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Laughing, you drew another puff of smoke, little tipsy, and quite assured this was your luckiest hand yet.

“I thought you boys knew how to play Sabacc?” you teased, moving a strand of hair from your face. The tiny room on the lower decks erupted into laughter, most of them ensigns and a couple of junior officers, the rowdy gang that you would party with almost every week. You knew some of them were trying really hard to impress you, indirectly at least, but because you worked so closely with the Grand Admiral, they were still afraid of overplaying their hand. You would shoot it down in a heartbeat anyway – you were looking for friendly relations, not drama. Something to blow off some steam at the end of your working week, a time to share some laughs and a dance or two.

You were never a party girl, and you hated going to galas and evening celebrations, but you felt so trapped here, and when you overheard two ensigns talking about a secret Sabacc meet ups, well, things just fell into place.

“Pay up, losers!” you exclaimed, just as the whole room rattled, with everyone but you getting up, shutting up, and standing at attention. With a deep sigh and guessing who was standing behind you, you got up, and turned around to face your boss.

“Where is your uniform, ensign?” Grand Admiral Thrawn asked a very young man who was standing just in his black top, his face rapidly changing colours. Thrawn’s eyes, however, were trained strictly on you.

“I won this fair and square,” you responded to Thrawn, extinguishing a cigarette, flashing a tipsy, self-assured smile. “Sir,” you added quickly, biting your tongue a little. No one moved a muscle, except one of Thrawn’s facial muscles spasmed momentarily. You were not sure if he was trying to stare you down or if he was finally getting truly fed up with your shit. “Fine, fine, you draw a hard bargain,” you started to slowly peel off the tunic strip, exposing your tiny, a couple of sizes too small bra to Admiral. You passed it to the young man whose name was currently escaping you; Thrawn quickly made a note of his plaque, which designated him an officer, rather than an ensign.

“Dismissed,” he growled, and you watched in astonishment as all the men quietly, and in a surprisingly straight line, left the room. You grabbed a random glass from the table and drank down, as you knew what was coming.

As a civilian contractor, Thrawn learned quickly that he can’t order you around, although he didn’t even intend to do it. Even so, he slipped up a couple of times, and you were even quicker to ignore everything he said. You couldn’t say who was more unhappy about the assignment, you or him, although you could definitely tell who was more annoyed. Despite that, he never made your life harder; you came to believe that a part of him enjoyed the teasing, especially after you proved your loyalty after a particularly demanding mission.

He was still silent, looking around the room, in which the boys crammed a table and a couple of chairs.

“How long have you known?” you asked nonchalantly, because you knew he didn’t find out today. Or yesterday, for that matter.

“Weeks,” his tone returned to what you regarded as his baseline, but you were not paying attention, rather, you were trying to think what happened weeks ago and whose mistake it was. You doubted it was any of the ensigns or officers’, as you were pretty sure this was their first real interaction with Thrawn. No, it was your mistake.

“The typing error,” you sighed.

“The misspelling,” your eyes were trailing Thrawn all around the room, and back to you. Oh, he was pissed, his back somehow straighter than usual, eyes glowing in a shade of red you’ve never seen before, a couple of strands of his bluish black hair out of place.

Silently, he handed you your silk blouse, the one you removed previously. Five weeks ago, you made a misspelling in one of the documents you submitted to him, your first and only mistake during your time on ISD Chimaera. And it truly was your only one, one word among the ten pages, never to be repeated. You were just so tired that day, due to partying the night earlier, and because of that, allowed yourself to slip up, and spell it the way it was common for your planet, the way you grew up saying and writing it. Thrawn let you know, but you weren’t too concerned then, and now you were thinking that maybe you should have been.

“You should be happy I didn’t send any of your friends to detention,” his tone lowered again, snarky or a little angry, you weren’t quite sure, but definitely annoyed. What’s new, you thought, as you were following him through the maze of narrow corridors.

“Come on, we were just relaxing, Sir,” you tried to placate him, but Thrawn didn’t respond, not until you reached his private quarters.

You couldn’t say you weren’t here before, as Thrawn would reserve his starkest criticism and scolding towards you for this room – you could never guess why, and after a while didn’t care, as you loved watching him all agitated, trying to keep his composure, as you were rolling his eyes at him.

“I thought,” he finally opened his mouth again, “that humans shed this sort of behaviour after teenage years.”

He was sitting in his chair, table between you, as you were casually leaning against it, just to try and drive him a little more insane.

