When he answers his commlink, you can hear the dull, semi-annoyed edge of weariness in his voice; he's probably expecting to hear of yet another crisis that requires his immediate attention. Your General is overworked and rather frazzled. You are, too, but you've hustled all day, because you'll be damned if you're going to let anything interfere with tonight, and you're calling him to make sure he's remembered your plans.
"Yes, love. Right after my evening briefing." His
tone softens as soon as he finds you at the other end
of the commlink, and you smile. "I wouldn't miss it
for the galaxy."
"I know, love. Smile and stay sane." You ring off,
still grinning, and you must force yourself to
concentrate on the manifests and inventory lists on
the screen before you. Since you are the ship's Head
Supply and Ration Officer, a screwup on your part
could leave your General with a shipful of angry,
hungry beings with no toilet paper or soap. It is
that mental image that keeps you focused for the rest
of your workday.
You rush back to your quarters to shower and get
everything ready for tonight. You zip around with the efficiency of the materiel chief you are, making sure everything is where it should be. Having dealt with the logistics--the chilling of the champagne, the washing of the fruit, and the placement of the candles--you turn your attention to something far more important...yourself.
You step into the 'fresher and let the shower's water
rinse away the day. When your eyes fall on the small
lavender bottle, you pick it up, smiling. He loves
the exotic scent of the shampoo from your home. Since
the flowers whose essence it contains are native only
to a small region on your planet, the shampoo is quite
a prize, and you only use it on special occasions.
"If this ain't special, I don't know what is." you
say to yourself as you lather your head.
Humming, you rinse the suds from your hair and step
from the shower, wrapping both your head and your body
in towels.
Towel-clad, you stand in front of your wardrobe,
tapping a finger to your chin thoughtfully. Then you
spy the pink-striped box whose contents you'd also
been saving for a special occasion. The black satin
and lace garment is called a "merry widow" on your
home planet, and as you put it on and lace up the
front, you know you'll have a merry General tonight.
You rummage at the bottom of your wardrobe until you
find what you're looking for--a pair of black
stiletto-heeled shoes--definitely footwear of the same
FM variety as those boots of the General's. You
complete the look by covering your merry widow with
one of his old cream-colored overtunics, wrapping it
around you like a kimono and tying the sash like an
obi. You check yourself out in the mirror--the
stilettos and tunic are an unusual look, but you're
pulling it off. You smile at your reflection...
...and notice that you are still rocking the turban
look with a towel on your head. You laugh at yourself
and remove the towel, rubbing your hair to dry it.
You check the mirror again and give yourself a
thumbs-up.
You stash the damp towels in the hamper and light the
candles you placed earlier. Just as you've tipped the
last wick with flame, your doorbell sounds. The man
always did have perfect timing. You open the door to
him, ready to leap into his arms.
"Darling, I don't think you want to do that..." says
Obi-Wan with a wry tinge to his tone. You look at him
and agree. You never thought there would be a
circumstance where you would agree with that
statement, but it stands in front of you.
Those boots of his are streaked with grime, and when
he shifts his weight, you can hear him squelch inside
them. His form-fitting black uniform is equally
soaked and suffused with grunge. The hair that you
know as a curtain of burnished gold silk is hanging in dripping, dirty ropes. And the smell...gods, the smell.
"What happened, love?" you ask, trying not to
wrinkle your nose visibly as you usher him inside your quarters, making sure he stays on the mat.
"Well, as I was walking back from briefing, one of
the water recycler units blew an intake pipe. I
figured I may as well stay around and help fix it,
since I was already wet. And then I came straight
here, because I didn't want to be late..." He trails
off, looking at you pitifully from under a fringe of
filthy, drenched hair. The blue-green eyes are the
only things on his face that appear clean.
"Well, that's what the shower's for, love." You
smile at him and get a small grin in return. "Now, I
am going to get a bucket. You are going to stand
right there on the mat, remove your clothes, and put
them in the bucket. Then you will proceed directly to
the shower. Is that clear, General?"
"Aye, sir." He salutes you and clicks his scummy
boot heels. "You know, you look fabulous in my tunic.
I've always liked it on you." he says as he peels
off his dirty, waterlogged clothes and fills the
bucket with them. "Especially with those shoes." He
flips a gritty lock of hair out of his eye and winks
at you, then strides to the 'fresher.
Even filthy, the man is fabulous naked. "Hurry!" you
call to him as the door closes. When you hear the
shower go on, you bring the champagne bucket and the
bowl of plump strawberries to the bedside table and
dim the lights.
You slide off the tunic and sash and drape it over a
chair, and step out of the stilettos, giving your feet
a few moments off, waiting for Obi-Wan to exit the
shower. After fluffing your hair and making
counterthreats to your merry widow's wedgie threats,
you step back into your shoes. You don’t want to sit
down, because you think that’ll ruin the whole effect.
You strike a pose and hope your General gets his ass
out of there soon. You can’t take these shoes for too
much longer, and you can feel yourself threatening to
pop out the top of your bustier. In fact, if you
raise your arms, you *will* pop out of it.
As if the dear man can read your thoughts, you see
the bathroom door open, and there stands a clean,
damp, towel-wrapped General, looking like a wet-headed
Roman. "Hi." you manage.
Wordlessly, he walks over to you and kneels, bending
down to kiss the toes of your shoes-from-hell. "Those
look marvelous, but they can’t feel good, love. Sit."
You sit down on the edge of the bed and reach down to
take off the shoes-from-hell, but Obi-Wan grabs your
hand. "No. Let me, dear one. I don’t want you to
lift a finger." So he slips off your shoes-from-hell
and rubs your feet gently. Then, he kisses your ankle
and slowly kisses his way up your leg, until his head
is between your thighs, and you nearly tremble with
lust. He looks up at you and winks. Then, he
straightens up, still kneeling beside the bed, and
swivels you around, so you're lying back on the bed in
a more comfortable position.

