Sheev steps inside the cave and the universe tilts. He literally stumbles.
It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the immediate gloom. It takes even longer for his mind to recover from the intense disorientation. It's a rush that has him reeling. He stands still, his heart racing and his blood pounding, as he gropes towards a new equilibrium. He feels sick. He feels cold. He feels very, very alone.
Where the fuck is he? He's definitely not in a cave on Dathomir any longer.
If he didn't know better, he'd think he was standing in deep space. He's surrounded by that same vast emptiness he experiences when he's alone in the cockpit of a ship. It's the uncomfortable feeling of being insignificant in the context of the larger galaxy. It's the existential dread that he will go unnoticed amid the relentless march of time. With it comes the fear of futility and-worse still-mortality.
Yes, this definitely looks like someone ejected him out an airlock into the dark void of space. There is even distant starlight when he looks around. But he can't be in space because he's breathing and standing still and upright on his feet. Looking down, Sheev sees glowing lines on the floor. It looks like a pathway.
He follows the lines. They wander until they dead end at something that looks like an open door. Sheev peers inside. It's a bit like standing at a museum looking at a large, framed panoramic painting. If the painting were alive, that is.
He's here to see the future. So . . . this must be the future.
Okay. Well, bring it on. Sheev boldly steps through the door.
He finds himself standing on a high dais that overlooks a cavernous room. It's dim, but it's also very intentionally, almost theatrically lit. There is a large chair placed before him, facing away. The chair-no, it's a throne, it's got to be a throne-is occupied. Sheev can't see who is seated. He only sees the cloaked head swallowed in obfuscating black fabric.
This must be a Sith throne room. It's giving intense 'Dark master of the universe' vibes.
Glancing around the room perimeter, Sheev counts twelve red robed and masked guards wielding Force pikes. They look like a modern-day approximation of the Old Sith praetorian guards. It's a nice touch. The feel of the place is slickly futuristic but with nods to the Dark Side's past. Sheev thoroughly approves. Someday, he wants a throne room just like this.
But whose Dark lair is this? It's not the Muun's. Darth Plagueis is too tall to sit comfortably in the regal Master's perch and the shape of the head under that hood is all wrong. Plus, when the seated man speaks, the gravelly baritone voice is not Plagueis.
"You have done well, Lord Vader," the throne occupant croaks out.
Lord Vader? Who's Lord Vader? Sheev ventures further into the scene to peek over the shoulder of the throne chair occupant. Who is the unknown Apprentice to this mysterious Master?
Now, Sheev can see the black armored and leather clad man who kneels his fealty down below, his head bowed in a posture of supplication. The Apprentice's identity is concealed beneath a shiny helmet. A flowing cape puddles around him. And look at the satin hem on that cape. It's serious Dark drip. Sheev leans forward for a better look. Whoever this pair are, they certainly have style.
"Arise, my friend."
The Master accompanies these words with a small, appropriately dismissive hand gesture. It's soft-pedaled gravitas intermingled with lowkey disdain. That's the perfect 'I'm the boss and never forget it' attitude. Again, Sheev approves.
The Apprentice lumbers to his feet. Standing upright, the dude is huge. His bowed helmet lifts to reveal an angular design. The blank visage is bizarre and fearsome. And also, weirdly droid-like.
No one notices Sheev's presence. It's like he's not even there. But maybe, that's because he isn't actually present. He's merely a ghostly interloper in the Force.
"What is thy bidding, my Master?" the Apprentice inquires.
"I have a new task for you to oversee."
Master and Apprentice now begin a dialogue about a weapons project that means nothing to Sheev's ears. But the stilted, very formal colloquy between the two men speaks volumes about their relationship. The Master neither likes nor respects his Apprentice. He confides the bare minimum information and invites no opinions. It's all terse instructions.
For his part, the Apprentice seems bored and unenthusiastic. While he is appropriately deferential, it's clear that this sidekick neither likes nor respects his superior. He says all the right words and yet Sheev instinctively knows the Apprentice will do what is asked of him, and nothing further. Moreover, Sheev suspects that, if the opportunity presents, this Apprentice will gladly undercut his Master.
That dynamic is all wrong, he thinks, and depressingly familiar. He and the Muun are another version of this ill-suited pair. Well, it won't be like this when he himself chooses an Apprentice, Sheev vows. He will find himself a loyal assistant who will revere him as the mentor. A man who will be an eager co-conspirator and true believer in the Sith ascendancy. Someone who will idolize and love him such that it will never occur to his subordinate to kill him. That's the kind of Apprentice Sheev wants-the dedicated sort who never aspires to be the Master himself. Not this bad attitude hulk in a mask and a weird suit with blinking lights.
So, who is the Sith Master seated in the chair? Sheev warily circles the throne for a better look. And yet still, neither the room's principals nor any of the guards present can perceive him. It's as Sheev suspects-he is an undetectable eavesdropper cloaked completely by the invisible energy field that holds the universe together.
