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hapan-in-exile · 5 days ago

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It's so obvious, I'm your Number One

A Mandalorian One Shot

Another Tale from the Dark Garden

Yeah, I know your little secret...

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Reader: You are a courtesan at the Dark Garden, Coruscant’s most prestigious pleasure house. Owned by the Mandalorian's employer, crimelord Boss Set’ki, and operated by his lieutenant Mistress Anassa. After years of meaningful glances and missed connections, Din Djarin finally claims you as his own. But now…he’d like to switch up the roles.

Word Count: ~9K

Pairing: sub(ish)!Din Djarin x (soft)femdom!reader

Rating: Explicit. Minors DNI, 18+ only.

Warnings: Bondage restraints, blindfold, oral sex (everyone receiving), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, slapping, hair pulling, choking, biting, unprotected piv, rough sex, orgasm denial, come eating, prostate play, explicit consent, aftercare.

No extreme degradation. Lots of checking in! Lots of praise!

A/N: This is Part 2 in the Tales of the Dark Garden anthology. Read Part 1 (softdom!Din Djarin x sub!fem!reader), or just dive in with this entry!

No description of skin, hair, or eye color; no description of age or body shape.

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“Are you sure you’re comfortable with this? I can keep the blindfold on.”

Thankfully, you’d already adjusted the shuttle’s climate controls. You’re wearing your favorite pair of knit stockings, a wrap sweater, the silk sash of your robe tied around your eyes…and absolutely nothing else.

The Mandalorian tore off your underwear a few minutes ago.

You can’t see him—can’t see anything—you simply gravitate toward the heat of his body as he leads you across the cabin.

“If teeth are going to be involved, I think it’s in my best int—” Mando’s words are cut off by a dull thud and the sound of the bed frame scraping across the inlaid tile floors. “Gah–” he snarls. “Fucking farrik, that stings!”

His grip on your wrist tightens as he dips forward to reclaim his balance.

“You okay?” Reaching out blindly, your hand collides with his taut stomach, nails catching on his tender skin. “Shit, sorry.”

But Mando only laughs, gathering you against him.

“Turned the lights off too soon,” he murmurs, resting his chin atop your head. After a swift kiss, you feel him bend over to massage his knee, or shin, or whatever he’d knocked painfully into the bedframe. “I can’t see shit in the dark.”

“We can rethink—

“Hush,” he silences the prevarication with another kiss on your lips. It’s gentle, and so sweet, it feels lonely when he pulls away. “Once we make it to the bed…there’ll be no reason to leave it.”

The promise of that excites you so much, that you almost forget you’re supposed to be stepping into a role. Show some dominance! So you slide both hands up and over the hard bulk of his chest and shove.

“I’m going to make you feel so fucking good.”

You try to push him playfully onto the bed, but the Mandalorian is about as pliable as a statue. He resists and instead uses the momentum to hold you closer, sweeping you into his arms when you lose your center of gravity, so his powerful limbs are the only thing keeping you upright.

It’s a reminder that this is a game. The only dominance you have is what he allows. That’s fine by you. As long as you can make him whimper into your ear and cry out your name. Hearing him beg could be fun.

“Here.” The bounty hunter lifts you by your thighs and wraps your legs around him, one hand splayed across your lower back. You have no choice but to cling to his shoulders. The mattress dips and creaks when he sits down, pivoting his legs onto the bed, before Mando situates himself propped against the headboard, with you straddling his hips.

Burying his face into the crook of your neck, his lips trace over your jaw until he finds your ear. Mando breathes his warm breath into it, then covers your throat with kisses and his questing tongue before returning to your lips. Breath catches in your throat, and you sigh into his mouth as he opens for you, tongues tangling together.

You shift forward onto your knees, wrapping your arms behind his neck.

The soft fabric of his shorts presses into your thighs as his erection builds. He’s wearing a clean pair from the overnight bag he brought with him—which delights you to no end. First, that the mighty Mandalorian has an overnight bag (?!); and second, that it’s thrown onto an armchair in the corner of the cabin he’d claimed as his own.

You sense the movement of his arms when they pull away from you, putting on his own mask, before he reaches behind your head to untie the silk sash from your eyes. It takes a while for your vision to adjust to the utter darkness. All the lights in the shuttle are turned off, but he’d left the skyline window open so that the ambient glow of the megalopolis casts everything into haze and shadow. Coruscant is at its most spectacular at night.

Bathed in soft yellow, violet, pink and blue hues, the Mandalorian remains a dark and indistinct figure to your blinking eyes. Except for the mask.

It’s rare for you to take on more…adventurous clients, but you kept several face coverings amongst your professional accouterment. Some men wanted to be a stranger to themselves—someone who didn’t care about cheating on their spouse, someone who loved to say and do filthy things.

Some clients simply wanted to watch without being perceived.

You’d given the bounty hunter a black hood. Thin enough that he could see and breathe through the mesh weave. Large enough for it to cover him as thoroughly as the Beskar helmet. Mando had taken the hood and torn it—folding the fabric so that it only hid his face from forehead to nose.

It’s too dark for you to see him in any distinct detail, but that decision—that he could have covered his face in complete anonymity and did not—seemed to communicate a desire for intimacy. He wanted the use of his mouth, to feel your fingers threading in his hair and the brush of your lips against his cheeks.

So that’s what you do. Your fingers roam through the soft waves of thick brown hair framing his ears.

It’s still damp from the fresher, encouraging a curl in the tendrils along the back of his neck. Longer than you expected. You always imagined that he kept it short for the sake of simplicity.

You’ll be able to get a good grip.

“Gorgeous,” you murmur without thinking.

“My hair?” Mando asks in disbelief. “You like it?”

“I do.” Massaging his scalp delicately with your fingernails, you lean forward to kiss the corner of his coy smile. “I like everything about you.”

“You braided yours.” He raises both hands to trace the messy coil laced down your back.

“So it won’t get in my way,” you grin.

