The Boy With No Name
Many thanks to Carmen and Fluffy for being such good betas for a pretty squicky story, and to Ide of SPEB for great discussions on the nature of Sith training ...
The boy without a name lay in his bunk, high up above those of his roommates. He was the new boy, so was relegated to the most inaccessible sleeping quarters. It took him nearly 10 minutes every time he needed to get something from his cubby or bunk, then another 10 minutes back down. If he rolled around the wrong way while sleeping, he'd actually feel himself falling for a short time before hitting the floor. He was so high up that he very nearly reached terminal velocity by the time of impact.
But the boy who called himself Kram Reihtuag felt it was a small luxury to be sleeping here. The daily beatings from the older boys were mild, especially when he remembered back to his usual domicile. For a dozen years, he had lived on Naboo, a small green planet bordering the Outer Rim of the galaxy. It was a beautiful and luxurious place, and those who set eyes on it were enchanted with the rococo architecture and the apparent harmony with which the man-made structures were nestled with the natural. This was a society where disapproval and discord were not voiced in an angry cacophony, but instead were quietly and civilly displayed via clothing color and style. If the elected monarch passed an unpopular taxation proposal, the populace would be clothed in dark, somber, strong colors in stark cuts in protest. If a holiday was announced, or if a popular repeal of taxes was enacted, the people would come out in bright and pastel colors, like living jewels, highly ornamented. It was said that even the weather followed the mood of the people. It made being a monarch surprisingly straightforward.
No one suspected beautiful, articulate Naboo to have a dark soul. Like the planet that housed this great evil, this soul was difficult to discern, hiding nowhere and everywhere. The planet -- unlike others that possessed a solid core surrounded by a magma layer, then covered by a living crust -- was an eroded type-IV iron meteorite, once rich with pegmatitic mineral inclusions in a metal matrix. The silicate nodules that once resided in the nickel-iron material had long ago disappeared due to weathering, leaving behind caves and tunnels of the most unpredictable sort. In theory, one could navigate through the very core to reach the other side of the planet, but doing so in uncharted caverns was suicidal. People who entered the crevices often did not return, and parts of their ships or bodies might float up to the surface months later.
It was a perfect metaphor for the Sith.
Kram had no idea who his real parents were. He was the apprentice to a woman whom he publicly referred to as his grandmother, but he knew she was not his kin. No caring kin would do what she forced him to do, every day of his young life. Being sent to an elite boarding school was a relief, a sort of peaceful bliss. Yet he was anxious, too, for he did not wish to fail his master.
Darth Impieta was a strict master. Kram had no idea how she had come to be a Sith lord, nor even how he had become her apprentice. He knew he had to please her in order to survive. He recalled being surprised to find that he was not a slave or a servant a few years ago, but a being selected for something greater. Until then, she had him cleaning and attending to her, and he assumed he had been born into slavery and perhaps sold to her.
She had him swimming in the deep lakes bordering her estate, searching for amulets she'd planted, wrestling animals dragged from the deep caves, running up cliff faces, dodging rocks and weather. She was a superlative sword handler and often rewarded his lack of speed or attention with a harsh bruise. Impieta often took him for extended periods to the planet Korriban, an isolated place in the Horuset system. It was officially described as being a planet of "desolate wastes," and the boy both feared and welcomed it. While there, his training was filled with routine, day after day. In contrast, while on Naboo, the boy's schedule varied, and he often felt off-balance.
In his first week at boarding school, the boy had to endure "newby boxing" -- an activity whereby older boys stood behind the younger ones and grabbed their wrists or elbows. They would box with other boys who were similarly equipped, using the new boys as both weapons and shields.
The young students were visibly covered in bruises and wounds, but the teachers did nothing, for it was understood to be a rite of passage. The boys who did well would be socially elevated and respected ... and would have his pick of new boys when newby boxing time came again in following years.
The boy without a name took the battles well. This was nothing compared to what Darth Impieta inflicted on him. He fought well, didn't complain, even helped heal others, and was soon selected to live in the Head Boy's wing.
He tried to remember his name was Kram, in case he was asked. This was part of his master's orders -- to attach himself to Finis Valorum, the boy who would most likely rule the Republic in the future. The Valorum family was fabulously wealthy and powerful; their political dynasty had lasted half a millennium, their financial dynasty for longer. He was to get close, find out what he can, get information he could use. If you succeed, one step at a time, promised his elderly human master, you can bring about the rise of the Sith. She looked down at him, her nose upturned, If ... that is your ... destiny.
