Cruel Torture, Unusual Punishment
Summary: Vader/Padme. Can sex be used as an instrument of torture? Padme corruption fic.
Chapter One
The report was promising. They'd managed to capture a valuable rebel - one of the Black Widows. Vader was looking forward to interrogating the scum. These women joined the Rebellion, citing grievances against the Empire, and became like demons. This was the first time they had managed to capture one of the warrior-women, and with luck, she would lead him to the rest.
The door slid open before him, and Lord Vader stepped confidently into the cell.
And stopped dead.
The rebel stretched out on the table wasn't just a Black Widow.
It was Padme.
This would make things… interesting.
He admired the curves of her body, as he had often done. Stretched out as she was – hands and feet cuffed to each corner of the table – he had an unparalleled view. Gravity obligingly molded her loose white top to the profile of her torso. Apparently, she was cold.
Vader felt a stirring of emotions within him – a mix of lust and hate, he told himself. She had betrayed him, had joined with Obi-Wan against him… He had no love left for her.
She had yet to acknowledge his presence – in fact, she seemed to be quite determinedly ignoring him. He knew she was aware of him. His mechanical breathing was harsh and loud; there was no way she could ignore it.
"Now, Lady Amidala, we shall discuss the location of the rebel base."
Finally, she turned to look at him. Something flashed behind her eyes, just for a moment, and then her gaze turned dull. "I won't break under torture," she informed him, as calmly as if disagreeing with his choice of breakfast food.
Vader knew it was true. She'd always been stubborn, willful… And she would have undertaken training as Queen of Naboo, then as Senator, to resist torture. The rebels, too, would have been foolish not to work on reinforcing her defenses.
He would have to be inventive.
Padme turned her gaze back to the dull grey ceiling. Would Vader be harsher, or gentler with her than another imperial? From all indications, harsher. She steeled herself to bear the pain. She'd borne worse pain than anything he could inflict on her now. She had watched her husband's love turn to hatred; had seen him betray and destroy all that she held dear. She had lost her new-born children, her hope for a better future.
She was so focused on blocking pain, on blocking any Force-driven attacks on her shields, that she didn't realize what she felt at first.
A shiver ran down her spine. She gasped as a feather-light, phantom touch brushed the soft, sensitive skin of her neck.
"No…" she breathed, as the touch ghosted downwards. Immaterial hands began to caress and tease at the soft mounds of flesh, and her body bucked against her will.
Suddenly Vader was close. He had not yet touched her – not physically. "But you loved this," he whispered – she hadn't known he could whisper, with that new, deep, booming voice of his, she thought, desperately trying to distract herself.
She failed. A whimper broke between her lips when the hands danced along her inner thighs. "No!" she cried again, begging this time.
"Will you tell me the location of the rebel base?"
She pressed her lips firmly together. She couldn't reveal that secret.
"Well, then…"
Ghostly fingers began to flit lightly over her clitoris. Padme gasped, her hips bucking upwards. The fingers sped up, as though sensing the mounting tension in her body. Her hands twisted to grab at the chains snaking away from her wrists, grasping them tightly. Her breathing came fast and ragged. She tensed, on the verge of exploding into ecstasy –
The fingers stopped. She collapsed onto the bench, shaking violently.
"Padme, you only have to tell me where the rebel base is," came Vader's whisper. She didn't open her eyes – she couldn't remember closing them. She didn't answer, either; she simply lay there, shaking and gasping for breath.
The fingers started to brush against her clitoris again, feather-light and terribly, terribly slowly. "I know how this drives you mad," Vader murmured. "I remember, oh so many times…"
Padme remembered, too. Remembered how Anakin would tease her and tease her and tease her… It always made the ending, her eventual release, much better – more satisfying. She remembered. She knew. But she didn't like the way she felt in the interim – all strung out, craving the orgasm she had been denied over and over again…
The fingers sped up once more. The gasps came more unevenly.
"The rebel base, Padme. Where is it?"
She shook her head. It wasn't as if she could speak, even if she were inclined to offer up the information.
Finally, she felt him brush against her mental shields. It was so familiar… and yet, at the same time, so dark and twisted, it was almost unrecognizable.
"Just think it, Padme. Lower your shields, and let me see. Then you will get what you want."
Her body was beginning to tense. She was so close to release…
"No…" She had to force the syllable out, between desperate gulps of air.
And then she was collapsing, lying on the table and shivering. The phantom hands were gone.
"I know you want this Padme. Why deny yourself?"
Real hands touched her this time – hands too big, too cold. The other hands had been her Anakin's, those ghost hands. The leather-clad, mechanical fingers now tracing gentle patterns on her neck belonged to a monster.
"That… isn't… what I want!" The words had started out gasping, but she quickly gained fire. Her eyes snapped open, and she glared up at the black-suited Sith. "I want a return to the democracy I worked so hard to preserve!" The words were delivered with as much force as she could give them – despite the fact there wasn't enough oxygen in her system. "I want the husband who loved me. I want the children I lost because of the evil being who tried to kill me." Vader flinched. He hadn't known about that, apparently. If she hadn't been so taut with want, she might have felt triumphant over it.
Vader turned on his heel and walked out. "Return the prisoner to her cell," he ordered the stormtroopers standing rigidly to attention just outside.
Padme had lost the baby. Babies, apparently.
At first, he'd thought she was dead. Palpatine had told him so. But then reports had started to filter in – mere rumours, at first. Finally, there'd been confirmation. Padme Amidala was with the Rebellion.
Padme Amidala was alive.
So he'd sent out agents, trying to find any information, any rumour, any hint of a rumour, about his child. They'd found nothing, in three years of searching.
Now he knew why.