“You look very sexy in these,” the Mandalorian caresses the fuzzy Endorian goat wool tugged up to your thighs. “And this…” his hands fumble with the neckline of your sweater. It’s loose enough to pull aside, and soon you feel his fingertips, rough against the skin between your breasts. “Whatever this is,” the moisture of his breath stirs the hairs along your neck, “it’s beautiful. Did you dress up for me?”

“Maybe.” You take his face in your palms and trace your thumb over his lower lip, searching for the fullness of his mouth in the darkness. “I wanted something soft.”

“You’re soft everywhere,” he sighs, before sucking on your thumb. A rippling tide of desire surges in your belly.

“Is there anything you want?” you ask, sounding determined to fulfill his every secret yearning.

“I’m sure you know what I like better than I know myself,” Mando replies, his voice a heady rumble vibrating between you.

But that’s not a real answer. You can feel the nervous energy in his body—almost giddy. The slight tremble in his fingers as they settle onto your waist, his muscles tightening with patient expectation. Perhaps he preferred not knowing.

Then he dips his head, his mouth closing over your nipple, already peaked with arousal, as he speaks against your skin. “You can do what you want with me.”

Whoo! It’s going to be a challenge to remain in control. You feel ready to melt into his arms, squirming in orgasmic bliss. You’re realizing domination requires a lot of purpose and attention.

“I should warn you, my training at Dark Garden included more poetry, than bondage.”

His mouth quirks into a smile. “So you’re going to torture me with poetry?”

“I’ll have you know the Tales of Hallëvala are absolutely filthy. Written by total perverts.”

You both burst into laughter. The bounty hunter’s chuckles come from so deep within him that you bounce precariously on his lap until he regains his focus.

“I trust you. Do to me what feels good to you.”

What feels good to you…after your last round of fucking, he knows exactly what you like. And how rough. He’d asked to switch roles this time. Show me why you like it. But, perhaps he didn’t feel comfortable enough to say what he wanted out loud. You’d bet money he doesn’t have a lot of experience with this reversal in dynamic either.

You lace your fingers around his neck, thumbs pressing against his throat. Not too tight, but enough to claim his attention. “It’s good that you trust me, Mando,” you pronounce seductively. “You’ll need to remind yourself of that when you start to feel afraid of me.”

His laughter is dismissive, as though the very idea is ridiculous.

“Submission requires putting all your trust in me…trusting that I know how much you can take. Giving yourself to me. Completely.”

Gathering his wrists in your hands, you haul them over his head and pin them against the headboard. The Mandalorian takes a sharp breath through in surprise, his breath becoming shallow.

Leaning forward, your lips drift to the hollow of his throat, trawling your tongue through the rough stubble of his beard to the tip of his chin. “Your body will resist. You’ll doubt whether or not you can truly surrender, whether or not you really want to.”

When your tongue finds his lips, you kiss him ravenously, stealing whatever breath remains in his lungs. You kiss him like the hunger of starvation, thrusting your tongue into his mouth. It’s unlike any of your other kisses—fearsome—teeth knocking against each other as you shove your tongue down his throat. It’s a violation, made to overwhelm him. He tries to turn his head, but you take him by the chin, fingers tightening around his jaw to hold him firmly in place.

With only one hand to pin his wrists, the Mandalorian could easily overpower you. He doesn’t. Instead, he arches into you so hard, his bare chest crushes your breasts. The sensation of his skin rubbing against you is like a fire coaxing embers to burn.

Never breaking the kiss, he finally begins to breathe through his nostrils, and you pull back. But not before dragging your sharp incisors over his lower lip until you taste blood.

Mando gasps, startled. He tries to hide it with his laughter, but it’s sporadic. Anxious and uncertain.

“You might start to think I’m crazy,” you whisper in his ear. “Or that maybe you are,” you smile lasciviously, unsure whether he can see through the mask. “But doubting me is the worst thing you could do…” drawing the tip of your nose over his earlobe, along the shell of his ear, you close your teeth around the helix.

He tenses, waiting for the bite.

“Don’t think. Don’t question. Just submit to me.”

He’s already rock hard between your thighs. You can feel the whole, hot length of him press insistently against you. Your wetness welcomes him, soaking through the thin fabric of his shorts. Instinctively, his hips roll upward.

“Wait,” his body tenses and stills. “Before…you said it’s exhausting, playing a role. That’s not what I wanted to—”

The tender concern in his voice is enough to break you from the fantasy.

“This is different,” you assure him. “Being with someone you care about always makes it different. And I do care about you, Mando. Very deeply. I’m going to slap you. Bite you. I might even hurt you, but I will always keep you safe.”

With that, you spread his arms wide, pulling his wrist through a loop of rope tied to one corner of the headboard, and then the other.

“You’re going to feel powerless without the use of your hands. That’s why I’m tying you up. Because you’re giving up power. And I’m taking it.”

Suddenly, his muscles tremble in a surge of trepidation. Remember, this will be difficult for him. In his line of work, bondage means capture. Defeat. You need to be careful not to trigger those defensive impulses.

“It’s a gift you’re giving me, Mandalorian, but you can reclaim it anytime. See?” you slip his hand back out through the rope. One quick roll of his wrist, and he can free himself.

“I think we should use colors to check in.” You reach between your legs to stroke his hard cock gently over his shorts. It throbs eagerly against your palm. Warm and thick. “Green is when it feels good. Does this feel good?”

You lower yourself onto him more with each stroke, until you’re so close you can feel the heat of his breath in your mouth.

“Very,” he nods against your temple, breaths coming shallow and quick.

“Yellow is for when things start to get too intense.” This time, you squeeze harder, curling your fingers around him, and he gasps, stomach contracting in alarm. “Then we can pause—talk about it. Reset if necessary.”

“Mmmph,” Mando groans.

“Do you like this?” you ask, knees digging into the mattress with the momentum of every fervent twist of your wrist.

“Senaar’ika, I love this,” he laughs, ducking his chin to lick at your collarbone.

You suck his tongue into your mouth, claiming his lips before tugging hard on his cock.

