. He reached out to press his palm against the scanner beside the door. With a few soft beeps and a simple word, "Lock," that was it. The day of fear-inspired parades and speeches of a new future had officially drawn to a close with the shutting of their bedroom door. In the wake of all the bloodshed his wife had emerged to an imperial throne as Empress, and he her very capable right hand.

Had it been right? Anakin's touch lingered against the scanner, almost leaning against it, his shoulders bearing a slight slump and his head in a defeated bow. Padme had urged him one direction and Palpatine - Sidious - another. Both wanted killing. Both wanted the murders he'd been driven to, rounding up those capable of standing against him and cutting through them with a brilliant, unwavering blade. Sidious' desires had been for domination, to rule, with Anakin as his second and one day heir. Padme... Padme wanted peace, didn't she? Take out the corrupt. Take out those who would protect the corrupt. That left only she and him to rule as the people needed to be, didn't it? It was the same exact thing as Sidious had wanted, same exact, he knew, staging a violent coup to then be the one on top, just presented in a prettier package. But she was his wife, and his... owner. Her sweet words held a seductive sway over him, like a siren of the sea, willing him to a desire for everything she was. Yet had she not purchased him like a commodity from Watto when he was a young boy, Anakin knew he would always be drawn to her regardless.

And what of his master, Obi-Wan? The sorrow in the jedi's face had cut Anakin deep, though not nearly as deep as he'd likely cut his teacher. Whether or not Obi-Wan had any clue what drove Anakin to the murders, whether or not he'd noticed, truly noticed the darkness taken root and growing within him for years now, the former padawan could not be sure. He knew only that the jedi master had not slain him when he'd had the chance - nor had Anakin slain him either. Both hesitated. Clashes of their deadly blades had come without recourse, but each time the opportunity of an ending blow surfaced, neither took it. Perhaps... perhaps each had, once or twice, left themselves open in hope that the other would simply end their pain. Sidious had been a different story. The man had been dark. Vile. Worse than those he wished to replace. Sidious had been a tool for Anakin to hone the fermenting pain he'd otherwise been unsure of how to handle. Sidious had taught him much, though was never considered a teacher. Like the rest in his rampage, Anakin cut him down. The only difference was that Sidious, in his death, was revealed to be a Sith Lord, and so the murders that were committed were all put upon him, a corpse whose sentence had already been carried out. Anakin Skywalker was the hero that slew the evil menace, though regretfully arrived too late to stop the carnage.

Obi-Wan knew the truth, however. He was the last, and in time Anakin would need to search him out, but for now... For now Senator Padme Amidala had emerged as the only potential leader left. Her coronation took place near instantly, followed by a day of speeches, an afternoon of parades, and an evening so full of feasting and revelry one could easily forget there had been any deaths to begin with.

But now... now Anakin was alone with his thoughts. Alone, with his wife. His owner. His mistress, and his love. The jedi's palm lingered against the scanner as he remained there in thought. A confrontation with Obi-Wan was inevitable, whether the man sought to expose the truth or not. The potential was there, and he knew his keeper would order the man to be found, feelings aside. Would he need to atone when that time came? Or steel himself, steel what he had done and follow this course to the end, right or wrong? ...It didn't matter. He was allowed his opinions, he was allowed his thoughts, but when it came down to it Anakin Skywalker was not allowed his will. Empress Padme Amidala, formerly of Naboo and now of everything within billions of light years of reach, was the controller of his conscience. As much as he hated to think about it, at the same time he loved it. And he hated that truth more than anything.

Yet he loved her too much to ever want it to change.

"We've had a big day," he finally said after a solid minute, relaxing his stance but otherwise not moving. "I'm... tired. As you must be too." Hopefully she wouldn't have the energy for it tonight. Hopefully she would. Finally turning, dressed in loose white jedi robes with a formal red and gold design for the day's grand occasion, Anakin spoke as he approached her, approached their evening's bed, his eyes moving anywhere but to her own. "It'll be even bigger tomorrow. Coruscant's fleet is prepared as you asked to take us to a number of important planets so we may firmly establish your rule. We need only to pack, and to board in the morning when we are ready."

