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Star Wars: A Twi'lek Destiny	By : SlutWriter Category: Star Wars (All) > General Views: 127091 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars or the characters. I make no money from this. These characters are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental.

Chapter List
- 1-A Twi'lek Destiny
- 2-Twi'lek Slave Trash
- 1
- 2
Sara Letana was worried about her future.
The Twi'lek wife and mother had long considered her place on the homeworld of Ryloth to be precarious, and though it was far away from the slave trade that had claimed so many females of her kind, a subtle lack of fulfillment still nagged at her. It seemed a good thing to raise her 12-year-old daughter Tali away from the lecherous gristle-mill that devoured so many female Twi'leks, turning them to dancing, prostitution, and servitude. And yet the galaxy still seemed a complicated, bewildering place. First there had been the Confederacy of Independant Systems. Then the Clone Wars. Then turmoil in the Galactic Senate. The news reports from Coruscant were ever more alarming, and each day, more and more humans seemed to pour into the Twi’lek homeworld.
These humans pawed at her in the market, leered as she passed, made remarks about her grace, her proportions, and whispered when they thought she could not hear about the money she could make at slave auction; they seemed to hint at a very different destiny with each lewd brush of their greedy hands against her thigh. They did not seem worried or confused.
And they were not wrong about her charms. Even among Twi’leks, a species renowned in the galaxy for sensuous females, Sara was surpassing in beauty. Her cobalt-blue skin was an instant attention-grabber, and her tapered waist gave way both to expansive hips and a jaw-droppingly large bust for which suitable humanoid clothing was often hard to procure. For this reason, and the equally robust dimensions of her buttocks, she served as her own seamstress. Despite these thick measurements, her ankles, neck and wrists remained dainty. Of particular interest to other Twi'leks and fetishists of the species were her prominent brain-tails, or lekku, which protruded from her scalp with inviting plumpness. As with her other physical features, these were more voluminous than those of most Twi'lek females; Sara had taken to sewing her own head-dresses as well as her own halters and leggings. Even then, her calculations sometimes fell short, resulting in a busted seam or inappropriately tight, skin-hugging fit. The males on Ryloth were invariably pleased with these fabric malfunctions.
They seemed always to be sizing her up, like buyers turning a Ryl-fruit over in their hands, testing for freshness and the likelihood of a juicy, satisfying interior. In times of stress or confusion, she found herself remembering the salacious words she’d overheard in the spaceport of Mos Eisley as a youth running in the street and poking her head into the cantinas and bars, a conversation between slavers that was about her, though she’d been a teenager at the time.
Did you see the ass and brain-tails on that bitch? She’ll fetch a fine price. With those lips, I bet she could suck the shag off of a Wookie. It will not be hard. Offer her some bantha stew, and she’ll be ours for the night. Offer to make her a dancer, and she’ll be ours to buy and sell as we please.
The slavers had been humans, of course. The humans were always most bold. Sara’s husband, Nab, worked as a doctor aboard the largest Rylothian space station, an orbital port that served as diplomatic and financial doorway to the rest of the sector, and he had no idea the amount of groping and catcalls she experienced. She was too uncertain to tell him, too worried about his meekness to spill the stories of how human merchants cupped her melon-like breasts as if examining Ryl-fruit, offering to put up credits to sponsor her as a dancer or concubine. She knew that in his own work he had been supplanted by a newcomer from Coruscant as vulgar and grasping as the rest of the lot, and this pattern was played out across her entire race. Even the corpulent Rylothian representative, Orn Free Taa, had meekly gone along, feathering a gundark nest of credits for himself while Palpatine neutered the senate into uselessness, robbing her people of the only voice they had in galactic politics. Now, the planet itself was under the control of a human “Regional Commander”.
There’s only one thing Twi'lek mouths are good for, and it ain’t talking.
Humans took what they wanted. Sara loathed them, feared them… and respected them in some dark way. She asked herself more and more often the haunting question about why so many females of her race were slaves and prostitutes, gravitating to low positions of subservience as if it were encoded in their genetics. And why did her mind keep returning to that long-ago conversation, and the blank, content looks on the faces of the Twi’lek dancers and slaves who languished on the floor around the two men, seeming to want for nothing, to know no stress, or fear, or uncertainty, but only the certitude of service. She envied them, even though she knew she shouldn’t.
When Sara’s daughter Tali arrived home teary-eyed and distraught about human boys who had harassed her, Sara was not surprised. Incidents such as these were not uncommon, for the humans assumed that all other races were theirs to fondle, pinch and leer at. The girl, who had a blue skin tone much like her mother, was especially traumatized this day because of what the boys were saying.
“They said they’d sell me into slavery, if I didn’t do what they wanted!” Tali wept, wiping tears from her large and expressive eyes with the backs of her hands. “They started touching me, so I ran!” Her body showed no sign yet of exploding outward into the shape attained by her mother, her lekku were shorter and less pronounced, supported by a black, gold-trimmed head-scarf that matched Sara’s own. On one knee so as to lock eyes with her daughter, Sara asked what the boys had wanted her to do.
Is she too old? The Hutts pay the best prices for the young. I believe the best age for a Twi'lek girl to start learning how to serve is eight. Old enough to understand, not old enough to physically resist. By ten, they’re in so deep, they don’t know any other life. And they don’t want one, either.
