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It wasn't easy to establish himself in an entirely different galaxy. He spent years simply learning of the worlds, factions, languages and cultures. It was dull work but important if he was to be successful. This galaxy was already at war when he found himself marooned here. War breeds opportunity.

Near the war's end, he took his opportunity. He started out in the distant planets, furthest from the New Republic's reach. The planet he chose to make his home still had some Empire holdouts clinging desperately to power. They were quickly dealt with with an added bonus of gaining the praise and trust of this little world. In turn, he urged them to govern themselves but he would gladly solve disputes and offer advice. On the surface, his new little world ran itself. Under the surface he controlled everything else. Call it the cleanest criminal empire.

He receded from view, becoming more of a story. It's oh so easy to construct a Godly persona after all. He began posing as he own right hand man. 'Ba'al' was rarely seen and often cloaked. Meanwhile, Mister Haddad saw to running things.

Today, Mister Haddad is over-seeing the running of one of the higher class bars. He's there because of reports of a rival crime faction attempting to horn in. Sending their men in to cause disturbances and damage.

He mingles with the patrons, subtly keeping watch. Keeping an air of important but not too important about himself.

If they try something today, he's ready to sent a message.

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The twitch, he notices. He hadn't used the please on purpose, but now he certainly might.

The glow fades, and he sags, a thin sheen of sweat on his skin. He doesn't lie down. He does as he said before, and folds to his knees, resting on his clothes. He curls over himself. All of him feels as though it's buzzing; the sudden release of pain is just as good as pleasure, in the first moments.

He sits back on his heels, swallows to moisten his throat.

"Is Ba'al what I should call you?" he asks. "It occurs to me that I haven't asked yet." His voice is rather weaker than he would like, but at least he didn't swoon onto the couch.

Ah, well. It seems he can't keep this man from falling to his knees in front of him. How terrible.

Ba'al takes a step back to allow him room, in case he ends up sprawled. "Ba'al is acceptable but you may call me what you like. I would caution you, choosing to use an insult to refer to me will make me more inclined to cause you more pain." Not that he's daring him to make fun of his name, except that he is. Completely daring him.

"Got it -- if I want more pain, make a pun."

He's leaning on one of his hands, but uses the other to give a thumbs-up.

Usually, Ba'al's thoughts and his host's are synchronized. They've been together so long it's simply unavoidable.

But for a second a clear thought comes from his host - a grumpy feeling about puns. Ba'al, in turn, assures his host that he is still the expert on Ba'al puns and he'll let him pun-battle Sinjir. Outwardly, Ba'al is rolling his eyes both at Sinjir and his host. It takes all his effort not to sigh in exasperation.

"I know what you don't want to be called but is there a name or term you'd prefer?" he asks as he crouches a short distance away. He has a name in mind if Sinjir doesn't care. "There's a word where I come from: Lo'taur. Translated to Basic it means most-favored or trusted servant. I think it may suit you."

A slight pause. Sinjir clearly struggles with his answer. His lips press together, and he looks up to Ba'al.

"Actually," he says, clearly pushing himself to answer honestly, "could you use my name?" It turns out what he wants isn't de-personalization, but re-personalization. He wants to be treated like an individual again, with his choices respected.

A beat. "Though," he says, "I would say, I'm mindful of the respect that translation shows me." It's not that he's rejecting that respect, he wants Ba'al to know.

With a slight bow of his head, Ba'al indicates his agreement. It does offer some interesting insight into Sinjir's mind. A loss of self, perhaps? Identity? Interesting.

There's an uneasy pause and narrowed eyes. He's not quite sure what to make of the last comment. He could be just telling him what he thinks he wants to hear but it sounds genuine. It annoys him that he can't tell.

"Well then, Sinjir," he says as he straightens, "Let us decide what's to be done with you. I have a particularly strong desire to hear you scream yet I have an equal desire to see you gasping for air." He rubs his chin as he considers some options. "There's a bed in the next room. Lay on it with your legs open. I will join you shortly."

There's an urge to touch himself and test the skin for any more pain -- it's hard to believe, somehow, that it's all vanished. But he recalls Ba'al's instructions on the matter, and doesn't. Wobbles to his feet, a little shaky but balanced.

"On my back or stomach?" he asks. Then -- "Is there anyone who'll see me if I just wander in naked?" Then, before Ba'al has the chance to answer, he laughs at himself. "No, nevermind. I don't care. If rumors started passing that I was the sex kitten of an Outer Rim crimelord, it could hardly make my reputation worse."

His reputation is about the worst that it can possibly be, at the moment.

So he moves towards the door, leaving the clothes scattered where they are. Maybe tosses a wink over his shoulder at Ba'al, if he catches Ba'al checking out his ass.