“Most do, yes, Sir. But some of us remain a little more, in a lack of a better word, Sir, rebellious,” you observed his face, but he didn’t get sucked into yet another one of your provocations. Honestly, the more stoic he would remain, the hotter he’d become in your eyes.

“And what about other human ways of, what did you call it, blowing off steam?”

Oh, he knew exactly what you called it, but lately, Grand Admiral would sometimes use your way of talking to mock you. You were unsure what was his goal, but you fucking loved it.

“I do have my own private quarters, Sir,” you smiled, hinting at the obvious self-pleasuring you enjoyed in your spare time. Thrawn got up from his chair and walked around the table to face you, a step too close, but you not only remained in your position, but didn’t even feel uncomfortable.

“And do you entertain guests there as well?” he whispered, leaning slightly towards you.

“I’m not fucking anyone onboard Chimaera, Sir,” you gritted through your teeth, trying hard not to show how offended his words made you feel, your eyes sternly fixed on his face, “or off.”

“Your brating, it stops now,” he wasn’t giving you an order, this was more of a warning that he was at the end of his rope with you. You often wondered why he was putting up with you anyway, as one word for him, and not only would you be booted off the ship, but he could literally pick any other civilian aide. Not like you were helping him with his military plans, but would mostly summarize historical documents or write glorified statements on his behalf, which he would obsessively go over before signing them, with you standing at his side late after hours. He explained one evening why he prefers a person doing it, but why he considered you an expert at it, you had no idea.

Pulling you back to the present was another twitch on his face, this time on the corner of his lips, which was his way of repeating himself without actually doing so.

Your brating, his words echoed in your head, it stops now.

Or what?, you wanted to reply, but something told you he expected you to react in such a manner. No, you were either going to nod and retreat to your quarters, or you were going to provoke him to lose control. And you knew which one you’d prefer.

“Make me,” the words have barely escaped your lips when Thrawn’s hand found your neck and in a couple of quick steps, he had you against the wall of his cabin, shifting his weight slightly onto your body, pinning you against cold metal. The squeak of his leather gloves, the faint but unmistakable scent of Thrawn’s own skin, and a slight tremor of his lips was enough to send your body into an overdrive.

Thrawn was still holding himself back, as you knew how strong he was – he randomly joined you months ago during your exercise time to question your self-defense techniques. During one, he lifted you off the ground with such ease that you had to excuse yourself, as it made you so wet you basically humped the pillow that night.

You have never seen Thrawn so angry and desperate and before you could think, your lips curled upward into a teasing smirk. He pressed himself against you even more and you could feel how hard he was against your thigh, hard and big. You tried to reach towards it with your hand, but Thrawn suddenly pressed his forehead onto yours, surprising you.

“You are never leaving Chimaera,” he growled into your mouth, his grip over your throat tightening. Both of you knew it was going to leave a noticeable mark, not only on your skin, but on your voice as well.

“The purpose of blowing off steam, Admiral,” you whispered, trying to suppress small moans trying to escape your throat, “is to let go completely.”

You tried to lean forward to kiss him, you were burning for him, and you knew he could see it, infrared vision or not, but Thrawn wouldn’t allow it. He was in some sort of internal struggle with himself, albeit a short one, before he spoke again.

“Get on your knees.”

You didn’t have to be told twice.

Looking at him from below, you quickly realized two things. After he erroneously threw his tunic and gloves on the floor, you realized that he was dangerously out of control for whatever reason, and it seemed it wasn’t just you. And, he wasn’t big, he was enormous. Faced with his cock, you started to lick the leaking tip, drawing a long breath out of him, but instead of fantasizing even more about Thrawn fucking (ravaging) you, your only thought was how there is no way it would fit, anywhere. But damned if you wouldn’t try.

As your tongue worked on his undershaft, which, just like the top was ridged, Thrawn already tangled one of his hands into your hair, pulling your head slightly back. With a couple of strokes, his breathing frequency notably changed and you took it as a sign you were doing something right. Now, the really hard part was coming up. You opened your mouth as wide as you could, his scent overwhelming you and his size making you squeeze your thighs together. You wanted to touch yourself so badly, but you had an idea how that would be received. Plus, you weren’t quite sure you’d even be able to focus on both at the same time.

