The Wife's Chair

Setting: Roughly pre-AOTC, with flashbacks to TPM.

Disclaimer: The author acknowledges Lucas Films Ltd. as the copyright owner of the characters and settings contained in this fic. It is written only for entertainment and no profit is being made from the story.

May contain canonical errors-- but the author's okay with that.
Definitely contains references to a 15-year-old having hot, sweaty sex-- Don't like, don't read.
Also definitely contains spanking-- Don't like, don't read.

The author is happy with the fic as it is and is just here to tell a sexy bedtime story.

xxxxx

The Wife's Chair

Part 1: The Bow

"My Lady will be with you momentarily." The butler bowed from the waist, stiffly.

"Thank you." Obi-Wan Kenobi bowed in return as the servant backed out of the reception room, pulling closed the ornate double doors as he went.

Their latches 'snicked' softly, the only sound in the opulent chamber. Obi-Wan tucked his hands into the sleeves of his robe and dropped his chin to his chest, setting his booted feet shoulder-width apart in an easy resting stance. His eyes scanned the room keenly despite his weariness.

Smooth white walls swept upwards to a domed ceiling rich with golden mouldings and carvings. From the apex of the dome hung a large chandelier, its cascades of gold-tipped crystals shimmering in the slight breeze created by his entrance. The carpet his scuffed boots sank into was a deep, royal blue. Around the perimeter were placed dainty tables topped with candy dishes and flower vases, graceful arch-legged chairs, and benches upholstered in crushed gold velvet.

There was no other exit.

Obi-Wan reflected wearily that seeking emergency exits had become even more a part of his cautious nature since the declaration of war. These were dangerous times for the Jedi, and being on constant alert was exhausting.

Although the benches in particular looked soft, and sturdy enough for his muscular frame, Obi-Wan's buttocks protested the thought of sitting. The flight to Naboo had been a long one. Unobtrusively going through a series of muscle-stretching exercises, he resisted the urge to check the chrono-disc clipped to his utility belt. He filled his lungs long and deep, then slowly released the breath.

Ah. There she is.

A demure presence bloomed outside the doors a heartbeat before they susserated open. Obi-Wan slid his hands from his sleeves and brought his heels together, his chin up.

In the doorway stood a diminuative figure, richly-- and heavily-- dressed. Her bodice was stiffly boned and crusted with beaded embroidery, her skirts wide, multi-layered, the topmost one rich with brocade. Luxuriant dark hair was piled over a mesh cage topping her head, giving the woman a rather conical appearance. Above a tall, pleated collar, a delicate face glowed with hopeful welcome.

"My Lady." Face schooled to rigidity, Obi-Wan executed his most formal bow.

"Master Kenobi." Some of the hope drained from her mein. She curtsied, just as formally.

Her disappointment tugged at the Jedi through the Force. So... she thought this meeting was indeed more than an appeal for aid. Interesting...

For a second, her calm poise slipped. "I... I had prepared the small sitting room in my chambers for our meeting. But if you would prefer, we can instead use one of the conference rooms on this floor. It will take only a moment to prepare."

More and more interesting... Obi-Wan shook his head. "I would not put you to any further inconvenience, My Lady. Your original arrangements are completely acceptable."

She inclined her sleek, dark head. "Then if you would follow me?"

Obi-Wan trailed her gently swaying skirts from the reception room and down the long, pillared hallway to the curving staircase. There were 75 broad, shallow steps-- he counted them as they climbed-- yet in spite of her burdensome clothing she was not winded as they reached the top. It was impossible to tell from the swathes of cloth, but she must still possess a very fit body beneath all that padding.

The thought brought a tightening to his loins.

Easy there, lad. Business at hand, nothing more.

She led her guest down another long hallway, then around a corner to a smaller hall branching off the first. A third of the way down the otherwise blank wall was a simple door. Rectangular indentations indicated that lock-plates had been removed from the frame at some past time. The door opened at her touch.

"These are my private suites. Make yourself at home."

Obi-Wan slipped his robe from his shoulders as he looked around. The flat was rather like a miniature version of the house itself-- entry hall, reception nook, archways leading off to sitting rooms, dining gallery, kitchen... bedroom.

Instead of the elegance of the main house, though, these rooms displayed a colorful playfulness. Clear, bright colors, simple furnishings and exhuberant artwork abounded. The floor was mosaiced with thousands of tiny tiles in sunny yellow, bright blue, grass green and vibrant pink, set off by the background of clean white edges and walls. The ceiling was painted in imitation of a summer Naboo sky. It was all as festive as a holiday plaza.

Perhaps her choice to seclude herself from her former friends was facilitated by having this playhouse of a suite to retreat to.

The reception nook held a small desk, chair, lamp, and, tucked into the corner, coatrack. Obi-Wan reached to hang his robe upon it... and froze.