Satisfied that he will not be confronted, Sheev takes a good look at the Sith Master. He has pasty white skeletal human hands resting on the chair arms of his throne. They look like they belong to a cadaver instead of a living person, Sheev notes with distaste. For as always, the thought of death disturbs him greatly.
The Master's face is partially obscured, but the neck and chin that are visible match the zombie hands. The skin is rough and deeply wrinkled with bulging veins. Its hue is creepy grey-white, much like the female witches' pallor. But whereas they look healthy and vibrant, this guy looks as if he crawled out of a tomb on Exogol. And those teeth! They are disgustingly decayed. Does he even own a toothbrush? His mouth looks gross. Sheev is repulsed and embarrassed for the man.
The discussion between Master and Apprentice concludes. The jumior Sith is dismissed. He quickly exits. It's the most eager the Apprentice has appeared so far, and it's because he's leaving.
The next order of business involves a familiar face. In saunters a tall, horned, and tusked Chagrian wearing majestic robes. It's Mas Amedda, a Senator who Sheev himself put on the Sith payroll years ago. Mas is a feckless sycophant, but he is a reasonably effective political operative. Sheev uses him for political bribes, arm twisting, and blackmail in the Senate. But here Mas is, evidently serving whoever this Sith Master is.
Unlike the groveling masked Apprentice, Mas casually enters the throne room from a side door. He doesn't kneel or make a formal greeting. He's clearly an insider on close terms with the throne's occupant. And just like with the Apprentice, Mas-who absolutely would recognize Sheev-doesn't seem able to see him standing in the midst of everything.
Mas has good news to report. "The latest poll numbers are in. I thought you'd like to see them."
Poll numbers? Like every politician, Sheev's ears perk up.
So do the Sith Master's. "Yes?"
"Emperor Palpatine is now the most admired leader in the Core systems."
Emperor Palpatine? Sheev likes the sound of that.
So does the ugly dead-looking guy in the chair. "Good. Gooooood," the unknown Sith Master approves with appropriately evil relish.
Mas Amedda laughs easily at this response. He approaches to hand over a datapad. "See for yourself, Sheev. The people love you now more than ever."
Wait-did Mas say Sheev?
Sheev?
The corpse in the chair is called SHEEV?!
FUCK!
Sheev's eyes narrow and then widen as understanding dawns. He watches with increasing horror as the figure on the throne accepts the offered datapad and then throws back his concealing hood to begin studying it.
Mas and the Sith Master start analyzing the polling data while Sheev stares in horror at his future self.
What the fuck is going to happen to him?
Who did this to him? Was it the Muun?
Sheev starts sweating and repeatedly swallowing as he beholds the monster he will evidently one day become.
Oh fuck, oh fuck . . . This can't be him . . . can it?
His forehead is swollen and mishapen, giving him a-cringe!—low class Rim alien look. He's mostly bald too. His already thinning coppery hair is reduced to a few white whisps. And look at those sunken yellow eyes rimmed with deep purple shadows. He looks disgusting. Like a bogeyman character from a holonet scary movie.
What the Hell happened to him?
Wait. On second thought, Sheev isn't sure he wants to find out.
He's never been super handsome and, yeah, his hairline and stature leave some things to be desired. But in truth, he's a little vain about the better aspects of his appearance. And damn . . . though he's never been hot, he's also never been ugly. This is his future and he's ascended to Master status, but he's subhuman looking. Like some cretin that crawled out of a sewer in the Coruscant Underworld. He's a public figure, for Force sake! He can't be seen looking like this. Shit! Shit! Shit! What the fuck will happen to leave him looking so bad?
A new unwelcome thought now occurs to Sheev: what other deformities will his body endure that are hidden under those robes? Just how fucked up will he be?
Maybe that issue doesn't bear pondering. Because he's already imagining repulsive things . . . And there was that Apprentice in the mask and the robot suit. Maybe the Apprentice needs that gear because he too is messed up. Could that mean he and his Apprentice will survive an attack by the Jedi? Maybe his future health isn't the work of Darth Plagueis after all. But there's no way to tell.
Sheev is utterly aghast at this plot twist. What a blow it is to his ego. For evidently, he will beat Darth Plagueis-that's good news-and he will become a Sith emperor-there's some more upside. But will his appearance be the price of success? And if so, what else will he lose along the way? Will it be Cresta? How could she ever love him looking like this?
Appalled, Sheev's first reaction is to flee. And since there's no one to watch him retreat, he wastes no time about it.
As he stumbles around wherever he is, blindly following the floor path he came on, Sheev fights for composure. It takes effort, but he masters his emotions. His panic subsides. He wipes away a furtive tear to man up. Then, he starts to plan.
Now that he knows his eventual situation, he's definitely going to greenlight those off-the-record personal clones the Kaminoan prime minister offered him a while back. The personal clones were pitched as useful decoys for security purposes, but now Sheev worries he will need them for himself. At the very least, they can grow him a new set of teeth to replace that vile smile he saw on the throne.