After hesitating for a moment, perhaps too ashamed to repeat the words, Tali told her what the boys had said.
“To think they would try to scare you like that,” Sara said, her face showing what she hoped was understanding and forgiveness,“that grown males could ever say such things to a young girl. They’re such brutes, yasha,” she reaffirmed, using the Twi'lek word for beloved. “Such nasty brutes.” Sara tried her best to comfort Tali, but her words rang false. In truth, this sort of treatment was one of the few things on Ryloth she did still understand. Twi’leks being groped by humans was universal, she could have told her daughter that, as predictable as the rise and fall of the various suns. She understood it and could cope with it. More, anyway, than motherhood and child-rearing, an uncertain political climate, a timid husband, and the winds of galactic war on every breeze. These problems were more stupendous, and insidious, than a grope of the breast and the suggestion of how she could best use her mouth in exchange for credits. She wanted to tell Tali these things, but could not bring herself to say them.
“But they weren’t adults!” Tali clarified, wiping her nose.
“What?”
“They were young, like me!”
Sara was silent for a moment, her hands softly gripping Tali’s narrow shoulders. Not adults, but younglings? She mentally retraced Tali’s likely route to school and back home, which would bring her through the market if she wanted to barter her allowance for a treat or trinket. Suddenly she could see their faces. “Did one have brown hair, up here?” she asked, waving a hand over her brain-tails to specify she meant the head, for not every species kept their hair in the same place. “And the other lighter, like grain?”
Tali nodded sullenly, and Sara felt an unmistakable tingle from deep within. She knew them. Had seen them at market, poking at droid parts like mynocks investigating a rotted worm tooth. And more importantly she knew their kind - refugee trash who had washed up on Ryloth, vagrants but still with the human instinct to see Twi'leks as chattel.
Taking a deep breath, Sara rose and walked toward the door, bidding Tali prepare dinner. “I’ll be back soon,” she made sure to add, running an affectionate hand over her daughter’s lekku. She did not want to alarm Tali, but she also needed to find out if the threats the boys had made were real.

- 2 -

The two miscreants were named Kit and Narmo, and as far as Sara knew, their parents had been displaced by the Clone Wars and vanished into Ryloth’s underworld, never to be seen again, leaving their bratty, snot-nosed progeny to eek a living in the abandoned alleys of the market outskirts. What they could not beg for they doubtless stole, and yet their poverty had taught them no humility. To boys like these, the Twi’leks were a race of ‘tail-headed Hutt-lickers’, the Klatoonians were ‘ugly dog-faces’, the Ugnaught and Gamorreans were ‘stupid pig-noses’, and the Neimoidians ‘greedy bug-eyed thieves’. Sara knew them by reputation; another human problem that the Twi'lek merchants were too timid to do anything about.
She rang the chime at the door of the abandoned hovel where they stayed and received no response, either because the portal (which was askew on its track) was non-functional or because the boys were too busy rambunctiously fooling with holo-games to pay any heed. To gain entry, Sara was forced to grip the rusted metal rectangle with both hands and shove it aside. The main room was dim, and she could see them bouncing about like Ewoks at a funeral pyre; dressed in sleeveless shirts and loose-fitting pantaloons, their skin tanned and tarnished brown, with raggedy hair down to their necks; blonde for Kit, brown for Narmo.
“Die, separatist scum!” cried Narmo, the taller boy, all scabby knees and elbows, his eyes focused on a holo-visor. “With the traitors defeated, a new empire will rise from the ashes of the Republic!” He mimed firing a blaster with grimy hands still sticky from an afternoon meal. Kit, the shorter blonde boy, also mimed firing a blaster. He had emptied out a water bucket and painted it white in a child’s imitation of a trooper helmet.
“Ba-blam!” he cried, his high voice echoing off the ceiling, which was pockmarked with peeling paint. It was a wonder with the squalor the boys lived in that they had found a way to siphon power from the market grid. “Kill all the non-human men! Then take the females to the camp, and we’ll rape them all!”
Sara gulped. Just what sort of holo-game were these boys playing? Their precocious young forms seemed at odds with the brutal concepts they were spouting, the sort of talk that Sara associated more with pro-human propagandists than Rylothian citizens. She felt rather exposed, standing there in her low-cut halter and tight-fitting leggings, her large, long, plump lekku protruding back through twin sleeves of cloth that had been decorated with silver beads that offset nicely against her cobalt skin. The dim lighting, the sounds of entertainment, the cries of victory, the dilapidated setting and the subtle scent of alien musk, mixing with dirt and rust. It was familiar, disturbingly familiar. Like Tatooine, Mos Eisley in particular, that wretched hive or sleek alien sex; death-sticks, dark clubs and depravity. A place she’d left behind long ago, yet could not forget.
So, you’re the new dancer. It’s an eight hour shift. You dance. If a customer takes an interest in you, you dance for him. If he wants to take you in the back, you go in the back. The chain doesn’t come off your neck until your eight hours is done. Simple life, right? Should be natural for a Twi'lek. Now, get to work before I scar your face and make you useless.