Darth Impieta had often told him he was talented -- it was one of the few compliments she issued. It was a simple thing, and something he knew he had no control over. He was born talented or not. But it made him feel good, and he craved more praise. She was parsimonious and efficient about meting it out, though. It always made him desperate to please her.
When the boy was still at a tender age, his master had initiated him into numerous acts of sex, violating him with digits, prosthetics, and eager old men. She needed him to grow used to it, to find ways of pleasing the invader, to learn control, to overcome his revulsion. She had taught him an orifice was simply a hole from which pleasure must be derived. To lose control of the act was to surrender. And to be a vessel for pleasure meant that he could control the feelings and mind of the person being pleasured.
So he submitted willingly; to be willing was to be in control. When the older boys took turns with him, he made sure to help them finish quickly. That he could control their excitement and climaxes brought him a measure of satisfaction. Soon, he was the favorite of his elite house wing.
It brought him relief from the time-consuming, tedious and demeaning chores the other newbies were forced to perform. He was often already warming the bed of one of the seniors when another boy was ordered to warm the outdoor refresher in mid-winter for use by the seniors. Another boy would be ordered to wash, mend or iron clothing or curtains, or even the rugs in the corridors. Yet another made breakfast and served it off his back, positioning himself on the floor on his hands and knees, as a table. And another would be pressed to finish writing a paper for some class, due that morning.
The boy with no name instead would feel a pair of hands on his ears, or spreading the globes of his backside. He would hear his tormenter make appreciative sounds; he endured it as he catalogued what he knew of this student. Which acts he favored. Which classes he was cheating on, which exams resulted in rigged scores -- who he knew and how far would he likely go in the future? In truth, the task never took long, and he was free to go about his own business afterwards.
In his second year, the older man-boy who had claimed him was forced to yield. He had made a bet and was told to pay up, or to forfeit his newby. Not having the cash, he reluctantly told Kram that he now was back in the pool of boys to be bid upon. This was not unwelcome news, since this would give Kram a chance to move up in the hierarchy of ruling boys.
That afternoon, after classes and athletic practice, the boy was taken to rooms through a corridor he had heretofore been restricted from entering, was stripped, then clothed in a hooded robe and was told to wait on his knees. He was explicitly instructed not to sit back on his heels. He would be there for over a standard hour.
A robed figure came through the door, and the boy without a name tried not to wobble from the fatigue and heat. He knew he was being watched. It was difficult and painful, but not impossible to hold the requested position. After all, was he not in training to be a Sith lord?
The robed figure put a folded cloth over the boy's eyes, blindfolding him. He felt something warm and hard, covered in a slippery sheath, rub against his cheek. He tried to breathe steadily, parting his lips slightly. He waited for the object to enter his mouth; it would have been unseemly to take it too willingly.
He had been trained to keep his feelings locked in, to hide his Force sensitivity. Still, it was tempting to reach out and learn about the boy he was pleasuring, if only to find ways to make the experience more thrilling. He would not likely be detected, for the population of the school consisted of boys far too old to have been overlooked for Jedi training, so no other Force adepts would be in the area.
Besides, he was dying to know if his plan to move up the social ladder of boys was working.
Tentatively, he expanded the Force to envelope his own body, then reached slowly to the boy who's rigid member was churning in his lips. To his surprise, he discovered he was alone with Finis Valorum. The Head Boy was -- as a personal rule -- not interested in getting to know the newbies; he hoped to keep his identity secret so that his future would not be compromised. He understood his potential position in the galaxy, and was loathe to compromise it. But Kram felt him enjoying the illicit act, letting go his self-loathing at thrilling to this essentially homosexual act. Unlike other boys, Finis didn't imagine his penis to be in a girl's mouth; he simply enjoyed the sensation.
The boy called Kram admired Valorum. The older student knew how to receive pleasure, a rare skill. He didn't imbue it with meaning or justify away his guilt or have a hidden agenda. Unlike other boys who used pleasure to subjugate or cause envy in others, Finis used it privately, simply because he wanted it.
The older boy completed the act and withdrew at a leisurely pace. Kram continued to suckle as the rigid rod turned pliable and soft. He heard Finis moan in appreciation. Using his tongue, the underside of the member received additional attention, and Kram was satisfied to feel Finis resolving to use him again. As Finis Valorum withdrew his penis, Kram felt a seal being placed on his forehead. He knew this would identify him as the property of a particular senior, and he not to be bid on further by others.
He would be the Head Boy's bitch. His master would be proud.