Sheev's also going to make sure that whoever that robot Apprentice is, he will take the time to groom him. He will make that fellow in the mask like and admire him. That seems all the more imperative given how feeble he will become. Perhaps the most humiliating part of his future appearance is how frail and vulnerable he appears. He wouldn't last two minutes against that bad attitude Lord Vader in a fight, Sheev worries.
He's so intent on finding a way to improve the future he just witnessed that Sheev pays little attention to where he's stumbling around. And that's how he wanders inadvertently through another portal in this spooky starlit realm. And now again, Sheev finds himself staring at his future self.
Fuck. It gets worse.
A-gulp-lot worse.
FUCK!
Sheev starts panicking hard again. Because that has to be him. Once more, he's seated on a throne. Well, sort of seated. More like suspended there by some giant hydraulic crane he's strapped to. He's like some ragdoll propped up for all to see, which leads to the obvious inference that this future version of Sheev Palpatine is unable to hold himself up.
Where even is this new place? This location is even dimmer than the sleek throne room Sheev just exited, but he doesn't recognize it. How could he? He can barely see a meter in front of his face. Still, random flashes of electromagnetic lightning serve to illuminate just how decayed his poor body will one day become.
He must be blind, Sheev thinks with a hard swallow, given those milky clear eyes. And look at his twisted hands that are missing fingers. What's worse, he's got vials and hoses sticking out of his neck doing Force knows what to him. It's like a horror show.
Sheev can't bear to look closely. It's all too much to take in. But evidently, he will become some sort of meat puppet, kept alive thanks to technology and sheer force of will. That circumstance just begs the frightening question: if he's reduced to puppet status, who's pulling his strings?
What will happen to put him in such a state? And where is that bad attitude apprentice? Could he be the one to blame?
Casting his eyes around his current surroundings, Sheev notes how dirty and old everything appears. Ugh! Even if he will someday helm a mighty empire, by now both he and his realm have clearly fallen on hard times. And that realization is what truly unnerves Sheev. Indeed, it's the twist of the saber thrust that hurts the most. For all who gain power fear to lose it. And, it appears he will gain glorious power, he will be the Master, he will be a galactic emperor just like he has dreamt . . . only to end up a zombie science experiment in a rundown amphitheater, alone and unheralded. It's an anonymous, ignominious, hideous fate. Such humiliation!
A Jedi would take a moral lesson here about hubris. He would see a tale of comeuppance and see the error of his ways. But not Sheev. He's a Sith through and through. He knows the issue here is not too much ambition, but misplaced trust. For either the Force will betray him, or his Apprentice will successfully rise up. It never occurs to Sheev that he himself might be the source of his own demise. Blame always lies elsewhere on the Dark Side.
But oh, the suffering! The shame! Can it not be undone? Sheev is shaking as he stands utterly discouraged facing his bleak future self. Can this desperate fate be avoided? He's going to try at all costs.
Not that he's going to reject his destiny, mind you. He's not fool enough to set himself up in opposition to fate. He's just going to attempt to tweak it a bit . . . He might not be able to control everything, but he has free will to influence matters. That's why the future is always in motion. Not every aspect of what he sees now is immutable.
That truth bolsters Sheev's flagging spirits. The Jedi Order might claim the moral high ground and exclusive right to hope, but in truth the Sith hope harder than their Light Side enemies. They have to hope; their ambitions demand it. For no one dares as much as the Dark Side does.
But oh-look at him! He's a corpse on a crumbling throne. A ruined Dark hero whose time has come and gone. His future self has so far eluded death, but to what end? Staring at his pitiful fate, Sheev vows that whatever happens he will find a way to restore his body and to reclaim his power. For that has long been his dream: to be the once and future Sith. To rule a thousand years like Darth Vitiate. To define an entire era with his aegis. And so, Sheev plots that when the time comes for the unknown misfortune to befall him, he will have a plan to claw his way back. It's what he's best at, really. His true talent isn't as a warrior or as a sorcerer or even as a politician. He's a schemer. A planner. A plotter.
But right now, he's scared. Really, really scared. Turning to look back over his shoulder, trembling Sheev spies the portal he entered through. He sprints for it. Leaping through it, he keeps running. This time, he deliberately avoids following the glowing lines on the floor. He doesn't want to witness any more of his personal timeline. Instead, he flees as far and as fast as he can into the inky void of nothingness that surrounds him. Darkness, take me home, he pleas. He's seen enough.
Then, everything goes black . . .
It stays black a long, long time.
Finally, Sheev regains his senses. He wakes up slowly from his someone-sold-him-bad-spice Force nightmare to discover that he is lying on a soft bed. There is a pillow beneath his cheek. A blanket is tucked around him to ward off the chill.
