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The sterile hum of medical droids filled the chamber — a mechanical lullaby masking the horror beneath. Harsh white light spilled over the white walls, washing everything in the same lifeless shade. Anakin’s restrained form, bound to the surgical slab, arms and legs strapped down by humming energy cuffs that prickled against his skin. The air was thick with antiseptic and betrayal. He could barely lift his head, but he saw them Master Yoda, Master Windu — standing over him like twin shadows. Windu’s eyes were hard, carved from the same stone as his conviction. Jaw set as his eyes met Anakin’s.
"He is too dangerous," Windu declared, his visions, the shatter points, Palpatine they had made it clear. It had taken them weeks to decide on what to do but now here they stood. Most council members had already left only him, and Yoda remained. Yoda’s ears drooped, his gnarled hands clasped tight before him.
“Grave, the choice before us is. Move swiftly, darkness does” They had debated for weeks. The Council split and hollowed by fear. Visions of ruin plagued them, visions of what Anakin would do, driven by whispers of the Chancellor’s voice echoing in their chambers. And now here they stood, pretending the act was justice rather than desperation. Anakin’s heart pounded like thunder. In his chest.
"Palpatine's words ring true. We end the threat here." Windu's voice echoed off the durasteel walls.
“Master… please— you can’t do this. You need me—!” His voice cracked, the sound swallowed by the hiss of the machinery. His connection to the Force felt distant, muffled — the suppressors choking his every instinct. He pulled against the binds until his skin burned, until the truth sank in like ice: they weren’t going to stop. Windu’s face set into a grim expression, those words, the way he said them. Anakin was already corrupted, he knew.
So Windu turned away first, this was the only correct choice. Yoda followed, steps slow, as though each one cost him a lifetime. Neither could bear to watch what came next. When the door sealed behind them, silence pressed in like a tomb. Then — a soft chuckle.
From the shadows, Palpatine emerged, his presence tainting the force around him, like smoke, filling a room. His smile was almost kind. Almost. But Anakin could see the sick and twisted edge to it. He thrashed, but the suppressors wrapped around his wrists stopped his powers, the drugs coursing through his system causing his body to fail him, leaving him helpless as he looked up at the monster that was looming over him.
"Oh, my poor boy,” he murmured, fingers brushing Anakin’s cheek “did you really think the Jedi would ever see you as one of their own?” Anakin tried to speak, but the words failed him — swallowed by panic, disbelief, and a creeping sense of inevitability. Palpatine leaned close, his voice a velvet whisper.
“They fear what they cannot control. I, however… will perfect what they could not mould.” He gave the droids new commands — quiet, efficient, horrifying in their simplicity. The hum of the machines changed pitch, deeper now, more deliberate. The syringe put away, as sharp saws were pulled from a different table. Anakin’s breath came in sharp, shallow bursts. He could feel panic building, breath shallow, his mind on the edge of unconsciousness — the moment before the fall.
“No… please—” Darkness folded over him like a shroud. His last sight was the Chancellor’s satisfied smile, before pain bloomed and whited out his vision.
The amputations came swift and brutal. The saws cut through femur, dissected the humerus. Lasers cauterized his stumps, closing them in clean precise lines. Blood sprayed briefly before the wounds were sealed. Anakin's screams tore through his mind, through the force, raw and guttural.
“I warned you about what would happen if you betrayed me,” Palpatine hummed, voice low and almost tender — a serpent’s whisper coiling around each word. His gloved hand settled on Anakin’s ruined stump, not in mercy, but possession. The gesture sent a shock of white-hot agony through him, pain that rippled deeper than flesh — into the Force itself. Anakin gasped, his vision swimming, panic clawing up his throat.
“You could have ruled beside me,” Palpatine continued, his tone softening to something that almost sounded like regret. “But now… you will serve me.” His fingers traced Anakin’s jaw with deceptive gentleness before clamping down, forcing the young man to meet his gaze. Palpatine smiled — thin, cruel, victorious. Then he turned to the waiting droids.
“Take him below, he is not finished” the Chancellor stepped back as droids moved in, the mechanical arms moving him to a new bed, the air thick with the hum of obedience. In that sterile chamber, Anakin felt the truth settle like ice in his bones — his fate no longer his own.