* * * * *
The call echoed down the corridors. Those furthest away could barely hear it, but when they did, they bolted, seeking the source of the call as quickly as possible. Each of the boys belonged to a group of seniors to do chores and jobs for them. The jobs normally entailed cleaning or carrying or cooking. But occasionally a job entailed warming a cold refresher with their bodies, or could even be something sexual or otherwise perverted.
Once the call went out, the boys all ran to their senior master. The last boy among them to arrive would be assigned the task. The younger boys, housed furthest away from the seniors, often found themselves weighed down with dirty boots for cleaning, or piles of laundry and ironing to be done, or tiny sonic brushes with which to clean tiles or bricks. If you were really unlucky and didn't hear the call and thus didn't arrive at all, you'd be publicly caned or spanked that night, bent over naked in the senior's common room. You could hope that the seniors wouldn't be aroused that night, but that rarely happened, and the suffering boy would often not be released till daybreak.
Kram ran with the other boys, stampeding toward the echoing voice. The intermediate boys often shoved or trampled the younger ones, to assure they reached the master before them. Though he might have used the Force to protect himself, Kram knew there was no point. It would have called attention to him, and he would be failing his mission.
When the caller was Finis Valorum, Kram deliberately let himself be shoved aside, often falling back down the steep stairs, delayed on purpose. He'd come limping last, looking mournful and panicked. As Valorum counted the boys, they'd melt away, back to their tasks. At last they had all left, leaving Kram cowering with delight, not daring to look up, not daring to show the satisfaction in his eyes.
Sate Pestage, a boy in one of the grades below Kram, seemed to have a similar mission, and would sometimes arrive last, despite Kram's efforts. But Kram noticed that Valorum often counted him out, favoring the young Sith apprentice in those situations, forcing Pestage to withdraw in disappointment. Was young Sate ambitious, or did he simply have a crush on Valorum? The boy would have to find this out about his rival.
Valorum told Kram that he needed his most formal robes repaired, washed and pressed for that evening's sports award dinner. He expected to receive the medal and citation for best overall athlete, and needed to look his best for the holos. Kram remembered to tremble a bit as he received the sack of vestments, bowing his head, showing enough reverence for the rumpled, torn garments. Valorum put his hand under Kram's chin, cupping it as he lifted the young boy's head up to look at him. Kram kept his eyes closed, and felt a soft kiss caressing his forehead. Alone together in the hallway, the boy accepted Valorum's oral caress.
In the laundry, he found that young Kinman Doriana was already there. He had been assigned a similar task for another senior. Doriana wore a house robe, a one-piece garment that belted at the waist, a style favored by a rival house. The fabric that fell below could be gathered up in the belt, in case wet or particularly dirty work needed to be done. Or in case a spanking needed to be administered on the spot. His buttocks were thus exposed, and sported a blotchy red and purple patina. The tears had not yet dried on the boy's face, and he went about his tasks, sobbing and sniffling. There was something about Kinman that made people want to beat him and hear him scream. Kram had felt that way toward him as well, but dared not partake. Instead he soothed a bacta ointment over the other boy's wounds, knowing that Kinman would someday be useful to him. In any case, this act of ministration would help build Kram's reputation as a compassionate man.
As other boys gathered in the laundry room in various states of undress, they set to work. Together, the appointed boys stitched and mended, then placed the clothing in the washers, watching carefully to make sure they weren't further damaged, then pressed them the old fashioned way with hot irons and starch. Kram made sure the pleats and frills were arranged symmetrically and crisply. He delivered the beautiful, cleaned and painstakingly arranged robes to Valorum's lieutenant, a boy nicknamed Swimmer for his resemblance to a bloated sea creature. Swimmer, like other juniors, called Valorum "Boss." Kram felt it was a bit unsubtle.
To his surprise, rather than taking the garmets for delivery to the inner chambers, Swimmer waved Kram through, winking at him and patting the younger boy's backside. His arms aching, Kram made sure to hold the robes off the floor.
He went through several portals and came to one he'd never seen before. He'd never been allowed this deep into the senior wing. The hydraulic door hissed open and Kram walked in, and halted.
Finish Valorum was lying face down on his divan, eyes closed, apparently resting. He was completely naked, his fat penis lying at rest between his thighs. His back muscles were contorted, as if in pain. Querying through the Force, Kram understood that he was to help dress the older student, after first relaxing him with a massage, then satisfying him sexually. Otherwise, with teen hormones raging, something unseemly and embarassing might happen at the awards dinner, so Finis really did need to be sated. The boy arranged the intricate robes on the valet mannequin set out for that purpose.