Where is he? He must be back on Dathomir. He can tell by the smell of the fresh air and the crackle and pop of nearby torches. It's night now as Sheev furtively peeps one eye open.
The first thing he sees is his lightsaber placed nearby on the floor. Next, he spies Lilith, still naked in her fish net dress, seated on a stool. Young Maul is perched on his knees before her on the ground, naked to the waist. She's dabbing something on his shoulders while the boy happily chatters away.
"It didn't hurt nearly as bad as they said-honest, Mother. They said I was very brave."
"You are very brave," Lilith murmurs as she dabs more salve out of a small pot she's holding.
The Mother Witch is wearing a circlet of flowers on her head. With the blossoms atop her cloud of dusky ringlets, Lilith looks like some rural lass who has been chosen queen of the county fair. The look is several standard deviations away from her usual imposing getup.
Maul now turns his head towards the bed.
Sheev anticipates him and shuts his eyes tightly.
But the boy isn't fooled. "He's awake . . ."
"Is he?" In his mind's eye, Sheev sees Lilith turn her attention in his direction. "Yesssss. So, he is. Leave him be. He's been through an ordeal." Ore-dealllllll.
"He's brave too, isn't he, Mother?"
"Oh, yes. Very much so."
"I'm not brave enough to go in the cave."
"Not yet. You're too young. But I'm certain that when you are older, the cave will beckon."
"How will I know?"
"Your foresight and your ambitions will lead you to take a peek at the future. Curiosity is an itch that must be scratched," she chuckles at her own joke.
That metaphor resonates with her youngster. Literally. "Like my back itches now?"
Lilith laughs again and plants a kiss on the nape of her son's neck. "Something like that. Now, don't scratch. You will infect it."
"Yes, Mother."
The boy stands to his feet and seated Lilith beams up at him. "I swear you grow before my very eyes," she muses proudly. "First, you're budding horns . . . now you have your first tattoo . . . Oh, Maul, such a fine man you will become in time . . ."
"I'll miss you, Mother."
"Not as much as I will miss you."
"Can't I stay here with you forever?" It's more of the boy's fear of leaving the Sisters' village, listening Sheev surmises.
Lilith answers gently and wistfully. "Your destiny lies upon a different path from mine."
"Are you sure?" the boy whines.
"Very sure. But I will always be with you. You will always find a home here. Never forget that."
"I won't."
Even for a doting mother and an anxious kid, the conversation seems inordinately heavy to Sheev's ears. Through the Force he is picking up a subtext of strong emotion. But the moment ends when Lilith pats her boy's cheek. "Run along," she dismisses him.
Maul obeys. He's a good kid.
Lilith rises from her perch on the stool and heads for him now. She sinks down beside him on the bed and passes her hand across his forehead in a light caress. "You may open your eyes," she whispers as she leans in. "We're alone and you are safe."
Sheev opens his eyes, blinks, and rolls over on his back.
The Mother Witch hovers above him, peering down to assess him. "Are you alright? The World Between Worlds can be a terrifying experience."
"I'm fine."
"Do you remember what happened?"
Yes, he remembers everything. Every last horrifying moment.
But apparently, this recall is not typical. "Most do not remember initially. They awaken upset and confused. They only recall what happened later when in meditation their subconscious rises up. Then, people tend to experience the memories as visions." The Mother Witch caresses his cheek now and it feels good. It's comfort he needs right now.
"Do you remember?" she prods.
"No," he lies. Sheev has no desire to discuss his thoroughly upsetting future.
"It's just as well." Lilith pats his cheek, and Sheev is certain from her expression that she knows his deceit.
She doesn't make an issue out of it. Like so often during their short acquaintance, Lilith lets things slide. The Mother Witch picks her battles, and Sheev respects her for it.
"Where are we?" he asks, seeking to change the topic.
"This is my bower." Bow-waaaah. The Mother Witch gestures expansively and smiles. "Do you like it?"
"It's lovely," he automatically replies. He's a politician who long ago learned to say yes to every meaningless question. People eat up casual affirmation. They are suckers for flattery and validation. But, in truth, the Mother Witch's lair is legitimately amazing. And also, Sheev notes, quintessentially her.
The headboard of the bed he's lying on looks to be carved into a living tree. The canopy above him is comprised of leafy branches. They have been tethered together to encourage their growth into a ceiling structure. The tree is incredibly large and obviously very old. It has a vast network of intertwined roots that grow shallowly. They are visible on the ground as an organic latticework pavement. Altogether, the tree is a giant trellis that approximates the structure of an open-air pavilion.
The torches he smelled initially are mounted on stakes at a safe distance from the tree. They are lit in a circular perimeter. It's a literal ring of fire. Is that some sort of magical charm? Could it be a precaution to ward off predators? Sheev wonders.
Somewhere unseen from his current position he hears the trickle of water. The cool evening breeze now lifts the Mother Witch's curls and rustles the tree's leaves. It brings with it a waft of spicy incense. Yes . . . all of the natural elements are present here in Lilith's bower: water, fire, air, and earth. That seems fitting, for she's the closest thing he's met to Mother Nature in the flesh.
