When they finished eating, he gestured to the plates. "Clean these up, then go sit on the bed."

Then he stood, walking out of view—to the refresher, you assumed. You cleared the plates, glasses, and utensils without protest, bringing them to the sink in the small kitchen area. You glanced around—there was no block of knives. He wasn't stupid. You ran water from the faucet; you washed the dishes clean. Hot, soapy water spilled into the open cuts on your hands. You bit your lip, but were grateful at least that you got the chance to clean them out.

Turning the faucet off, you reached for a folded towel nearby, drying the dishes and setting them one-by-one into a drying rack by the sink. You ran the towel over the water that had spilled around the sink for good measure, then hung it over the spout to dry. You walked tentatively over to the bed, sitting down. The refresher door was open; he was standing in front of the mirror, setting aside a few bottles on the counter. It looked like he had been shaving. His eyes flicked to yours, and he began walking over. There were no heavy footsteps this time—you noticed he had kicked off his boots.

He stopped in front of you, his legs slightly spread in the stance he took. "Undress me." It wasn't a suggestion. You stood, eyes dropping away as your comparatively small hands played at the front of his vest. "Eyes on mine." Dammit. Your eyes met his—they contained a look you couldn't quite place. Not lust; curiosity, maybe. You unbuckled the belt he wore around his waist, letting it drop. Then you pulled the zipper of his tunic down his chest, keeping your eyes on him as he had ordered. He helped you pull his arms out of it, and he tossed it aside. Your hands grasped tentatively at the bottom of the thick shirt underneath, pulling it out from where he had tucked it into his pants, raising your arms to pull it up and off him; again, he helped, throwing it down again.

Don't look at his body. His chest was now bare—you saw broad shoulders in your periphery, your fingers fumbling at the edge of his pants. You were pretty sure your cheeks had flushed; this felt intimate—too intimate. Undressing him, holding his eyes. Something in his twinkled, as though he had heard your thoughts.

"Pull them down," he prompted when you hesitated, amusement dancing on his features. His tone sounded almost reassuring. You blinked, forcing yourself to swallow; he had already forced his cock inside of you, you thought as you sat down to pull his pants down the length of his legs, leaning forward to collect them as he stepped out of them. You swept up the length of his body to meet his eyes. Fuck, he's strong. He made a low sound in his throat.

"I didn't say you could look at me."

You swallowed again. You saw him tap the waistband of his boxers in your periphery. "These too," he breathed, holding your gaze. You obeyed, tugging them down so they dropped. He stepped out of them and kicked them aside.

You forced yourself to breath as the man stood in front of you, naked and towering over you. You felt small, sitting alone on the edge of the bed. You shivered, suddenly aware of the cold in the room.

He had been worrying he had been too permissive with her at dinner. "We're not friends," he said suddenly.

"I noticed," she spat back at him. She met his eyes with a fiery look, furious despite her complete lack of power. It was a little amazing. He slapped her face hard in response.

"Don't talk back to me," he hissed down at her. He knelt to her eye level, taking hold of her jaw. "Your parents, they were filthy junk traders." She stared boldly back at him with a growing fury in her eyes. Her jaw tensed as though she was trying to set it, and he continued. "They sold you off for drinking money." A look of disgust washed across his features, mixed with a patronizing look of fake pity. "You have no place in this story. You come from nothing. You're nothing."

He said the words softly, almost seductively. You held your levels level with his; a twinkle began to sparkle in yours. "I didn't know you had time to do 'nothing'." Your words danced with innuendo, an attempt at verbally backhanding him. You weren't nothing; he didn't think you were, either—you could tell. Someone like this didn't waste their time on nothing.

He pushed you back on the bed and shortly followed, throwing one leg over you and holding himself up above you. "I don't want to hear your cheap accent anymore," he threatened, a hand grazing over your throat. You dared him to with your eyes. But a moment later he had leaned down, pressing his lips to your neck and sucking. A small involuntary moan escaped your lips. You felt him smirk against your skin as he began placing teasing kisses down your neck.

"I thought I was nothing," you protested. You knew it was a dangerous game to play, but you couldn't stop the words from escaping your lips.

He moaned. "You are."

His voice was strained; he bit your lower lip and pulled on it, sucking hard before letting go and shoving his mouth down on yours. You felt him shift above you again, his hands running over your body. They started at your hips, gripping at your curves and following them up. He forced his tongue in your mouth as you struggled beneath him.

"What's going to break you more? When I force you to submit to me, or when you do so willingly?" His voice was low and dangerous, toying with your mind as he played with your body.