Ba'al opens his mouth to answer but only closes it again. He's not terribly fond of being cut off but it gets a laugh. "On your back. Oh, and from here, your reputation can only improve."

Oh, Sinjir is terribly irritating and likable. A combination he's come across only a handful of times.

After collecting a few things, Ba'al joins him in the next room. He tosses a packet of lubrication on the bed followed by long string of metal balls, each progressively larger. "I believe I can trust you insert those yourself. As many as you feel you can handle, but do feel free to attempt to impress me." He then holds up something that looks very similar in design to the device on his hand but smaller and obviously for another purpose. It has a long, thin rod attracted to it. "I presume you can guess where this will go as well as its function." He pauses next to the bed to gauge Sinjir's reaction.

He takes the time before Ba'al arrives to examine the room. The surroundings, the decor. Just to see what he can figure out about the man. (Probably not much more than he's already concluded.)

Then, the door opens. Sinjir shifts, minutely. Legs braced apart, back slightly arched. Sinjir does know how to properly display himself. He reaches for the packet, tearing it open -- taking Ba'al's words as an order. He curls up slightly with his knees open, so he can reach his fingers around to spread the lubricant at his hole.

But he pauses, mouth slightly agape at the device.

"Ahm," he says. "I think that's a bit longer than I've ever put, um. There." His fingers smear lubricant in his cleft, fingertips slightly breaching himself. before he's slick enough to reach for the balls.

The decor is nothing terribly special. It's far nicer than most but still on the conservative side. The only thing that stands out is a metal symbol hung on the wall. It's old and banged up, like it was pulled from wreckage. The symbol is the same that he uses to identify his goods.

Ba'al does take a moment to appreciate how Sinjir laid himself out. Well, more than a moment, he's obviously watching with great interest. He takes a seat next to the bed to watch. His eyes get progressively darker, more predatory. No subtle signals here, his body language practically screams he likes to watch.

"But not beyond your body's ability?" he distractedly asks while he toys with the device.

The first is easy -- tiny, and slips into Sinjir's body with barely a push. He squeezes down around it, his eyes flickering closed. He can feel the string connecting it to the next. Looks up, into Ba'al's eyes, and that's a mistake, because it makes him shiver, a wave of tension traveling up his spine.

He presses the second in, drawing a slow and shuddering breath. It's also easy.

"I don't know," he admits.

He can feel the weight of the first two inside of him. He toys with the third, rubbing it against himself, fingers getting it nice and slick. Starts to work it in, and his breath catches. Bites into his lip. A soft moan as it settles inside with the others.

It is not usually a challenge for Ba'al to control himself. The challenge comes at the moan. He can have almost anyone with little effort yet, somehow Sinjir is different. That makes this both dangerous and thrilling. He'll have to keep his guard up.

"I suppose we can find out then."

He shifts over to the bed and settles on his knees between Sinjir's legs. He leaves room for Sinjir to work while getting himself a much better view. He works some lube onto the rod then runs his still slick fingers over the head of Sinjir's dick. He doesn't plan to insert anything just yet so he takes time to let his fingers explore his cock.

Sinjir swallows, and his eyes are a little too wide, trying to take it all in. The rod looks long up close, compared to the only-slight sounding that he's done before, and he can't quite believe that he's letting this happen to him. He isn't just willing; he's eager, thighs subtly trembling at Ba'al's light touch.

He fingers himself, now, because he needs a little stretching before the fourth one. Two, three fingertips, working in and out of his body, as he makes soft gasping sounds. And then he presses the fourth against him, presses down with his palm and leans his body into it. The stretch almost reaches the point of pain, and then it slides in, sudden and swift, settling heavily in his abdomen. The way his weight rests, and the size of this one, puts subtle pressure on his prostate, and he rocks his hips just a fraction, his body straining for a pleasure just out of reach.

Ba'al does nothing to hide his interest in watching. In fact, he wants to be damn sure Sinjir knows he's watching. "Good," he practically purrs when the fourth goes in. "Very good." He can't help but let his hand drift down and push, just slightly, against the ring of muscle. Just a little extra teasing before returning his attention to the rod.

He carefully takes hold of his dick and centers the rod against the opening. He doesn't force it, he just lets gravity take it. When it goes in about an inch deep, Ba'al slowly pulls it back out. He repeats this, letting it go a little further each time. His movements are painfully slow. Partly to avoid any damage to Sinjir and partly because he can. Holding power over what someone feels is an addictive and wonderful feeling.

When the rod is finally seats the ring and chains around the head of his dick. "How does that feel?"

