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Bo-Katan gets back to their bedroom late, stress resting heavy on her shoulders as she takes off her armour. The role of Mand’alor was never meant to be easy, but some days the work takes its toll. Showering and changing in silence, Bo-Katan sits down next to her riduur with a relieved sigh, happy to be free of other titles for at least a short while.
The Armorer sets aside her datapad, looking at Bo-Katan thoughtfully before bringing a bare hand up to press lightly against her throat. The gentle caress of warm brown skin is a balm, soothing the churring doubt that had been plaguing Bo-Katan all day. The other woman smells of the mineral rich water that runs through their underground caverns and torrent wisp pine, a heady mix that has come to mean home. Bo-Katan soaks up the presence of her wife greedily, eyes tracing the familiar patterns of old scar tissue up the Armorer's wrist.
“You forgot your collar.”
Bo-Katan freezes in place, pulse jumping under the steady pressure of the Armorer’s fingers. Swallowing thickly, her eyes dart to wear her collar sits on the far side of the room, sparkling in the lowlight. How could she have forgotten? It had become a routine months ago, slipping on the collar when she got home- taking off the mantle of Mand’alor and embracing the quiet peace that came with belonging to a single person else instead.
“I’m sorry,” Bo-Katan says weakly, sad to have disappointed not only her riduur, but herself. “I- I just-”
The Armorer gives her time to finish the sentence, but additional words never arrive. Humming in consideration, the Armorer squeezes her hand once, briefly pressing down on the hammering pulse point before pulling back completely.
Bo-Katan makes a wounded sound, fearing the worst, but the Armorer soothes her as she stands. “This isn’t your fault Cyare, it’s mine. It’s a sign I have been failing in my responsibilities to you.”
Bo-Katan doesn’t think that sounds much better than blaming herself; the Armorer has never been anything other than exactly what she wanted and needed. She could be as firm and unrelenting as cooled beskar yes, but always kind and loving in all the ways that matter.
“You’re still thinking too much, Mesh’la. On your knees,” the Armorer says simply, pointing to a part of the floor close to her feet, "Clothes off." Bo-Katan gaps at her for a moment, blinking in shock, before scrambling out of bed to comply.
Sinking down to kneel before the Armorer, she settles into a practiced pose they had agreed to ages ago for these kinds of scenes. Taking a steadying breath, Bo-Katan centers herself, focusing on the cold press of the stone below her knees to stay grounded.
“You have done nothing wrong and you will not be punished, do you understand?” The Armorer rumbles above her. Bo-Katan does not look up or take her eyes off of the floor, keeping her gaze down as they had discussed.
“But I should have-”
“This is not a debate, you will answer me with yes alor when I ask you a question.” The Armorer says louder, cutting her off before she can finish. “Do you understand?”
Bo-Katan chews her lip, but decides to trust the Armorer. She’ll take care of me. She always does. “Yes, Alor.”
“Good. You are not being punished because you have done nothing wrong.” The Armorer continues, as if not interrupted at all. Beginning to walk as she speaks, the Armorer crosses the room to pick up Bo-Katan’s collar. “Our agreement was to help you feel comfortable, not to hold you to perfection. Everyone forgets and makes mistakes, it’s not a flaw- it’s human.
You are a diligent and hardworking Mand’alor; our people thrive and grow stronger under your care each day. You are allowed peace and rest in your free time."
Bo-Katan feels her chest constrict at the words, the tender sincerity behind them making her ache. Gods how did I end up with such a woman?
The Armorer’s feet come back into view and a hand raises her chin. Holding herself still, Bo-Katan melts as the Armorer puts the collar around her neck, where it belongs.
“You are loved,” the Armorer says finally, clicking it closed.
“Thank you,” Bo-Katan whispers back, leaning into the hand lingering around her throat. The collar fits her perfectly, made by the same loving hands that hold her chin up now.
“Mesh’la,” the Armorer says quietly, tracing a finger along the edge of the collar until she reaches the single hoop adorning the front. Hooking her finger through it, the Armorer tugs, urging Bo-Katan closer on her knees.
“I will help you remember your place,” her wife says firmly, keeping her hold on Bo-Katan tight. “And your worth.”
“Gedet'ye,” Bo-Katan begs, grateful for the respite offered. Even after the bloodshed it took to become Mand’alor, Bo-Katan still needs this, brief moments where she can set aside the weight of her other role.
Just as quickly as the touch appeared, it’s pulled away. Bo-Katan sways as the Armorer reaches for something just out of sight, leaving her to kneel patiently by their bed once again. She had rarely been a woman of patience before the Armorer, but there were many things she had never been before her riduur.
Calloused hands return to Bo-Katan’s throat with a long strip of blue material; it isn’t until the lead is clicked into the loop of her collar that Bo realizes it’s a leash. Heart thudding, a full body flush spreads quickly across her prickling skin. Wrapping the excess around her fist, the Armorer tugs the leash tight. “Up. I want you on the bed on all fours.”