A few minutes later, the Council received the report: the procedure had been completed. The 'threat' was neutralized. Windu closed his eyes, but there was no peace. Yoda felt the tremor ripple through the Force — pain, betrayal, a storm screaming in silence. However, it was done. The Jedi were safe, the threat now gone. They returned to their chambers some to meditate, others to relax.
The bed was slowly rolled away, a hidden door opening to let them through. The air changed as the doors sealed behind them — colder, heavier, almost wet with the scent of chemicals and sterilized metal. The faint hiss of hydraulics echoed off the walls, merging with the slow pulse of machines that seemed to breathe in the dark. Anakin’s world was a blur of motion and light. The droids carried what was left of him through the narrow corridor, their servos whining softly, impersonal. He could feel the vibration of their steps through the bed, each one a reminder that he no longer moved under his own power. They entered a vast chamber.
Rows of cylindrical tanks lined the walls, each filled with viscous green fluid. Figures drifted within — half-formed, suspended, faces that almost looked like his own staring blankly through the glass. Cables snaked from ceiling to floor, pulsing with dim light. Somewhere nearby, a respirator wheezed in time with his ragged breaths. Anakin tried to speak, but only a hoarse rasp escaped. The drugs made his thoughts sluggish, but fear cut through the haze like lightning. What was this place? Palpatine’s voice answered, smooth and close.
“The future, my boy. The true power of creation… of control,” he moved among the tanks like a predator stalking prey, his robes trailing across the sterile floor, as nails dragged across glass.
“The Jedi sought to destroy you, but I — I shall remake you. Piece by piece, thought by thought. You will not die.” A droid adjusted a console beside Anakin’s platform. The hum deepened; mechanical arms descended, their instruments gleaming under the pale lights. One arm hovered just above his chest — not touching, merely measuring. Anakin’s pulse raced. The Force around him felt distant, muffled — yet something dark thrummed beneath the surface, resonating with the machines, answering Palpatine’s will.
“My apprentice,” Palpatine sang, his breath hot against Anakin's ear, fingers tracing his jaw, Anakin wanted to jerk away but his head was held firm by straps. He could feel cold metal and wet cloth as the droids prep his lower body. The machines hissed and sighed like living things, their rhythm matching the shallow rise and fall of Anakin’s chest. The air smelled of metal and ozone. A halo of harsh light burned down on him, white and pitiless. Anakin’s body twitched involuntarily beneath the probes, each movement betraying his panic. Fear gripped his chest like iron, freezing his voice and stealing his will to resist. He could do nothing but shudder as the cold of machines pressed against him.
Anakin’s entire body tensed, a storm of panic and helplessness brewing inside him. Every nerve felt electric, his senses screaming in protest. A white-hot pain radiated through him, blinding, consuming, as though the Force itself had been twisted against him. He could feel as holes were drilled into the exposed bones on what remained of his limbs.
He tried to scream, but no sound came. The hum of the machines grew louder, their vibrations cutting through him, turning every thought into raw, impossible agony. His chest heaved, eyes wide, vision narrowing until all he could perceive was the sensation of inevitability — the knowledge that he could do nothing to stop what was happening.
Palpatine’s voice brushed against him, velvet and venom intertwined.
“Good… feel it. Let it burn. Let it teach you.” His words were a cruel lullaby, pressing him deeper into panic. Every movement of the machines, every whisper, every cold gloved touch magnified the terror, until fear itself became a living weight pressing down on him. Anakin could only shake, trembling, trapped in the white-hot current. He watched as hooks were screwed into the bone, a sharp cry finally breaching his lips, before his limbs were wrapped tightly in pale white bandages all but his left arm stump.
Palpatine however wasn’t done, a smile twisted his features when the droid presented him a glowing container, something inside it that Anakin couldn’t see. He held it up before Anakin, letting the light catch it in a way that made it glimmer like a jewel.
“Look closely, my boy,” he said, voice soft, almost tender. “Do you recognize it?” Anakin’s eyes widened, heart hammering. The thing inside the container a uterus. Fear gripped him like a vise — cold, unrelenting, as his mind raced. Palpatine’s gloved fingers brushed a lock of hair from Anakin’s forehead, his smile cruelly gentle.