He can't just keep going while Ba'al does this to him. His hand drops to the bed next to him, and his jaw goes slack as the rod sinks into him the first time. It is a strain, almost-hurt, a wild and terrifying feeling. He can't tear his eyes away from the length slowly vanishing into his dick, the point of strain that moves lower and lower --

A shuddery gasp as Ba'al pulls it out again, and then his leg curls up for balance and his hand fists tight in the sheets as it sinks again. Shaky breaths. Again, a release of tension when Ba'al pulls it back, and this time, it yields an actual moan, and Sinjir's body goes tight from rib cage to thighs, his hips rising just a fraction. He is shocked by the feeling, by the intensity of his reaction, the stretch that keeps drifting deeper and the way the tip of his cock has stretched to accommodate the penetration.

Finally, it seats itself just a little bit too deep, and Sinjir watches as Ba'al binds him with a solid ring and a little chain. It's halfway between adornment and bondage, and he feels stretched open and taken in more ways than one.

His hand lifts, tentative. "You said I couldn't touch myself," he says. "May I...?" Wide and dark eyes searching Ba'al's for permission. Not to get himself off, but to touch how the chain feels against his skin. To explore it, to make it more real.

They are lovely reactions and something of an ego boost. This isn't something he's convinced anyone into since he came to this galaxy. Of course, he doesn't count forcing it on someone as a method of information extraction -- he doesn't get much gratification out of it with that method.

Needless to say, he plans to commit this to memory. Every little twitch and gasp.

"Now you can," for clarification: "As much as you like for as long as you wear it." It seems like a fair trade off to him, but then, he thinks blowing up things so his enemies can't have it is fair.

Ba'al shifts from his spot and back into a seat. Sinjir is a little too dangerous to risk extended periods of closeness when he can still speak coherently. Perhaps after he exhausts him, he'll allow himself that little indulgence.

"But no coming, right?" With a little, shaky laugh, and his fingers ghost along his length, trace the line of the ring. The cap over the head. And he presses, until he can just feel the end of the sound inside him.

He's back to being a display. Only, this time: decorated, for Ba'al's pleasure.

He tries to relax himself, shifts back into the position where he was, pushing the balls inside himself. But it's impossible to ignore the heavy weight on his cock, the way it pulls at him. A constant presence. He braces one of his thighs further apart, and fingers himself again, nudging the balls inside up a little further. This fifth one is going to be difficult, and he stretches himself wide, shifts, bites his lip to muffle a whine when that puts weight where the last ball inside him presses up against his prostate.

Reaches for the lube, spreading more where he's already slick, and he begins to push the ball inside. He has to lean back on the bed, back arched up, and every breath comes in a gasp as he's stretched wider, wider...

And it's past the ring of muscle and inside him, and he's panting against the bed, his body hot and flushed.

"That's all," he breathes, "I think that's all." He couldn't possibly fit either of the last two. Could he?

Ba'al shrugs. "Not necessarily. If, by chance, you were to come while wearing that, I will be able to... speed your refractory period as well as keep you aroused as long as I like." And he says it so innocently, like it's not a big deal. "But do hold off as long as you're capable... it makes everything more enjoyable."

It's worth noting that Ba'al begins to get noticeably(through his clothing, that is) hard. He neither tries to conceal it or draw attention to it. It's simply there and not something he's concerning himself with. He's far more interested in watching Sinjir squeeze in two more balls. His eyes have gone dark and predatory.

"Mmm, perhaps I should check," Ba'al says in response, his voice dropping lower. He pushes himself up and slides a hand up the inside of Sinjir's thigh. His fingers trace over his ass. "I'll attempt to place the last two. You must tell me the moment it becomes too painful, not after."

He rolls up his sleeves, showing the most skin since he met him, and picks up the lube. He slicks both hands then presses a finger inside, rather intentionally nudging the balls inside near his prostate. For now, he just plans to use his fingers to see how much more Sinjir can stretch.

"If I happen to come," he says. "By chance. Unrelated to all of the fucking that's going to be -- going on..." And he finds himself staring at Ba'al's skin, now. He hadn't registered consciously anything about Ba'al covering himself up, but the act of uncovering is so deliberate it makes Sinjir tingle, along the line of his spine.

He lays himself back, pliant to Ba'al's maneuvering.

"I remember the safeword," he confirms. Also his way of saying that protest does not necessarily mean withdrawal of consent. Sinjir would like to protest. He might even like to fight a little.

He yelps as Ba'al nails exactly the right spot on the first try.

"You like watching, don't you," he says, a little breathlessly. "Thought you might call someone in to touch me while you look on, but I think that's not what you like, is it? You get jealous. No: possessive. Not about wanting to be the one touching your toys -- it's just about wanting no one else to."