He took his time, so that Valorum would understand that the task he'd perform next would be done with some reluctance. In reality, Kram was looking forward to offering himself in ways that would haunt Valorum for years.
* * * * *
Kram was once again the boy with no name. He was back on Naboo, and Darth Impieta had him kneel before her. She sprinkled herbs and powders over him, as if preparing a roast. He was naked and his body was bound and chained. His skin bore fresh marks of the lash.
The flames in the room rose higher, making the boy sweat. The salty, acrid perspiration stung his wounds. He willed himself not to twitch or even sigh from the pain. The ritual demanded absolute acceptance of every feeling and emotion.
The superheated metal form boiled his skin even before it contacted him. His master pressed harder on the branding iron. The skin vaporized a quarter of an inch below the surface. Impieta held it down firmly for long seconds. The nameless boy tried to will away the pain, letting the complex cocktail of dark anger, injury, despair swallow him. As his body and mind accepted and embraced the pain, his awareness heightened. Every detail of his immediate environment became more vibrant.
He felt himself transcending the pain, even expanding beyond his body. He was absorbing the hurt and fear, and could use the energy to inflate his consciousness. The wound disappeared as he accepted more of the heat to fuel his awareness.
This was his reward for his accomplishment -- he was given the gift of elevation, a sort of enlightenment. It gave him vision, he could see further than ever before. His powers felt infinite -- he could affect objects no matter how far away they were from him. The Force had, at last, absorbed him and was carrying him. He now understood that previously, he had only slipstreamed with that great power. He also understood that he was at the portal, that many rooms and layers of the Force remained for him to explore.
After today, he would no longer be the nameless boy. At least, he would not be nameless to himself, nor would he be simply "boy" to his master.
Finis Valorum had graduated the boy's academy, and the boy knew with absolute certainly that he'd be remembered. In his speech, Valorum had thanked the boys of the house for their support and good work. He had even named Kram Reihtuag specifically, and the boy allowed himself the small luxury of probing Valorum through the Force. He could sense from the graduating student a strong and wistful longing.
The boy had made sure to place an impression of himself in Valorum's memory, but not enough so that details of Kram could be recalled. Valorum would forget him soon enough. But, he'd long for something undefined for the rest of his life.
The years he spent at the boy's academy had borne fruit, and he was being rewarded.
From now till forever, the nameless boy had a name: he received the name Darth Sidious, dark lord of the Sith. Someday, the Force willing, he would murder his master and ascend to become a master himself. She did not praise him, for she knew that by elevating and naming her apprentice, she would need to be very careful of him, henceforth.
* * * * *
Darth Sidious smiled warmly at his monarch, the man who had appointed this secret Sith lord as senator to Coruscant, on behalf of Naboo and 25 other planetary systems. He recognized that man as his former schoolmate. Of course, King Veruna -- called "Swimmer" in his younger years -- was ignorant of the real identity or nature of this man's heart and soul.
This was the naming ceremony and appointment to a royal office. Naboo was a planet with many beautiful, archaic rituals. For instance, upon coronation of an elected monarch, the monarch received a royal name. His or her administration would be referred to by that name. After term of service was over, the former monarch was free to continue using that royal name, as a mark of respect and gratitude from the people and the government.
A similar ceremony was being undertaken now for the newly appointed senator. As it would be granted by the royal house, he could choose to use this name exclusively, and could abandon his birth name. It was a privilege conferred with the heavy responsibilities of the position, allowing a man to separate his life from his public service. Or to be completely absorbed by this responsibilities.
Darth Sidious had used many names in his past, due to a lack of legally assigned name by his guardian. Darth Impieta, who had called him her grandson, had died many years before. Knowing that Darth Sidious needed her to die in order to become a master in the Sith tradition, she had killed herself, to spite him. He was forever bitter at being denied the opportunity to murder his master. He had become Sith master by default, and he was ashamed of his failure. He was also ashamed that she was not brave enough to face her death in the traditional and appropriate manner. He resolved he would not be such a weak master to his apprentices. He would live, even after death.
In any case, this was the second naming ceremony of his life, and at last, he had an official name he could use publicly. He was now, simply and elegantly, "Senator Palpatine."
* * * * *
It had been an interesting election, a landslide, and the newly appointed Supreme Chancellor endured the stream of good wishers, most of whom wielded simply veiled lobbying efforts. He found it hard to continue to smile graciously, though it was a skill he'd been trained to perform since his childhood. He was simply growing tired.