"Rest easy. You've had a busy day," she coos. And it's true. Before entering the scary Force cave, Sheev toured for hours and then fought a mock duel.
But rest is the furthest thing from his mind currently. Rest makes him think of tired, weak old people. Of people like the infirm version of himself he saw in the cave. He doesn't want to be anything like that revolting gargoyle-faced zombie. He wants to remain as he is now-a man in the prime of his middle years. A man still striving and achieving. A man who dares. A man who fights. A man who wins.
So, he brushes aside her suggestion and sits up. They're side-by-side on the bed now, eye to eye.
"That cave showed me nothing I didn't already know," he blusters softly.
Lilith simpers with a straight face, "Your foresight serves you well."
"It does," he affirms, doubling down on his deceit. "I knew it all in advance. My future is full of glory. The Sith will win. I will rule the galaxy." That last part is true, for a time at least.
Lilith lowers her eyes and breathes out, "I'm counting on that, my Lord," in her throaty purr.
He believes her. Lilith isn't exactly on his side, but she seems to be rooting for him nonetheless. Why? He's still unsure.
For all her transparency and welcome, the Mother Witch remains an enigma. But like so many past-minded people, her sensibility is tinged tragic. She's well aware that much of history is a procession of hardship, conflict, and war, and that no generation is spared its traumas, even here on Dathomir. But that historical frame of mind gives Lilith an unshakable sense of who the witches are and what the witches must do. She has fortitude and clarity, like a leader should.
But the Sith have fortitude and clarity, too. And now, at long last, their goals are within reach. Will that put him on an collision course with Lilith? That's what his Master wants; he sent him here to kill her kid, who may or may not be a threat. But Sheev long ago learned that the fiercest enemies can also make the best allies. And so, he wants Mother Lilith on his side-against Plagueis and against the Jedi. Sex seems to be a small price to pay for that alliance. He's done far worse for much less upside.
"I will rule the galaxy . . ." He whispers it again.
It's less a boast to her and more a pep talk for himself. Seeing his future crippled form in that cave has Sheev shaken. He desperately wants to be vigorous and powerful again. He feels now like he feels after he kills someone; there's something about death that makes him yearn to affirm his life. A tryst with Lilith might be just what he needs. So, here come his best bedroom maneuvers . . .
Does Lilith know what he's thinking? She might, because she ducks her chin and feigns maidenly bashfulness. It's a little ridiculous given she's basically naked. But clearly, she's waiting for him to be the aggressor.
Well, okay. As she hovers close, Sheev makes his move. He goes in for a kiss.
He starts small. Just the brush of his lips against her cheek. Then he pulls back.
She meets his gaze, smolders a little, and then lowers her lashes shyly. She stays still, her mouth slightly open and her eyes closed.
Lilith must want to be seduced.
He can do that. Sheev leans in to brush another kiss against her cheek before he moves to trace her jawline with a series of salutes. With his hand, he smooths back her curls to expose her throat. He starts to nuzzle at her neck.
"Be with me," he whispers into her skin. "Give yourself to me."
Lilith doesn't answer with words. She speaks to his mind through the Force. "Come take what you won . . ."
The effortless telepathy between them immediately excites him. A good part of the Mother Witch's allure is her power. She knows it, too.
Lilith has turned towards him. It's the most natural thing for Sheev to claim her mouth with his own. It starts a never-ending kiss that escalates matters fast. Like pouring accelerant on glowing embers, the spark of attraction between them blazes hot.
Damn, this woman can kiss. She is neither sloppy nor timid with her tongue. But she is urgent. She wants him. This isn't going through the motions to fulfill a perceived obligation. This is true desire on her part.
He's been watching Lilith parade around naked since they left the village, but now Sheev gets to do more than look. His hands find the Mother Witch's breasts. They're soft and warm, and just large enough to fill his hands. He leans in to lick at one purple tipped nipple that's peeking through the fish net.
Lilith moans aloud, but he hears her words in his mind. Take me, Sith.
It's meant to play to his Dark desire to dominate, but it gives Sheev pause. That's a line that Cresta has used in bed before, so it's an untimely, awkward reminder of his estranged wife.
Fuck. He doesn't want to think about Cresta. But Force, how he misses Cresta . . .
Sheev pulls back. His ardor immediately cools. Even his dick slumps.
The Mother Witch notices. She now eschews words and leads instead with her power. Flashing her trademark enigmatic smile, she flourishes her hand and conjures a cloud of green ichor mist. Then, she reaches for his crotch.
Uh . . . okay. Sheev is more than a little wary about all that green magic swirling around his nether regions. But as Lilith unzips his pants and reaches inside, Sheev puts all thoughts of Cresta out of his mind. Lilith's magical hand job is simply too beguiling.
