This is where the fun begins

Maul...who stalks your figure as you approach him for your rendezvous

You...whose heart thuds louder the closer you get

Maul...who can practically smell your arousal as you get near him. A temptation that he's unsure he can ever resist

You...blissfully unaware of why Maul cannot look you in the eye

Maul...who knows the second he locks sight with you, it's over for him. His brooding persona of strength and isolation would shatter in an instant with just your gaze. But he's young, and with Sidious as his Master he finally feels like he has purpose in the galaxy - surely he should be allowed to indulge in the fire that burns within him for you?

You...who reaches out and dares to touch a man most would be frightened to even see, placing your hand on his arm as you plead for him to just look at you

Maul...who feels like he's been burned by your touch. He snaps, grabbing you, and stares deep into your eyes. In one swift motion you're pinned against the nearest wall, his little plaything now, whimpering in the dark

You...whose breath leaves your lungs in one go, your feet struggling to reach the floor as Maul lifts you into his arms, your back pressed against the hard stone behind you

Maul...now totally fixated on you, is determined to worship you. His head dips in beneath your neck, and an assault of firm kisses begins

You...with your head leaning back, granting the Sith more room, your legs now firmly locked around his waist

Maul...who grunts and whispers about him leaving in the morning, how he may never see you again, and how he's resisted the urge to fuck your pretty body ever since the two of you met

You...feeling bold, challenge the Sith. "Then do it...".

Maul...who growls at your command, and hurries himself with moving the layers of your clothing out the way. Your trousers are soon slipped down your thighs, your bare cunt exposed and waiting for him. Maul slips two fingers inside almost immediately, grunting to himself at the feeling of how wet and tight you are

You...untouched for many moons, moan loudly into the night at the feeling of him touching you. You grunt at each flex of his fingers, feeling already how arousal flushes onto his hand

Maul...ever impatient when you were concerned, withdraws his fingers and sets to undoing his own clothing now. Already hard, he pulls his cock out of his clothes, and rubs the head against your slick core

You...who submits entirely to the Sith, and practically begs for him to stop delaying, your need and desire sending hot flashes through your body, prickling your skin with every passing second

Maul...who thrusts up into you with one snap of his hips, his eyes almost rolling back into his skull with pleasure. The rush of warmth from your slick coats his cock immediately, and he bites back his outward displays of pleasure with each languid roll of his hips. He focuses back on you, choosing to listen to your chorus of delight instead

You...totally unable to stop yourself, dig your nails into his skin, leaving crescent moon shapes deep in the crimson flesh. You want nothing more than to screw up your eyes and tip your head back, to let your body go limp and succumb to him. But Maul has other ideas.

Maul...who in the otherwise quiet of the night, grasps your chin with one hand and forces you to look him in the eye. The vermillion of his own bore into you, and he stares long and hard at you as you crumble in his arms, each snap of hips delivering a force harder than the one before

You...who can barely hold on, comes undone around him, your legs tightening and your screams filling his ears. Your body goes weak and Maul has to practically catch you to stop you from collapsing to the ground

Maul...who releases himself inside you, allowing himself a few staggered breaths, finally breaking his own unspoken vow of silence. He softly allows himself to kiss you one, two times, before setting you down

You...who watches as the Sith Lord leaves you, head hazy and feet shaking on solid ground. You know it's nothing personal, it's just how he is. He fleets from one great scheme to another, merely following his master's every command.

Perhaps, one day, he would be yours. Just yours.

This strange feeling, this prophecy of bloodshed - it was a secret sense between your body and the wider universe, one that you felt compelled to trust. And you were right to believe in it: the assault you had predicted was dealt swiftly, the night after the morning it first struck you. 

And so you absconded from your work at the bar when you could no longer deny that the time was near. You stole yourself away into a hidden wall of the cantina, slipping between walls until your body was snuggly lodged into a service vent - you could stand inside of it comfortably if you straightened your spine up and sucked in your breath. 

With a hammering heart and the taste of anticipation on your tongue, you watched and waited from behind the metallic grille for the bloody carnage to begin. 

When it finally hit, it was not the blaster fire you were expecting. Instead, it was an inexplicable shadow that lay waste to the room. A strong figure cloaked in black, features shrouded beneath a large hood. It was armed with a crimson blade that cut the men of the crowded room to pieces in less than ten heartbeats.

There were smoldering body parts littered across the ground in seconds, and as you heaved in ragged breaths from the shock of it, you could smell the sour, acrid tang of severed limbs and execution. 

You were able to discern that the creature committing this violence had a specific target - however, it was murdering en masse not just to identify who he was looking for - but also for the blood-soaked thrill of it. 

This was a game for it. 

When it found the man that it was after, the monster threw his body, still living, at the wall.

That man became a corpse when he slammed into the grate that hid you. 