 

[Gwendolyn]

There was a saying:

"I am honored, humbled, even ..."

Absolute power corrupts absolutely.

"I will bring forth peace and prosperity for all ..."

Was it true?

"In the wake of what turned out to be a tragically avoidable massacre, we will emerge stronger than ever ..."

Was it really impossible for a single person to rule justly?

"With the Imperial Senate dissolved, we shall wash our hands of it's corruption and inefficiency ..."

Could such power be safely vested in one former Senator?

"Together we shall embark on a new era-- the era of the first Galactic Empire ..."

Was this no more than a glorified dictatorship?

"I promise, I will not lead you astray ..."

Did promises mean anything anymore?

Such questions and more were ample food for thought, but none dared to speak out loud. Padme Amidala was named Empress in a smothering silence. There was scarcely a heavy breath amongst the entire audience. When at last the coronation was complete, the applause was at first hesitant, as though her constituents were unsure whether or not such a thing would be acceptable - but eventually the applause turned thunderous and the cheers roaring. In such elation it was easy to forget those hard-hitting questions. It was easy to celebrate and revere the Empress' success, to trust her and feel hopeful despite the carnage of the past several days.

A new era, indeed. And while Empress Amidala may have overwhelming support on Coruscant, that wasn't enough for her. In the next few weeks she would campaign nonstop until she had the unanimous 'vote' of the most vital sectors in the Imperial Core: Illodia, Alderaan, Corellia, Brentaal IV, and Humbarine, which would be the most difficult to win over of all (and a brief stop in her home world of Naboo, though unnecessary and out of the way, would be much refreshing as well.)

As if the galaxy had any choice but to accept her anyway. That was true, but Padme knew that if she could give speeches, organize parades or throw banquets, if she could only capture their ear for a moment or two, that she'd have them hooked. That was how politics worked. You had to gain the people's support, but you had to make them think that it was their idea.

Padme was confident. It was easy to love her. Her physical beauty alone lent itself well to adoration, even worship. That coupled with her intelligence, her charm, her grace and strength and humility made her the perfect candidate in every sense. One gentle smile, one squeeze of the shoulder, one warm, inviting glance was all it ever took to draw them in. Her way with words took care of the rest. It came naturally to her, the words pouring from her lips like a deadly lullaby which lulled her subjects into a coma of obedience and faithfulness whether they liked it or not.

And there was none so obedient and faithful than her dear husband. Sweet Anakin. He would do anything she asked and more. She could look into his eyes and make the most horrific requests and know that he would carry out every abominidable task without question or complaint; though she could see in his own eyes how he broke a little bit each time. Padme would always be there when he came crawling back. And every time she would pick up the shattered pieces and recast them into something sturdier and more menacing than before. The Anakin she had met all those years ago on Tatooine was long gone, and in his place was a new man of Padme's own creation, a strong and dutiful solider molded from the pliable clay of death and chaos and destruction.

Padme heard the door swish open. She saw Anakin's reflection in the corner of her mirror, his tall, broad body lingering near the door like an uncertain boy half his age. She grew a little tired of it sometimes, when he was like this. As if she couldn't sense his complacency, his sadness and confusion which mostly boiled down to a rather dark and primitive fury. But she said nothing, made no biting remark or insult, barked no order at him. She waited until he spoke first. When he did, Padme, perched on a comfortable chair in front of vanity, turned to face him. She offered him a kind, but knowing, smile.

So it would be this game again. He too "tired", and she having to coax him into it, to draw him forth (sometimes sweetly, sometimes brutally) from his denial and into the throes of undeniable passion. Try as he might, there was no escaping it - and perhaps even worse, there was no escape from the fact that he always, always loved every second of it.

"Tired?" she repeated, as she stood up to meet him at the foot of the bed. The silky ivory fabric of her night gown pooled at her feet, and draped over her body loosely, yet was just sheer enough to reveal a tease of the curves and softness that lay beneath. With her hair freed from elaborate the elaborate headdresses of the day, and laying in relaxed curls across her shoulders, she looked almost like a goddess. "Anakin, I can't feel anything but thrilled... I'd thought-- I'd hoped that you would feel the same. Today was a monumental event, a true milestone for the future of the galaxy." She reached up and cupped his cheek in her small hand and turned his head, forcing him to look at her directly. "While I'm sure being on your feet all afternoon was tiring," and there it was, the sting that cut through the honey of her voice to strip his defenses, "the day is not quite over yet."