“Nnngh! Fuck me,” he growls in a surge of arousal and frustration, thrusting roughly into your fist. “Dammit, woman.”

“When you say red, I stop immediately.” You remove your hands from his cock and place them lightly over his chest, the rapid beating of his heart drumming against your palms. “We can talk about it or not. You never have to explain why you want to stop.”

“Okay,” he murmurs, still sounding apprehensive. No wonder! An elite bounty hunter. He’s probably never this vulnerable by choice.

Then he surprises you. “If you’re worried about keeping me safe…Is this something you’ll enjoy?

“Yes!” you insist, laughing. “Giving you pleasure, watching you come so hard and for so long that you black out and forget your name…is something I will enjoy very much.”

“Is that a threat?” he tilts his head, grinning. “Or a warning?”

“I just hope you have it written down somewhere since, as far as I understand, you’re the only one who knows what it is.”

At that, you lean forward to whisper into his ear once more. “I will take your body, and I will use it to satisfy my needs. But I promise to cherish it, even as I force it to conform to my desires.”

Then your mouth closes over his again. This kiss is not as obscene. When your tongue passes his lips, you explore more slowly—the roof of his mouth, the seam of his lips, the tip of his wet tongue. Kissing deeply until he adapts to breathing through his nose. You’re gauging how long he can comfortably hold his breath before drowning in your cunt.

Your lips leave his to trail along the Mandalorian’s chin, his jaw, down his neck, and across his shoulder. As you move, you drag your open mouth over his skin, letting him feel the scrape of your teeth. Testing. Nibbling. Then biting—just hard enough to leave him gasping, but not hard enough to leave a mark. All the while, your hips roll your naked flesh, drenched in heat, to stroke along his cock.

You moan at the feel of him, thick and heavy between your thighs.

“I fucking love it when you make that sound,” he says, breathless, thrusting his hips upward to meet you.

“You better find some discipline, Mando.” You press your forehead against his cheek and whisper into his neck, like you're telling him a secret. “You’re already so hard. I can feel you leaking onto my belly.”

“And you’re so wet I can feel it through my shorts.”

“I’m thinking about what I’ll have to do to you, if you come without my permission.”

“This would be easier if I hadn’t spent every night of the past five years dreaming about you.”

“Sweet,” you tell him, flush with praise. “But that won’t save you from punishment. I will use discipline if you can’t obey.”

“It’s what I deserve,” he says roughly.

Merely hearing those words brings you to the brink. Your cunt flutters. A hot, molten sensation spreading heat to every inch of your skin. Part of you wants nothing more than to simply sink onto him and ride him to release. Another part wanted to take him all night and never let this end.

Fucking hell, you’ve got to get a grip! It’s just…never felt this urgent before. You can’t remember wanting a man’s body so badly.

“Don’t worry,” you drawl. “I plan to take you slowly.”

You drag your tongue along his throat, trailing a wet path down the column of his neck to his shoulder. This time, you lick and suck strong enough to leave bruises—pulling his warm skin between your teeth until you bite down hard around the ball of his shoulder. He surges against you, cock throbbing with need.

“I think…maybe you like the pain.”

The growl that rumbles in his chest is sweet agony.

“Does it excite you?”

“Yes,” he confesses in shallow breaths, panting.

“But tonight…you come for me. When I say so. You understand?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

You grab a fistful of hair in your fingers and yank his head back. “You want to try that again?”

“Yes…mistress,” he says uncertainly.

But in your world, the title of Mistress was reserved for women like Anassa, keeper of the Dark Garden, who was a figure of ruthless authority. That’s not how you see yourself. This business so often divided women into sweetly eager sluts or cold-hearted dominatrix. Those could not still be the only options. Not tonight. Not with him.

“Call me senaar’ika when we’re together.” His little dove. You loved to hear him call you that. It’s not authoritative or intimidating, but it feels right. “What should I call you?”

The Mandalorian chews on his answer for a long while.

“Cyar'ika.”

“Shar-ee-kah,” you roll the syllables over your tongue. “What does it mean?”

“Guess you’ll have to learn more Mando’a.”

“Hmm,” you chuckle. “But the ika is diminutive, right? So…something sweet. Is that how you’d like me to fuck you? Hard and sweet?”

“Little dove, I—”

You pull back your elbow to slap him across the face with an open palm.

“Too bad I don’t give a shit about what you want.”

The Mandalorian huffs. “No, senaar’ika,” he says through gritted teeth, trying to hide his shock. You’d bet the last person who slapped him, probably lost their hand. Suddenly, you begin to see the appeal of domination. It’s arousing, watching him twist himself into knots, resisting his deepest impulse to hit you back. All that power bridled…for you.

His jaw shifts and straightens, “Tonight is about what you want.”

“That’s right,” you cup his face in your hand, soothing the tender skin of his reddening cheek. “Tonight, you exist only to please me.” Something eases in your chest when he nods, nuzzling into your palm.

Holy shit, that was intense! Exhilarating. Your body is flooded with adrenaline. It feels anathema—wrong—to enjoy hitting someone you care about. Even if it’s just pretend, it feels so real. So fucking real! But he seems to be enjoying it as much as you do.

“Good,” you coo. “You’re doing so good. Right now, you don’t mean it. But you will.”

He laughs, incredulous. “I—”

“You’ll say the words, and I know you’ll want to mean them. But you won’t. Not at first.” Wetting your lips, you soothe the marks and bruises you’ve left on his body with gentle kisses. “But you will. You’re going to learn. I’m going to teach you.”

Then you push up from your knees to stand over him.

“Where did you go?” Mando’s voice is longing and a little helpless. For the first time, he struggles against the ropes, testing their hold.

“I’m staring at your beautiful body,” you answer truthfully. Shifting your weight carefully onto one leg, you lift your other knee and begin tracing every corded muscle of his chest and abdominals with your stocking-clad toes. Despite the thick wool, you feel his skin shiver and twitch—breath hitching whenever you sweep your foot lower and lower across his sensitive skin. “You look so good when I touch you.”

