Author's Note: updated with revisions on Dec 13, 2016

The Lieutenant General's bare chest heaved, glistening with sweat as he struggled to maintain an upright posture. His lower arms were bound behind his back, wrists to the opposing elbow at right angles so that his shoulders were pulled behind him tightly, forcing his chest forward. It looked terribly uncomfortable, but at Hux's behest, I was to make it as tight as I wanted.

And I wanted it tight.

I walked around his kneeling form, a pine tree switch in my hand, gently caressing my naked thighs with the soft, green needles that were still attached to the scaly twigs. More were scattered on the floor around the Lieutenant General, their legacy left in small, angry welts that hatched across his pale shoulders and chest. The skin around them had become inflamed and blotchy, with a redness which radiated outward, a visible indicator of how raw his nerves were.

To me, it was art. I examined the pattern. Perhaps a testament to the chaotic nature of the inner self. Whatever it was, I was extremely proud of every cut, some deeper than others, but none so deep as to spill blood.

So far, my life as a free woman outside of Hux's quarters had been rather boring. For the past two hours, I had moved through a list of my own concoction, in ascending order of least to most cruel and degrading. I wanted to test his limits; as cool and controlled as he was, and more importantly, as prideful as he was, the limit was high. But it was there.

In nothing but a pair of standard issue stormtrooper gloves and a pair of black thigh-high tights, he found it difficult to keep his eyes on my face as I knew he would.

I passed in front of him in my slow circuit, I stopped, sought out one of the few untouched places on his chest. In a flick of my wrist so quick that it was a blur, I whipped the switch across a hard, puckered nipple. He uttered another pained grunt, a little louder than last time, and I found myself wondering, not for the first time that evening, whether I had gone too far. His swollen cock, with one vein bulging, forming a ridge underneath as it strained forward between his bent legs, told me otherwise.

"Please, Sir."

The way his voice cracked mid-plea sent a delicious ripple of warmth through me and intensified the thrum of my pulse between my legs. I never knew that torturing a willing man could be so electrifying, so gratifying.

"Please what?" I iced, drawing the small branch across my breasts, appreciating the silkiness of the long needles against my skin and the fresh, biting scent of pine in my nostril. It was an interesting tool, the pine branch, capable of generating sensation on either end of the spectrum. And something about its natural origins seemed to provide an especially meaningful contrast the controlled artificial environment inside of the base. As Hux's desperate face followed the trail of pine needles across my chest and nipples, I considered that perhaps next time I would request to go to the surface myself. I wondered what it was like up there. Probably cold.

"Please… let me please you," he said through gritted teeth, his voice hoarse. His cool eyes were narrowed, and looked only at me. It seemed that he'd followed my order not to pleasure himself the past week. I could almost feel his desperation. It was so acute that even I found the continued denial of his relief difficult.

He was a Lieutenant General, at the top of his game and in the prime of his life, serving in the most powerful military in the galaxy. But now, he was a panting, crumpled, welt-ridden mess. He was malleable. He would have done anything I asked at this point. I considered asking him something impossible, just for the sake of punishing him.

I walked up to him so that my groin was just scant inches from his face, and using my free hand, I parted my outer labia with the glove and let him see how wet I was. He groaned, but he had learned his lesson with an earlier infraction and did not move toward it. Even so, he was almost salivating to be so near my arousal.

Power play, I found, was intensely cerebral. It aroused and engaged me in an entirely different way than being passive, but there was always that element of firm control over myself as much as him. The surrender could never be mutual between us. There was too much at stake. And there was so much to gain by continuing.

Knowing that he wanting a thing so sorely that it drove him on the brink of madness, and that that thing was me, gave me a kind of enjoyment that I'd never even thought to dream of before. A lowly slave now held the reins of a Lieutenant General.

I leaned my hips forward slightly, close enough that I could feel the air of his inhalations as he breathed me in. I lowered my body down toward the floor, spreading my legs. The space between us, narrow without touching, felt charged. I knew he could feel it.

I could see the single-minded focus in his expression. The hunger in his soft mouth. He was beautiful like this, though I didn't intend to ever tell him. Handsome and raw, pink and pale, fragile yet strong, angry yet supplicating. Visceral, visual poetry of desire.

