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Being married to a senator often meant that you ended up spending plenty of time apart, whether that was because she had business off planet to arrange trade routes or mediate alliances, or because she was stuck in the senate building for a meeting that was both unnecessarily long and blatantly classified for civilians like yourself. You knew that this would be the case even back before you started dating, but that didn’t make it any less frustrating — especially after you and Padmé had set up your new arrangement as a couple and you were forbidden from using any of the toys you owned without her presence and approval.
So you were not only denied the presence of your Mummy to get you off, but she’d also banned you from tending to yourself when she was away. How very cruel!
But she did at least make it up to you whenever she was home; she couldn’t just leave her needy little princess unsatisfied, now could she?
~•~•~•~•~•~
‘That’s it, sweetheart,’ she cooed, pressing a chaste kiss to the skin behind your ear, ‘let mommy take care of you.’
Your position was precarious for sure — legs spread as wide as they could go whilst sat on your wife’s lap, the two of you facing the floor to ceiling windows of your apartment — but you couldn’t bring yourself to protest whilst her fingers were buried in your cunt and her lips were pressed gently against your ear. No, the feeling of her slender digits pumping in and out of your wet pussy (scissoring and crooking at just the right places to have your toes curling and your back arching) combined with her rubbing the soft pad of her thumb against your clit in hypnotic circular patterns was far too distracting for you to think of anything else but her. Her and her lips and her hands.
You gasped and she chuckled approvingly, leaning forwards to kiss you on the cheek. ‘Good girl.’
Her other hand was busy playing with your chest, using a mixture of tender massaging and rougher groping to leave your mind spinning. Though she didn’t neglect your nipples either as she went, alternating fairly between the two as she rolled and pinched them between her thumb and forefinger — doing just enough to get them pebbled and sensitive before moving on to the other, eager to have you arching into her hands and whimpering under her touch, but still careful enough not to overstimulate you.
She thrust a third finger into your entrance and you gasped, bucking up into her hand despite yourself and you felt Padmé smile against your skin. ‘Did you like that princess?’
You whined and offered a weak nod, not quite trusting your voice.
‘Use your words, sweetheart.’
‘Yes, mummy.’
She leaned forwards and pressed a wet kiss against your bare shoulder, uttering another ‘good girl’ before she returned to her previous position and continued touching you.
But now she seemed much more focused on getting you off rather than just playing with you, transitioning as smoothly as she so often did from having fun to giving you your real reward. You had been a very good girl this week, after all, and followed all of the rules she’d set out to the letter, so it was only natural that she give you what you wanted in return.
And, thankfully, your mummy (or, as she would say, ‘mommy’) really loved getting you off so really it was like a reward for both of you.
Then again, how could she not love seeing you reach your climax when you looked so pretty when you came for her? Especially when you sounded so adorable when you whined, and moaned, and whimpered, and called out for her in that way you knew she couldn’t refuse. Or when she felt those velvety walls of yours clamping down and fluttering around her three fingers as you orgasmed, your juices gushing out and soaking her hand and wrist and the blanket beneath you as she continued to toy with your aching clit in a shakier rhythm (trying dearly to keep on going for your sake when she wants nothing more than to take one hand and bury it between her thighs so she can finish with you — it would be easy, she’s already so close from just watching you after all…). Or even when you collapsed back against her, hands reaching out to grasp at her wrists to try and ground yourself as you called out to her over and over again — begging, whining, praising, asking things of her that she wouldn’t even dream of refusing whilst she’s only able to praise you and hold you and kiss you from your shoulders to your neck to the back of your head.
‘That’s my girl.’
‘Keep on going, princess, I know you can do it,’
‘You look so pretty, sweetheart, so so pretty,’
‘I love you so very much…’
‘Be as loud as you need to, princess, it’s okay.’
And on, and on she went. The words falling as easily as water from a stream as she rocks your trembling body to-and-fro, slowing down and withdrawing her hands bit by bit to prolong your high and make the come-down as easy as possible for you. Trying to ignore the ache between her own legs as much as she can, for your sake as much as hers, by focusing all she has on taking care of you in the moment.
You: her good girl, her gorgeous wife, her love, her well-behaved (but oh so needy) princess.
Yeah, her needs could wait just a little bit longer…