Star Wars: King For A Day (Patreon)

“So, what would the Force like you to do tonight, Ani?” Padme asked with a mischievous grin as she and him cleared the table of supper’s dirty dishes.

He looked embarrassed. It was cute. “I don’t know about the Force, but Master Yoda thinks I should meditate more often. Maybe I’ll learn what the Force wants from me while I’m focusing on it—or not focusing—“

Padme giggled. “Then you’re leaving me all alone,” she sighed with mock sadness.

Now he looked stricken. “I’ll be paying attention to you—that is, to the surroundings. I’ll be alert for any danger, Senator.”

Padme frowned at him with playful severity. “I can take you abandoning me, but you calling me Senator… that’s going too far.”

She knew it was unfair to toy with him this way, maybe even bullying, but she liked how flustered he got. The contrast between his powerful Jedi skills and how out of his depth he appeared in social situations, being anything other than the wise and stoic Jedi that his youthful adorableness made it impossible for him to really be… she didn’t know. It appealed to Padme, maybe more than it should.

Thankfully, Anakin caught on before she got too enamored with teasing him. “I’m used to calling you ‘your highness’. We could try that again, if it would make you feel more safe.”

Padme worked her jaw muscles to keep from gulping. One thing she couldn’t do, when Anakin was looking at her like that, was feel safe.

And yet, she didn’t care.

Anakin went up to the roof of the villa, where he’d have a measure of privacy but still be on hand to protect her, while Padme decided to take advantage of her own privacy to deal with some of the tension she’d been under. Between the weird, too-easy, too-straining camaraderie between her and Anakin… then the stress of the threat on her life… Padme needed some release. And she was a Republic Senator—she couldn’t very well take a deathstick. No, if she wanted to unwind, she’d have to do it on her own. Or almost on her own.

Padme went to the fruit basket on the table and picked up a jamorra fruit that she’d had an eye on since she and Anakin had arrived. Anakin had toyed with the fruits, but so far limited himself to some berries and an orange. If he’d noticed how phallic the jamorra fruit was—how close it was to the size and shape of a man’s cock—he was too polite to say anything.

Padme wondered if he’d notice it missing.

She took it into her bedroom with her and drew the shades. Humming to herself, she stripped off her dress and stretched out on the bed. It only took one feel between her legs to tell how ready her pussy was—swollen and slippery and fiery hot. Padme took the jamorra and pressed its blunt tip to the tiny opening inside her. Then she closed her eyes, obliterating the reality that there was no one else there, that she was fucking herself, to pretend she had a lover who was doing this to her.

“Yes,” she moaned softly. “Give it to meee…”

She eased the fat, smooth jamorra into her sex. It was a tight fit, but her arousal made the way wet and slick. Inch by inch she eased the fruit into herself, her excitement verging on fright. She loved the feeling of fullness, but worried about how much she was taking. Not nearly enough to stop, though. Slowly, but surely, her greedy cunt was expanding to take the penetration she was giving herself.

Not quickly enough—she needed more, much more, to sate her rushing desires. The more she got, the more she wanted. And that made it hard to relax. She both feared and longed to fuck herself harder.

“Ohhh, kriff!” she gasped.

The jamorra was halfway into her now. She had to know what it looked like. Opening her eyes, Padme looked at the full-length mirror on the back of the closed bedroom door. She gasped in shock—the once neat split of her labia was now enormously stretched around the fruit.

And yet, Padme determinedly went back to forcing it inside her, pressing the jamorra steadily deeper until she dared not give herself anymore for fear of losing it inside her. Padme froze, getting used to the feeling.

“Oh, kriff, kriff, kriff!” she gulped.

Her pussy was totally stuffed, so full that she felt breathless, like one deep breath might prove too much for her stricken body. It was scary, but also strangely arousing. She lay there suspended in ecstasy, her sex gripping the jamorra and throbbing around it. Padme grasped the fruit again and began to thrust it in and out of herself like it really was a cock.

“Ooooo, fuck, yesss!” she panted.