His every muscle was tense, his entire body rigid and quaking as he resisted the urge to move against my wishes. I now knelt, nearly straddling him with my thighs on either side of his. My groin hovered just above the shaft of his bare cock, its tip glistening with pre-come. The heat in the space between us multiplied. He looked up at me as a wretch might look upon royalty. His face had turned a shade of maroon, beads of sweat dripped from the ends of the red hair that had fallen into his face.

He was near to bursting, I knew. I was, too. Everything between my legs was a throbbing, almost painful for how slick it was. Out of his line of sight, I flicked my hand, striking him across his already inflamed skin between the shoulder blades.

The pain surprised him and made him to jerk forward into me and cry out as the tip of his cock brushed my thigh. It was the barest contact with his engorged member that caused him the most anguish, and I couldn't help but take joy in his discomfort. He seemed to enjoy a measure of pain, whether through the Force or the physical torments I devised, though I made sure to reward him with an equally compelling hint of pleasure.

When he unclenched his eyelids, his brow was furrowed hard as he struggled to concentrate on something besides the pain. The icy shards of blue were swimming in unspilled tears. He didn't look like an officer anymore. It was time.

With a sigh, I drew myself up into a standing position and back-stepped until I reached the couch. I sat down, spread my thighs, and beckoned the broken man to me.

He wasn't graceful, bound as he was around his thighs and ankles, but I was impressed with how quickly he moved.

This was his reward for what I'd put him through, a reminder of my fairness, and why he obeyed me in the first place.

When he fell upon me, he was ravenous and uncharacteristically sloppy. I felt a hint of teeth and lightly threatened with an ever-so-gentle caress of the switch along the swollen, angry welts on his back. I knew that even such gentle contact was agony to him, as he flinched and pulled away.

He took a long, shaky breath. After that, he was more careful. I allowed myself to enjoy this as well, the delicate, careful movements of his tongue and lips.

He was a quick learner. My gloved hand raked through his hair, mussing it further. I tightened my fingers when his ministrations began to show results in the slow heat building in my spine. Lapping at me like a dog, repetitive and regular strokes with the tip of his tongue. He was as methodical in this as he was in anything else. In this context, I couldn't help but appreciate him for it.

His eyes were rolled back, half closed as he concentrated. The better he was at his duty, the better I made him feel.

With every bolt of pleasure he made me feel, I let half again spread to him. With each small gift, he let out a muffled groan between my thighs that reverberated to my core.

He flicked the firm tip of his wet tongue from side to side across my swollen clit. I clenched the muscles, straining forward to press his face deeper into me. It wasn't until I could tell he was having difficulties breathing that I released my grip on him. He gasped for air only briefly before redoubling his efforts.

I wondered if he'd just fuck me if I let him. He seemed to want it, his every shaky breath spoke of need, and plunge of his tongue perhaps a surrogate for his stiff organ inside of me. But I wasn't so sure. His enjoyment seemed derived from the denial of what he wanted.

As it had twice before just this evening, my orgasm crashed into me, sparks of power wavering invisibly inside of my chest as it welled upward with gasping breaths and almost musical cries. Mercifully, or unmercifully depending on the perspective, I hit him with the full force of my cresting ecstasy.

I was further thrilled by the sight of his entire narrow body jerking forward as he uttered a guttural, stuttering moan, all semblance of control lost. Thick, hot jets of white ejaculate came forth in spurts from the tip of his cock in time with the thrust of hips as he ground them helplessly into the floor before the couch.

When he sagged, spent, I bent down over him and removed the restraints, which were no more than a wide, soft band of fabric tied loosely. With gentleness, I pulled his arms from behind his back.

Hux was beside himself, quaking, eyes closed, brows pinched. If he enjoyed it as much as he seemed to, I could understand why he'd been so desperate to keep me. By many indications, it seemed that my power intensified the orgasms others felt under my influence.

"Good boy," I whispered in his ear, to an answering sigh. "Lay with me for a little while, Lieutenant General."

I curled around him and held him, lowering us both to the soft, carpeted floor with my belly and front pressed to his hot, tender back. His damp head rested on my arm and my hand stroked his side.

How small he felt, how like a child, or a gangly teenage boy. Taking care of him seemed the right thing to do if I had any intention for this to be sustainable, though the maternal nature of my care felt strange with the difference in our years.