Bo-Katan follows the pull of the leash, letting herself be drawn up and manhandled towards the bed. Despite the ache in her knees and the pressure around her throat, heated anticipation stirs deep in her belly.
The Armorer keeps the lead taught, forcing the Mand’alor into the exact position she wants. Bo-Katan finds herself kneeling on their bed as asked, head pushed down to rest against her arms with her ass up. The leash is loosened just enough for the Armorer to circle Bo-Katan and stand behind her, wet pussy on full display. There’s another hum of consideration from her wife before Bo-Katan's knees are being forced further apart.
“Just a little more, Mesh’la. I want to see all of you,” the Armorer says, pushing Bo-Katan until her back is fully arched and her cunt completely visible. Groaning into the bedsheets, Bo-Katan presses back into the calloused hands moving her, begging silently for relief.
Ears ringing, it takes a moment for her body to catch up with the harsh crack of a slap against her dripping pussy. Clenching down around nothing and jolting forward, Bo-Katan barely gets a breath in before a second slap lands lower, partially hitting her clit.
“You were not given permission to move, Cyare.” The Armorer chastises lightly, rubbing gentle circles into Bo-Katan’s lower back. “I’ll decide when you’re ready to take me.”
Bo-Katan huffs against the bed sheets, equally annoyed and turned on. Control is a double edged sword held close to her heart; both the taking and letting go hurt, but the cut could only heal when removed. For all the danger the Armorer contained, her presence brought Bo-Katan peace. I wish I was good at something other than war.
A slicked finger teases briefly at Bo-Katan’s entrance before sliding in. Thoughts scattering, the Mand’alor grips at the bed sheets tightly, thrown by the sudden intrusion. The Armorer works fast, additional lube poured directly onto Bo-Katan’s hole before a second finger sinks in to join the first. It’s wet and vulgar, release and excess lube running down her spread thighs, but it sets Bo-Katan aflame.
“You’re still thinking too much, Mesh’la.” the Armrorer says, pulling the leash taught to force Bo-Katan’s head up off the mattress. “I want to hear how good you feel.”
The fingers within her scissor, rubbing at the spasming walls of her cunt lovingly before pumping in and out. Bo-Katan moans open mouthed, panting like a strill in heat as she drips onto the sheets.
The smooth beskar collar remains lightly pressed against her throat, the reminder of who she belongs to causing Bo-Katan to clench down on the fingers fucking her open. She pants loudly, embarrassed by the whine bubbling up from her chest. The Armorer takes it as a positive sign, two thick fingers becoming three within her cunt. A full body shudder rolls through the Mand’alor, the delicious stretch pulling a moan out of her. Her riduur knows her too well, rubbing and teasing exactly where she needs to to have Bo-Katan humping back against her hand.
The Armorer brings her close to orgasm, stoking the fires of her pleasure into an inferno before pulling away. Bo-Katan feels painfully empty as the fingers that had been pumping into her disappear and the leash loosens. Face dropping to lean into the mattress again, Bo-Katan barely has time to catch her breath before the thick head of a strap is being rubbed between her legs.
“Poor thing, so empty and needy.” The Armorer coos behind her, slowly grinding the thick length against her dripping core. The bulbous tip bumps against Bo-Katan’s clit, pulling a desperate cry from between her chewed lips.
The Armorer grinds against her torturously slow, strap teasing at Bo-Katan’s soaked entrance. The head catches against her puffy slicked hole, but the Armorer purposefully redirects her hips, causing the strap to slide past. The Mand’alor shudders, release dripping down onto the bed.
Bo-Katan is a live wire, tension sizzling just under her skin as her riduur takes what she wants at her own pace. The leash once again pulls taught, forcing Bo-Katan’s head up.
“What should I do with this needy hole I’ve found?” The Armorer asks, strap continuing to slide past Bo-Katan’s aching cunt.
The vulgarity of the question has tears forming in Bo-Katan’s eyes, her need white hot and desperate. “Gedet’ye.”
“Please, what?” The Armorer demands, tone firm before softening just enough to let Bo-Katan hear the tender care hidden behind each word. “You only have to ask Cyare, and I would give you anything.”
Heart clenching, a wounded sound leaves Bo-Katan. That was the lesson in all of this, why her riduur handcrafted a collar and leash just for her. This was what Bo-Katan wanted and needed, the Armorer had only gifted her the safe space to enjoy it.
“I want you to fuck me, Alor. I want to feel only you,” Bo-Katan sounds as wrecked as she feels, her voice a broken rasp but still loud enough to reach the Armorer.
“Jate,” the other woman praises before sinking the entirety of her strap into Bo-Katan’s overheated pussy.
Bo-Katan howls, spread wide by a thick textured strap that doesn’t slow until the Armorer’s hips are flush against her bare ass. The Mand’alor clenches and throbs around the girth, shaking in relief. Finally, her riduur is inside of her, stretching her deliciously as the hold on her leash tightens. Sucking in a ragged breath, the Armorer pulls most of the way out slowly, letting the flared ridges and bumps of the strap rub sinfully against Bo-Katan’s spasming inner walls.