Oh yeah, that feels gooooood.
Sheev renews their kiss and things resume where they left off.
How does he take the fish net dress off? No matter. He'll just hike it up. He slides it up Lilith's long legs. She takes the hint, gathers it up, and tosses it back over her head. She's completely bare now.
Sheev takes that as his cue to stand and shrug out of his jacket that's hanging unbuttoned. His pants are already undone and he's poking out, rock hard and ready to go. All eight and a half erect inches of him.
He looks to the Mother Witch perched on the edge of the bed before him. Her eyes are glazed with passion. Her lips are swollen from his kiss. How much more foreplay does she need?
Lilith silently answers the question by opening wide her knees and settling back on her elbows. She's posed for him to enter her. Her grey-purple witch pussy is practically winking at him.
Don't make me wait any longer. Her raspy voice echoes through his mind. Don't make me wait any long-gaaaaah.
It's all the encouragement he needs. Sheev fits his body into her slick, silky cunt. He's slow about it. He has learned to be careful because not all women can handle his length and girth immediately. Some need to relax to fully accommodate him.
But not the Mother Witch. She's ready to go at the outset.
Excellent. Sheev gets down to business. He thrusts hard, rocking his body and hers with his effort. Driving up to find that spot high and inside that drives women wild. One thing's for sure—he's going to make sure Lilith comes. He's not going to stop until she's screaming with pleasure, seduced by a Sith Lord.
"I can go all night," he promises. And wait-that came out sounding like a threat.
Lilith is not cowed. "I plan to make you prove that," she chortles happily in his mind. Then, she wraps her gorgeous long legs around his waist. She starts to move her hips. She matches his rhythm and meets him thrust for thrust.
Oh, yeah . . . this is good. Really good. Frankly, he's not surprised. The Mother Witch has likely had lots of practice rolling her hips beneath generations of rutting Brothers. But is it too good, too soon? Sheev grits his teeth and prays that he will be able to last. He plans to compare favorably to Lilith's vast prior experience.
He leans forward and buries his face in the fragrant softness of her hair. It changes the angle of their connection as he amps up the vigor of his effort. Is he giving her pleasure? Yes. Sheev senses her body tensing. He smiles, doubling down on the friction. Yeah, that's the right spot. Not every woman can come from just his deep dicking like Cresta can. But Lilith is grunting now with each emphatic thrust. That's a good sign.
"Are you close?" he yelps. "I'm close!"
But Lilith seems unperturbed at his urgency. Mutual orgasm must not be a thing in the Coven, for the Mother Witch responds, "Gratify yourself. You first, Sheeeeev."
He takes that as permission to rut with complete abandon. He'll show this witch the dominance of the Dark Side. He keeps going hard until the sensation is too intense. He tips into oblivion and spends himself.
The Mother Witch groans gutteral deep in her chest. "Yes! Yessssssss!" she exclaims aloud, sounding as satisfied as he feels. So, maybe she did come after all . . .
But whatever. They're just warming up. She'll get her chance. "We're . . . not . . . done . . . yet," Sheev pants as he lunges forward and face plants on the bed beside her, his pants still slung around his boots. His adrenaline recedes as the rush of endorphins kick in.
If this were his wife, next would come the cuddling. Afterglow is usually when he and Cresta have their best talks. Something about the intimate closeness of sex encourages them both to open up. Tonight, he's hoping it will encourage Lilith to spill some Force secrets.
Is Lilith a cuddler? Sort of. Sheev ends up lying on his back and she hovers beside him propped on her side. She strokes an arm languidly down his chest. The gesture is vaguely possessive.
"Such a stallion of a man you are . . ." she muses contentedly.
"Yeah?" he exhales, still out of breath.
"That was like being ravished by a rancor," Lilith observes archly.
Sheev knows she's teasing, but the memory of his ruined face in the cave has him touchy about his appearance. He bristles, "I'm a lot better looking than a rancor."
"You certainly smell better," she laughs. Leaning in, Lilith whispers suggestively, "You're hung like a rancor too . . ."
Oh, so she's noticed? "I meant what I said. I can go all night. I just need a few minutes."
"Relax," she purrs down at him, looking well-pleased. "I've got the next round." With a flourish of her hand, she again conjures a cloud of green ichor mist. It snakes around his nether regions. Suddenly, Sheev can feel his blood pumping. In seconds, his flaccid equipment perks up to stand at attention.
So much for his usual refractory period. Sheev stares in fascination.
"Uh . . . er . . . ah . . ." He eyes his throbbing erection with equal parts awe and trepidation. The Force can do THAT? Who knew?
"Lay back," Lilith instructs as she raises up on her knees. "Enjoy yourself," she tosses off as she casually throws a leg over him to saddle up in cowgirl position. "This time, I'll do the work."
Alright. Sheev nods tentatively as the Mother Witch straddles his Force-induced, but thoroughly raging hard-on. Is he really ready to go again so soon? His misgivings vanish once Lilith lowers herself around him. She sheathes him completely in her warm softness.