It felt fantastic. Every glide the jamorra made inside her gave her a burst of pleasure. If she ever met a man who could do this to her, she knew she’d never get enough of him. As her tiny pussy expanded, growing used to being filled, she swelled with enjoyment. It hit her heavily, helplessly. All she could do was work the jamorra faster and harder, the way she’d seen animals rut with each other.

“Yes, fuck me, fuck me,” she chanted, as though someone else had seized control of her, someone she had to beg to keep this feeling going.

She fantasized that it was Anakin giving her his big stiff erection, taking her juice-slick pussy. It was totally wrong, virtually obscene—maybe even dangerous, given he might be able to sense what she was thinking. But she couldn’t help herself. The wrongness fit too well into how naughty this act already was. So she kept Anakin in her fantasy, her eyes tightly closed, working the jamorra faster and faster as it became his cock to Padme.

“Ohhh, Ani, it feels so good!” she gurgled out. “Your big cock feels so great in me!”

It really did feel amazing, especially with her fantasy arousing her so much more than the physical sensation warranted. She imagined Anakin getting lost in his excitement, fucking her until she had to grit her teeth to keep from biting her tongue, and she pumped the jamorra with lightning speed. The hot pleasure in her sex became an explosion. One more hard thrust of the fruit and she was at her summit, coming madly.

“YES ANAKIN YES YESSSS!” she howled.

It was a violent orgasm, different from anything she’d ever felt before. Her body knew there was something big and hard inside her as she came and for a moment, Padme could’ve sworn it was Anakin.

The delicious shudders passed through her for over a minute, blast after blast of rapture shattering her mind into smaller and smaller pieces. Finally, she was left limp and panting, unaware of how much time had passed, only knowing that her ecstasy had finally weakened into something her mind could process.

“Dank ferric,” Padme sighed and though she lay naked on the bed, without even the covers censoring her, her mind could summon up no reason for her not to trickle off into sleep, the jamorra fruit laying against her thigh like a faithful hound at its master’s side.

***

The next morning, she paid a long-overdue visit to the fresher and then dressed herself in a backless halter gown, the fabric dyed in hues with a iridescence that bordered on a rainbow. Walking out of her room, she found that Anakin had already begun his day. He was freshly showered as well. His skin, though clean, was still flushed from his morning exercises and he was still pulling on the outermost layers of his Jedi robes.

“Morning.”

“Good morning,” Padme chimed at him, feeling much more relaxed.

Anakin, on the other hand, seemed consternated. “Did you sleep well?”

“Very well.” She offered her hand to him. “Would you like to accompany me out onto the verandah?”

Anakin did, although maybe he just wanted to hold her hand. They walked out onto the verandah, though it was something like a pier, or a balcony that stretched out over the water that the villa was built alongside. As they walked the length of the railing, inquisitive fish followed their progress, drawn by the sound of their footfalls reverberating through the stone and into the water.

“You seem out of sorts this morning,” Padme observed. “I would’ve thought a Jedi would get more comfort out of a night of meditation.”

“Just an evening,” Anakin reasoned. “And comfort isn’t the right word… Maybe fatalism.”

“The will of the Force?” Padme asked leadingly.

“Yes. Trust in it, faith in it…”

“You have trouble with that?”

Anakin grinned, not wholly joyously. “It’s pretty here. Maybe if I’d have grown up on Naboo, I’d find it as easy as you to believe in the goodness of the universe.”

Padme looked down. “Then you find it hard to let go of the past.”

He nodded. “Impossible. The bad things, they won’t let go of me—and the good things, I value too much.”

“Maybe if you could value the good over the bad—“

Anakin interrupted her abruptly. “I sensed you last night. This feeling of… straining, distress… unease… then calm. At first I thought you were having a nightmare, but I’ve never known anyone to have feelings so strong when they’re asleep.”

Padme flushed. “Ani, I…”

“I understand you’re under a lot of stress, Padme.”

“If I had known you’d be affected, I would never have—“

“Even if you can’t confide in me as a friend, an addiction could be a security concern. It has to be dealt with.”

Padme blinked. “An… addiction?”

