Star Wars: Dark Angel Unleashed

Vader then motioned for her to follow him. He walked toward the cylindrical wall and waved his hand again. A shelf with a rounded edge slid from the wall, and Lylla gawked at the various instruments of torture she saw displayed there on a bed of black velvet. Some were modern—syringes, electronic synapse shatterers, tiny laser shivs, vibroblades. But others looked outmoded, such as the variety of leather whips, needles, and metal clamps lay amongst the more technologically advanced torments.

As she ran her eyes over the display, she again heard Vader’s voice echoing throughout her mind as it did when she first entered his chambers.

*Do not speak to me in front of this prisoner. Answer me with your feelings. Understood?*

Lylla nodded.

*This prisoner was one of Princess Leia’s personal guards aboard her frigate. Like her, he seems to have been trained in resisting our truth serums. So we step to the next level of interrogation. You are to extract the location of the Rebel base from him.* Vader passed his gloved hand over the ensemble of instruments. *Do you know what these are?*

Lylla sent her affirmation.

*Excellent. You may choose your instrument for questioning now.*

She ran her hand over the display like a diving rod. Ignoring the more modern devices, she eventually rested her hand upon a leather flog. She gripped the handle and lifted it from the velvet, running the several thick leather strands through her other hand, gingerly touching the tiny sharp metal barbs fastened to each end of the strands.

*An archaic instrument. Admirable choice. I leave you to your own devices, Lylla. Remember this—there is no right or wrong way. Only results.*

With that, Vader turned away from the display, and it closed back into the wall. He strode to the cell door and turned briefly back to Lylla, nodding only once, before exiting into the corridor. Lylla stood for a moment, running her hand over the tails of the whip, trying to calm the raging tension streaming through her extremities, unsure how to begin the interrogation.

Meanwhile, Vader took his position in front of a security monitor in the cellblock’s command center and watched the proceedings through the cell’s secret camera.

She finally took a deep breath and turned to the young prisoner hanging from the ceiling, pulling herself up to her full impressive height. Slowly, casually, she strode toward him as he glared at her with hateful, frightened eyes. She narrowed her almond eyes and pulled her lips into a half smile.

“The base,” she murmured.

The young prisoner pulled his own lip into a snarl. “Go to hell.”

She smiled even wider. “Not today.”

CRACK! With amazing speed, she struck the man across the chin with the butt end of the whip. He reeled to the side and cried out and before he had a second to recover, she struck him again on the other side, again sending a resounding CRACK! echoing off the cell walls.

“Let’s try this again,” Lylla purred, tracing little patterns on her cleavage with the handle of the cat. “The base.”

“Fuck you!” the prisoner hissed, a trickle of blood escaping his lips and running to his chin.

“Maybe later.” She walked again in her casual manner behind him. She ran her hand from the small of his back slowly, gingerly, all the way to the nape of his neck. She felt him shiver at her touch in spite of himself. She leaned into his ear as she wrapped her fingers under the collar of his torn uniform. “Besides, it doesn’t look like I’m the one getting fucked here.” With a powerful one-handed yank, she ripped the uniform clean from his back.

The prisoner cried out in surprise. Lylla began tracing small invisible abstracts with her talon-like nails upon his naked flesh, humming a little tune. Reaching up and under the torn uniform, she did the same to his chest and abdomen, nuzzling her nose against his neck. She heard him suck air in hard as he fought against his physical response to her, and she smiled.

“Do you have a name? I’d like to keep this as informal as possible.”

The young man bit down on his lip as she lightly grazed her nails across his navel. Before he could stop himself, he whispered, “Ralan.”

She trilled his name on her tongue. “Rrralan.” He gasped when he felt her press her pelvis against his buttocks. “Well, Rrralan, you are very young and very pretty. There are many other things I’d rather be doing to you right now, but we have a problem. I need to know the location of that base first.”

“NO!” Ralan cried, violently shaking his head.

Lylla scowled and huffed through her nose as she backed away. She replaced the nails on his back with the sharp barbs of the cat, dangling them up and down his spine. Again he shuddered, and she heard him emit a low whimper. “One more chance, Ralan. The base.” She was answered by nothing but his ragged breathing.

She stepped back, twirling the cat to gain momentum. She uttered, “Pity,” as she flung the cat over her head and sliced it down across his bare back. The sound of the whip’s impact bounced off the walls, intermingling with the prisoner’s screams.