“Whoa, there’s one with huge tits!” cried Narmo, raising his empty hands at Sara in a mimicry of blaster-wielding, jolting her out of her bout of reverie. “Let’s capture her and sell her as a slave!” When Sara self-consciously crossed her arms over her breasts - no mean feat considering their size; her slender forearms and hands came nowhere close to covering the full expanse of her massive chest - the boys seemed to realize that she wasn’t part of the holo program and, instead, an actual flesh-and-blood Twi'lek who had come to pay them a visit. Gawking, they pushed their grimy holo-visors to their foreheads and looked Sara over. Their eyes were the only part of them that seemed pure. Blue, cold, and seemingly in a constant search for more things to play with, use, scavenge or sell. Slum-rat eyes. In an instant, Sara could see that the boys regarded her as more commodity than sentient being, and her heart skipped a beat.
“Aww, man!” Narmo griped, pouting. He was perhaps half Sara’s height; though she wasn’t perfectly familiar with human life cycles, nobody would mistake him for an adult any time soon. “I thought she would a high-score slave for sure!” Holo tapes and scavenged bits of junk were everywhere amongst a conglomeration of dilapidated furniture. Many of the holo-games were out of the protective sleeves and lay atop a player console that was rusty with age and burnt almost black with carbon scoring. The entire works had a burnt electrical smell, a fire waiting to happen. One of the holo-disc sleeves was readily visible; it depicted a scantily-dressed Twi'lek female laying on one hip with a chain around her neck, looking obedient.
Galactic Pleasure Slave Sluts, the title proclaimed.
“Who are you?” Narmo spat, adjusting his makeshift bucket helm. He was missing a front tooth, which only added to his scrappy countenance. “This is our spot! We saw it first!” It was clear that the two boys were squatting, they had found the abandoned rooms some time ago and simply declared it their headquarters. Sara wrinkled her small, slender nose. The scent in the air was one of old socks and underwear, with a hint of things even more foul. The audacity of the boys, to defile her home planet in such a way, simply taking what they wished and tossing aside refuse in their wake; it was quintessentially human. Sara’s thoughts went to Nab, who had barely made a peep at being demoted and replaced by a human doctor. He was so docile, so afraid to reach out and take what was in front of him. Yet it seemed in the nature of humans to be relentlessly assertive, to take and touch and grope what they pleased! Even Tali.
“What are you staring at, bantha-boobs?” Kit snarked, pointing a finger. His blonde hair poked out in all directions behind the holo-visor he’d pushed up on his forehead. “Shouldn’t you be off kissing a Hutt?” The boys laughed at this joke and Sara’s opened her mouth to speak. She balled her small fists and put her hands on her wide hips, moving to address the boys. It was a moment before the words would come, for she was slightly overwhelmed by their presence and confidence.
“I want you to leave my daughter alone,” she began. It seemed straightforward enough. “You told her she would become a slave. The clan leader would never allow such a thing.” She swallowed, her throat feeling thick, and then added: “It’s not right to scare people with lies.” Her tone held some of the authoritative tenor of an adult and mother, a sound she had used to corral children of other races for years, and the added threat of punishment from the local magistrate should have weakened their resolve, set them crying and begging not to be punished, but the boys continued to stare at her defiantly. Gods, how little they feared her, and cared for her words! Her mind flashed back again to what she had overheard, those many years ago.
A Twi’lek slave is like a pet anooba. When they’re good, rub them. When they’re bad, yell at them. Spit on them! Beat them with a stick!
Sara swallowed, trying to remain resolute and finding it difficult. The two boys stepped closer to her, their eyes narrowing. She had seen such eyes before. Slaver’s eyes.
“We weren’t lying,” Narmo said.
“A guy in a uniform offered us rations to tell him where seppies lived!” Kit piped up, brandishing a finger. Then, absurdly, he saluted awkwardly, jostling his bucket helm with the inside of his index finger. “We’re citizens of the new Galactic Empire!”
What they were saying was both crazy and hauntingly plausible. Sara knew that Coruscant would use any excuse to justify a military buildup, including the threat of separatist remnants that didn’t exist. She heard herself speak, hardly believing she was having such a debate with younglings. “But the Clone Wars are over! There’s been no separatists here for-”
*SMACK!*
All at once, Sara saw stars. It took a few seconds for her to register that she’d been sharply struck across the face; slapped powerfully by a human boy who didn’t consider her words worth listening to. He’d taken the crucial step forward as she’d been talking, and had to stand on the balls of his grimy feet to do it… and yet, he hadn’t hesitated. A wounded moan slid pathetically from her mouth, and one hand went to her cheek. Every nerve ending in her body tingled, and her lekku seemed to throb with so much sensory input.
“Shut up,” spat Narmo, the taller brown-haired boy, and the author of the blow. His blue eyes were shining with youthful, uncaring sadism. “Just do what we say and we won’t tell them where you and your daughter live.”
“Yeah!” added Kit. “We just want slaves, like those guys in the holo, killing and raping as much as they want. And Twi’lek slaves are blasto!” As if to prove the point, the boy unabashedly placed his hand over the tented hardness of her nipple, kneading it through her tight-fitting, low-cut halter with fascination. His splayed fingers sunk unspeakably into her flesh, gathering it, twisting it, causing additional sensations to bombard her already shaken form. Not to be outdone, Narmo slid his hand between her legs, pressing his palm insistently against the plump mound of her sex, the engorged lips of which seemed suddenly prominent in her sheer leggings. Sara could only moan as her clit was insistently ground against her pubic bone.