Sheev can't help himself. He sighs aloud his bliss.
Grinning Lilith starts to move. Slowly grinding back and forth. Then undulating in circles. It's like she's dancing on his dick. It feels amazing. He closes his eyes to focus purely on the sensation. It also serves to shut out his view of naked Lilith looming almost ominously over him. Her breasts bounce with her movements. Her head is thrown back. Her back is arched. She is the picture of sensuous female abandon. It's powerful in a way that suddenly strikes Sheev as vaguely threatening.
Let me in . . . It's Lilith speaking to his mind again. She confuses him. They're having sex, and he's the one inside of her. Let me in . . . The request makes no sense.
She is the primal all-mother, the literal embodiment of the female archetype, with all the complexity that has enthralled and befuddled men since time immemorial. For Lilith is nurturing and filled with empathy, kindness, and compassion. She has wisdom too, like a mother should. She tends to her Coven with a watchful eye, but with patient restraint. This mother does not smother. She wants her people to grow and succeed. She gives them space and autonomy to do it.
But Lilith is also a powerful symbol of authority and strength. Sheev has no doubt that the Mother Witch can be fiercely protective when provoked. He can easily imagine her fury if her child or her beloved Coven were threatened. It's also not hard to imagine her wrath if scorned. Lilith strikes him as the crazy ex-girlfriend type. The sort who would stalk you and plot your downfall with unholy glee and no sense of proportion. Lilith Talzin's got a Dark streak that will lust for revenge, Sheev assesses.
But she's got that mysterious ichor, and he's a fool for power. Sheev was smitten when Lilith first flashed that smirking smile that hints at secrets she won't share easily. How seductive she is-so brimming with magic. It convinces him that tonight's tryst is prudent risk taking.
Let me in . . . Her mind nudges his again. Let me in . . .
Still feeling confused, distracted Sheev answers back, "Fine." He's unsure of what he's agreeing to, but he's willing to do whatever bedplay Lilith wants. He's fine to be her plaything for tonight.
Sheev is happily trapped, swallowed whole by her body, and pinned by her straddle. As Lilith grinds and twists, working her way up and down, it feels like warm, wet ecstasy. He can't help but compare the experience with his wife. Cresta has a tight pussy, and she can approximate a very enjoyable pompoir. But Lilith's squeeze is next level. Her inner muscles grip him so tightly that he couldn't pull out if he tried. It feels like she's sucking his dick, only it's with her lips down below.
Lilith does something new now. She pulses her body, clenching and unclenching. Oh, Force! Sheev shivers with pleasure. That feels sooo gooooood. "Yesssss," he groans his approval, egging her on.
The Mother Witch is happy to repeat the pleasure. Again and again, she strokes him with her inner muscles. She's edging him-intentionally keeping him on the verge of orgasm. Because it would take so little now for him to pop off again.
"Not yet," the temptress chides him. It's more mother-like than lover-like. But Sheev doesn't care so long as she keeps going. He could live forever trapped between the lean thighs of Lilith Talzin. Who needs an empire anyway?
She starts chanting under her breath. It's soft and musical, like a prayer. Is this more of her witchy kama sutra? Clueless Sheev closes his eyes. He's out of his mind with pleasure. So much so that it takes him a moment to recognize that she is conjuring the Force.
Wait-whaaat?
Sheev sees the glint of green ichor in her eyes before he perceives the swirling mist of magic that surrounds them both. That's a lot of green witch magic. Far more than Sheev has ever seen before. It mixes with the haze of incense hanging in the air to form something akin to Force smoke. It's equal parts cool and alarming.
Is this some ancient fertility rite? Could it be a sex technique? He's about to ask when Lilith's consciousness fully enters his mind.
Whoa! That was unexpected! Sheev flinches.
Relax . . . Relax . . . Lilith attempts to soothe him. Just try it, she urges.
Well, okay. At first, it's kind of cool. Like sharing the same head and doubling your pleasure in the process. As far as sex tricks goes, it's a good one. For Sheev experiences what Lilith feels, and vice versa. It tells him that she's well pleased with their sex romp. And also, that she wishes he would fondle her breasts more. But she's not faking anything-Lilith is legit enjoying herself.
But their Force mind connection soon morphs from helpful real time feedback into uncomfortable intrusion. For after a minute or two spent reveling in their mutual pleasure, Lilith starts fishing for information. She delves past the superficial level of his sensory perception deeper into his memories.
It happens so fast-she's that good-that it's too late for Sheev to stop her.
The experience suddenly sours. It feels uncomfortable. Like a violation. Sheev wants to reclaim control. He wants her off his body and out of his head.
Lilith knows what he's feeling, of course. "Not yet," she tells him. "You must finish first."
Who is she kidding? This isn't about orgasm any longer. It's about collecting intelligence. It's fucking humiliating, but Lilith sees EVERYTHING.