“This is the future, made from what the Jedi tried to destroy, you, and yet perfected by my hand. Made from your very cells, perfectly compatible.” he gagged, it was made from him. His own cells, repurposed, reshaped. The droids moved quietly around them, preparing the next stage, the hum of machinery filling the silence. Anakin shivered, powerless. Every instinct screamed at him to fight, to flee, but his body could not obey. He could feel the Force recoiling, twisted by fear and pain, leaving him stranded inside his own panic. Palpatine’s eyes glittered as he leaned close.
“Do you feel it? The power I have? This is only the beginning, Anakin. Soon… you will see what it means to be remade in my image.” And for the first time, Anakin realized the truth: his body, his life, his very essence was no longer his own.
He could hear the droids murmuring in their coded tones, instruments clattering softly, fluids pulsing through tubes — the sound alone enough to make his heart race. His body was heavy, numb in some places, raw in others. He didn’t know what they were doing exactly but he knew it was inevitable. Panic built behind his ribs, desperate and useless.
“Please… stop…” Then, a shadow fell across his face. Palpatine leaned over him, his expression unreadable — something between affection and amusement. His voice was a soft vibration at Anakin’s ear, the kind that made the skin crawl.
“Shhh… it’s all right, my boy. The pain is only the begging of change” His hand slid beneath Anakin’s jaw, lifting his face gently, almost lovingly. His mouth opened a plea trying to escape his lips. Rage distorted Palpatines face at the thought of his greatest creation pleading. He grabbed a metal gag from a table to his right, forced it into his mouth, jaw widening painfully, forcing him into silence.
“They destroyed what you were. I will give you something greater” He promised, hands caressing his cheecks. Anakin tried to turn away, but his head was held strong. The world blurred. His pulse thundered in his ears — fast, uneven, the sound of a body that no longer felt like his own.
“You will be reborn, Anakin,” Palpatine whispered, breath warm against his skin. “And when you wake, you will thank me.” The hum of the machines deepened. Cold crept through him — not just cold of flesh, but of soul, as though the Force itself recoiled from what was happening. He wanted to scream, but he couldn’t. Palpatine’s hand lingered a moment longer, thumb brushing a tear from his cheek.
“Good,” he murmured. “Hold onto that fear. It will make you strong. Now watch closely,” He whispered, his breath hot against Anakin's ear. “This marks the birth of your true form, remade to serve me” Anakin's blue eyes widened in horror, unwilling, as the droids activated the vibro-scalpel, its edge humming to life with a predatory whine.
The Sith Lord's hands steadied Anakin's head, tilting it forward and downward to ensure he had a perfect view of his own exposed abdomen. The table's restraints held Anakin's torso immobile, his skin pale and slick under the harsh lights, every muscle taut with dread. The droid pressed the blade against the smooth plane of Anakin's lower belly, just below the navel, and sliced downward with deliberate slowness. The cut parted flesh like silk, blood welling up in crimson beads that trickled warmly over Anakin's sides. A sharp gasp escaped his lips, his body jerking involuntarily against the bonds, but Palpatine's grip only tightened, keeping his gaze locked on the unfolding violation.
“Feel it, Anakin,” Palpatine murmured into his ear, voice a velvet rasp laced with dark arousal, “pain is the gateway to your future” The incision deepened, layers of muscle and tissue yielding under the scalpel's cuts. The droid worked methodically, peeling back the skin and fascia with sterile metal, exposing the glistening cavity beneath. Anakin's breaths came in ragged bursts, his chest heaving as the cool air kissed the raw interior of his body.
Palpatine’s had reached forward, finger tracing his intestines before pulling out, smearing the fluids and blood onto Anakin’s lips, before the droid continued in, robotic hands delving into the warmth, probing and retracting organs with clinical detachment. Deeper now, the droid isolated the bladder, that taut sac nestled among the coils of intestine. Anakin whimpered, his head straining in Palpatine's unyielding hold, but he couldn't look away.