Finis Valorum's election had been a foregone conclusion. The patrician had been groomed to rule. He had a spotless reputation, was politically wise and shrewd, and his family had sponsored his ascent. Since leaving school, he'd followed their formula rigidly. He did not partake in seedy deals or inappropriate relationships. He was the ideal ruler for the troubled Republic -- clean, pure, a beacon of hope.
That evening, he lay naked on the massage table as the masseuse wrestled out the kinks and knots in his back. Long hours of sitting in the uncomfortable ceremonial garb and seat had stiffened his back. Hearing appeals, requests, and thinkly disguised threats had knotted his brain and his muscles. He needed the ministrations of a masseuse and healer to help relieve the pain.
He had often prayed that he have some Force ability, even just a smidgen, so that he could do a Jedi mind trick or will his muscles to un-knot. He had suffered from a bad back for decades, since he'd been in school. The hazing rituals -- both on the receiving and giving ends -- required a lot of strength, whether to subdue struggling underlings or to fight off attentions of older boys. He recalled a monumental bout of "newby boxing" that ruined his back -- he had been used as a shield for the fourth time that night, and he'd had had enough. Young Finis had thrashed out, first beating the other newby senseless, then escaped the boy holding him and beat on the boy who held the other new boy.
Older boys swarmed him, punching, kicking, slapping. He was eventually pulled bodily from the pile of boys and thrown away from those he was attacking. He landed half on a bed, and his upper body twisted, bashing against the adjacent wall. He needed several weeks in bacta to heal the hemorrhaged disks in his spine, and he was never physically the same again.
He had forgotten his late-evening appointment, when a holo appeared over his desk announcing the senator from the Naboo sector of systems. Sighing, he dismissed the masseuse and sat up, pulling on a robe.
To his surprise, the senator appeared alone, without the usual retinue of assistants and aides common among the representatives. The younger man bowed deeply, introducing himself as Palpatine of Naboo. He wore a style of clothing that Valorum knew was favored by the old-fashioned, elegant people of the senator's home planet. Naboo was well-known, for they were the exporting source of much of the wildlife and intellectual strength found throughout the galaxy. He had heard that this Palpatine was incredibly bright, extremely tactful, and completely self-effacing. He often voted for the good of the Republic, over the interests of his constituents, and never to his own personal benefit. Valorum thought Palpatine was just too good to be true, and he set aside some time to meet with him. He thought he might be a good advisor if he was indeed as wise and impartial as it was claimed.
After mere minutes of conversation, the Supreme Chancellor had to admit that the rumors were true. In that short time, he received insights that he had not considered. The senator was discrete yet thorough, revealing no names, and showing sharp analysis skills. Valorum was rapidly warming up to this quiet man; he had to force himself not to offer a cabinet position on the spot.
Too soon, Palpatine bowed and thanked the Supreme Chancellor for taking the time to hear his views. Valorum looked at him directly in the eyes, and felt something he had not felt in years. He begged the junior senator to stay a bit longer. He felt foolish, but he feared being alone in the wake of the Naboo's presence -- as if Palpatine would take the oxygen in the room with him, and Valorum might die. He couldn't explain it.
The younger man bowed again, and smiled gently. Valorum felt Palpatine flooding his senses. Am I … falling … in love?
Palpatine moved forward soundlessly and pulled on the tie that held Valorum's robe together. It came undone. As his hands moved to remove the robe, the senator touched his lips on the Chancellor's. Meeting no resistance, he was emboldened, and the two men shared a quiet, gentle kiss.
The robe fell to the floor, and Valorum stood erect before Palpatine, without shame. It felt so natural, so familiar, as the younger man's tongue traced downwards. The older man had never desired anything so much as the senator's mouth.
It had been years since another man had touched him this way. The last time had been in school. There was a young boy, what was his name? It disturbed him that he couldn't recall. He was nameless to him, for there had been so many of them. But that boy had been special; since that boy, there had been no other man. Why had he denied himself this pleasure for so long? He wondered where that nameless boy was now. Valorum realized he missed his school friend, berating himself for neglecting those he cared for, and whom had cared for him.
But the things the senator was doing to him pushed his school memories to the base of his mind. As he orgasmed, holding Palpatine's head, fingers entangled in the long locks, he spontaneously gasped out, "Kram!" He garbled the word, not really hearing it. He hadn't felt this way in so many years ...
But the senator had heard it. Later in his own chambers, Palpatine allowed himself a full and gleeful grin as he went through his nightly abulations. It was all going to plan. As Darth Impieta had promised him, he would bring about the rise of the Sith.
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