Gradually, his breaths slowed and his shaking stopped.

With a deep breath, he removed my hand from its place draped over his side and climbed stiffly to his feet, using the couch as leverage. I stood up soon after he did, amazed with how quickly the heat had dissolved between us now that he was satisfied. Though I'd had my release, I couldn't help but feel a small sense of resentment. After all my care and self-control, I felt more tense now than I had when I started. I sighed.

"I trust that your new quarters are to your liking?" he asked me, his voice was still a little rough. He disappeared into the back room and into his washroom. I heard running water as he turned on his shower, followed by a sharp gasp. I imagined that the hot water spraying the inflamed flesh of his upper back, chest, and shoulders stung, and I smiled to myself.

"More than suitable." I answered. He'd offered me something larger, something closer to him, but I had declined. I didn't want my living space to be anywhere near his. And after living in the cramped bunk, I found that I didn't care to have too much space.

While the man showered and recovered, I changed out of my garments of play and into my uniform. Created from a database of a few thousand Order-approved non-military clothing patterns, my uniform was was modest, with long sleeves and long skirts, but tailored to my figure so that it skimmed my hips and waist.

I'd chosen a veil to go with the uniform, something popular on Core worlds. It was not fashion that motivated me, however. The veil would serve both to add formality to my position, and maintain some anonymity.

When Hux emerged from the back of his quarters, one would never guess that underneath his clean uniform, my handiwork would serve as a private reminder of what transpired behind these closed doors.

That night, as I took advantage of my access to the public databases from my new quarters' work station, I received a notification from Hux.

He'd scheduled a formal briefing with me in the morning, something regarding an important meeting he had with his superior, a General Rhidan. There was little other explanation. I'd heard the name before, though I couldn't quite place it. I confirmed my attendance, curious as to the nature of the briefing.

"I'm not a whore," I stated, my voice flat. The hour was still early, and I was in no mood to hear what Hux was implying. Alone in a conference chamber, I didn't hesitate to speak my mind.

Hux almost responded when the conference room's door opened. It was the droid, bearing the service for our hotcaf.

Hux's mouth tightened as he gestured for the droid to hurry up and leave. I poured myself a cup and stared at him, almost daring him to say something about the fact that I had not offered to serve him.

"I am aware," he said.

"Are you? My contract says nothing of my obligation to fuck your superiors."

Hux's annoyance simmered close beneath the placid surface.

"Your contract says nothing regarding services rendered to me personally, either. Officially, your capacity would be to assist me in these meetings. To provide advice or council, should I need it."

"And unofficially?" I asked, my cup of steaming caf poised halfway from the table to my mouth.

"Unofficially, you are a former slave whose unique abilities warranted removal from your circumstances. Your position now is determined entirely by your use to me." As he spoke, I felt the anger that had been stewing inside of me since that first meeting begin to rise. He reached for a datapad sitting on the table. "If you wish, we can go over your contract. Your agreement, which you signed, states that your employment is dependent on the needs of the Order."

I leaned forward, my eyes narrowed.

"Was it the needs of the Order that made you kneel before me and call me 'Sir?'" I hissed. My rage battled to be set free, to strike at him. I smothered the impulse.

Lieutenant General Hux took what I said with infuriating calm.

"I enjoy your company, of course," he said. He poured himself a cup, just as calm, but I could spot the faint tremor in his hand that he struggled to suppress. "The arrangement is mutually beneficial, is it not? Professionally. Perhaps even… personally?"

I didn't answer him for a long moment, looking instead through the viewport behind him. The window opened onto one of the hangar bays. Tiny figures in Tech uniforms scurried about ships, busy at work. Their lives must have been so simple. My anger sank to a less urgent place in my gut, taking my pride with it.

"I am grateful for what you've done," I said, my voice neutral. "But I will not debase myself for you. If you intend to coerce me into using my body for your own advancement… you can consider our 'arrangement' void."

Hux leaned back in the chair and regarded me with a contemplative expression on his face. My own expression was hard, and revealed as little as possible, but my heart was pounding. If he were any other man, I might not have said such a thing and placed my freedom on the line, to make this stand.

He took a sip from his cup.