When you circle your toes around his navel, his stomach quivers, and his cock pulses.

“I’m fairly obsessed with this curve along your hips, defining your slutty little waist.”

He let’s go of some tension then, laughing deep from his belly. “What is slutty about my waist?”

“How to explain…? Your shoulders are so broad…” you draw a line with your finger between his chest, down to his groin—his body undulating wherever your fingertips touch him. “And then my eyes travel to your slutty waist, and all I can think about you burying it between my thighs.”

“That’s all I ever wanted,” he says, looking up at you. “All these years…to feel you wrapped around my cock.”

“Poor, cyar’ika,” you shake your head. “Still thinking about what you want. But I’m going to teach you better.”

Unlacing the ties of your sweater, you shrug it off and let it fall onto the bed. Somehow, the fact that you’re still wearing the stockings makes your nakedness feel more profane. Your hands thread into his hair and pull, forcing his head back so you can thrust two fingers inside his mouth.

He’s so unprepared it makes him gag.

“Your body is beautiful…so powerful. But soft. Just like your beautiful face. Strong jaw. Sharp nose. Soft lips. I’m going to rub myself all over them when I fuck your face.”

In response, the Mandalorian, something between a moan and a sigh, escapes his lips. Something like a whimper. Your face breaks into a broad grin.

Mindful of your balance atop the mattress, you settle your right knee onto his outstretched bicep.

“Would you like that? If I came in your mouth? Fucked myself on your tongue?”

“Yes.” He says before adding, “Please, little dove.”

“Show me,” you respond coolly. “Stick out your tongue for me. Good. Make it soft, like velvet. ”

Flexing the muscles deep in your belly, you tuck your hips and position yourself over his mouth.

“I’m going to use you, and you’re going to sit there and take it for as long I need you to.”

With that, you rub yourself against the length of his tongue, stroking it across and in between every slick fold. You roll your hips wantonly to feel him from every angle, growing softer and wetter as his saliva becomes indistinguishable from your come, leaving you soaked and sopping. Soon, you lose yourself to the flood of exquisite sensations coursing through your body from the delicious friction of his ridged tongue. Pleasure seizes you, forcing you to steady yourself, gripping the headboard. Your breasts bob with each thrust of your hips as you grind into his mouth.

Gods, you could do this for hours. But you sense him growing impatient with passivity. He’s eager to use his lips and mouth. Eager to taste your climax.

“You like this?

“Mmm,” he moans, pouring his hot breath into your wet center.

“Tell me how much you love it.”

“I love your come in my mouth. I want to drink from you.”

“Then put your tongue inside of me.”

“Annngh!” you cry out at the thick stab of his tongue. You rock yourself over it, hips writhing. A coiling knot of tension is winding tighter and tighter inside you.

You can barely recognize the words streaming out of your mouth, but you cannot miss how much the Mandalorian seems to be enjoying this—the sounds he makes, the consuming way he sucks at your clit, the scrape of his stubble against the soft crease of your thighs.

“Lap up my come,” you command, then nearly collapse when his tongue makes hot trails through your opening, over and over, until he’s gasping for breath. “Don’t you dare fucking stop!”

Mando’s mouth moves even faster now, even harder, and you’re nothing but heat and pulse. Everything else is far away. Pleasure tightens—blazes—inside you.

“Flick my—” he parts your flesh with his nose, burying his face between your drenched folds until his mouth closes over your clit. “Fuck, you’re so good at this.”

The leg bearing your weight begins to tremble. Your fingers tangle into his hair, nails scraping his scalp as your fists clench tighter, not caring whether it might hurt. All you can care about is the need to hold onto something while you ride each cresting wave of pleasure as it surges. Every muscle inside your body coils and tightens as the sweet and heady pleasure builds.

“Yes, fuck me with your tongue. Ha-aah. Circle—fuck—fuck yes!”

And then you come so hard you can’t care about anything. You can’t think, can’t breathe. You desperately try to gather air into your lungs, only to sob from the ecstatic release.

Your head falls back, but before you can come down, before you’re able to breathe and see again, you feel Mando’s grip behind your knee, keeping you pressed against his mouth. You pull back instinctively, away from the painfully sweet stimulation, but his fingers dig into your calf.

With each thrust, each lick of his tongue, you feel yourself breaking apart—until your second orgasm hits you so hard you scream, and a hot spurt of liquid covers his face.

“Fuck, that was so hot! I want this come around my—” he begins, but the words die in his throat when you slap him hard across the face.

Both feet planted on the bed now, you hold yourself over him, knees shaking from the voltage of your orgasm, but your voice is firm. “I told you to sit there and take it. And instead, you disobey me. Do I need to remind you who’s in charge?”

Chastened, he tucks his chin, turning his handsome face away from your harsh words.

Snatching a length of rope from the side table, you walk to the foot of the bed and grab his ankles, using all your strength to yank him down from the headboard so that he’s propped against the pillows. He grunts in shock, and you wonder how much he can see through the mask.

You brush the rough coils of rope against the delicate pads of his feet, and his whole body shudders. “Behave, and I won’t have to use this to tie you down.”

The bounty hunter takes in a deep breath that pours forth from his lips. “I’ll behave,” he mumbles, fighting the submission.

A dizzying wave of lust washes over you, rippling across your skin. You suddenly become aware of how hot it is in this cabin. You’d set the temperature too high. Covered in a thin sheen of sweat, the fine hairs that had escaped your braid stick to your cheeks and neck. Your heartbeat pounds against your eardrums.

Was this the electrifying thrill of domination? To see this powerful, capable man, who clad himself in armor and wielded violence, gathering every ounce of strength he possessed to leash himself under your collar. It was a heady rush—almost frightening—to see how badly he needed this.

It feels like a privilege to see this side of the Mandalorian. It strengthens your resolve. Don’t disappoint his desires.