"Entirely unrelated," Ba'al jokingly confirms.

It's tempting to react to the words in anger at being easily read but he was somewhat prepared for this given how they got here. So, he decides to let Sinjir know he's right but that he's a tiny bit annoyed by it. He does this by pushing in two more fingers and really grinding the ball at the spot. "They may break what they do not know the value of," he growls out. Another push against the ball, now to provide room to stretch him more.

Soon, he starts to push the next against him. He's not so much trying to get it in as stretching him. "As long as it remains mine, I do not tolerate unapproved damage. Even that which I make myself, I will repair in the end." On the small scale, anyway. He can't unblow-up a planet but he'll still do it.

His hips buck up, and he can't quite bite back the cry. It makes his body seize up -- he swears he can feel his nerves tingling from thighs to his throat, an abrupt convulsion from pleasure too much too handle. A half-orgasm bubbles up in him, doesn't quite complete, and then he's whimpering as Ba'al's fingers press the balls in deeper.

A sharp breath at the pressure of the next ball. "I can't," he breathes, "I can't," one hand going to grip Ba'al's free forearm. It's a protest, but a protest that is absolutely not his safe word.

"Yes," Ba'al corrects, "You can." He keeps up a steady pressure and only pauses for a fraction of a second when grabbed. It was unexpected but not unwelcome. He moves that arm to stroke the side of Sinjir's face with his hand.

"I suspect, your body is more capable than you realize." He starts rocking the ball to help get it past resistance. A little more pressure.

His body is giving way, stretching wide, to the point of pain and just a little past it. It's too much, he can't breathe, his cock is so heavy and so hard and he can't -- he can't --

A feeling of slippery, slow movement, and Ba'al rocks it, little by little, into him. The widest point passes, and Sinjir lets out a sound like a sob, turning his face in towards Ba'al's hand. The ball is hard and large within him, and Sinjir's hand drifts to his belly. The presence is so big that it seems like he should be able to feel it from outside his abdomen. He can't; obviously, he can't.

A clench of internal muscles, and the ball shifts inside him, deeper.

"Oh, Force." He moans, thighs splayed wide.

It is all too gratifying to see what it's doing to Sinjir. Ba'al lets out a breathless laugh. He's having fun.

He leans forward, takes Sinjir's arms and loops them around his neck. He leans back, bringing him with him. He plans to let gravity do most of the work on the last one. Well, that and some more lube. He just makes sure it's centered. "Relax. It'll find its way inside."

He's not above helping it. He rests his hands on Sinjir's hips to rock them against it. He has a number of wonderful ideas of what to do once its in. One of them sticks out, it's a bit on the dangerous side for him, but it makes him shiver.

The last one, Sinjir estimates, is about how far he would be stretched if Ba'al were to fist him. And -- his body probably can take it, even though it's more than the last, but it scares him a little. It's a little wild, a little out of control, and relaxing enough means really putting his body in Ba'al's hands.

His thighs have a subtle tremor, and, at first, he balances himself above the sphere. He dips his head, breathes out, and shifts just slightly -- but enough to make him clench down and breathe out a little curse. "Every time I tighten up," he manages, "it's right there," and he can feel the narrow rope connecting them as he rests himself down on the sphere. With how slippery he is, and how -- stars, he's really starting to be loose, isn't he? Stretched, in a way that feels slutty -- it sinks partway in easily.

His fingers curl around the back of Ba'al's neck, tentative and careful, ready to move if there's any indication Ba'al doesn't want him to do it.

His toes curl tight, and he's making these breathless moans, pliant to Ba'al's hands, rocking his hips on top of a sphere being forced inside of him. So far from the dignity of an Imperial loyalty officer, far even from the calm and efficiency of a New Republic agent. To Ba'al, right now, he is more of a plaything, a cherished toy. He likes it. He likes Ba'al possessive, because it means that he's wanted, and valued. In this case, he's wanted for being clever and sharp-tongued, and for being beautiful, and for enjoying things like this, and that's just fine.

He keeps pushing down, and keeps stretching wider, rocking through little twitches of tension. This has to be all... he can't do any more. "No," he breathes, "I--" Gasps in his breath and the sound out of him is high and protesting, the hint of fear breaking through.

His body gives, just barely gives, and then it's sliding deeper, past the widest point, but his stretched hole can't completely close because of the way he's stuffed full. It's insane, it's so large inside him that it feels like it's crushing him.

Sinjir cries out, and comes, his cock untouched. A brutal convulsion of his body, curling over against Ba'al as he spasms tight around all the spheres, all of them inside him. The largest ball is pressed so hard against his prostate that it feels almost like the semen is forced out of him. And how does that -- the sound, is the sound going to plug it up inside of him?

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