You were trying to relax your jaw just as Thrawn started to pump into you, a couple of exploratory thrusts at first but it was apparent he wanted to disappear his cock into your throat. He tugged onto your blouse, signaling he wanted it removed. You obeyed and untied it slowly, not out of disobedience, but Thrawn didn’t care – he pushed your head towards himself, making you gag. You were never good at blowjobs to begin with, and you were trying, really trying. Breathe through your nose, you kept repeating to yourself, eyes teary, looking up to Thrawn. He looked feral with need and you dutifully went back to work, swallowing him as much as you could.

You hoped your saliva and his precum would make things a little easier, but after a while, it seemed as if your throat was already so bruised it started to swell a little, as you had a hard time swallowing the little spit that didn’t end all over Thrawn’s cock. You weren’t sure if he had noticed, as his gaze seemed transfixed over your bouncing tits, but soon he steadied you with both hands and started to fuck in and out of your mouth. Your jaw was getting tired and you were dreading the consequences of accidentally dragging your teeth over his cock; you put your hands on his thighs to steady yourself a bit more.

“Is this what you wanted all along?” he asked, sending another wave of arousal through you. When you didn’t answer, he not only upped his pace a bit, but pulled painfully on your hair.

“I asked you a question, whore,” Thrawn muttered, barely containing his own sighs and grunts.

If anyone else called you that, you would close your mouth so fast they wouldn’t realize what was happening, but you were too needy, too aroused, and too wet, so you pathetically tried to say “yes” from the bottom of your throat, although what came out was unintelligible mess amidst his ragged breathing. Thrawn was, however, happy with your answer as he suddenly rammed at the back of your throat as much as possible, and although you managed to take only a half of his long cock, he still was ready to explode in your mouth.

“All of it,” he instructed, before spilling, and you swallowed and swallowed, until he freed your mouth, only allowing you a couple of quick breaths, before thrusting his cock back towards your face.

“Clean it.”

When you were too slow for his liking, he slapped you, lightly, just enough to burn but not really hurt and you started to lick and suck again, until he pulled you on your feet. You wiped your mouth, and then your hand on your already ruined silk skirt, trying to balance your body.

“I see I’ll have to dedicate more time to training you,” he muttered again, almost to himself, his thumb playing with your lower lip, “but you look so pretty with your face puffed and bruised like this.”

You wanted to smile, because the pain his cock caused your throat, your mouth, and your lips felt devastatingly good. You watched as his hands found their way to your waist and higher, to your tits that somehow managed to stay put in that teeny tiny bra of yours.

He pushed one of his fingers in your mouth, and then another, guiding you backwards towards the couch. When the back of your legs hit the edge,

Thrawn tore off your skirt and let it fall down the floor, revealing similarly tiny thongs. Initially, you thought it would turn him on more, if that was possible in any way, but instead, his eyes started glowing in that dark, angry red that you’ve only seen once or twice before tonight.

Thrawn sat down, pulling you to straddle his lap and taking off his undershirt at the same time. An excited gasp escaped your lips at the sight of him, all chiseled and a little sweaty, but Thrawn was more focused on tearing your underwear off you, coaxing more gasps out of you. He faltered for a second and you wondered if the night would end here, but then he pulled you into a feverish kiss that was more about claiming and conquering than lust.

One of your hands was on his shoulder and the other one hanging off his neck, Thrawn grabbing a handful of your ass and dragging you closer, emboldened by your tiny moans and the way you were pressing yourself against him. He probed with his tongue in a rather inexperienced way, which surprised you a little, but you still couldn’t get enough of him.

Like he was reading your desperate little mind, Thrawn worked one of his fingers into you and used his thumb to massage and play with your clit, drawing lazy circles, teasing you in a way you never thought he would be capable of.

“Sir,” you moaned, begging for more and begging him to continue, heat welling up in your cunt, your whole body asking to be released of the pent up frustration. You could feel his lips forming a mocking, perhaps even a triumphant, smirk, probably because you never voluntarily called him “Sir” or “Grand Admiral” in a private, social setting.

“I wonder, what made you more wet,” he asked cockingly, nipping at your lower jaw, “my cock in your mouth, or when I called you a whore?”

You immediately tightened around his finger, involuntary answering his question.

“You really are a little whore,” Thrawn chuckled, his tongue circling your overly sensitive nipple.

“But if I ever catch you parading like this in front of my crew again,” his voice went low again and he suddenly forced another finger into you, sending a jolt of pain through you, “you are going to wish you died in the Outer Rim.”

He allowed you to try and fuck yourself onto his fingers for a little bit for his own amusement, before adding a third. The stretch made you grunt in discomfort, but your hand quickly found its way back to his half-hard cock and started stroking him again.