You crawl back onto the bed and over his supine body, biting harder on his nipples, sucking them fiercely into firm peaks, gnawing at his hip bones. “Fuck!” he gasps, a hint of fear lacing his voice. But his arousal was evident.

“I think you wanted to be punished. I think you wanted to test me. To see if I’m capable of hurting you.”

Mando’s so hard he nearly juts out from his shorts. Tugging them down, his cock bounces, slapping against the bare skin of his thigh. You trail wet, open-mouthed kisses down his groin, teeth grazing the delicate skin there.

“Do you believe that I could hurt you?”

Rubbing your face over the tip, you feel the slickness of his pre-come wet against your cheek.

There is nothing more perfect than Mando’s expression right now—what you can see of it. Lips slightly parted, looking hopeless. His hands clench into fists as you open your mouth to take him in. Delicately, you tense your teeth around the head of his cock.

“Fuck,” he groans. “I’ve never been this hard.”

“Are you afraid?”

He nods.

“But excited too. You’re excited thinking about what I might do to you.” You run your tongue over the seam of his balls before sucking each heavy sack into your mouth. Using your tongue, you press the tender skin behind the backs of your teeth.

The Mandalorian draws in a sharp breath. “Yes!”

Something about your wet, messy face makes you defiant, “You don’t want to see what I can do. I know how to break a man like you.” You pull back, lifting your chin so he slips from your mouth, his cock blood-dark and glistening. Your brow arches, “With archaic poetry.”

“What?” he asks through a lusty daze.

“Something from the Guan-jii period, I think.”

”You are evil.”

“But first…” you spit onto his shaft, coating him in saliva—thick and viscous from having him in your mouth. “You’re so big. I have to get you nice and wet before you’ll fit inside me.”

His hands flex wide and then curl back into fists. “Fuck, I want to grab you by the throat.”

Your chin tilts sympathetically. “You could be rough, cyar’ika—slip your wrists free, hold me down, and fuck me senseless. But you won’t. You know this is going to feel so good.”

Positioning your left leg over his thigh and tucking your right knee under the other, you bite down on your bottom lip and slide onto him—inch by inch, until it burns. He’s so big that it almost hurts as he stretches you out, opens you wide.

“Fuck! That’s it,” he whispers as he thrusts himself the rest of the way inside you, up to the hilt. “Just like that. Yes!”

You pinch his nipple tightly between your thumb and forefinger. “Be still.”

“Nnngh,” he growls in response.

“Remember, your body is mine. To use for my pleasure.”

“Yes, senaar’ika” he replies.

“Then spread your legs.”

At first, he’s unsure how to comply, but he doesn’t resist when you push his thighs further apart.

“This position is called the Blooming Lotus pose. Our legs intertwine like the unfurling petals of a lotus blossom.” This angle gets him even deeper inside you, until he’s buried so deep you’re sitting on his balls.

“Mmmph…Oh fuck, that’s amazing.”

“Ha-aah!” you gasp, losing your concentration as you feel him everywhere. It burns. It aches. It’s so fucking good you could scream. “You’re so thick. Ha-aah, I love stretching myself over your cock.”

Then, you begin rolling your hips, grinding yourself onto him.

“Bet you never get it like this,” you look down at him, sprawled beneath you. “I bet everyone expects you to put this big dick to work. And you never get to lie back and get used like this.”

“Yes,” he moans. “Keep fucking me, little dove.”

“These lines were composed by Mason Hamlin. Dedicated to his lover, a witch of the Night Sisters.”

Incredulous laughter bursts from his mouth, “You are an evil, evil woman.”

“But you love it.”

My lady,

You begin, letting the words spill from your lips like beads of water from a cataract.

Whose brown eyes hide mystery, Beneath her red mask,

You push right his knee up to his chest and sweep your tongue over the tender arch of his foot, drawing his big toe into your mouth to suck. This feels so unhinged, but you love it—watching his powerful body writhe with pleasure.

Dark lips,

“Oh shit!” he gasps as you slip your tongue between his toes. “Oh shit, I didn’t think that would feel as good as it does.”

Her gyrating hips, On her knees, on top, over me,

Returning to suck his toes, all the while, you circle and rock your hips against his length, twisting side to side, clenching around his thick cock until he throws his head back.

“Nnngh,” you groan. “I love the feeling of you deep inside me. Rubbing my clit all over you.”

“You are fucking unreal, little dove.”

Pink hellfire pussy, Wet cunt of midnight,

But you don’t want to come yet. That would be letting him off easy.

You shift weight onto your knees, pulling yourself up the length of his shaft, only to slide back down, sheathing him deep inside you. You keep up the slow rhythm—sliding up then plunging onto him again—over and over.

“Slower,” he begs. “You have to go slower.”

“Can I tell you a secret? No one’s ever been this deep inside me before.”

“Mmmph, you can’t say shit like that, senaar’ika.”

“I’ll do as I please,” you grin, sinking down onto his straining sack.

“Fuuuuuuuuuuck! Oh fuck! Nnngh, I wish I could see…unngh, my cock pumping in and out of you.”

I sell my soul willingly. Take it all, And fuck me for eternity.

Your back arches, shoving your breasts against his mouth like an offering. In answer, Mando leans forward, struggling with the bindings on his wrists. His mouth catches your nipple, tugging it. He laps, tongue swirling, and then he opens his mouth wider to suck. It only lasts a moment, but that’s long enough to send a surge of pleasure ricocheting through your core, all the way from your nipple to your clit.

“Gods, I love your cock.” The pressure and pleasure build inside you with every thrust of your hips. “You’re so deep. So deep!”

“Mmm…maybe I like poetry,” he declares, in rapture.

“You like how I fuck you?” you ask between heaving breaths, body slick with sweat.

“Hmm,” moans. “I love it. This is all I want. To spend the rest of my life inside you.”

Your muscles flutter and clench around him.

“Mmmph, your walls are so strong,” he groans. “You’re squeezing my cock like a fist.”

“Tell me what it feels like to be inside me.”

“Inside your pink hellfire pussy?”

“Yes,” you snort through your nostrils.

