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“I want you to remember,” Anakin said, trailing his natural hand down his padawan’s bare side until he reached his hip to firmly take hold of his cock, “this is mine.”
“Yes, Master,” Obi-Wan nodded, head down, the perfect image of meek, shy submission. He’d known this as a fact since his body first began to grow, when his inscrutable master, ever-private about his own body, pulled him into his lap and claimed his penis as his own.
Obi-Wan had never seen Anakin naked, but he still felt like he knew him in his entirety. He knew him by the feeling of his mechno-hand on his waist, his arm wrapped around his stomach to hold him close, every night, so that his back was flush with his chest as they stroked his cock together. He knew him by his words, simple praise and guidance in the ways of the Force accompanied by possessive intimacy – “Tell me how my cock feels, Obi-Wan. Open our bond, show me.” He knew him by the feeling of their bodies as one, of his own budding pubescence being safeguarded by his master’s watchful eye.
Obi-Wan also knew about details of Anakin’s private life that others weren’t lucky enough to know. He knew about Senator Amidala, for one thing. He was allowed to know because they were like brothers, Anakin had said, and brothers shared all kinds of things with each other. Brothers spoke of puberty, of gross bodily changes, and sexual conquests. Obi-Wan was thankful to have Anakin as a master – no other Jedi would have taught him all of the aspects of manhood that he so desperately needed to know.
“Remember what we’re here for,” Anakin whispered into Obi-Wan’s ear, hot breath hitting and eddying along its shell. “I’m going to fuck my wife.”
“I understand.” Obi-Wan nodded sharply, his Padawan braid swinging.
“With my cock,” Anakin added, as if it needed to be said. He grinned with heavy lidded eyes and canines fully on display, then sat on the edge of the hotel bed. Obi-Wan made his way into his lap immediately.
When he faced him, their two bodies became one. Obi-Wan squirmed just to feel the sensation of Anakin’s trousers and tabards beneath him, then was stilled by Anakin’s firm hands on his hips. Together, they teased Anakin’s cock.
Padmé knocked once before entering. At the sound of the door sliding open, Obi-Wan started to turn, then remembered his place and continued to face Anakin.
“I see you got started without me,” Padmé laughed, a soft, soothing sound that Obi-Wan could hear her smile through even without looking. “Let me get ready for you.”
Anakin hummed an acknowledgement, twisting his hips to brusquely tip Obi-Wan off of his lap. The boy fell onto the bed beside him and bounced. From that position, Obi-Wan could watch as Padmé undressed. Anakin stood to join her, helping her out of ribbon tassels, ties, and silken layers. She looked like an exquisitely decorated confection – all shimmering frosted lace and silk over warm cream skin.
Obi-Wan could not keep his erection from twitching, beading with pre-ejaculate. Excitement twisted and coiled in his belly, a long, taut string that pulled all the way up from his curling toes. His master was going to teach him how to fuck like a man.
“How do you feel, Obi-Wan?” Anakin asked casually, turning to look at him over his shoulder.
Obi-Wan’s cheeks flushed. He kept his mouth shut tight so as not to stammer as he gathered his words.
“I feel… magnetized ,” he finally decided, then frowned when both of them laughed.
“I’m not laughing at you,” Padmé soothed as she came toward him, fully undressed. She was even more painfully lovely naked, Obi-Wan couldn't help but notice. “Your word choice is… riveting.” She smiled sweetly, obviously endeared.
Obi-Wan let himself smile in return. His teeth chattered, and he clenched his jaw tight again. He did not know where to look – enchanted by the slim curve of her hips, the soft dip of her navel, and the way her pink nipples upturned from her breasts. He had only seen naked women in holo-pornography and old flimsiplast zines that Anakin sometimes brought home for him, never in the flesh. The rise and fall of her tender belly and the silver lace of pale stretch marks across her thighs made something ache in his throat, in his chest.
“Even if you already feel ready, you need to please your woman first.” Anakin’s voice interrupted his train of thought.
Obi-Wan looked up to watch as his master climbed onto the bed, then beckoned for his wife to follow. When their combined weight made the mattress dip, he found himself subtly bouncing again, feeling like a lost toy bobbing in a fountain.
Padmé giggled when Anakin kissed her, intentionally missing her mouth several times before silencing her with his. Obi-Wan inched closer to observe the way he held her bottom lip between his teeth when he pulled away, saliva glistening between them.