In your mind, you were begging to be fucked, to be at Thrawn’s mercy, to be his little fucktoy. Yes, you smiled to yourself, you really, really wanted to be his fucktoy, nothing more than a plaything for him to use to satisfy himself. The smile didn’t escape his attention, and he slapped you again.

“I don’t remember allowing you to enjoy yourself,” Thrawn growled, biting your lower lip.

“Please,” you begged, your eyes closed and tearing up a little, not from pain or perceived humiliation, but from chasing your high. His cock was throbbing in your hand but you were merely holding it now rather than stroking, spreading your legs on his lap as much as possible, focusing fully on those circles he was pressing into your clit.

“What were you just thinking about?” Thrawn demanded, another hint of insecurity escaping his controlling nature.

He could have just ordered you to tell him and you would have relented, but this opened the door for you to tease him just a little bit.

“About being a fucktoy,” you moaned, your release coming closer with every touch of Thrawn’s cold fingers. “About being a plaything,” you continued, breathing into his mouth, rolling your hips a little, chasing his fingers.

“You smiled because you want to be my plaything?” Thrawn asked, his voice strewn with lust and need, pressing his digits deeper into you, burying his head between your tits.

“Who said anything about you?” you cheekily asked, your hands tangled deep into his tousled hair, still trying to reach that high and come onto Thrawn’s fingers.

In less than a second the hand that was grabbing at your hip has now found your neck again, although he didn’t press.

“I did,” he growled, the red glow shining through his half-lidded eyelids. “You belong to me,” your Grand Admiral said, his thumb resting on your tongue which did nothing to muffle your rather loud moans. “Say it,” he ordered, smearing your saliva all over your lips and flexing his fingers inside your wet, hot pussy.

This, in combination with his thumb still rubbing your clit, was enough to send you over the edge; your arms went limp around his neck, your neck leaning completely against his hand, your breathing going all ragged and uneven.

“Yours, I’m yours,” you moaned, pleasure coarsing through you as Thrawn’s hand was lazily fucking you through it, “I’m your plaything,” you exclaimed as the last wave of pleasure crashed through you and you creamed all over Thrawn’s hand.

“Exquisite,” he muttered to himself again, licking off your slick from his fingers, giving you a moment to regain your composure and then, in a couple of swift movements, he pinned you on your back, this time against the couch. Thrawn was impatient, another surprising characteristic he was willing to show, not that you were complaining; a bit by bit, he was already fucking into you, sending a wave after a wave of small pleasures through you again. He was trying his best in allowing you to adapt to his size and girth, but you were already too fucked out, too cock-drunk to care; you just wanted to feel him deep, deep inside you.

Incoherent moans were escaping your lips, even more after he tossed one of your legs over his shoulder and leaned on it, pressing your knee to your own shoulder, all in an attempt to open you up more.

“Breathe, ch’ acah,” Thrawn whispered in your ear, his voice heavy, greedy. You had no idea what the word meant, but you guessed it had similar meaning to the one he already used during the course of the evening and the very idea of your prim-and-proper boss using such vulgar vocabulary made you involuntarily squeeze around his fat cock, drawing a long moan out of him.

Still, you listened, and although your nails were digging deep into his back and neck, you focused on breathing, trying to somehow will your pussy into relaxing more and accept everything Thrawn was giving you, ridge by ridge.

“Yes, yes, more,” you panted, feeling another wave of pleasure forming low in your stomach. “Don’t stop, Sir, please.” Thrawn was splitting you in half on his cock, although you were correct in assuming he wouldn’t all fit. He also wasn’t unnecessarily rough, but you were hurting just the same from his sheer size. The pleasure outbalanced it, however, and you continued to moan and beg, your hands going limp around his neck once again, little droplets of sweat falling from Thrawn’s forehead onto your face, his eyes trying to take in your every expression, every little breath.

Thrawn was also close, at least if his blabbering in Cheunh was any indication, not that you could make out anything he was saying. He was fucking in and out of you, upping the pace a little by little, although he wasn’t pulling out all the way, too lost in your pussy to completely part with it even for a second.

“A little more,” you begged, tears pooling in the corners of your eyes, “please, please.” It felt so good, so pleasurable to be fucked like this, feeling his cock so deep inside of you, after months and months of desperate fantasies. Simply listening to the obscene symphony your bodies produced, skin on skin, the squelching of your pussy, Thrawn desperately trying to hold back by grabbing your waist, and all the breaths, grunts, and moans was enough to tip you over the edge.