“W-warm,” he slurred, lost in his own pleasure. “Silken. Impossibly wet.”

“Careful. If you grit your jaw any tighter, you’re going to lose some teeth.”

“Not much of a choice, or I’m going to come too fast.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“You feel so good. You’re so wet I can hear it. Fuck, I can smell it.”

He’s right. The cabin is filled with an obscene squelching sound every time you rock your hips, coating him in your slick heat.

Through the mask, you stare at each other, breaths mingling until he closes the space between you to claim your mouth and kiss you—deep and languid.

When he pulls away, he whispers, “Come for me.”

His tongue reaches out to flick against your nipple, and your head falls back, fingers gripping his shoulders, urging him to take more, take harder.

“You’re a terrible submissive.”

“But you love it.” Again you thrust, so hard that he clutches at the headboard, fingernails digging into the wood. “Fuck, someone should come. Please. Please let me come inside you.”

Yep, you do like hearing him beg.

“I just told you, your cock is mine. Don’t tell me what to do with what’s mine.”

“Aaah—fuck! You have to tell me when you’re close…I’m trying. I’m trying so fucking hard. But if you come, it’s just gonna make me…nnngh!”

“You’re going to be good and wait for what I give you.”

“What the fuck are you doing to me, woman?”

“Whatever I want.”

With that, you lift your leg over his thigh and settle it underneath him so that both your knees press into the mattress with him straddling your waist.

“You’ll do as you’re told.”

You brace the heels of your palms against his hipbones and anchor all your body weight forward into your arms, raising yourself higher until your wet nipples press into his cheeks.

“Wider,” your elbows push into the insides of his knees, spreading him open. “This position is called the Wild Akkadian. Named after the tribe of female warriors on Ryloth who would capture men for breeding and mount them, demanding complete submission.”

Tucking your pelvis, you slide back onto his firm cock. Drenched in your come, the head glides over your clit, between the folds of your cunt, teasing the entrance. The friction is just enough to make you start panting again.

This position doesn’t let you take him as deep–only the tip of his cock and the first few inches can fit inside you with your legs pressed together between his thighs. And it requires a lot of bouncing on your knees, contracting your lower abdominals, to thrust yourself onto him. But it feels so fucking good! The shallow, rapid thrusting that rubs the head of his cock against your entrance, sliding over your clit with each stroke. You’re riding him so fast that your breasts shake, and your entire body starts to sweat. Your thighs ache, and your arms grow sore, but you keep up the pace—faster and faster.

“Mmmph, please,” he begs, reeling on the edge of pleasure. “Please, I’m so close.”

The Mandalorian is completely helpless. Unable to move his hips. You’re truly using him now—using him like a toy to get yourself off. Whatever you give, he has to take it. All of this stimulation concentrated onto the head of his cock.

“Not yet.”

“Farrik, this is torture. Are you ever going to let me come?”

“Why should I?”

“You said if I behaved, you wouldn’t hurt me,” he throws his head back. “This feels pretty fucking hurtful.”

“You’ll come when I say so.”

Warmth ripples through you in waves. Every muscle in your body tightens, on the brink. You cry out—one long cry you can’t control—as blood rushes to your clit. The rapid friction spirals. Soars. You gasp, dizzy as everything else falls away, and then there’s nothing left of but the orgasm that takes over. Your cry turns into a scream as you come, your head swirling in the rush of pure ecstasy. Without anything to clench down on, you continue thrusting onto him throughout your climax.

“It’s too good,” he groans. “It’s too good—I’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna—unngh!”

You both shudder as your bodies surrender to the intensity of your shared orgasm. With his cock this shallow inside you, you feel each hot spurt of come weeping out of you and dripping down his shaft.

It’s so fucking hot in this cabin! What were you thinking? The wool stockings probably aren’t helping, but he said they look sexy. You’re covered in sweat, but so is Mando—his soft brown curls clinging to his neck. Your bodies had grown slick together in desperation to chase release.

Somehow you find the strength to get up onto your knees, letting his spent cock slip out of you before sitting back on your heels, still nestled between his thighs, their coarse hairs tickling your sensitive skin.

“What do you have to say to yourself?” you gasp, trying to sound furious. Not really selling it.

The Mandalorian doesn’t mind. He smiles, mouth open wide in a sly grin.

“Punish me,” he says.

You slap his cheek. Not as hard this time. Teasing. Playful.

“Look at the mess you made. I think you should have to clean it up.”

“Yes, senaar’ika,” he says eagerly, as if wanting nothing more.

Which is a relief. You’re testing the boundaries of degradation—but you can’t help it. The idea of him swallowing every bit of come he’d pumped inside you is fucking hot! As hot as this fucking shuttle.

“I’m not going to hold back this time,” you promise him.

Guiding one foot, and then the other, over his naked body—you position yourself on your hands and knees so that you’re straddling his chest with your back toward him. Presenting yourself. Despite your warning, you start by keeping most of your weight on your knees, staying still as he begins, his tongue licking and thrusting, his lips sucking and kissing. But soon, you grow volatile and start to rock against his mouth.

“This is how you learn,” you say between thrusts, getting back into the role, ending each word with a slight huff of air. “That you’re mine.”

Your toes slide under the pillows to slip beneath his neck, cradling his head in the arches of your feet. Tilting your hips, you shove yourself onto his face, and the Mandalorian’s mouth comes down over your pussy to suck out his come.

Pure pleasure ripples through you, almost blinding in its intensity. Mando starts to swallow, his jaw tensing with each deep pull. The suction is devastating! He wants to bring you to the brink of ecstasy and hold you there forever. If anyone can do it, he can.

You want him between your legs for hours. But you also want to ease this insistent aching tearing through you.

“Oh shit,” you brace yourself on his muscular thighs, fingernails digging into his skin as you grind down harder. “Gods, that tongue!” Your hips twist and writhe to get him deeper between your folds, using your feet to hold him pressed against your cunt. Right there! Right there!

Mando responds by sucking faster.