=====

He notices the ice bucket on the nightstand and smiles
at you. "You've outdone yourself--champagne, dear
love?" he asks. You nod, and he pops the cork and
pours you each a glass of champagne. "To your
beautiful eyes." You clink glasses, then drink.
The champagne is wonderful, and you drain your glass.
Obi-Wan smiles at you and takes the glass from your
hand, upending it over your chest and letting the last
few drops dribble down your cleavage. Then, quickly,
before it runs down into your top, he slides his
tongue slowly up between your breasts, lapping up the champagne.
You shudder rapturously and wrap your arms around his
neck, but he removes them, instead repositioning your
arms so they are over your head and your wrists are
against the headboard. He fluffs the pillows behind
your back and grins at you. You move your arms, and
he shakes his head disapprovingly at you. You wink, understanding, and nod toward a drawer, sending him an image of a silk scarf. He reaches out with the Force and opens the indicated drawer, and you smile as you see the scarf float through the air to his hand.
"Unerringly, Obi-Wan." you breathe, and allow him
to use the scarf to tie your wrists to the headboard.
"You’ll tell me if you want out for any reason,
love?"
"Yes, Obi-Wan." you whisper again, rendered almost
speechless by the sheer thrill of it. You lie back
against the soft pile of pillows behind you and allow
him to take full control, loving and trusting him
completely.
He caresses your cheek gently with his thumb, looking
deep into your eyes, then brushes your lips ever so
softly with his own. He raises his still half-filled
glass of champagne and whispers, "Again, to your
eyes," then drinks it down. Then, again, he upends
the glass and baptizes your cleavage with the
remaining droplets of golden liquid; again he plunges
his tongue between your breasts to capture them.

What the General sees:

I sit and look at her for a moment, letting the taste
of her linger on my tongue. Her arms are tied above
her head, and I can see that she’s flushed from her
face to the tops of her breasts, which strain against
her lacy top. "May I unlace you, m’lady?"
"Yes, of course, m’lord." she replies, sighing as I
untie the knot at the top of her bodice. This
loosening finally frees her breasts, which push out of
her top almost immediately after I untie it. I cup
her luscious breasts in my hands, rubbing my fingers
gently over her nipples.
I look up at her face, and she’s got her eyes closed
and she’s biting her lower lip. "May I use my mouth,
m’lady?" I ask.
"Please." she groans. I take pity on her-I didn’t
mean to drive her *that* crazy. I shift positions, so
that I kneel between her legs. I place my hands on
either side of her hips and lower my head to her
chest, licking, sucking, biting at the sensitive skin
of one nipple, then the other. I feel her hips begin
to rock under my hands. So I slide off that thing
she's got on, then move down her body to French-kiss
her navel.
I sit back for a split second to take it all in--her magnificent body, clad only in a garter belt and stockings, spread in front of me, tied up at the wrists, tears in her eyes.
I take a strawberry from the bowl on the tray, bite
the tip off it, then slide it over her breasts. A
wonderful low, sexy growl escapes her lips as I lick
the strawberry juice from her--I love the way the
sweetness of the strawberries combines with the slight saltiness of her clean skin. I take another bite of the strawberry, then offer her the end of it. She takes it, managing to lick my finger in a fashion which is mildly obscene. "Kiss me." she whispers.
I oblige her, scooting up, so that our bodies press
together along their entire lengths. She wraps her
legs around me and grinds her hips into mine. The
sensation is so intense, I almost can’t will myself to
make her stop, but somehow, I scoot her legs from
around me. "No, you can’t do that--this is allll for
you. Tell me what you want me to do."
"Make me come...make me scream...whatever way you
want." she rasps.
"Okay...lie still, love...close your eyes." She does
as I tell her, and I kiss her lips gently, then slide
my mouth back down to her breasts. She sighs, then
yelps when I move a hand between her legs.
"Obi, please." she hisses, through clenched teeth.
"Let it go, babe." I whisper, as I move down the
length of her body, until my head is between her
thighs, and I close my eyes and abandon myself to the
soft, moist warmth, sucking rhythmically until I feel
her muscles contract in several wracking spasms, her
whole body shaking as she climaxes. I could listen to
her screaming my name forever...

What you see:

After you finish shrieking your appreciation for the
General's tongue, you lie there for a moment, trying
to get your breath back. His head is resting on your
thigh, and he looks up at you, smiling.
"Want me to untie you, pretty girl?"
"Please?" You smile back.
You expect him to release your bonds using the Force,
but no, he makes his way slowly back up your body,
stopping at your navel, your breasts, your neck, your
lips, and then finally all the way up to untie your
wrists from the headboard. As soon as your hands are
free, you pull him to yourself and kiss him, running
your hands slowly through his hair. "God, I love
you." you whisper.
"I love you, too. And that black lace is extremely
sexy."
"Thank you, dear. I find your towel extremely
irresistible as well, but I won’t be able to do what I
had planned if you leave it on. Please kindly let me
remove it." So you slide down the General's body very
slowly, dragging your breasts down his chest, over his
stomach, down his hips, over his half-hard-on as you
slide the towel off him.
"Have mercy!" he whispers when you close your hand
around him and begin to stroke gently up and down.
"Honey, I’m an angel of mercy." You laugh softly as
you dip your head to close your lips around his length
and start one of your bang-up blow jobs. Just as you
hear his breath catch in his throat, you immediately
stop, and pull yourself up, so that you're straddling
his legs.
"Dear one--"
"Shhh!" And in one smooth motion, you hike yourself
up on your hands and impale yourself on him. You sit, motionless, for a split second. You pull back slowly, then slide forward hard, all the while enjoying the delicious flush on his cheeks and his expression of utter bliss. You do it again, and again, creating a syncopated rhythm as you go faster and faster. Then you hear him stop breathing again, for a second, and you know you've got him. You lay back down on top of him, twine your fingers in his hair, and kiss him deeply as his orgasm explodes in you.
"Such sweet mercy." he whispers, still inside you.
"I told you." You smile down at him.
Before you know it, he’s disengaged from you and is
sliding down your body.
"What are you doing?" You ask, mildly surprised.
"You didn’t, did you? I’m sorry I was so quick about
it."
"I meant for that to be for you." You smile. "And I
came my brains out about 15 minutes ago, anyway. I
don’t think I could again right now if you paid me."
"Well, okay, then, dear." He rests his head on your
thigh again and smiles up at you. "I should come over
filthy more often."

END