Taking Charge

It starts out with Anakin teasing Padme about her fighting abilities. In spite of the many scrapes she's managed to get herself out of without Jedi protection or assistance - the fact that she put herself in the line of fire is irrelevant, she argues, because she still took care of things herself - her husband's reluctance to admit that she's capable of "saving her own skin" pisses her off.

"Look," Anakin says, and he starts putting his boots all over the expensive throw on her bed, which doesn't help his cause. "It's cute and everything that you want to help out. I just think you're better staying behind a desk. It's safer." His gaze is well-meaning, even a bit adoring, but Padme is feeling like she has something to prove. Suddenly, Anakin is being straddled. He laughs, ignoring the annoyed expression on his wife's face. "I love it when you get all feisty," he grins.

Not answering, Padme starts digging in the top drawer of her nightstand. She pulls out a filmy scarf and begins winding it around the gloved wrist of Anakin's robotic hand. Anakin watches her, bemused. Soon both wrists are tied to separate posts, Anakin on his back, his head propped on a couple of shimmersilk pillow shams. He watches his wife dangle another scarf in front of him, and cooperatively lifts his head so she can tie it around the back of his skull, effectively blindfolding him. "What does a Senator need all of these toys for?" he asks, amused, cocksure.

Padme slaps him abruptly across the face; it's open-palm, but sharp, and Anakin's mouth forms an 'o' of surprise. "You will speak only when spoken to," Padme tells him, and there is a husky tenor to her voice now.

Anakin bites his lip, still unable to stop grinning. "Yes, m'lady," he answers. Padme growls and digs into his sides, and he squirms. "Aaahh, okay, no talking," he mutters.

"You're horrible at this, Ani," Padme complains, and Anakin can hear her clothing rustling. He manages to stay quiet while she divests him of his outerwear as best she can by sliding and shoving it up and down. He knows his nipples are exposed when he feels Padme's perfectly manicured nails flicking one of them. He groans. Padme shifts a bit and seems to be rummaging around again in her nightstand. A small sting lands between Anakin's pectorals - a crop, he guesses - and he moans openly, able to control himself, but knowing he doesn't have to.

Padme whips him along his torso and up and down his thighs. Her crop gets dangerously close to his penis, but seems to be carefully kept away. "Do you like this?" Padme asks/orders him in her Senator voice. A hand grabs his cock thoughtfully. "YOu sure seem to be enjoying it."

"Yes, m'lady."

Anakin feels Padme shift, and realizes he can feel her bare legs and ass rubbing against his own naked skin. He smiles against his wife's mouth when she kisses him. "I want you to eat me out, Ani," Padme says softly, close to his ear, her warm, sweet breath tickling his cheek not unpleasantly. She doesn't repeat her directions, simply moves forward until Anakin can smell the heady, musky scent of her crotch. It takes a moment to get the right rhythm (Anakin's) and balance (Padme's). Anakin feels his wife squirm as she struggles not to sit on his face and neck outright, or to bear down too hard.

Anakin's tongue darts out, steady and methodical, Padme's pubic hairs tickling his nose. Padme quivers and moans as he licks her cunt, gasping and clutching her husband's hair and shoulders and her own breasts as his tongue rubs against the tiny nub at the top of her slit. Anakin catches on quickly and begins concentrating on that specifically, running his tongue in slow, circular motions, breathing carefully so he doesn't asphyxiate. It is an arduous project, even though Padme is pretty well fired up, but Anakin has had to endure multiple hours of meditation with Master Yoda, and that's way less fun.

Padme's shaking becomes more pronounced, her legs spasming a little, her breathing becoming more and more erratic. "Closh?" Anakin asks, muffled, and makes a small noise when she bears down a little harder. He quickly accommodates her, his tongue's swipes becoming more and more pronounced as Padme's orgasm nears. His wife sobs when she comes, and Anakin nudges her clit with his nose as he obediently laps at her juices.

It takes a moment for Padme to find her voice. "That was ... very good," she offers, still a Senator, still in control. She glances at Anakin's face, his wet chin and lips slicked with her, and smiles. "Do you think you deserve release?" she asks him.

Anakin shifts eagerly, as if to remind Padme of his hardened cock. "Yes, m'lady," he says, wiggling. Soft fingers caress the base and his balls, and then pull away.

"Actually, I've got some errands to run now, Ani-"

"Padme!"

Padme giggles. "See, you do need me for some things." There is an edge to her words.

Anakin sighs, rolling his eyes a little behind the blindfold. "I need you all the time, angel, you know tha-AAAHH!" He moans as Padme's tongue swirls around his head. "Thank you, baby," he says happily, luxuriating in the sensations eminating from his groin. Padme's fingers dance over his testicles, and Anakin groans when he feels one small digit slide along his ass crack and eventually inside of him, followed by another. Padme's fingers scissor in his asshole, and Anakin's head tosses as his body aches with need. "R-ready," he whispers, and Padme makes a small noise of agreement, her mouth still wrapped around his penis. He comes, and luxuriates in the pleasant haze of the aftermath.

He feels Padme settle along his side, cushioning her head with his bound arm. "Gonna untie me?" he asks as they lull into a peaceful silence. He feels Padme shrug.

"I guess someone has to help me carry groceries in."

Anakin smiles. "Yes, m'lady."