The droid severed the ureters with a snip of forceps, rerouting the thin tubes with deft twists, connecting them to a new fake disk that would serve its altered purpose. The droid attached the disk to the side of Anakin’s abdominal wall, attaching a plastic tube that fed into a bag, his new bladder. Blood smeared the glistening metal as returned to grip the bladder firmly, tugging it free from its confines, before severing the connection to the urethra. The organ slipped out with a wet, sucking sound, dangling briefly in the light. Palpatine forced Anakin to look at it, to watch as the organ was discarded into a nearby bin. Anakin's body convulsed, a hollow ache blooming in his chest, his mind reeling from the intimate desecration. But the droid was far from done. From a sterile tray beside the table, he lifted the first womb—a bio-engineered marvel, slick and pulsating with artificial life, its walls textured for implantation.
“This is my perfect design,” Palpatine boasted licking the shell of his ear, as the droid pressed it against the exposed length of Anakin's colon. Needles extended from the womb's fake vaginal base, piercing the intestinal wall with a series of sharp pricks that made Anakin cry out, his voice echoing off the chamber walls. The droid carved a hole into the first bend of his colon stitching it into place there, thread pulling taut through flesh, securing the organ so it fused seamlessly with the colon's rhythm. Nerves and blood vessels were connected, sending waves of electricity through Anakin’s body. Before tubes were fed through the same disk as Anakin’s new pseudo bladder. Needles stuck into the womb to pump necessary hormones into the organ. Anakin's vision blurred with tears, but Palpatine's fingers wiped them away, forcing his eyes to focus.
“See how it takes root? Your body yielding so beautifully,” he marvelled as he too watched the procedure.
The second womb followed, larger and more insistent, positioned precisely where the bladder had been excised. Palpatine aligned it with the urethra, this one without a vaginal passage. The droid sutured it in place with rapid, expert pulls, the needle flashing as it wove the new organ into Anakin's pelvic cradle. The attachment was immediate and visceral—the womb swelling slightly as it integrated, its entrance now a vulnerable portal flush against the rest of Anakin's groin. Sensations flooded Anakin: a deep, throbbing pressure, as if his insides were being reshaped for breeding, for submission. Tubes were fed into this womb, stitched into place, to keep them from dislodging. The droid’s hands lingered inside the open cavity, adjusting connections, wiping away excess blood with a cloth that smeared red across Anakin's skin. His body trembled, a mix of agony and something darker stirring unbidden—a twisted fear born from the utter loss of control.
“Soon, my pet,” Palpatine promised, finally releasing Anakin's head to allow it to loll back, though the command to watch had burned the scene into his mind, “you'll carry my legacy within you,” the incision was closed with laser cauterization, the flesh sealing in a hiss, leaving only faint scars as marks of transformation.
Palpatine's eyes gleamed with malevolent satisfaction as he surveyed Anakin's freshly sealed abdomen, the faint scars already knitting under the influence of Bacta. The medical droids hovered away, grabbing thick needles and cannisters that, their appendages poised for the next phase of this profane ritual. The needles were thick and long, and panic swelled in Anakin’s abdomen, as he felt the droid grab his balls. He tried to speak, to plead, but the gag in his mouth let out only gurgles of protest, as the droid inserted a needle into each ball. The pain was blinding, before he felt the sensation, a filling, pumping sensation that poured into his sack and had him squirming. The droid pulled back as Palpatine stepped forward, hand fondling his balls.
“Now, to nurture your new gifts,” Palpatine crooned, his voice dripping with anticipation. He gestured to a droid, which wheeled over a cart laden with vials of viscous, pearlescent liquid— a potent brew of stabilizing agents and synthetic fertilizers, engineered to quicken the wombs into readiness. The fluid shimmered under the chamber lights, thick and creamy, designed to flood the organs and initiate their transformation.
Anakin's head lolled weakly against the table's headrest, his breaths shallow and ragged, but Palpatine wasn't about to let exhaustion dull the experience. With a firm grip on Anakin's balls, he squeezed forcing Anakin’s eyes to widen, gaze falling downward once more, toward the altered landscape of his groin. Palpatine selected a slender sounding tube from the tray, its surface lubricated with a clear gel that glistened like precum. The tube was rigid yet flexible, tipped with a rounded bulb for later inflation.