You can do whatever you want to a Twi’lek female. They love it.
How many times had she heard that said on Tatooine? Hundreds, surely. “Y...you hit me!” she gasped, tears welling in her eyes, her knees shaking and threatening to come out from under her entirely. There was something like awe in her voice. It was less a complaint and more a validation of everything Sara believed about humans.
“Say you’re our slave!” Narmo ordered, his eyes partially obscured by his spiky, unkempt brown bangs. When Sara hesitated for a second, her backhanded her in the face, dropping her to her knees and causing her chest to bounce and heave while drawing a moan. “Say it!” he reiterated.
Sara felt like she was being torn apart inside. Her life as a seamstress and wife had been a struggling one. Constantly worried about credits, with a wimpy husband who was forever being kicked around by human overseers, ‘freedom’ was a constant whirlwind of unpredictable events from which no circumstance seemed to grant shelter. Inwardly, she cursed her Twi’lek mind and body. Two grubby, dirty human boys were fondling her lewdly, grabbing huge handfuls of her breasts and sliding their fingers against her pussy, and her lekku were tingling like they were on fire!
Her paralyzed silence, taken as hesitation by the boys, earned her additional rebukes. They began to slap her ass and tits, winding up and slamming their open palms into her flesh, sending her melon-like breasts bouncing and jiggling, all the while berating her, their voices intertwining and becoming a cacophony along with the impactful sound of their blows.
“You’re a slave! You’re a slave!” they cried, in a dozen variations, accosting her.
“Your daughter is gonna get sold to an Aqualish butt-face!”
“She’s gonna have to lick his stinky nose hairs!”
“Or maybe a Hutt will buy her!”
“She’s gonna be cute little slug-slave!”
Their small hands, their boyish voices, tormenting and groping her, hitting her slapping her! Sara fell to her knees, overcome with the sensations, feeling the need to flee, to run, but from what? From the vile threats of these boys? From her strained life as a wife and mother? They were such brats, rubbing their fingers over her nipples and pussy, doing whatever they wished. Her eyes blazed with defiance and she lashed out, slapping one of the boys in the face as he had slapped her. “Leave my daughter alone!” she howled, instantly surprised at the volume and fury of her own voice.
If a Twi’lek girl defies you, just put her in her place. They’re natural slaves, but they don’t respect a weak master.
For a moment, all three seemed astounded. The probing hands ceased their intrusions, and Sara’s chest heaved with deep breaths. In that moment, the final moment of her own free will, Sara thought that perhaps her haunting suspicions about her race’s destiny were wrong; that Twi’leks were meant for more than slavery and prostitution, and statements to the contrary were just the horny musings of dirty old humanoid males living out their sick fantasies. And perhaps the two boys before her were not masters to be obeyed but brats, little kids with snot-noses and delusions of grandeur, and her fond remembrances of Tatooine just improper nostalgia. Without a master, slavery was just more confusion.
That was when Narmo, swinging his small, pre-teen hand, punched Sara directly in the jaw. She fell like a slaughtered nerf onto one hip, stars erupting in her vision, a surprised cry passing her lips. The two pairs boyish legs in their loose-fitting pantaloons surrounded her, she could see their dirty feet and little else as chemicals flooded her body, released by the stimulus of abuse.
“Want some more, you squiddy-head bitch?”
“You’re... beating me,” Sara gasped, watery-eyed. “You’re just a little human boy, but you’re beating my face like I’m a stupid, mouthy whore!” Her tone was one of awe, submission and arousal. Narmo knelt and used two hands to tear out the crotch of Sara’s leggings, exposing her puffy blue pussy, it was shamefully wet and glistening. At the same time, Kit stepped forward and stamped one of his dirty feet down on her lekku, crushing the nerve-rich tissue against the floor, distending it. Of all Twi’lek physiology, lekku contained the most blood vessels, and the densest bundles of nerve endings. Cords of cerebral matter inside were part of what comprised the Twi’lek brain. The resulting explosion of input had immediate effects.
Sara’s eyes rolled back to the whites and her tongue lolled out of her mouth as she turned onto her back and shuddered with lewd seizures. A warbling sound came from her mouth, it was a sound that had no conscious thought or sentiment behind it, only pure, overwhelming sensation. When Narmo slapped her glistening pussy with his palm and Kit lept into the air and came down on one of her head-tails with a two-footed stomp, every muscle in her voluptuous body tensed and she lifted her pelvis off the ground, shuddering in mid-air, her exposed twat upthrust above the twin globes of her ass as she howled with overwhelmed pleasure and pain. It was quasi-orgasmic, the trauma of physical abuse drawing out such intense feelings that Sara could barely function for minutes on end.
“Feels...so good!” she mewled as they groped and hit her, her voice weak and at the point of breaking.
“You like it, don’t you, tentacle brain?” Narmo taunted, grabbing her halter and ripping the front askew, sending buttons flying to all corners of the dilapidated room and exposing Sara’s large breasts. Now shamefully bare up top, she nodded helplessly at the sadistic boy. Suddenly, her marriage and even Tali seemed a Kessel run away, replaced in immediacy by a feeling of… destiny. Safety. Certainty. Gods, being a slave was so comforting, so free of worry! How had she ever denied it? Her husband was such a pussy! He’d never hit her in twelve years of marriage.