“Your tongue,” Anakin said, with a deep breath after letting her lip go, “is an implement of pleasure.” He turned to Obi-Wan as if to check that he was truly listening.
Obi-Wan nodded reverently.
“Come here.” Anakin curled two fingers in the air to motion for him to come forward, clicking his tongue.
Obi-Wan scooted closer, then watched in awe as Anakin dipped his head down and brought Padmé’s nipple into his mouth. He nipped and sucked, and Padmé released a shuddering breath, arching herself toward him.
“Go on,” Anakin hummed when he pulled up and turned to look at Obi-Wan. A glistening string of saliva connected his mouth to Padmé’s breast, like a sensual spider web of obscenity. “This is a hands-on lesson.”
Obi-Wan met Padmé’s eyes, and she did not indicate any resistance. He nervously licked his lips, then bowed his head to lean over her. He could tell that his own motion was different from Anakin’s, but he did not know how to correct it – he suckled her breast like a tentative child, unable to latch on.
In the meantime, Anakin made his way down Padmé’s body, planting a soft kiss on top of her clit. He made a hungry sound against her when he opened his mouth, working with his tongue to get her further wet and open. She gave a pleasurable sigh, and Obi-Wan detached from her breast to bear witness to his master’s techniques.
He was startled by the feeling of Padmé’s hand at the back of his head gently guiding him back down. He stiffened, then relaxed and let himself be led, trying once more to please her. The slick sound of wet licking and sucking from below seemed to go on forever, accompanied by light, catching breaths as Padmé’s chest rose and fell.
Obi-Wan tried to picture Anakin’s tongue sliding into her, intermingling his saliva with a different kind of wetness. It was something he’d seen up close in several holo-vids before – he could remember one in particular of two women that his master had seemed to particularly like. They’d sat together watching, Anakin with his legs spread open, rubbing the bulge in the front of his leggings, while Obi-Wan had sat with his knees drawn up to his chest, peering over them to watch the video. After a while, Anakin had turned the holoprojector off and dismissed him, telling him that it was a lesson for another time.
In the present, Padmé lifted her hips upward against Anakin’s open mouth and tongue. Her chest expanded, which Obi-Wan could feel, and then she released a long, shaking breath.
“I’m ready-” she panted, reaching down to thread her fingers through Anakin’s hair, “I want you to fuck me.”
Obi-Wan sat up on his knees, wiping his forearm across his mouth. His cock was still hard, painfully so, and he wondered how Anakin was fairing. Padmé’s nipple was raised and red where he had been sucking, but she did not seem to mind.
“Alright, Obi-Wan,” Anakin started, his voice ringing out uncannily clear above Obi-Wan’s anxious tinnitus, “you know what to do.”
At that moment, Obi-Wan did not feel like he knew what to do at all, even if the natural progression was clear. He stayed still on his knees beside Padmé and watched as Anakin shuffled back, then moved around him to lay behind him on the bed.
“Go ahead,” Padmé tried to coax him forward, a gentle hand caressing his cheek. He made his way around to kneel between her legs and stared.
Padmé’s dominant hand was between her legs, her fingers spread at either side of her labia to hold herself open, displaying the swollen little bud of her clitoris like an about-to-blossom rose.
“Do you need help?” Anakin asked, sitting up again.
Obi-Wan bit his lip and hung his head forward. Of course he was failing already. “You can show me,” he said, starting to move aside.
“No, stay there.” Anakin stopped him and got up fully, moving to kneel behind him. His mechno-hand met his waist, and he guided him onward.
It wasn’t quite the same position as sitting in his lap, but it was close. Anakin’s metal forearm wrapped around him, angling his body as he leaned forward. He felt like an instrument, like Anakin was a musician with fingertips plucking his strings tight. When he was guided into the right position, his cock slid into Padmé’s cunt like it was meant to be there, and the warmth and wetness was blinding.
He moved hesitantly at first, restraining himself, feeling her flutter around him. Anakin’s flesh fingers tapped against his hip, a reminder to move, and he pulled himself back to penetrate her again. With each movement of his hips, he felt Anakin’s grip grow tighter. Each time he pulled back, he felt the bulge within the seam of his master’s pants against his backside, and for a fleeting moment he imagined what it would be like if Anakin had been naked, too.
“That’s good, Obi-Wan,” Anakin whispered against his neck, loud enough that it clearly wasn’t for him alone to hear, “pick up the pace.”