Lube and release drip down Bo-Katan’s thighs, her cunt a wet mess that squelches loudly as the Armorer fucks back into her. This time the other woman doesn’t pause, instead opting for a harsh rhythm of thrusts that has drool running down the side of Bo-Katan’s open mouth. A hand reaches around her trembling thighs to pinch at her clit, bordering over the line of pain in the exact way she likes.
Bo-Katan isn’t given time to adjust or grow accustomed to the onslaught of touch; she is given exactly as much as the Armorer allows and she takes it willingly. It’s overwhelming, the slap of skin and inferno of molten want in her belly, but it’s exactly what Bo-Katan was waiting for. The world outside of their room fades, responsibilities and titles forgotten. Everything Bo-Katan is is cradled in the hands of a devoted lover, shaped and cherished like refined beskar.
Bo-Katan doesn’t realize she’s begging until the collar around her neck pulls tighter under the draw of the leash. She leans into the comforting pressure as she pleas for her riduur to fuck her harder, use her, and ruin her. The Armorer growls, her own words becoming dangerous and filthy. The other woman’s strong hold is the only thing keeping Bo-Katan up, her knees and arms weakening under the mounting anticipation.
Her insides throb, every nerve ending electrified by the slicked glide of the thick strap pounding into her. The Armorer leans forward, bringing one of her own knees up to bracket the Mand’alor’s as she fucks her deep. Bo-Katan Kryze is reduced to a single hole made for the Armorer’s pleasure- to be filled and fucked without concern. All she has to do is take it, and Bo-Katan has never been more relieved to follow an order.
“Just like that Mesh’la, taking me so well. The perfect little hole just for me,” the Armorer coos, breath now ragged.
“Yours,” Bo-Katan agrees, knowing there’s never been a greater truth. Her titles and prefixes have only grown over the years- Princess, Lady, Usurper, Heritic, Mand’alor but belonging to the Armorer felt like the highest honour.
The Armorer groans at the confession, core muscles working overtime to pump her hips faster. The slap of wet skin echoes through their shared living space, the sound of Bo-Katan’s unravel deafening. The squelch of her abused pussy, leaking and ruining the sheets below them, only encourages the Armorer. Sweat covers them both, beading and dripping across the expanse of bare skin.
Bo-Katan’s own abdomen tightens, toes curling as the wetness of her cunt grows louder. Unable to control the buck and shake of her own body, she trusts the Armorer to catch her once she is finally pushed over the edge.
“Go on Cyare, make a mess. Let me watch you cum on my strap,” the Armorer pants, rubbing harshly against her throbbing clit.
Bo-Katan fists the sheets, muscles spasming under the relentless pressure boiling up within her. As if holding on to an open electrical source, sparks jump across her nerves in a way that had Bo-Katan shaking. She’s barreling towards the end of her own restraint, vision growing white as stars burst behind her eyes.
The Armorer takes no pity on the Mand’alor, understanding this kind of unravelling is very much needed. Bo-Katan Kryze is make of broken edges, but taken apart and built anew she shines. The molten rage that kept her alive for decades needs release, and the Armorer knows how to relieve the build up.
Sobbing open mouthed into the mattress, Bo-Katan arcs her back and finally carries out the Armorer’s demand. She comes hard, all the walls within her shattering into a thousand bits.
The first gush of hot release steals Bo-Katan’s breath, the strap pounding into her not slowing as her pussy begins to clench and squirt. Air must be getting into her lungs, because Bo-Katan is fairly sure the ringing in her ears is from her own screaming. The Armorer pushes her down further, full body weight working to keep her in place and fuck through it. Bo-Katan can only take what’s given and shudder, cunt continuing to spurt release around the thick strap pumping in and out.
The hand not holding her leash taught keeps rubbing Bo-Katan’s abused clit, dragging the orgasm out longer. Legs giving out, the Mand’alor is pressed flat against the mattress as the Armorer continues to fuck her, burning out all the unbridled energy and doubt that had been haunting her. Bo-Katan is reduced to a hole to be used for a short while, and the relief of such simplicity pushes her into another smaller orgasm.
Finally set adrift in the soft haze of bliss, Bo-Katan holds onto the weightless feeling as long as she can.
A cool cup of water is pressed to her lips and Bo-Katan drinks from it greedily, enjoying the small huff of laughter it earns her. The Armorer's hold on the cup keeps her from drowning herself, but Bo-Katan is sure her chugging is not a pretty sight. Still, she is held patiently as she takes her fill, loving circles rubbed into her back until she's ready to let go. The Armorer sets aside the almost emptied cup, setting it beside a second full one waiting on the bedside table.
No longer dry mouthed, Bo-Katan settles comfortably against the Armorer's chest. A blanket has been wrapped around the two of them, an additional fur thrown across Bo-Katan alone.
"Feel better?" The Armorer asks quietly, trying not to disturb the gentle peace between them. "Do you need anything?"
Bo-Katan melts further into her riduur, pressing a kiss into her neck. "No alor, just you."
The Armorer wraps her arms around Bo-Katan, content to do nothing more than embrace her wife.