“Y-yes! I’m… I’m garbage!” Sara moaned. “My people are galactic trash! Please, beat me like the dumb bitch I am!” The lekku that Kit had stomped was already blossoming with darker-blue bruises, and he stepped forward and stomped on the other, sending Sara into roll-eyed hysterics once again. As he ground his foot into her sensitive appendage, Narmo took pleasure in slapping her pussy, buttocks, breasts, and nipples with a barrage of blows, treating her expansive adult body like a playground for his smaller one, groping and teasing and twisting in between hits, burying his prying fingers into the flesh of her breasts and buttocks and squeezing them. Every action seemed to send the blue-skinned beauty into deeper depths of physical arousal and shock. Her pussy glistened and seemed to twitch with spasms as the boys had their way with her for what seemed like hours, but was probably just a few minutes, raining down blows and stomps to show her their superiority.
When they got tired of hitting her and her frenzy died down, both boys stood over Sara, holding the drawstring waistbands of their tattered pants. She was breathing hard, her eyes unfocused, every part of her throbbing and engorged with blood. Tears welled in her eyes and her nose was running. A trickle of blood ran from one corner of her mouth, where she had bitten her lip as a result of the initial punch to her face. They looked at each other and silently agreed to test their authority by standing over her and spitting long streams of saliva onto her face, coating her gorgeous features with splattery ropes of their foamy expectorate, searching for any sign of defiance of resistance. Sara did not react, only staring blank-eyed upward as they spat on her, opening her mouth and extending her tongue to catch whatever she could. A strand of spit caught in one of her long eyelashes and draped down over her eyeball, she did not even blink.
“Kriffing piece of garbage,” Narmo assessed. “Have you changed your mind about being our slave?”
“Yes, yes!” Sara babbled. “I’ll be your slave, as long as you promise to treat me like shit!” Her voice was both robotic and needy, as if any defiant part of her identity had been snuffed out. She sucked the gathered strands of saliva into her mouth, making a show of swallowing. “Your spit tastes so good!” Seemingly energized by the snapping of her last inhibition, the gorgeous blue-skinned bombshell rose to her knees, facing down the two boys and licking her lips with unbridled lust while staring at their crotches.
“Pull out your dicks!” she begged, pawing at the loose-fitting cloth of their breeches. “I’ve heard humans have huge ones!” Her body was afire with lust, and she immediately cooed as her hands pressed down on a pair of hot, heavy bulges beneath the cloth, and her slender fingers hooked into each waistband, pulling them downward in tandem. Though covered with the dirt smudges indicative of their street-dwelling status, the boys’ narrow hips, thin thighs and hairless pubic areas still carried the cute smoothness of youth, though the ‘cute’ aesthetic ended quickly when their hanging, dripping penises were revealed.
Sara gagged with a mixture of disgust and delight as the waistbands lowered to reveal inch after inch of fat, hanging, sweaty underage dick. Kit’s shaft seemed as girthy as protocol droid’s neck and hung most of the way down his scrawny thigh, tapering to a fist-sized head half-covered with a shroud of foreskin. Narmo’s was even longer, hanging all the way to his knee, capped by a long, flopping foreskin that seemed to be completely stuffed with filth. As soon as the boys’ endowments hit the open air, a wafting blast of foul air bathed Sara’s face.
“They’re so big!” she marveled, stroking downward on each shaft as she knelt with thighs spread, her pussy exposed and dripping onto the floor through the hole in her torn tights, her breasts looming with gravity-defying fullness, the nipples hard as uncapped power converters. Her nostrils flared. “And they stink!” She did sounded more impressed than disgusted, as though the powerful aroma of dried cum, sweat, and piss were more proof of human superiority.
“I bet they’re bigger than your husband’s, huh?” Narmo taunted, crossing his arms and letting his long, dirty length speak for itself as it hung in her face.
“Yes!” Sara moaned, reaching forward and taking young Narmo’s shaft in hand, feeling the heat and weight, lifting it and gulping with lust. With her opposite hand she put a hand under the boy’s large, hairless ballsack and lifted, letting the testicles pour over her palm, biting her lower lip. She moved her face in to suck one large, hanging ball worshipfully, drawing the loose sack-skin into her mouth and kissing lewdly at sweat-soaked, ruddy orb, nuzzling her nose into it and snorting the fat droplets of perspiration directly into her sinuses. After a moment, she drew back and beheld the young boy’s greasy, saliva-slick ballsack with more reverence than she ever had her husband.
“What a huge pair of nuts!” she cooed, licking her lips. “You must have more sperm in this sack than my husband has produced in his whole pathetic life!” She gave a delirious laugh. “I don’t care about him anymore, I’m just a fucking pedo oovazt who sucks the cocks of little human boys!” she finished, using the Twi’lekki word that would most closely translate to brain-damaged or retard. It was so liberating to confess that her often-confused mind was useless, to desperately show the two boys that she was inferior to them in every way, a piece of trash to be scraped off of their boots. Sara wanted to be mistreated, abused, and reduced to sub-sentience, a position from which her life would always make sense. To this end, her opposite hand moved to Kit’s even larger pair of swollen balls, and she marveled and moaned at their weight and fullness, leaning in to plant a lewd kiss.
