Corruption

Chapter 13

By the time we reached the common room, I was already in tears—silent, hot, and shamed. I held my breath to keep the sobs locked tight in my burning chest.

Why couldn't I have just listened?

I prayed they'd show mercy. That they'd remember how obedient I had been all week. How quiet. How good. But even I knew that was foolish hope.

We stopped outside the door. I froze. My bare feet anchored to the cold metal floor like dead weight.

"You both will be dealt with soon enough," Kylo snapped at the stormtroopers, who stiffened under his gaze. "Yes, Supreme Leader," they answered in perfect unison.

Then his mask turned back to me.

"Go," he commanded, pointing into the room. His tone didn't rise, but it carried weight—undeniable, crushing.

I shook my head, eyes clenched tight. I didn't want to move. I didn't want to face them.

He sighed—long and slow—and I heard it through the static of his vocoder. "Do not make me do something you'll regret."

That was enough.

I stumbled forward like a broken marionette, slipping into the common room with my eyes fixed on the floor. I didn't dare look up. I could feel them—all of them—watching.

"Where the fuck have you been?" Vicrul's voice cut through the room, dark and sharp as a blade.

I didn't speak.

Kylo's presence filled the doorway behind me. "I found your pet wandering my halls," he said flatly. "You may want to consider keeping her... chained."

My stomach turned. The word echoed in my skull. Chained.

Vicrul stormed across the room, stopping just inches from me. His breathing was fast, heavy, controlled—but full of restrained fury.

"Thank you, Master Ren," he said, never once looking away from me.

Kylo nodded once. "Keep her out of my sight." Then he turned and left.

The door hissed shut behind him.

"What were you thinking, pet?" Ap'lek asked from the far side of the room, his voice like stone cracking.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. The words trembled on my tongue. "It won't happen again."

"Sorry isn't good enough." Vicrul's hand clamped around my arm—tight, cold. I stumbled after him as he dragged me toward the center of the room.

"Please—I'm sorry. Master Vicrul, please—"

"You're right," he said, deadly calm. "It won't happen again."

Without warning, he spun me around and gripped the back of my dress. With a sharp tear, the fabric split open and dropped to the floor, pooling at my feet like discarded dignity.

I cried harder—bare, trembling, and exposed before them all.

He sat down on the couch, yanking me over his lap in one brutal motion. My chest hit his thighs, my arms pinned behind my back by one hand. I could feel his body beneath me—rigid, unmoved.

"You will count," he said. "Miss a number, we start over. Resist, and it will get worse. Do you understand?"

"Yes," I choked. "Yes, Master. I understand."

His gloved hand came down hard against the bare flesh of my backside—loud, sharp, deliberate.

Crack.

The sting rippled through me, and I gasped.

"One," I forced out, voice shaking.

Another blow, harder.

"Two."

The pain burned deep into the muscle, a fire blooming under my skin. My hips jerked involuntarily.

"Three."

My arms strained against the pin of his grip, but I didn't fight back. Not really. I knew that would only make things worse.

"Four."

The fifth landed with enough force to jolt my entire body forward. I squealed, breath catching in my throat. Before I could recover, Vicrul's hand tangled into my hair and yanked my head back, forcing me to look at him.

His mask hovered above mine, upside down in my view, unmoving.

"Did that hurt, pet?" he asked, voice mocking, almost amused.

"Yes," I whimpered.

"Good." His other hand smoothed over the burning skin he'd just struck. "It's supposed to hurt. That's the only way you learn."

And he continued.

Blow after blow, perfectly timed. Never out of anger. Just discipline. I counted through the pain—my voice hoarse, breaking, raw.

"Six. Seven. Eight..."

By the time we reached ten, my body felt like it was vibrating with heat. My legs trembled. My face was soaked with tears I hadn't even realized were falling.

When it was finally over, he didn't say a word. He simply lifted me off his lap and dropped me onto the cold floor. My knees hit first, hard, and I let out a soft cry as my already-sensitive skin brushed against the surface.

I tried to sit back, but the pain was too sharp. I shifted instead, kneeling with my legs tucked to the side, trying not to let my flesh make contact with anything.

Vicrul crouched in front of me. His hand came under my chin, gripping my face tightly—his fingers forcing my lips to pucker slightly as I looked up at him through blurry, tear-filled eyes.

"I went easy on you," he said. "Because you've been good lately. Because I am fair. But if you ever disobey us again like this—if you ever lie to us again—I will not stop until you're begging to be put down like an animal."

I nodded quickly, desperate, terrified, obedient.

"Good." He dropped my chin and turned, disappearing into his quarters without another word.

The moment he was out of sight, I crumbled.

The tears came fast, unstoppable now that I was alone with the sting of his hands and the weight of my shame. My palms covered my face as I sobbed, shoulders shaking, small and broken in the center of the room.

Footsteps approached.

I flinched, heart pounding.

Not again. Please—not again.

But it was Trudgen.

He crouched beside me silently, watching for a moment before sliding his arms around me and pulling me against his chest.

"Poor princess," he murmured, voice low and almost affectionate. His hands were careful—one at my waist, the other stroking up and down my thigh. He lifted me easily, carrying me back to the couch as if I weighed nothing at all.

He sat with me in his lap, and I let out a sharp whine as my scorched skin touched his clothed thigh.

"I know it hurts," he said gently. "But you mustn't be so disobedient, little one."

"I'm sorry," I sobbed, curling into him, the heavy fabric of his robes muffling the sound of my cries. "I'll be good from now on. I promise, Master Trudgen."

He brushed his fingers through my hair, slow and soothing. "I know you will."

And somehow, the shame of his kindness was worse than the pain.