“This will ensure the essence takes hold directly,” he explained, his free hand pulling back the skin before parting the sensitive flesh of Anakin's cock, which hung semi-erect from the hormones forced into his body. The shaft twitched involuntarily as Palpatine aligned the tube's tip with the urethral opening, the cool metal pressing against the slit.
With a slow, deliberate push, Palpatine forced the slightly too large sounding tube down Anakin's cock. The intrusion burned, stretching the narrow channel as it slid bit by bit through the urethra, past the prostate, and deeper into the rerouted pathway that now connected to the womb's core. Anakin's body arched against the restraints, a strangled moan tearing from his throat as the tube probed relentlessly, navigating the twisted anatomy until it breached the womb's entrance. The organ clenched around the invader, its walls quivering in protest.
“There,” Palpatine sighed in glee, feeling the resistance give way, “deep inside your fertile chamber.” A droid attached a syringe pump to the tube's external end, and with a mechanical whir, the stabilizing liquid began to flow. The thick fluid surged through the tube, filling the womb attached to the bladder's former space. Anakin gasped as the pressure built, the organ swelling with the creamy influx, stretching its walls to accommodate the volume. Warmth spread through his pelvis, the liquid coating every fold and crevice, seeping into the womb’s depths. It filled it to the brink, the womb ballooning taut against his insides, a heavy fullness that made his cock throb around the embedded tube. Excess liquid beaded at the urethral tip, dribbling down the shaft in pearly rivulets.
Satisfied with the saturation, Palpatine activated the tube's expansion mechanism. The shaft swelled along its length, before the ballon inflated at the tip. The tube acted as a plug to seal the urethra airtight, the ballon locking the fertilizing liquid inside. Anakin whimpered, the painful stretch of his urethra and the unyielding bulge pressing against his inner walls, trapping the essence in place. But the ritual was not over. Palpatine turned his attention to the other womb, the one stitched into Anakin's colon.
This required a rearward invasion. The pseudo vagina in his abdomen clenched in response, its ridges glistening with leaking fluid, now a permanent gateway to his modified core. Palpatine signalled another droid, which positioned a thicker tube, ribbed for grip and coated in slick lubricant against Anakin’s ass. Palpatine spread the cheeks apart, exposing the puckered ring of his rectum. Anakin’s body tensed, but the restraints held firm.
“Relax, my apprentice,” Palpatine advised with mock gentleness, though his tone held no mercy. He pressed the tube's tip against the anus and pushed it inward, the ribs catching on the sphincter as it forced entry. The tube burrowed deep into Anakin's rectum, pushing deep into his colon until it reached the vaginal entrance of the implanted womb. The organ, fused to the intestinal wall, parted eagerly for the intrusion, its entrance slick and yielding. Anakin's hips bucked futilely, a gurgled cry escaping as the tube wedged into place, the pressure immense against his bowels.
The pump engaged again, pouring the stabilizing liquid into this second womb. The fluid gushed forth, flooding the chamber connected to his colon, the creamy torrent mixing with natural lubricants to create a churning fullness. It filled relentlessly, the womb expanding to its maximum capacity, walls straining as the liquid filled every divot and curve. Anakin's abdomen distended slightly under the skin, the dual swellings creating a visible bulge that pulsed with each influx. The pseudo vagina within clenched around the tube, milking it as the organ brimmed over, excess seeping back into the rectal passage in warm trickles that coated his inner walls.
Once brimming, Palpatine withdrew the tube just enough to insert a balloon plug to the base of the vagina widening it to seal the entrance. He pushed it home with a firm twist, the plug lodging securely to trap the fertilizing liquid inside. The womb remained locked full, the pressure a constant throb, ensuring the essence would ripen the organ over time. Anakin panted, sweat-slicked and trembling, his body a vessel of forced fertility, the liquids sloshing faintly with every shallow breath. Palpatine stepped back, wiping his hands on a sterile cloth, his face alight with triumph.
“There now,” he said, tracing a finger along the scars on Anakin's abdomen, “sealed and ripening. Your wombs will be ready soon,” The droids retreated, leaving Anakin to absorb the liquid, his limbless form forever claimed by this twisted rebirth.