“You make my husband look like such a bitch,” she whimpered, sucking a testicle the size of a training drone up against her lips, unable to fit the entire unwashed orb into her mouth. “And you’re so filthy… I bet you never wash!” Of this latter fact, she sounded glad.
Kit and Narmo shook their heads. “The water only runs here one hour each day. So we’ve been waiting for a slave to clean our dicks for us!” crowed the taller boy, pushing his spiky bangs away from his forehead. “Now, get to work before I punch you right in your stupid face!”
Sara shuddered at the thought of being punched by the boy, feeling secure in the knowledge that she would never be able to step out of line or fail in a task again without being brutally beaten by her pair of pre-teen owners. The thought of being so pathetically owned had turned her pussy to a soaking mess that was dampening her thighs with glistening streaks of lubrication. “Of course!” she agreed, putting her hands on Kit’s foreskin, which was tightly wrapped around his cock tip and showing a paste-like layer of yellowish sludge where it met his glans. “I’ll be your toilet!” She opened her mouth wide, showing white teeth and a long and agile tongue, as if to prove the point. “I can’t wait to eat all of your cock scum, every day!” Hesitating no longer, she gripped the boy’s sweat-soaked foreskin and began to push it up his fat, hanging shaft.
The sound of Kit’s filthy dick being peeled was like the rind being torn from an overripe fruit that that had been rendered pulpy and foul. Sara’s moaning, submissive face, just inches away, was immediately spritzed with a mist of sweat, dead skin and cock cheese that peppered her lips and nostrils and drew an animalistic moan from her mouth. “Nnnnnagh! It stinks like rotten bantha shit!” she cooed, inhaling through her nostrils and drawing some of the cock crud that had sprayed her face deep into her sinuses. Her eyes had gone a bit unfocused, as if overcome by the blast of human musk. Her bruised lekku tingled with the shameful, unwanted firing of neurons as her gorgeous face was bathed in a miasma of underage cock.
“You like it, don’t you?” taunted Narmo, rubbing his own long, disgusting penis as he watched her service his friend. “It’s ‘cause you love human dicks! It smells good, huh?” The boy punctuated this last statement with a gap-toothed smile filled with something like pride. Being clean, his look seemed to say, was for tentacle-head concubines and stuffy old schoolteachers. From now on, Sara would be able to look forward to cleaning his body, sweaty from the Rylothian sun, each and every day. With her tongue.
The newly-minted slave dry heaved and did her best not to vomit, staying attentive to the task as she went about satisfying the two brats. “It smells like rotten cum!” she moaned. “And piss! And sweat! And dirty laundry!” Sara was in a state of pure rut. Humans truly were grotesque, grasping, dominant creatures… and she loved their grotesque, dominant cocks! Her lekku throbbed with distress and adrenaline as she considered that the boys were ten years old at most and yet possessed such brutal rape-blades. To have cocks so large and nasty - humans truly were the studs of the galaxy! Not even the famously-hung Wookies could compare.
In peeling back the foreskin, she’d exposed a ring of yellowish sludge beneath the rim of the boy’s glans that was thicker than one of her fingers. As she gulped and beheld the trove of smegma with wide, disbelieving eyes, she heard and sensed tiny mite-like pests, no bigger than flecks of pepper, buzzing around her face, drawn by the musky smell. “Better get to work,” Narmo taunted. “Unless you’d rather be serving some fat Gamorrean along with your daughter!”
The mental image of Tali, dressed in a skimpy outfit, licking the snot out of a Gamorrean’s pig nose, both horrified and excited Sara, who struggled to hold on to the last shreds of motherly responsibility still remaining in her subjugated body. Drawing in a short breath, she extended her tongue and started licking lewdly and desperately at the thick deposits of smegma, piling up the gunk on her tongue while looking at the cruel human boy with watery, submissive eyes. From her crawling position, he could no doubt see every detail of her massive, hanging tits, and the roundness of her bulging buttocks, so closely gilded by leggings that left little to the imagination. Her nipples protruded like turgid cones as she pressed her face up against the half-hard penis, using one hand to steady herself and one hand to grip the length halfway. The floppy, nasty cock bowed in the middle where she held it, the second half hanging down to languidly down to make contact with her eager, slurping mouth.
“Don’t worry!” Sara objected, in between licks and sucks. “I’ll be a good slave! I’ll clean your dicks! I’ll suck your fat, sweaty balls! I’ll even drink all of your piss!” Her voice was thick and obstructed by the amount of filth already on her tongue, sounding like a female talking through a mouthful of chewed rations. “There still so much stuck in your foreskin!” She pulled the skin back forward around Narmo’s spit-covered cockhead, forcing it into a tube shape, driving her tongue inside. Her abused lekku throbbed in symphonic time with her nipples and clit, as though connected to the foul act via some manner of genetic alchemy. There was no denying that the act of servicing such brutal, hung young boys was triggering an unwilling, explosive response in her body.