You push up onto your hands and open your mouth in search of his cock. Nuzzling it with your cheeks, your lips slide over the tip, still covered in your come, painting your face with it. He moans, and the vibration against your swollen clit, is what sends you into climax, thighs quivering.

You shout, “Aanngh!” and then come, filling his mouth with heat. Quickly, he gulps it down, every drop, the action almost lost to you in the spasms of pleasure echoing through you, as your body trembles.

There is no strength left in your muscles—you just collapse on top of him.

“You did so good,” you tell him breathlessly. “So so good.”

“Did I earn your forgiveness?” he asks, his breathing also ragged as he wipes his face along the pillows. You’ve made such a mess of him! He’s going to need another shower.

“Yes,” you moan, unable to take him back into your mouth until you can catch a full breath. All you can do is stroke his cock. Exhausted, you let your head fall onto his thigh, lapping at his skin and running your tongue under his soft sack.

Mando arches his back and spreads his legs wider. You flick your tongue lower. Then, the bounty hunter draws his knees up, and you take it as an invitation. Do to me what feels good to you.

You circle your tongue, coaxing the tight, puckered skin of his asshole. His cock pulses back to life, growing hard and pressing against your throat. Yet you want to be cautious and give him the opportunity to say no if this makes him uncomfortable. Instead, he moans and digs his heels into the mattress.

“You want me to kiss it?”

“Yes,” he says—his voice barely more than a whisper. “Yes, please.”

“You should say please again, cyar'ika,” you demand gently. “I like hearing you beg.”

His lips brush against the curve of your ass, and then he bites. Not hard enough to bruise, just enough to take a bit of skin between his teeth, before kissing you. He truly is a terrible submissive!

“Please.”

Honestly, it’s perfect! You need a break before your calves cramp up, or you pull a hamstring. Still lying prone over his body, you start licking his asshole in lush strokes with your flat tongue. It tastes a little like soap, and you realize he’d cleaned himself to prepare for this. He’d been secretly hoping you would do this for him.

You are happy to oblige. Fingers spreading his cheeks, you flex your tongue to dip it inside him.

“Fucking farrik!” he shouts, his body jumping underneath you.

His excitement gives you new life. After four orgasms, you can make an attempt to even the score.

It’s a bit awkward climbing off of him, crawling up the bed, and squeezing yourself behind him despite all the pillows. Why do you own so many goddamn pillows?

“What are you doing?” he asks, pleading for your attention as all the blood rushes back into his cock. It bobs hopefully between his thighs, growing harder.

You spread your legs open as wide, so you can situate the Mandalorian more or less into your lap, with your knees placed on either side of him, tucked under his arms.

“Here,” you say, wrapping your arms around his long, lithe torso. “Lean back.”

Mando obeys, letting himself fall against your chest, breasts pressing into the smooth skin and the pattern of scars lining his back.

“How are your arms doing?” You feel the tautness of his muscles and set to work soothing them, massaging your hands in aimless patterns over his shoulders, biceps, and forearms, then around his chest to smooth the flat muscle of his pectorals.

But the bounty hunter remains silent. Unable to voice his desires.

“Relax,” you whisper, feeling his heart pounding like a drum under your wrist. “You’ve made me so happy. I’m so pleased. Allow me to reward you.” You cup the tender skin of his inner thigh in your palm, drawing upward until the tips of your fingers press gently against his wet hole.

When he moans with pleasure, you ask, “Have you done this before?”

“No,” he whispers, shaking his head.

“But this is okay? You like it?”

He nods enthusiastically but says nothing.

“Green?”

“Green.”

You flick his ear lobe with your tongue. “It’s going to feel so fucking good. I’m going to make it sweet and easy for you.”

You start with delicate circles using the pads of your fingers. Your other hand wraps around the base of his cock, tightening and loosening your fist as you move up the length of his shaft. Twist and grip, teasing the ridge around the head of his cock with your thumb.

He breathes out hard and lets his head slump against your shoulder. You ask, “Is this enough?”

The Mandalorian clutches at your legs, thrusting urgently into your hand. “More.”

Oh! Well, in that case…

Reaching an arm out, you slip one of his wrists free from the bindings and guide his hand down between his legs, placing it over his throbbing cock. “I want you to stroke yourself, while I play with you.” Then, your other hand closes over his mouth to pull his head back even further, exposing the long column of his throat.

“Moan for me,” you breathe into his ear. “Let me know how much you want it.”

You place your fingers inside your mouth, sucking on them shamelessly before returning to rub them in tight, ceaseless spirals around his puckered skin.

Then, he does moan—a choked sob against your palm. His muscles relax, and your fingertips dip deeper. His flesh is soft and yielding. You have to resist the urge to make a joke about how you expected his asshole to be tighter. Your knuckles knead and part his flesh, and this time, he whimpers—a definite whimper—that escapes between your fingers.

The Mandalorian had neatly trimmed his nails for you—even his toenails are immaculate. You, on the other hand, have long, polished tips in accordance with the standards of elegant femininity required for your work. He wanted more, but you don’t want to hurt him, so you remove your hands from his body to tear open one of the condoms from the bedside table.

“You like this?”

“Green,” he gasps, continuing to draw his fist over the length of his shaft. “Fucking forests—fields of green.”

You laugh, relieved that he seems to be enjoying himself. If he really wanted more…

Clambering over his outstretched legs, you position yourself once more between his thighs, lying flat on your stomach. It gives you an amazing view of his absolutely gorgeous cock and surprisingly well-groomed ass cheeks. Oh, he’d definitely been hoping for this! Mando, your little butt-slut. You slip one finger—okay, maybe two—inside the condom, using the lubrication to ease him open.

“Haa!” the Mandalorian whimpers again. “Mmmph!”

Gods, that’s hot! The noises he’s making and the way his body writhes in pleasure has your stomach clenching. You press your thighs tightly together against the pulsing throb between your legs.

“Fuck,” he gasps. You feel him squeezing around you. Thankfully, the spot you’re seeking isn’t that far inside him.