She sees the broad outlines of the grand plan to topple the Republic and purge the Jedi. That includes the details of the upcoming civil war: the clone army, the Trade Federation agitators, and the eventual secession by the Separatist systems. He is revealed as the cunning Senator who is positioning himself to be elected Supreme Chancellor. He's already laying the predicate to angle for the office to include extra-constitutional wartime powers. Why might the Senate grant him such leeway? Because by that time, the moderate, mild-mannered Senator Sheev Palpatine of Naboo will be publicly known as a reluctant warrior whom the people can trust. By then, he will have fostered deep skepticism about the longtime institutions that serve the Republic. He will also have framed his political rivals for corruption, making him the sole remaining uncompromised statesman of the Republic. This is the creeping takeover that no one will ever see coming. He will be a beloved figure when it all falls apart and democracy dies to thunderous applause.
Fuck! He just betrayed the work of decades to this backwater witch! It's the culmination of generations of Sith!
What if she tells the Jedi?
What if she tells the Senate?
Even worse, what if she tells his Master?
Sheev is aghast at how he is betraying himself and compromising the Sith. But he is ineffectual at blocking Lilith. The Mother Witch's power is immense.
But her mind rape cuts both ways. For when you look at the Dark Side, the Dark Side looks back. Meaning Sheev gets his very own unvarnished look at Lilith. She is exposed to him like he is exposed to her. She's a lie. A damn lie. Lilith Talzin is a duplicitous, conniving schemer. She's just like him, Sheev realizes to his regrettable dismay.
Sheev now sees a wizened woman who is centuries old. Lilith has appeared to him during his visit like she once looked during her youth: tall and lithe, with a strikingly beautiful face whose angular planes would delight a sculptor. But she is beautiful no longer. Time and too much Force have taken their toll. Her riotous ringlets have fallen out, leaving her nearly bald with a hairline receding halfway up her scalp. Her alabaster breasts have shriveled like the rest of her curves. The real Lilith Talzin is now a painfully thin, dried-up old crone. She looks like the witch from a fairytale meant to frighten children. Like the scary woman who righteous villagers might burn at the stake to rid themselves of her influence.
Lilith's corpse eyes are sunken and heavily lined much like Sheev remembers his own being during his peek at the future. Now, Sheev understands the purple puffy shadows as the marks of someone too powerful for their own good. Lilith Talzin has enchanted him, he realizes. Her green magic cast a spell that duped him completely. And now, he's got a hideous old hag riding his dick like her life depends on it.
But why?
It's the riddle Sheev has puzzled over since Lilith first invited him to stay with the witches. Why does she want him here? What does she want? He still can't figure out her angle on the Sith. All he knows is that Lilith fears an invasion from the Jedi, that she adores her little son she thinks will someday, somehow leave Dathomir, and that she's ambivalent about the future of the Republic. She says she's counting on the Sith to succeed-but why? What's in it for the witches?
Sheev wishes he understood what's really going on. He worries that he is way out of his league with Lilith. All along, he presumed he was playing her . . . but, in truth, she has been scamming him. It's humiliating. It's alarming. It's fucking dangerous on so many levels.
Sheev is way more spooked now than when he was in that Force cave. He beholds with true terror the repulsive witch who pins him, pumping her naked body up and down with glee.
"Get off!" Sheev roars, giving the woman a hard physical push.
She doesn't budge. She just laughs and laughs. It's a mocking cackle that makes mortified Sheev incensed.
"GET OFF!" He summons his power and issues a mighty Force push.
The Mother Witch must be too distracted to block him, for she is sent reeling. Her body wrenches from his with an awkward sucking sound and painful twist to his dick. But what really causes him to wince is the witch's consciousness ripping from his mind.
"OWWWW!" he howls as he scrambles fast from the bed. He's clumsy in his fearful haste. He lands sprawled on the floor.
Sheev immediately leaps to his feet, yanking up his pants that are still twisted around his boots. Then, he grabs for his discarded coat and lightsaber that are lying on the ground.
Lilith is simultaneously climbing to her feet. Will she fight him? Sheev lights his sword to be ready.
But Lilith doesn't attack. Violence is not her weapon. Scorn is.
She keeps laughing at him. It's more of that mocking, knowing, irritating cackle. If scathing female condescension were reduced to a sound, that's it.
"Darrrrrrth Sid-eeeee-us," Lilith rolls her 'r' with satisfied relish, "you do not disappoint."
Is she referring to what she saw in his head? Or what they did in bed? Sheev is unsure. But there's nothing a serious man like himself finds more offensive than being taken for a fool.
Trembling Sheev has seen enough of the Mother Witch and her backwater eden. In the choice of fight or flight, he chooses the latter. For the third time today, Sheev flees the scene. A masterly retreat is itself a victory, right? Sheev tells himself that as he runs away as fast as his Force-speed-assisted legs can carry him.