Switching cocks after gulping down a rancid mouthful of smegma, she worked fastidiously with her fingers to bunch up the excess foreskin on the end of Narmo’s dick, which hung two inches at least off the end of the boy’s large cock-knob in a floppy bulb shape, weighed down by the accumulation of filth inside. “Fuck, it’s disgusting!” she moaned, like it was a compliment, a testament to the boy’s ability to effortlessly defile her with the detritus from his unwashed body. “You’ve saved up such a huge load of cock-scum!” Her lips were dusted with flecks of smegma, her voice still choked with it. Inhaling and letting her eyes go unfocused, as though in the throes of ecstasy, she jammed the tip of Kit’s bunched foreskin into her nostril, arching her back and moaning as she inhaled and snorted the smell of concentrated cock crud straight from the source. The force of her pressing fingers caused a chowdery wave of accumulated dick cheese to explode into her sinuses, like pus from a burst pimple, flooding her olfactories with the foulest, stinkiest goo imaginable. Overwhelmed, Sara began to shudder and moan, her tongue sticking out, her eyes rolling back again, and shameful orgasms began to rock her adult frame as the boys watched with hungry eyes.
“It’s just like in the holos!” Kit exclaimed, watching Sara force the nasty cock cheese out of Narmo’s foreskin and into her nose. “Twi’leks are total sluts!” Sara’s hands fell to her side limply and it was left to the brown-haired boy to ram his cockhead roughly into her nose, flattering it against her face and smearing her features with sweat, grime and occasional spurts of deep yellow piss. Her mouth was opened wide and her tongue extended, with smegma and saliva mixing in the back of her throat as it escaped her nasal cavity, inviting orifice for a dirt-covered, skinny little youngling who had been lusting for a place to jam his enormous cock all afternoon. With one boy under each of her armpits, they dragged her shuddering body over to an inclined pile of dirt and refuse and lay her back against it. Sara, thighs spread and with her buttocks settling in amongst the garbage, looked for all the world like a used-up whore that someone one had simply discarded.
It was from this position that Narmo began simply walking on her, planting his small feet on her voluptuous thighs as she ley splayed at a 45 degree angle, as if he were climbing one of Ryloth’s jagged escarpments. The size difference between them looked more exaggerated than other when he planted a dirty foot on each one of her melon-sized breasts, his toes sinking into her flesh as he turned to present his scrawny ass to her face, squatting down and pushing his penis back through his own legs to that it aligned with her throat. Sara’s had enough of her wits about her to see the boy’s smooth, dirt-splotched butt cheeks descending toward her face as he lewdly squatted, and mewled with delight.
“Yes, ram your cock straight down my throat!” she begged, licking her lips. “I’m just a stupid slave-whore, it doesn’t matter if I can’t breathe!” Her thick thighs and and the round globes of her ass had nestled themselves into the jawstraw pile of machine parts and textiles, rendering her a thin-waisted, large-chested jewel in a setting of garbage. A jewel who welcomed a little boy squatting his bare ass in her face to drive his long penis down her throat, who welcomed being tarnished in any way her youngling masters could devise. Yet Narmo seemed to be having trouble with his balance, wobbling from foot to foot from his perch on her swollen breasts. He was on the verge of toppling over when his cohort, Kit, came up with an idea.
Grabbing Sara’s plump lekku from behind her head, he pulled them forward, drawing a moan from the rough handling, and urged Narmo to reach behind himself and grip each fleshy, bruised-blue tentacle to steady himself. Thus, a unique and utterly degrading sexual position was created. While standing on Sara’s huge breasts, the brown-haired boy gripped her head-tails at each of his narrow hips to secure himself while squatting and driving his downward pointing cock into her moaning, gurgling throat.
“Ha!” quipped Kit, crossing his arms and observing the nasty tableaux. “Her eyes are crossed. She looks like a droid with a loose wire!” It was true. The tight grip on her sensitive brain-tails combined with over a foot of long, wet, nasty underage dick drilling down her gullet had caused Sara’s synapses to erupt in an overload of sensations. Even more degrading, Kit grabbed a handful of discarded power cabling and began to whip the black, limber cords directly into her pussy, mashing her clit and labia. Sara’s eyes crossed and rolled back yet again, she gurgled deep in her throat as the tight passage massaged the long, thick meat that was pressing deeper and deeper. She choked, gasped, and gagged. Spittle and throat slime poured from the tight seal her mouth made around the shaft. Her cheeks mushroomed outward as they filled with the wet lubrications of her throat. Narmo squatted harder, pulling her lekku tighter, driving his dick deeper into her gullet until his unwashed, cum-sloshing balls were pressed up against Sara’s nose. A subtle cock shape could be seen in her taut, thin belly, showing that the young boy’s penis had penetrated all the way to her stomach and distended even that organ into a cock-shaped abdominal tent. Despite his tender years he was reaming out her insides with fourteen inches of meat.
Once fully hilted in Sara’s throat, Narmo showed no mercy, holding his cock down her windpipe while his feet were firmly planted in her huge, bulbous breasts, to the extent that his toes completely disappeared into indentations in her flesh. She lay helpless in the rubbish pile, thighs spread lewdly, as Kit whipped pussy, tits, and buttocks with repeatedly blows from a tangle of power cabling. Sara’s eyes were unfocused as she gurgled and heaved, making vomiting noises and wounded moans. The boy’s tight grip on her lekku, using the plump cranial appendages to leverage his cock as deep as it could go, combined with the constant beating and lack of oxygen to overload her senses. She orgasmed, passed out, had a seizure that nearly dislodged the boy, and continued to orgasm repeatedly. She lost control of her bladder and sprayed a huge arc of humiliating piss across the room.