"Neither is going to happen," you spat, imbuing every syllable with as much viciousness as you could muster.

He laughed openly, his features suddenly warm. "We'll see," he teased, an evil glimmer dancing in his eyes. The words were soft and gentle, and yet it was the most threatening thing you'd ever heard. Large hands grabbed your hips and flipped you around, setting you down on your hands and knees. One of them trailed up your spine, coming to rest between your shoulder blades. He forced your face down into his bed. You heard the wet sounds of him pleasuring himself for a few moments—then something came whizzing out of the refresher and into his outstretched palm. You jerked in alarm and he grabbed your shoulder gruffly, pushing you back down.

"One of the many benefits of being force-sensitive," he purred, hands working himself behind you. The bed shifted as he re-positioned himself behind you. His hand left your back in favor of prying your thighs apart, splaying you open wider as he bent over you. Your cunt clenched tight as you waited for him to snap his hips and penetrate you, but nothing came. Instead, you felt a sudden cool pressure against your asshole—his lubed-up cock.

"No," you gasped, scrambling to crawl up the bed as fast as possible.

"Get the fuck back here," he growled, grabbing your hips and pulling you back. His fingertips dug into you—you knew there would be bruises tomorrow.

"No, please," you begged, tears forming rapidly. Your voice caught in your throat. "Please don't. I don't want this."

He was silent, arms wrapping around your waist to keep you in place against him. The pressure was against you again, pressing down into you.

"Master, please," you choked out desperately.

He sighed as if dealing with an annoying child. "It doesn't matter what you want, little whore," he said calmly, his tone again verging on reassurance. "The only thing that matters here is what I want." He held you in place as you started to cry in his arms, his cock still threatening to penetrate your ass at any moment. "But I'll rub your clit if you beg me nicely."

He let you cry for a few more moments, and you tried desperately to catch your breath and say the words. "Please—" you started before your voice broke. "Please, Master. Please rub my clit," you breathed, cracked voice just barely a whisper.

"If you move away from me even an inch when I remove my hand, I swear to you I will hold you down and take what I want without giving you any pleasure." His warning was ice, cutting across you and sending a shiver down your spine. You nodded quickly, a tear streaming down your cheek.

He removed his right hand from where it had been holding you in place against him, dropping it instead to your clit. He teased your usual entrance for a moment, wetting his fingers and dragging them up to the nub. He began rubbing in hard circles. You squirmed against him involuntarily as he teased you, temporary pleasure coursing through you. But he knew this was his window to shove himself inside with the least resistance; his body pressed down into yours, hard, and you felt his girth splitting you apart.

You cried out in objection, gasping for breath and tearing at his sheets.

"Relax," he commanded. "It would be easier for you if you'd just relax." His fingers rubbed your clit in firm circles, dulling the intensity of the pain you felt as he pressed into you.

You choked on your tears as he slid his length into you, crying out in pain again.

"Shhh," he murmured in a hushed tone. "Stop screaming." His other hand found your throat then, his fingers spreading out across it, digits squeezing right where they needed to to silence you. He squeezed just hard enough that you could still just barely breathe, the pressure making your vision swim before you. A warm tingling sensation spread through your limbs, and you vaguely realized he was now moving behind you. The stimulation of your clit, coupled with restricting your oxygen supply, had mostly numbed you to the uncomfortable fullness of anal sex. You had relaxed around him, and his groans and grunts were now filling the air around you as he worked himself in and out of you.

"So young and already taking a grown man's cock up your ass," he breathed heavily into your ear. "Taking me so well, like the filthy little slut you are," he murmured as he rubbed your clit hard, putting short, harder thrusts to you.

"I'm not," you whispered brokenly through his grasp on your throat.

"If you're not, then you will be," he grunted confidently between thrusts, pounding harder behind you. "How does it feel having had all three of your holes used on your first day with me?" You swore you'd never heard more vulgar sounds coming from a man as he thrust behind you. He thrust forward a few more times before stilling and pulling out slowly. You realized he didn't want to come—at least, not in your ass—as he shoved you down into the bed. Climbing off you, he walked into the refresher. You heard water running as you rolled over where he left you, too defeated and afraid to otherwise move. When he emerged, he walked over to you slowly and peered down. His hand found his cock, and he stroked himself as he gazed down at your sullen form on his bed. One knee pressed into the bed as he inched closer to you, his other hand fisting in your hair and dragging you towards him.

"Open and look at me." It was an order, and it wasn't worth fighting. He had already won. You resigned to opening your mouth as he beat his length harder over your tongue, eyes boring into yours.