Palpatine's gaze lingered on Anakin's altered form, his body still quivering from the invasive filling of his new wombs. The pearlescent liquid sloshed subtly within the sealed organs, a constant reminder of the fertility forced upon him. But the Sith Lord had more planned, hormones to accelerate the transformation, to heighten sensitivity and ensure the modifications took root swiftly. He turned to a nearby droid, which extended a pair of slender, flexible tubes connected to reservoirs of serums. The hormones within were a cocktail of synthetic oestrogens, progestins, and growth factors, designed to acclimate the body, to swell the wombs further and sensitize every nerve ending.
Anakin's left arm stump, a ragged end capped with burned flesh, hook protruded from the bone. Palpatine grasped the stump firmly, his fingers digging into the tender skin where bone met muscle. The droid positioned the tubes' tips against the puckered tissue, piercing the skin with needle-like barbs that embedded deeply into the underlying veins. Anakin jerked against the table, a sharp gurgle escaping his lips as the barbs locked in place, drawing a thin trickle of blood that mixed with the antiseptic gel coating the tubes. The tubes were then stitched directly into the flesh to keep it there, before the limb was wrapped in a compression bandage
With a flick of a switch, the pumps activated, a low hum filling the chamber as the hormones began to flow. The serum surged into Anakin's bloodstream through the stump, warm and tingling as it coursed up his arm's remnants and into his brain. His veins bulged faintly under the skin, the liquid spreading like fire through his body, igniting the wombs with a fresh wave of heat. The organs pulsed in response, the stabilizing fluid inside them churning as the hormones triggered cellular growth, making the walls thicken and the pseudo vagina clench rhythmically. Anakin's breaths came in short gasps, his cock twitching as the surge hit his prostate, forcing a bead of precum to well up despite the sealed sounding tube still lodged in his urethra.
“These will prepare you properly,” Palpatine’s voice laced with dark amusement. He released the stump, watching as the tubes throbbed with each pulse of serum. Anakin's body arched involuntarily, the hormones amplifying every sensation—the fullness in his wombs, the ache in his gut, the distant throb of his new sealed vagina. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his eyes glazing over as the chemicals rewired his responses, blending pain with an unwelcome surge of arousal.
Satisfied now that the hormones were integrating, Palpatine shifted his focus lower. He circled the table, his robes whispering against the floor, until he stood between Anakin's spread hips. His ass cheeks were parted by metal grips, exposing his rectum where the second womb lay filled and waiting. Palpatine spread the cheeks wide, droid providing a light so he could get a look at the flared plug that sat snug, blocking the new entrance. Not satisfied with the rectal stretch Palpatine sighed.
He selected a set of graduated dilators from the cart—smooth, metallic rods of increasing girth, lubricated and curved for precision. Starting with the smallest, no wider than a finger wide, he pressed the tip against Anakin's anus. The ring resisted at first, clenching tight from the hormones' influence, but Palpatine pushed steadily, the rod sliding in with a slick glide. Anakin groaned, his hips bucking as the dilator breached the sphincter, inching deeper into the rectal passage. It pushed in further and further, its length reaching until it nudged against the womb's pseudo vagina, plug still snugly in place he paused.
Slowly, carefully, Palpatine worked the rod in and out, twisting it to stretch the muscles evenly. The hormones made Anakin's tissues more pliant, the inner walls relaxing under the persistent pressure. After minutes of rhythmic thrusting, he withdrew the first dilator, slick with lubricant and traces of the fertilizing liquid, and replaced it with the next size up. This one stretched the anus wider, the rim flaring around it as it sank into the colon. Anakin's cries grew hoarse, his body trembling as the dilator probed the womb's entrance, before he stopped. The boy’s rectum sucked at the intruder, its textured walls massaging the metal, pulling it deeper. Palpatine looked on in amusement, wondering how that tight heat would suck his cock in.
Palpatine repeated the process, graduating to thicker rods, each one forcing Anakin's ass to accommodate more. The sphincter gaped slightly with each withdrawal, the hole winking before the next insertion filled it again. Liquid seeped out around the dilators, mixing with fresh arousal as the hormones flooded Anakin's system, making his prostate swell and his cock strain against the embedded sounding tube. By the time Palpatine reached the largest dilator—nearly as thick as 3 of his fingers—the rectum hung loose and ready, the pseudo vagina now easily visible.