Anakin turned mollifying. “Usually, I can sense the dependency. You must have it under pretty good control. For now. I don’t know if that’ll make it easy to stop, but at least it’ll be a lot easier than it could be.”

Padme couldn’t face him. She turned out to the water, her cheeks blazing, and stared out at the waves. “Anakin, I didn’t take any drugs.”

“What then?”

She sighed, knowing he had to ask that. “I was touching myself.”

She could sense how Anakin froze—taking her meaning, but wondering if he should accept it. Almost refusing to believe that was what she was saying.

“Pleasuring myself,” she persisted. “Anakin, I fucked myself last night. That’s it.”

She could feel his eyes on her, pressing in on her as they had when the two had first reunited. Since then, she’d grown more comfortable in his presence, he had stopped fixating on her so intently, knowing it made her discomfited. Now she got that sense of need from him again.

Padme felt compelled to explain herself. “I get tense… really tense… and I need to take the edge off. I know myself, okay—I get to feel like I’d explode if I don’t do it. Then afterwards, I’m back to normal. C’mon, don’t you Jedi ever… tend to yourselves?”

Anakin was speechless. What’s worse, he was struck by her beauty—an appreciation of her gorgeousness that all the years, all the experience, that nothing could diminish. No matter how many beautiful women he met, none of them were her, and Padme proved it every second he was with her. Her dress was as lovely as any she’d ever worn, the bejeweled choker on her delicate neck, the gown falling from it, first in pristine white over her chest, then becoming skirts of purple and pink and lavender over her lower body, an almost yonic color combination.

The morning sun hit it and blasted through the ornate folds of the dress, outlining the luscious body underneath in exacting detail. Anakin could see her long legs, leading up to her ass, poignant curves almost too much for her slender thighs and trim waist. And when she turned, the light burned through the swaddling cloth on her upper body too, showing him her bare breasts, jostling without restraint underneath her gown, small and pert but wonderfully perky. Like everything that grew on Naboo, small, tart, richly juicy. Just the right size.

The sight of her, the sensuous way her hips and chest and thighs moved beneath her dresses when she walked, it all stirred embers in Anakin that’d been simmering since his boyhood. The very core of him was touched by her unthinking, unspoken sexuality. There was a building fire where she called to him; he wanted her so bad it felt like he was burning in his desire for her. He wanted to possess her body, to hold her close, to tell her what she meant to him softly, in whispered words. Even the thought of her felt too loud, like it might break him—surely telling her could shatter mountains—but if he could just caress her, love her as he said it all, then he could get it out without being broken.

He knew he shouldn’t be thinking these thoughts of her, especially not when she was so temptingly close, and yet he couldn’t stop himself. He was captivated by her, now more than ever, and his passion for her was volatile and demanding. He had to do something about it. His words leapt out of him.

“We do,” he said. “We find a woman and then we fuck her until she can’t take anymore. And that’s what I’m going to do to you, Padme, before I let you even think of wasting that cunt of yours on your own hand, ever again.”

Padme startled, jerking upright, only to find him behind her, his body pressed to her back. She had nowhere to go, she was pinned between him and the railing—she had to reach out and grab the balustrades to keep from falling, she was suddenly so off-balance. And just like that, she was bent over in front of him, feeling the hard bulge of his erection through his pants, jammed tight between her buttocks.

“Anakin, what are you doing? You’re a Jedi—I’m a Senator—we work together, we can’t do this!” Padme begged, her normally calm voice now frenetic. She tried to heave her body forward over the railing, but Anakin had her jammed against it, unable to pull herself loose.

“I’m a man, you’re a woman. We both have needs. If you can’t take care of yours, I’ll take care of them for you.” He didn’t have to say he would take care of his own as well; it was perfectly obvious.

His hands circled around her trim waist to her belly, pressing the satiny soft fabric against her taut abs, then rolling up to cup her juicy little breasts through her gown. He squeezed them, Padme moaning as she felt the heat of his hands and the softness of the fabric combine to rub against her tender skin. His massaging hands tantalized and groped, while his throbbing erection stayed firmly locked against her ass.