Ralan arced violently as he screamed, and Lylla watched the fleshy stripes on his back seep blood red in a matter of seconds. She gasped, white-knuckling the handle of the whip and feeling her nipples stand straight out. Arousal and power surged through her entire system like liquid lightening: She clenched her loins to keep the gushing moisture of excitement there from dribbling from her trunks. Without even giving Ralan a second chance to comply, she raised the cat again and slashed a second time in reverse.

As Ralan shrieked again, Lylla heard the disembodied voice of Vader once again in her mind say, *Control yourself, girl. Try not to kill the prisoner before extracting the information needed.*

Lylla stopped and immediately sent her apologies to the Dark Lord, silently cursing herself for getting carried away.

*Continue.*

She walked around the prisoner again. She could see the tears from his eyes mingling with the blood streaming from his mouth. He hung there, panting and fighting to keep his torturer from seeing his anguish. She came to him and grabbed the front of his tattered shirt, ripping it down, exposing his bruised yet chiseled young chest. Slowly, the whip dangling by its strap from her wrist, she ran her slim hands over his chest, slipping her thigh between his legs, pressing her breasts against his bare skin, brushing her lips against his neck. Ralan stiffened and tried to jerk his head away only to have Lylla grab his hair and pull his face back to her. She bore into his blue eyes with her own, drinking in his breath, running her nails across his chest.

“Please, Ralan, just tell me where it is,” she whispered against his lips, her eyes awash with feigned compassion. Her fingers rested against his nipple, teasing it into erection. She rubbed her thigh against his groin. The young man clenched his eyes and moaned, confused by the mixture of pain spiked with pleasure coursing through him. Lylla reached down and, with the handle of the whip, began caressing his crotch with it, rubbing it back and forth. Ralan shuddered and gasped, and then began to cry softly.

“Tell me where it is, and this will all stop, Ralan.” Suddenly, a sob wracked Lylla’s own throat, and Ralan saw a tear emerge from her eye to delicately trickle down her face. “I don’t want to hurt you anymore, Ralan, “ Lylla lied through her crocodile tears. “You are so beautiful, so young…so much to live for…” She rubbed his nipple even harder. “They’re making me do this, Ralan, making me hurt you…like this…” She suddenly dug her talons into his areola and ruthlessly twisted it, slicing into his flesh.

Ralan screamed again, throwing his head back. Lylla, still twisting his nipple, reached under and savagely grabbed the growing bulge of his crotch, digging in her nails and squeezing with all her might. Ralan twisted and cried out, “Please, stop, please…STOP!”

At the cellblock command center, a satisfied grin twisted Vader’s face under his mask as he watched Lylla bring the prisoner closer to breaking…

“The base, Ralan,” Lylla hissed through clenched teeth. She twisted the hand holding his privates violently to the right, and he let out a shriek of a wounded animal. “THE BASE!”

He could take no more. His young age and youthful dreams of valor and heroism had not prepared him for this kind of torment. The beatings, the drugs, the starvation, the exhaustion, the pain, the humiliation, the gashes in his back, the blood dripping and pooling at his feet, the venomous voice and velvet cruelty of this harpy’s touch…no more. No more…

“Yavin Four!” he whimpered, his body wracking with sobs of torment and self-loathing. “They’re on Yavin Four! Please…just stop hurting me…” As Lylla released her hold on him, Ralan slumped in his chains and cried.

She stood momentarily, arms folded, watching him. She then gently touched his face, raising his chin to meet her eyes. As he stared at her with tear-braised eyes, she leaned into him and touched his lips with hers, eventually releasing her tongue and running it along his teeth and lips. “Good boy,” she whispered as she released him.

She began to walk to the door when she stopped and turned. Without any warning, Lylla brought the cat up once again, and once again slashed five new furrows across young Ralan’s back.

As he screamed again, Lylla snarled, “That’s for taking so long,” before turning on her spiked heel and exiting the cell.

She marched down the grated metal corridor to where Darth Vader stood at the command center, waiting for her. As she handed the bloodied cat to him, she stated, “Yavin Four.”

“Yes, I heard,” Vader replied, taking the cat from her hand. He tossed it toward the cellblock commander as he added, “Well done, Lylla.”

Lylla’s breast swelled with pride. “Thank you, My Lord.”

Vader turned to the commander. “Proceed with the execution.”

The commander bowed slightly, being overly careful not to cast his eyes toward Lylla. “Yes, my Lord.” He gestured to the two troopers flanking the lift to follow him down the corridor to Ralan’s cell.