Obi-Wan tried, his skinny hips bucking forward. He was overwhelmed by every sensation. Not even the Force would ground him, because warm, wet, physical reality washed over him in waves. Padmé did not seem to mind, lazily lifting herself to meet his movements. She reached forward to trail her free hand up his thigh.
“There you go,” Anakin encouraged him, his grip tightening around his waist, “good boy.”
Anakin’s body found its place against his, and their hips moved together. It was easier for Obi-Wan to follow a leader than to move on his own, and Anakin’s movements soon overtook his. The feeling of Padmé gripping his cock inside of her and of Anakin’s clothes, soft linen and leather, pressing against him from behind assaulted him on dual fronts. Soon, he felt the Force open up, felt Anakin surround him, and it was clear that he was not supposed to be himself anymore.
Obi-Wan’s body was not his own. His cock was not his own. He belonged to his master. Since the very first hair had started to sprout down his belly, Anakin had wanted to inspect him. He’d advised him through every step of his coming of age, appearing just as fascinated as he was knowledgeable. Obi-Wan was thankful to have such a man to guide him.
Suddenly, Anakin’s movements set a faster, more punishing pace, and Obi-Wan struggled to keep up. Padmé’s hand was still on his thigh, gripping him tightly as if to keep herself grounded. Obi-Wan did not find himself in the present at all, floundering, soon to drown between the two of them. He started to slip, unable to hold himself up between Anakin’s forceful thrusts, and Anakin hoisted him back up with a bruising grasp. His body between them did not seem to matter, at least not to Anakin – Obi-Wan was not a person, simply something in the way between his body, his wife, and his cock.
“Master-” Obi-Wan cried out, gasping for breath. He felt awash at sea, but his belly still tightened – a high-tension coil that built heat from within.
“Are you going to come?” Anakin asked, holding him tighter still.
Obi-Wan’s stomach hollowed, sucking in away from his master’s grasp. He slid down, and then was lifted back up again, keeping his back pinned against Anakin’s front. Anakin’s movements were desperate, deep, frantic. The bulge in his pants, pressed close against Obi-Wan’s buttocks, was not hard.
“Make me come, Obi-Wan,” Anakin growled against his ear, pushing him forward to lay both of them down on top of his wife, their combined weight held up above her by only one of his hands braced against the bed.
Obi-Wan dangled by the arm around his waist like a dragged-along doll, but his hips were kept in forceful motion. His breath caught in his throat, then escaped in a ragged, desperate whine. When he came, his body shook and went slack, but Anakin thrusted through it.
“Master- stop- stop,” Obi-Wan could barely speak, whimpering as his sensitive, softening erection was pulled from Padmé and sloppily thrust in again.
“Ani…” Padmé caught his attention as his movements slowed, then eventually came to a stop.
Anakin pulled Obi-Wan back fully against his chest to move him. Obi-Wan found himself limp and spent, unable to move, his own uneven breath met Anakin’s in a symphony of wet, desperate huffs. His master moved him aside, and he flopped onto the bed next to Padmé.
“You did well,” Padmé smiled, reaching over to his outstretched hand to take it. The praise would have meant more if his actions had been his own, if he had been anything but an extension of his master’s body. If he had not been possessed.
Anakin was between Padmé’s legs by the time Obi-Wan looked up again, his nose buried in the hair of her pubic mound. He groaned as he licked Obi-Wan's spend out of her, lost in the pleasure of believing that it was his own.
Padmé’s grip on Obi-Wan’s hand tightened, and she pushed herself down into Anakin, her breath catching in a wanton whine. She locked her legs around Anakin’s spine and held him there as she shook.
When he was released and came up for air, Obi-Wan’s semen glistened across his chin and lips, mixed with Padmé’s slickness.
Obi-Wan was grateful to have a Master willing to guide him through manhood – it was something he was certain that other Padawans were not lucky enough to get. Had he been assigned to anyone else, puberty would have been a fumbling, messy thing. With Anakin, he was given all of the knowledge that his master had to share.
When Anakin turned to look back at him, it was as if he had just remembered that he was there.
“Good job, Obi-Wan.” Anakin licked his lips. He sat up and rubbed himself through his pants. His expression flickered as if he had just come back to himself before looking between the two of them with a satisfied grin.
“Thank you, Master.” Obi-Wan could barely find the words that he wanted to say – he didn’t feel like he’d done anything. He let go of Padmé’s hand. He did not feel connected to either of them or his own body.