“Just breathe. That’s right. Arch your back. I knew you’d love this. You’re doing so good. Push that sweet hole onto my fingers.”

Even through the latex, you can feel that small, firm little pebble of tissue under your fingertips.

“Oh, holy shit!” he shouts again.

“It feels good there, doesn’t it?”

Very slowly, you twist your fingers inside him—gently drawing them out and slipping them back in so he can feel more friction against his nerve endings. He starts to quiver, the muscles in his legs tightening and trembling like a bowstring.

“Doesn’t it feel good when someone else fills you up?” You ask him in a low, sultry voice. “When you can just lie there and take it.”

Tentatively, you start massaging inside him, working your fingers back and forth. The Mandalorian writhes atop the mattress, "Haa!" twisting from side to side, moaning in pleasure. “Haa, hmmm, aah!”

“Don’t worry about how much you can take. Cause it’s not up to you.”

You rise onto your elbows so that you can look upon his face. Because reactions like these really need to be seen to be understood.

“Alright cyar’ika, you’re going to fuck my mouth while I finger you.” It’s not open for debate. “I want to feel your cock throbbing in my mouth. And then, you’re going to swallow every last drop.”

“Annngh!” he cries out as every muscle in his abdomen contracts at once, pushing your fingers out with the force of his surging climax.

“That was almost a word,” you say sarcastically.

“I will,” he groans.

“Do you love eating come, cyar’ika?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me.”

He submits. “I love eating come.”

With a satisfied smile, you take him into your mouth and begin to suck. He’s so huge that you can barely use your tongue, but you bob your head, doing the best you can while pushing your fingers back inside him.

“Fuck, right there. Holy shit, right there.” With each stroke, you alternate softening your touch when sucking harder, pressing harder when you lick slowly. “Oh shit, that feels so fucking good.”

Mando’s free hand cups the back of your head, fingers threading in your hair, and he starts thrusting. His girth forces you to open your jaw all the way, the velvety head of his cock sliding into your throat so that you can hardly draw breath.

“Maker, I love it when you take me deep.”

He fills you all the way to your throat. You gag around him, but he just keeps going. “That’s it…” The Mandalorian thrusts in harder as he tugs on your hair. “Choke on my cock.”

Okay, he’s maybe reclaiming too much dominance, but you’ve no urge to check him. Let him have this! He’s earned it.

You suck harder, massage your fingers faster inside him. Salty come slicks the inside of your mouth, moistening your lips. You brace an elbow against his leg—his thigh muscles rock-hard with tension and use your other hand to start working him, twisting your fist around him with every stroke, pumping his cock.

“Fuck! Yes! Fuck that’s perfect. Don’t change anything. Keep sucking my cock. Don’t stop. Fuck! Please don’t fucking stop. Nnngh!”

You feel every vein, every throb. The combined sensation of your hand, mouth, and fingers is too much for him. He shouts out your name, and then he comes, filling your mouth with each hot, salty spurt. You hold it under your tongue, saving it for him.

“Keeping sucking. Aah, aah, aah. I’m gonna come again. Fuck I’m going to fill your mouth with come. Haa-aah.”

You marvel at the bulge of his calf muscles as he digs his heels into the mattress, vaulting his hips off the bed. He lets out a stream of incomprehensible words. Prayers—profanity��you have no idea. You really should learn more Mando’a.

The bounty hunter collapses back onto the pillows, still shuddering through every wave of incomparable pleasure. Crawling up his body, swaying your hips, you grip his face tightly between your fingers, forcing his jaw open with your thumb. Then, you gather the well of his come onto your tongue and spit it into his open mouth.

“Say thank you,” you lean forward and purr into his ear teasingly. But it’s the wrong thing to say.

“Red.”

The Mandalorian slips his other wrist free from the binding and grabs you by the nape of your neck, pushing you back onto the bed underneath him. Panic floods your body. Is he going to hurt you? Some men become angry after realizing how much they enjoy something others tell them to be ashamed of. Some men make masculinity into a prison.

Tears well behind your eyes. You don’t want to be brutalized by this man you care for so deeply. But he gathers you into his arms and kisses your hair.

“Fuck, woman, you sucked me dry.”

You feel hot teardrops pooling against your neck. Not yours—they’re his. He’d come so hard he was crying. “Hold me,” he pleads, and your arms spring up to wrap around him. Nestling his forehead against your shoulder, you stroke up and down the length of his spine while his body shudders, saying nothing as he chokes back sobs.

“I feel empty,” he says, finally breaking through the silence. “Not hollow…but like…there’s nothing inside me, no tension left in my body. It just…exists.” The Mandalorian’s voice is so profoundly contemplative. “Is this what being relaxed feels like?”

You both stare at each other before bursting into hysterical laughter. You fall onto the pillows, the laughter trailing off, only to rise again out of the silence. Mando laughs until his body seems to ache, until he collapses back, limp and wrung out, glistening with sweat.

You let your head fall onto his chest, listening to the hard rasp of his breathing.

“Can you go again?” he asks, whispering into your ear. And fuck, if that doesn’t nearly set you off again.

“Don’t tempt me,” you laugh. Your voice is hoarse from all the screaming—and taking his cock down your throat.

“I’m not tempting,” he says somberly against your hair. “I’m giving. I want to give it to you sweet.”

You drape an arm over him and prop your chin up against the back of your hand. “Sweet can be a little kinky.”

“Part of me wants you to bite me hard enough to leave a scar…so that every time I look down, I’d remember how wild you got, riding my cock. Your wet cunt of midnight. But…please,” he sighs, brushing the tendrils of sweat-soaked hair from your face. “Please. I need to be sweet.”

“Whatever you need, Mando.”

“I know you know my name,” he whispers against your temple. “I want to hear you say it.”

You turn your head to look at him. “I want to give you everything, Djarin. Everything you need.”

The mask hides his eyes, but you feel them searching your soul for answers.

“I need you,” he says. “You’re what I need. ”

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Until next time...

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