"I won't force you to perform beyond your official capacity, as stated in your contract. Your loyalties must be to the Order first, and to its laws, not to me. I just insist that you consider how you could better the Order in the position you've been given."

I searched his face for any hidden meaning.

"How exactly would gaining General Rhidan's favor better the Order?"

Hux typed some commands into his datapad and slid it over to me. On the screen was a sectional schematic. I couldn't make sense of it until I recognized the shape of Starkiller's great eye within the equatorial chasm. The Superweapon. I could see now that its structure extended far below the planet's surface.

"This is what's at stake," he said. I looked at him, nonplussed. He continued, impatient, pulling the datapad back toward himself. "Starkiller's weapon is to represent the First Order's military might. When it is complete, the fear of it will bring the entire galaxy to its knees."

"What is your point?"

The small huff of breath was the only indicator that his patience was nearing its end. He maintained control, to his credit.

"General Amon Rhidan is a relic from another era," he said with surprising sharpness. "He chooses caution when action is the only recourse. Timing is critical. The Order must seize control now, while the Republic is unaware. Before the Resistance gains enough strength to oppose us. To wait would mean disaster for all."

I was stunned by his candidness. This was personal.

"And so you want me to… what… befriend him? Convince him that you're right?"

Hux met my eyes.

"I want you to get to know the General. Befriend him, perhaps. He is not an unlikable man," he said, though the look of distaste on his face told me this was a sentiment he didn't share. "Endear yourself to him. If he should come to trust you, his incompetency may reveal itself."

"You want to use me to spy on him."

He set the datapad down with sudden force. His face was tight and tense.

"You misunderstand my meaning," he said, his eyes flashing. "Spying on a superior officer would be treason. I am simply suggesting that you, of your own choosing, get to know him. Be an advisor. Counsel him. In other words, do your job."

I could sense that my protests had pushed him too far. It took him a moment to compose his thoughts. He closed his eyes, holding his cup. He took a sip and set it down. When he looked at me again, it was with perfect calm.

"It's simply a fact, that as a non-military contracted worker, you may fraternize with officers as you will. Outside of duty-hours. As such, our personal arrangement is well within formal regulations. Informally, I lay no claim to you. You are free to pursue whomever you wish. Romantically, or sexually. Or in any other way that you choose." He gave me a pointed look. "Do you understand?"

There was more meaning in the implicit subtext of his words than was readily obvious. He wouldn't go against his word and force me to sleep with Rhidan, but it was clear that I was to use whatever tools were at my disposal to accomplish his ends.

My victory was small, but I needed to take it. I fixed a close-lipped smile on my face and pushed the resentment down.

"I understand your meaning perfectly, Lieutenant General."

Once I'd returned to my new quarters, I glanced through the meeting itinerary, dismayed by the proposed five-hour time slot Hux had allotted for it tomorrow. In Hux's rather dry terms, the purpose of the meeting was to discuss his Superweapon Resource Prioritization Solvency Proposal. He gave me an annotated and abridged version of the proposal, but the document consisted of multiple files and pages of text.

I tried to read the document, but I didn't make much progress before my eyes began to lose focus. It wasn't only that the concepts surrounding the inner workings and technical specifications of the Superweapon were beyond my comprehension, it was the fact that his writing style was so dry and bureaucratic. There was as much information in the footnotes as in the main body of the proposal. The overwhelming quiet in my quarters, apart from a buzzing just hovering at the edges of my range of hearing in this part of the base, was disconcerting as well.

After catching myself re-reading the same paragraph for the third time, I ordered some hot caf to be brought to my quarters.

I had to remember what was at stake. I was an educated young student from a core world academy. I needed to make my backstory convincing. I needed to prepare myself for the meeting, on the unlikely chance that I might be called upon for my input.

After the caf was delivered, I reined in my straying attention and logged into the Starkiller database network. With my position's clearance level, I had access to knowledge that was out of my reach as a slave. Lacking the entire foundation of knowledge that I should have had with my fabricated life, it was difficult to know where to even begin.

So, I made myself comfortable, and delved in. I used Hux's notes as a loose guide for what I needed to know, but relied on the public database to expound upon terms and concepts I didn't understand.

Before long, I found myself utterly engrossed, much as I had been when using the console in Phasma's quarters.

My studies kept me awake well into the night.