At first glance it was simply an intricate column of twining bands and loops of carved pale wood in the Rustic style. But as Obi-Wan stepped closer, the curves seemed to draw together and coelesce. An impish face smirked out at him: horned, with slightly pointed ears and chin. A shoulder, an elbow jutting out to accomodate a coat. A back, ropy with strong muscles. A pair of sculpted buttocks, rounded enough to invite a stroking hand. And...

Obi-Wan felt his eyebrows rise. Tilting his head, he studied the front side of that sweetly carved rump.

The coatrack had an erection. A quite impressive one, actually. At first glance, it was merely a low-placed protrusion for guests of small stature. A second glance revealed a thick, upright cock proudly out-thrust above the hint of bulging testicles. Strong thighs framed the rigid member, the muscle definition hinting that the figure was caught in the midst of an upward thrust.

A strangled noise beside him broke Obi-Wan's study of the surprising sculpture. He glanced down at his hostess' scarlet face.

"I beg your pardon," she choked, ripping his Jedi robe from his hands and tossing it overtop the coatrack. "If you would follow me...?" she said desperately, holding out one arm towards the near sitting room.

Obi-Wan allowed himself a small smirk of his own. Although his robe covered the coatrack, it had landed in such a way that the figure's erection was tenting the fabric dramatically. Well, well-- it seems My Lady still has a bit of a naughty streak!

Still smiling, he followed his embarrassed hostess into the sitting room. Low, comfortable-looking couches and chairs filled the space; the columned walls were trellised and covered with nectar-vines; and the carpet was patterned to resemble paving stones. The ceiling was transparent and let in the bright Naboo sunshine. Drawn up to one couch was a low tea table set with refreshments.

Relievedly, Obi-Wan made for the couch. Jedi travel rations were life-sustaining and nothing more; a Nabooian tea would be sheer luxury. He started to lower himself to the cushions.

"No! Not there!" His hostess seized his arm, preventing him from completing the sit. Her cheeks flamed anew. "I mean... this chair is so much more comfortable, Master Jedi." Tugging, she tried to steer him to a thickly-cushioned chair on the opposite corner.

"Such solicitude for your guests' travel-weary bums!" Obi-Wan mocked mildly. Resisting her efforts to herd him aside, he sought what had caused her sudden loss of composure.

Ah-ha. There, on the wall opposite the couch he'd originally been intended to occupy. A painting in the style of Mondrigiddan-- abstract swirls of pale color, intertwined with pockets of shadow. Swirl-paintings were celebrations of exhuberant motion and movement, and this was no exception... at first glance. Again, a second, closer look revealed a sly secret in the undulating brush strokes.

As Obi-Wan gazed at the painting, the swirls resolved themselves into a pair of figures, locked in erotic embrace. The lower one on hands and knees, head thrown back in a shower of long hair, breasts lolling below; the upper one crouched to the rear, arms braced on the lower's back, groin fused to the other's buttocks, his back one long, straining, hunched line. By shifting subtly side-to-side, the viewer could make the figures appear to writhe in the age-old dance of physical communion.

Once more, Obi-Wan felt his groin stir with long-denied urges.

His hostess was crimson with humiliation, her velvety brown eyes swimming with ashamed tears. Taking pity on her silent mortification, Obi-Wan sent a Force-command to his stirring sex and turned away from the erotic painting. Taking her delicate hands in his, he drew her down to a chair, lowering to one knee before her.

"My Lady, if I may be so bold-- why do you have such objects on display if your guests' viewing them causes you such distress?"

She slipped a handkerchief from her quilted sleeve and dabbed her eyes. "I must beg your gracious pardon, Master Kenobi-- when you contacted my father's secretary to set up this meeting, I confess I thought your goal was a more... personal one. Although my suites are private and I do not receive many visitors, I do not normally keep such... explicit... objects on display. I beg your forgiveness for my misunderstanding and presumption."

He felt his eyebrows quirk upward. "You brought out these works for my benefit?"

She nodded miserably. "As I said, I misunderstood the purpose behind your visit. I presumed you wished to... to reconnect... and as such, you might find such artwork... stirring." Tears pooled afresh in her limpid eyes.

"My Lady." Gently Obi-Wan took the handkerchief from her clenched fingers and wiped her eyes. "I have taken no offense. Do not distress yourself a micron more over this matter."

"A proper lady of Naboo should not be so presumptuous. I apologize most abjectly."

"You have nothing for which to apologize. You did not presume anything more than that the sense of humor of an old friend would not have deserted him during these Clone Wars. The fault is mine alone."

"You are most generous, Master Kenobi."

"I am your most humble servant, milady. Will you allow me to pour you a cup of tea? My recollection is that it is quite restorative."

She gave a dainty sniffle and arranged her skirts, neatly tucking her feet back beneath them. "You may, Master Kenobi. It is loo-song, from the Melody Mountains. Quite... refreshing."

Loo-song, Obi-Wan mused as he busied himself with cups and sweetener-tongs and linen. She certainly was anticipating a different sort of meeting. Loo-song is the tea of lovers, fabled for its powers to revive the most spent bed-partners. He resolved to spare enough time at the end of their conclave for a gentle probing of her change of heart.

xxxxx continued