You flinched. You gasped. You drew the eyes of the beast to your hiding place and it began to stride towards you, alert at your presence. Before you could even process what was happening, strong gloved hands had effortlessly removed the grate, and you were standing before the Hellish thing, cowed and unmoored and overwhelmed by the shock of it all.

The monster tilted its head in acknowledgment of you, and you got the impression that it was amused by your being there. You thought you were going to pass out from the horror and fear of what was to come - but then it lowered its hood, and you realised you were mistaken: that it wasn’t a beast or an animal or a creature at all. 

He was a man.

A striking man, at that. What should be the whites of his eyes were a curdled red, bloodshot and severe, but the gleaming irises were of remarkable amber beauty. His hood was hiding the most remarkable crown of horns on his head, and the crimson skin and ink-black patterns of his face were hypnoticly symmetrical. 

You found yourself undeniably and strangely drawn to him. Your fear dissipated and your interest blossomed. 

It looked as though he was pleasantly surprised, albeit perplexed, that you were standing before him, glazing your eyes across his body - how strange, that an innocent bystander to his brutality was observing him with such awe and desire. 

You must admit: you were acting moon-eyed and giddy to be so near to him, as though he was not a strange man you had hidden yourself from, as though he hadn’t just murdered tens of people in front of your eyes. 

It seemed that the disbelief of your being there, the juxtaposition of his violence and his curiousity, had given him pause. You were a mere slip of a thing compared to the brutes and grunts he had just swiftly ended, you were distinctly feminine in a masculine space, your scent sweet with fear and intrigue - you watched him notice that your skin glistened with a slight perspiration, that your lips were soft and your heart was hammering hard in your chest.

Neither of you understood what compelled him to reach out his hand and run his index finger down your cheek. Perhaps it was the biochemical mayhem of physical attraction, or the sheer anomaly of this situation, or something else entirely - but soon, his hand was at the nape of your neck so that he could position you closer to him with a harsh tug of his wrist, so that you were out from inside of the wall, and pushed up against it instead. He ran his violent eyes down your bare throat and your entire being shuddered in anticipation. 

You did not scream, or panic, or pull away as you probably should have - the only reaction you had was a strong draw toward him. It felt surprisingly right: your eyes hitched upon his own, his fingers holding you still, the discovery of a face unlike that which you had ever laid eyes on before muddying your thoughts with carnal need. 

He smelt like metal and death, his breath hot at the column of your throat, his body hard and solid. He was so close he could smell the thudding warmth of your pulse, could scent your slick arousal and feel you tremble in his arms. 

He kissed you. 

It happened like the electric blast of a lightning strike, colossal and blinding and sudden. Just like that: your lips pressing desperately together, your body settling into his. 

His mouth felt remarkably good on yours, his tongue was robust in its seeking of your own. Your teeth clashed in the fervour, your palms found and pressed against his robed chest. You were moaning into his mouth, and you felt him tense in desire at the sensual sounds you made.

You felt his touch gravitate to the soft skin and gentle contours of your body - his hands had slipped down to your waist, his fingers grasping at your clothed flesh, fervid and unyielding in discovering how you felt beneath the layers of fabric. 

Something came over you both that night, something utterly cosmic, as though you were being controlled by a power greater than yourselves. You physically could not stop kissing him, touching him, caressing him. 

He pulled your legs up around his waist so that he could rub himself against your most private of parts - and you let him. 

In the face of such unchecked violence and power, amongst the still warm corpses of his enemies, you allowed him to ravish you.

In fact, you grinded into him too, unable to resist working yourself at his hard erection, the thickness of him that was trapped beneath the black material of his clothing. 

It was exquisite. 

You never stopped kissing, your lips were moving in tandem with his late into the night, even as his strong arms roughly removed the clothes from the pair of you, so that he could slip his hard, bare cock inside of you and fuck you hard against the wall. And when he had used you for his own pleasure, when you had brought him to the very heights of carnal bliss, he came inside of you, groaning the most delectable growls into your mouth. 

As he calmed his breathing and came down from the high of his orgasm, he focused on rubbing his fingers in circles at your clitoris, and you bucked into his hands so that he was moving against you how you needed it, and you grinded against him until the world turned white with heat and you reached your own climax, mewling and moaning into his lips, shaking hands grasping on to him.

Eventually he gently lowered you to your feet, and covered your body with his outer robe. Then he righted himself, fixing his clothes and his composure. He nodded to you with the slickest hint of a smirk. Then he raised his hood and walked away.

You were left flustered and orgasm struck, your skin bruised and your heart aflame, utterly spent. You had been kissing and fucking for so long that hours and hours had passed.

That night was a whirlwind crescendo of intimacy, death, sex and violence. Unforgettable.

And when, six months later the feeling of that initial premonition returned to your body, the weight of violence hanging heavy in the air: you knew that he would return. 

You were ready for him. 

-

[My requests are open.]