Vader started toward the lift when he turned toward Lylla behind him. “You will accompany me back to my chambers, Lylla.” With that, he cavalierly extended his massive arm toward her, indicating that she take it.

For a brief second, Lylla stood stunned, her mouth agape. She didn’t even notice the blaster shots coming from down the cellblock corridor… No one had ever done this for her before. Throughout her entire life, she had been treated like a whore, a piece of property, trash. Darth Vader was treating her with respect and manners; he was treating her like a lady. She thought for a moment that she might cry…

With a deep breath and a soft smile, she gracefully raised her hand and settled it upon the Dark Lord’s hand. He in turn bowed his helm to her slightly as he led her into the lift. He continued to escort her as they left the lift and traveled down the corridors of the Death Star back toward his private chambers. Lylla could only imagine what sort of impression they struck as they walked by the various Death Star personnel, with her walking at Vader’s side as his escort, his consort. She held her head high and made her strides long and fluid despite the fact that she felt as though she may burst any moment.

They finally came upon his chambers and entered. Vader led her to the center of the room, releasing her hand and walking to his meditation chamber. He ascended the stairs and took his seat within. Lylla remained standing, waiting…

After a pause, Vader finally spoke. “I commend you, Lylla. You have far exceeded my expectations. You have passed the assessment.”

Lylla furrowed her brow. “The assessment, my Lord?”

Vader nodded slightly. “While you were interrogating the prisoner, I arranged release from your service here. You are now a free citizen.”

Lylla’s legs buckled from under her. She hit the marble floor hard on her knees, and the impact was enough to release the torrent of tears from her eyes. Her hand clutched her stomach. “W…what?” she stammered, battling to breathe.

“You have two choices. There is a supply cruiser leaving here destined for the Tennhausen Gate. You will have one hour to collect your things and be on it or,” Vader leaned forward slightly, “you may consider this offer.”

Lylla held her gaze on the Dark Lord. “What is it?”

“You may leave for Coruscant tomorrow to begin your training as an Enforcer with the Imperial Inquisition.” Lylla’s mouth dropped open, her breath stuck in her throat. Vader continued. “There you will receive an apartment, a private vehicle, your own corvette, and a personal account as well as a slave of your own to do what you will. Your choice, Lylla.”

She sat on her knees in the middle of the chamber, still gaping at Vader, wearing an expression of utter disbelief. She fought to catch her breath so she could give him an answer…with tears still streaming down her cheeks, Lylla hoarsely whispered, “I accept your offer, Lord Vader.”

“Very good, Lylla. Expect your reignments delivered to your quarters this evening, and be ready to leave by 0800 hours in the morning.”

Lylla shakily rose to her feet before him, trying her best to compose herself. She took a step toward Vader’s cubicle, still clutching her stomach, as she asked in a low, husky cry, “Why, Lord Vader? Why are you doing this for me?”

If Vader could have sighed through his breathing mechanism, he would have. *What would you have me say, Lylla,* he thought, his inner voice itself hoarse. *That you are the first woman in twenty years who sees me as a man and not a monster? That I understand what it is to be a slave?*

“Your abilities are being wasted here,” he said simply. “It is difficult to find those of natural talent for the Emperor’s Inquest Corps, and you show an inherent gift. It should be used to its fullest advantage.” He paused. He folded his gloved hands. “You may return to your quarters.”

She made no attempt toward the door, and Vader could feel a conflict smoldering within her. He felt she wanted to say something, but was unsure how to approach it…”You have a question, Lylla?”

“Yes, my Lord,” she said, taking in a deep breath. She raised herself to her fullest height and met the Dark Lord’s gaze as she stoked her confidence. She lightly touched the train of her garment as she asked softly, almost shyly, “Do you… like my garb, Lord Vader?”

She saw him stiffen a bit by her question. After a guarded pause, he answered in a low rumble, “It is…becoming.”

“Thank you,” Lylla said, raising her hands to the top of her garment. “I acquired it for you, Lord Vader, with the hope that you may call on me someday.” Walking slowly toward the cubicle, she began to undo the clasps.

Vader stiffened even more. “What are you doing?”

A soft, seductive smile curved her full lips as she continued unclasping her garment. “I’m disrobing, my Lord. Because this time, I want to.” She pulled the garment open and let it slip from her shoulders. It flittered to the ground to pool around her feet. She stood before Vader, still and serene, allowing him to scan every detail of her pale breasts, her slim arms, her taut abdomen.

She took another step forward. Vader raised his hand. “Stop, Lylla.”