But Palpatine wasn't done. He pressed a plug slightly larger into Anakin’s rectum to make sure it stayed stretched and ready. His attention turned to the front, where Anakin's cock lay heavy and engorged from the tube and hormones. The sounding tube sat swelled inside the urethra, sealing the first womb, but it too needed preparation. Palpatine began with a thin urethral sound, similar to the filling tube but shorter, sliding it into the slit with careful precision. Right next to the tube. The metal glided through the urethra, stretching the walls gently as it reached the prostate. Anakin's shaft bobbed with each insertion, veins pulsing as the sound twisted and pumped. Anakin moaned at the feeling, sound pushing against his prostate, arousal growing. Palpatine progressed methodically, using larger sounds to widen the passage, the urethra dilating around them like a second hole. The cock's head flared with each thicker probe, the inner pathway reshaping under the slow, deliberate stretching. Precum oozed freely now, lubricating the way, as the cock head yawned wider.
Anakin writhed on the table, the dual stretching’s sending waves of burning pleasure-pain through him. The hormones amplified it all, his nipples hardening, his skin flushing as the wombs throbbed in sync. Palpatine worked with sadistic patience, ensuring every part was prepared, the ass and urethra now loose and accommodating. They were not yet ready for his cock to claim them, but soon they would be. He pressed one last sound into the hole before locking it in place. He stepped back briefly, opening his robes to reveal his own erection—thick and veined, curving upward with intent.
“Soon, my apprentice,” he whispered, stroking himself as the tubes continued pumping hormones into the stump, “You'll take me in both, and seal your submission.” The chamber echoed with Anakin's ragged breaths, as Palpatine removed a piece of the gag. Palpatine loomed over him, his yellowed eyes gleaming with sadistic hunger. The veined, throbbing cock, already leaking pre-cum in anticipation. With a gnarled hand, he gripped the ring gag forcing Anakin's jaw further apart, the device prying his mouth into a perfect, drooling O. Saliva trickled down Anakin's chin, mixing with the tears of humiliation in his blue eyes.
“Look at you, my apprentice,” Palpatine rasped, his voice a venomous whisper, “So ready for me.” He seized Anakin's head, fingers digging into sweat-dampened hair, yanking it to the side with brutal force. Anakin's muffled protests vibrated against the gag, but they only fuelled the dark lord's lust.
Without mercy, Palpatine thrust forward, slamming his cock deep into Anakin's throat. His eyes bulged, gagging instincts kicking in as the thick length invaded, stretching his mouth and oesophagus. Palpatine didn't pause; he fucked with vigour, hips pistoning like a machine, each brutal plunge slapping his balls against Anakin's cheek. The sounds of wet slurps and choked gasps filled the room, Anakin's body jerking against the bed, his stuffed cock twitching helplessly, the sounds inside it shifting with every convulsion. Deeper he drove, the head of his cock battering the back of Anakin's throat, forcing him to swallow around the intrusion.
“Take it all,” Palpatine growled, one hand clamping down on Anakin's skull to hold him steady the other around his throat to force it to tighten. Saliva bubbled at the corners of the gag, spilling over as Palpatine rutted faster, the friction building heat in his shaft. Anakin's face flushed red, veins standing out on his neck, but the hormones betrayed him—his body arched slightly, ass clenching around the plug, as traitorous spark of pleasure ran up his spine amid the violation. Palpatine's rhythm grew erratic, his breaths ragged.
“This is your purpose, Ani,” he moaned, voice laced with triumph. “To serve me, breed for me, to choke on my seed like the slave you are.” With a final, savage thrust, he buried himself to the hilt, cock pulsing as hot cum erupted down Anakin's throat. Rope after thick rope flooded in, forcing Anakin to gulp it down or drown, the bitter taste coating his tongue and filling his belly. Palpatine held him there, grinding against his face, milking every drop into his mouth. Only when he was spent did Palpatine pull back, his cock slipping free with a wet pop, strings of cum and spit connecting them. Anakin coughed, gasping through the gag, his throat raw and abused, cum dribbling from his lips. Palpatine wiped himself on Anakin's cheek, smirking down at his conquest.
“This is just the beginning, my pet.” He promised, as Anakin’s eyes grew heavy.