"Don't swallow yet," was all he said as hot strips of his cum hit your tongue, tensing above you as he orgasmed. He watched himself fill your mouth, thumbing away a tear that rolled down your cheek. He squeezed the last drops into your mouth again. "Close and hold it there."

You obeyed, glaring up at him with as many daggers as you could shove into your gaze. He simply smiled—it was almost warm, even. It disgusted you.

"How do I taste?"

You made a scoffing sound low in your throat, but the motion and the bitter-salty taste of his semen made you start gagging. You sat up quickly, turning to the side to spit it out—

"Don't you dare," he breathed. If he didn't sound like he would legitimately kill you, you would have ignored him. But instead you fought it, keeping your mouth shut and trying to suppress your gagging. Your brows knit together in a silent plea as you looked up at him.

He swept you up into a bridal carry, dipping your head back so his cum pooled at the back of your throat. He pressed hard between the knuckles of your middle and ring finger, and you stopped gagging.

"Swallow," he commanded. But you didn't; you simply stared at him, eyes dead as you could muster. Anger flared in his. "Swallow," he repeated coolly. Any warmth he had had for you a moment ago was gone now.

This time you outright shook your head, and he sighed heavily. Pinching your nose, he cut off your air supply, his cum sitting heavy in your mouth. You struggled against him to sit up so you could breathe through your mouth while holding his cum there; he battled to keep you tilted back, some of his cum sliding down your throat as you grappled with each other.

"You're not going to like what happens if you won't fucking swallow."

He had succeeded in getting most of it down your throat when he slapped your face hard for continuing to fight him. Tears pooled in your eyes again, and you threw caution to the wind. You forced the rest of his cum out of your mouth, letting it run down and off your chin onto his sheets.

"Did you just spit out my cum?"

He shot you what you were pretty sure was the last look you'd ever see before you died. He grasped your upper arm with impossible strength and quite literally dragged you into the refresher. Grasping your other arm, he forced you down to your knees in front of the toilet. Suddenly you felt your limbs lock up, his hands leaving you; he had immobilized you with the force. His left hand squeezed the hinge of your jaw to open your mouth, which he shoved three fingers into from his right hand. He pressed them into the back of your throat, holding them there mercilessly as you gagged on them—holding them there until you started to vomit. He repeated this several times, not bothering to hold your hair back as you emptied the contents of your stomach into the bowl. He stopped only when you spat up nothing but thin white strings of stomach acid, flushing the toilet and leaving you crumpled on the floor of the refresher.

You couldn't be sure how long you laid there, the cold floor nipping at your bare skin. You cried weak tears, palming at your sore throat unconsciously. Then you noticed him. He was leaning against the frame of the door, watching you. He had dressed when he left you; he now wore flannel pants and a sweater that looked impossibly soft. You cursed yourself as you wished he would pick you up and hold you against him, desperate for comfort. The corner of his mouth twitched, almost as if he had heard your silent request. He walked over to you.

Silence fell again as he observed you from this new position—he was waiting for something. You swallowed the small sliver of pride you had left and pushed yourself up onto your knees, shivering in the cold air. He looked warmer than ever.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, voice scratchy from the toll the choking and vomiting had taken on your throat.

"What?" he prompted, voice impassive. He showed no signs of his previous anger.

"I'm sorry," you repeated louder, choking on emotion as you finished the words. You no longer doubted his ability to break you, for here you were, kneeling before him.

You heard him sigh softly, his thumb stroking your cheek gently. "I forgive you," he murmured, mockery in his voice, stooping to lift you up with a single arm around your waist. You wrapped yours around him and clung pathetically; he was sick and manipulative, but you were desperate even for the fake sympathy.

He held you for a few quiet moments, letting you rest your head on his shoulder, before walking out into his room and over to the blaster door. It slid aside, and he set you down in front of the trooper stationed outside.

Your eyes went wide, looking up at him pleadingly. "Don't send me back there. Please don't send me back there!"

But he looked past you, addressing the trooper. "Allow her water. No food. No shower."

"Yes, Lord Ren."

The trooper took hold of your wrists to secure handcuffs. "Don't send me back to a cell," you croaked, tears flowing down your cheeks again. It surprised even you how broken you sounded. "Please let me stay. Master. Please. I'll be good, I promise. I promise, please."

Kylo Ren looked down at you sadly. "There are consequences for disobedience, sweetheart." He turned on his heel, but looked back at you.

There was a pause. "It's red," he said suddenly.

You stared at him blankly.

"My favorite color."

The blaster door slid shut.