She did. “Why, my Lord?” He did not answer. She furrowed her brow, confused and a little hurt, unsure why he shouldn’t want her…until a poignant realization slowly crept into her mind… “My Lord…when was the last time you had a woman?”

“Since…” He hesitated before continuing, “since I became this.” He shocked himself by the candidness of his answer, the honesty lying beneath it, the uncertainty…

Lylla began to walk toward him again. As she did, she deftly unhooked the garters from her vinyl briefs: This time, Vader made no attempt to stop her. Unzipping the sides of her bottoms, she pulled them down and forward off her body. Cool and nude, wearing only the high vinyl boots, she ascended the first step to his chamber, then the second. Upon reaching the small landing, she knelt before him, placing her hands on top of his thighs, never taking her eyes off his mask. Her voice was low, steady, husky. “You trusted me with your prisoner. You trust me to serve you. Vader,” she whispered, pushing herself up to face his mask directly, her eyes imploring, wanting, “will you trust me now?”

She was so gorgeous, so desirable, so fearless, so hungry for him …after decades of denying his desires for another’s touch, Vader conceded.

Unclamping his hand from the arm of his throne, Vader raised his huge gloved hand toward her face. Barely touching the flesh of her long throat, with his fingertip he traced a line down to the sweep of her collarbone, over the alabaster curve of her shoulder. Lylla closed her eyes at his touch, and Vader could feel the sensations of heat and awakening begin to swirl from her, penetrating his own life energy. With the Force he sent his response, pushing forth his aura to envelop her, saturate her, draw her in…

Lylla arced back, heaving her small, supple breasts upwards in the process, taking in a sharp gasp. Every nerve in her ignited, every muscle tensed and relaxed at once as she experienced the caress of a thousand fingers upon her flesh…

“Lylla,” Vader murmured through the rasp of his mask, “close your eyes.” She complied. Vader passed his hand over her eyes, softly muttering a language she had never heard before and did not comprehend…

She jerked, suddenly afraid. “I…can’t open my eyes. I’m blind.”

“It is temporary, Lylla. And necessary. Do not fear.”

“I…I thought you trusted me,” she breathed hoarsely.

“I trust that you will hold my disfigurements a secret, Lylla. But I do not trust that you will not be horrified by them.” Despite the mask’s vocal synthesis, she detected the sorrow and self-loathing in his voice. She felt his huge hands grasp her arms, and he pulled her up to his lap, resting her into the crook of his massive arm. She could feel vibrations emanating from all around them as the life support mechanisms of the cubicle began to pulse and whir, and she heard the clicks of the metal appendages lowering from the ceiling, clamping onto his helmet and mask.

The rasping wheeze of the mask ceased, replaced by the rhythmic hum of the cubicle’s respirator. As she listened to the appendages holding his life-giving mask lift, she felt the soothing touch of Vader’s hand on her breast and realized that it was ungloved. The skin was even softer than her own, as it had been shielded in soft leather from the elements for many years, and easily covered her entire breast. She felt him slide her nipple between his fingers, caressing and squeezing it lightly. She arced again and moaned softly, bending back over his arm as he held her. Her mouth trembled when he felt his lips brush against her throat. *He is gentle, so unlike the others.* Her hips began to pump involuntarily and she felt the warm gush of want begin to wash between her legs; she reached to touch his head…and felt him flinch.

“Ssshh,” she hushed. “Trust me, my lover...”

She ran her fingers over his bare skull, down his brow, under his eye. Yes, he was scarred badly, but rather than being repulsed, the creased texture of his skin only furthered her desire to pleasure him. She ran her finger under his chin, lowering her face to his. “Kiss me.”

He did. He was hesitant. His lips, like his hands were soft and, Lylla found, unpracticed. She took the initiative and pressed into his lips with her own, caressing them, fondling them. When she felt he had relaxed under her kiss, she gingerly slipped her tongue between his lips.

Although she could not see, Lylla took in every detail of Vader’s exposed face with her hands, stroking his scars, easing him as she continued to kiss him. Her confidence and desire mingled with her erotic skill eventually stirred Vader from of his apprehension, and he wrapped his hands around her back and crushed her against his massive chest and the armor plating it. She moaned within his kiss as it became deeper and forceful, slipping her hands down and around his waist. She rubbed her breasts against the armor’s chest plate as she began to writhe on him, her long legs clamped around his pelvis, and she smiled under his lips when she felt his codpiece swelling and growing warm. He was, indeed, functional.