Padme smiled a little, again, and slipped her hand to the nape of his neck, where slender fingers twisted in sandy brown hair and pulled, hard, yanking his head back. She kissed the exposed column of his throat, almost affectionately, and then whispered into his ear, "You forget; sleep, especially in my bed, is a luxury that you must earn." She released his hair and ran her hand down his chest now, where she could feel the rapid thud of his heart, which was already beginning to race. She smirked. "Tell me, Anakin, just how tired are you? What might you be willing to do for the pleasure of sleeping beside me?"

 

[As Day Fades]

"Of course I'm thrilled," he responded quickly, somewhat quizzically, looking to his wife with close-knit brows as she gently guided his chin. But then he had his answer. An answer to a question he didn't need to ask. There was no reprieve from her games, not even on a night so monumental as this. Her sweet voice had turned sharp for all of one word, and in that brief tone Anakin had been trained to pick up on two very precise things - what she wished, and what it meant for him if he didn't.

Anakin's eyes drifted closed at this point, defeated, defeated by simply a word. By simply a brief tone. Humiliating. Shameful. Yet he desired her so, desired her endlessy, that when Padme's hand snaked around his neck he felt a shiver course through his body, a knowing reaction of what was to come. When she jerked his head backward, exposing his throat to her smaller form, Anakin did not tense. He didn't very much relax either, but he didn't tense, didn't stiffen, didn't make any move to relieve himself of his doting wife's touch. The only responses he did give were involuntary, in the quickening of his heartbeat when she touched his chest, and the reddening of his face when she whispered upon his ear.

"I'm not tired," he whispered back, standing there, eyes closed. "I'm... I'm not... anything you want, my-" He paused. Anakin took a breath. A hand rose to clasp over hers against his chest, slipping his fingers over top and around hers. His mistress? His owner? His goddess? He hated such things, such titles of submission. "My wife," he finally completed, reaching his other hand down to take Padme's free one. Perhaps he could talk her into a night of lovemaking rather than one of ego. Perhaps all she wanted was physical interaction. It wasn't often, but it was often enough to be worth a shot. "My love," he continued in a tender whisper as he gripped both of her slender, petite hands. "My Empress... you deserve the world, and I have given it to you. Countless of them now, in fact. And I would do anything more to make you happy."

But before she could request, Anakin slinked down to his knees, down to a kneel before her. Eyes still shut, he guided his wife's hands to his shoulders, his own, now freed, moving to the warmth of her own body. Anakin's palms came together to part the thin, sheer silk of Padme's nightgown, revealing to his touch the perfection he was gifted with night after night. He never once forgot that, due in part to her never letting him. As his palms moved through the opening of her nightgown they came to press flat upon her abdomen, upon her stomach, just below the curve of her feminine bosom. As they spread outward, out against her ribs and around her sides, they were replaced first with the heat of Anakin's breath, followed then by his lips as he leaned in to kiss.

"I love you," he whispered in a light, hushed tone, kissing his wife's flat stomach in a moment of quiet intimacy. "I love you, Padme," he continued, kissing again, sliding his warm palms around her sides, the nightgown brushing open a little more now as he knelt close to her. They continued around to her back, one at the small while the other drifted up, while it traced up the smooth skin of her back to then stretch out his fingers, his touch urging her gently closer, closer as he continued his adoration in the form of loving kisses upon her belly. "I want very much to please you," he managed between a set of two kisses, nuzzling his nose into her skin in the meantime. The hand on the small of Padme's back drifted downward, down to hook two fingers within the waistband of her panties, tracing along the upper curve of her backside.

"Tell me, my wonderful," he continued in a loving tone, hoping to guide her desires to a direction of simple adoration rather than dominance, "what can I do for you?" Another slow, doting kiss upon her soft belly. "What can I do to make you happy?" Another kiss, and another movement of his hand sliding up and down the curve of her back, urging her body ever close.