You let out a series of loud moans which mixed with Thrawn’s own sounds of unrestrained pleasure as he flooded your pussy with his seed; you could feel him throbbing deep inside you and then overflowing. Thrawn was still and quiet on top of you, not a muscle moving, his breath ragged and hot on your neck. You pushed a couple of strands of a bluish black hair back and wiped his sweaty brows with your thumbs. His eyes were closed and you could still feel his seed pumping out, although his cock softened a little. Despite the intensity of your second orgasm, you were still so incredibly horny.

Thrawn slowly stood up and finally removed his boots, pants, and underwear, erroneously tossing each to the side. Sitting up, you could feel his seed flowing out of you, bathing your thighs in his mark. Your legs were trembling a little from exhaustion, and you let them, staring at Thrawn’s muscular back.

“Are you feeling all right?” he asked gently, turning to you. When you nodded and flashed a tiny smile, he tossed you over his shoulder. “Good,” he muttered, walking towards his bedroom, ignoring your surprised shriek “because I need it at least one more time.”

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When you opened your eyes, you were on your side, your head and hand resting on Thrawn’s chest. He was drawing lazy circles on your shoulder with his thumb, pondering God knows what. Your whole body was one dull ache and you could see bruises already formed on your forearm; you took one deep breath taking Thrawn’s scent in, just to convince yourself it was all real.

“Did I wake you?” he whispered, pulling more covers over you. You shook your head slightly and looked up, and to your dismay, he looked tortured and perhaps even worse off than the night before. “Does blowing off steam usually leave a person feeling this much worse?” Thrawn’s voice was low and in a tone you’ve never heard before.

“Depending on how much one had to drink,” your voice was cracking but you tried being cheeky to cheer him up a little. Something was wrong, and you couldn’t put your finger on it.

Thrawn’s brows furrowed and he averted his gaze, although he kept his hand on your shoulder. “Perhaps I should apologize for my actions last night,” his voice was resolute, like he was giving a command on the bridge. For whatever reason, it gave you goosebumps, bad ones. “I’ve called you names and used both force and my authority to…”

”Your what?” his eyes found your face again, trying to make sense of you barely containing laughter. “You don’t really have authority over me.”

”I could literally throw you out of the airlock without facing any consequences whatsoever.”

You couldn’t remember when was the last time you laughed half as hard or as loud, even though it hurt like all hells. As you climbed in Thrawn’s lap, you fixed his hair again. “Do you think…” you started saying, but started laughing again. “Do you think I slept with you because I thought you might otherwise throw me out of the airlock?” Thrawn was dragging his fingers over the painful bruises he left on your neck.

”No, but you know what I’m trying to say.”

”You are not that kind of man, Sir,” you leaned in to kiss him, wide smile still on your lips, but he stopped you.

”And you’re using distancing language again,” he sighed, his gaze following his hand to your bruised hips. A little angered and a lotta confused, you literally grabbed his face and forced him to look at you.

”What the fuck are you talking about, Thrawn?”

His cheeks changed colour, to dark blue, at least as much as you could see under almost non-existent light in the room.

”You kept calling me Sir instead of Thrawn.”

Oh, you so badly wanted to answer something rude and crass, like sure, and I kept sucking your cock, but instead, you took a deep breath. As you shivered a little, Thrawn tried pulling more covers over you, but you used the opportunity to press yourself against him.

”You are awfully insecure for a war criminal, Thrawn,” you purposefully dragged out saying his name, “and I didn’t use distancing language, I thought calling you Sir was hot. But I guess I could get used to using Thrawn as well.” you winked at him, but Thrawn was fully concentrating on observing your face, trying to find any sign of deception. “Don’t you think I would do, or say something? Slap you, spit in your face, bite you? Come on, Thrawn, don’t you know me at all?”

“I suppose you are one of life's great mysteries, ch’acah,” he teased a little, but you tensed in his arms.

”What does that word mean? You used it yesterday as well.”

”It’s a term…” he was scanning your face, his cheeks flushed again “of endearment.”

Just as you wanted to reply, with something witty and cute, his comm links went off. You tried reaching for it, but Thrawn was faster, pinning you between the bed and himself in one move.

”Behave now, ch’acah,” he whispered before answering and you were already planning how to annoy him.

If you like my writing, all interactions are greatly appreciated-`♡´-

Oh, and Happy New Year!

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