In Sara’s mind, all conscious thought was replaced by a wall of inarticulate sensation. She could not think of her husband or daughter, only about the unlimited depravities that lay in store for her in her true calling as a pedophile fuckbitch for human boys. She did not care about her own personal well-being or about the common conceit among sapient races that younglings should not be pursued sexually; all she could think about was to be ravished by youngling cock after youngling cock while they spat in her face, called her names, and brutally beat her buttocks and breasts before punching her teeth down her throat if she’d been only disobedient. She could not count the orgasms she had while being abused and throat-fucked, it was impossible.
After perhaps fifteen minutes of keeping Sara as a beaten, quivering mess, Narmo groaned and pulled up extra-tight on her brain-tails, forcing her face even more brutally into his undercarriage and her nose into his puffy, hairless asshole, an orifice oily with sweat and flecks of unwiped waste. “I’m gonna shoot it all down her throat!” the boy gasped, biting his lower lip in an expression that might have been cute under more normal circumstances. He tossed his head back and howled, performing not an act of lovemaking but an act of excretion, emptying his backed-up, rancid cum deep into the distended sack of Sara’s guts, sperm so nasty, congealed and foul it barely contained any liquid at all. There was a slushy, splattery noise as Narmo’s buttocks clenched, bracketing Sara’s catatonic face, and his shaft seemed to swell in her throat with each vomitous gout of lumpy cum from his pisshole. No onlooker could see it and conclude it was an act of congress between two thinking, feeling beings, but rather, a young boy relieving himself into an inanimate, Twi’lek-shaped receptacle for cum, piss, and cock-filth.
Narmo, breathing hard, stayed docked in Sara’s mouth for another minute before letting her lekku fall away from his fists and straightening his hips, stumbling off of his position atop her breasts and down the refuse pile. There was a moment of silence and glassy-eyed paralysis from Sara before her cheeks ballooned out and she loudly vomited a gout of cum upward and over her own chest, splattering the nasty mess all over her breasts and midsection. When she began to make noises, it was hard to tell that they were words, the syllables being drawn out and her voice hoarse from the brutal, esophagus-stretching deepthroat she’d endured.
“Thaaaaannnn… youuuu... “ she moaned, bubbles of cum falling from her mouth to gather in the valley of her breasts. Each one of the massive tits was larger than the boys’ heads. She made other noises less intelligible, and the two sadistic brats beheld her with satisfaction, Narmo’s deflated cock hanging down lewdly, while Kit’s fatter one was still at attention.
“There are two of us, so we need two slaves!” Kit stated, his bratty voice partially muffled by his makeshift bucket-helm, which was uncannily like that of a clone trooper. “So get your fat, stupid ass out of here and get your daughter!”
Sara licked cum from her lips and looked back at the boys with the barest recognition; that she even had a daughter took a moment to register in her orgasm-wracked, fucked-out brain. In her own mind she was a vessel, lower than dirt, a sarlacc pit for dumping cum instead of debtors. The label of ‘mother’ no longer fit, and the words she’d overheard so long ago rang in her ears again.
Once you have an obedient Twi’lek slave, you have the daughter too. They’re the slave trash of the galaxy, and it always runs in the family.
“I’ll… nnngh… go right away…” Sara gasped, barely able to rise under her own power, covered in bruises and whip-marks, every inch of her beautiful body covered in sweat and cum. She knew just what to tell Tali, who had wanted to be a seamstress and designer upon growing up, following in the footsteps of her mother. She had many lessons to teach her about her proper place, and the proper place of all female Twi’leks.

- 3 -

Two days later, both Sara and her daughter Tali were bent over the two toilet bowls found in the filthy bathroom of Kit and Narmo’s run-down hideout, the faces submerged in unflushed porcelain basins filled entirely with yellow, reeking piss. The boys were perched above their heads, feet on the rim of each bowl, holding their lekku like reins, Narmo with Sara’s longer ones to match his greater height, Kit with Tali’s shorter, cuter ones. As the females’ faces were forced into the waste, the boys used the plump protuberances to wrap around their dicks, sliding their cocks between the taut-pulled flesh, fucking them as if they were just another warm hole. As they moaned and tensed their youthful asses, spraying ropes of lumpy, yellow, pungent-smelling cum onto the heads of their slaves, both mother and daughter moaned with arousal as the physiological trademark of their race, their sensitive head-tails, were defiled. Both were nearly naked, wearing only the most lewd and scant leather bikinis.
“Thank you for letting my daughter drink your piss!” Sara gurgled when she was able to raise her head above the sloshing urine-line of the bowl. “I’m so proud to see you mark her as your territory, inside and out!”
“It tastes so good, mother!” Tali cried back, shuddering with orgasm as Kit’s nasty, barely-liquid cum was spurted onto her lekku. Her cute, innocent 12-year-old face was soaked with urine. “I hope Master Kit will rape me again tonight and beat me until my eyes are swollen shut!”
The boys were hopping down from their perches, losing interest in the wake of their orgasms, giving the two females perfunctory slaps and kicks. Separated by as little as two feet, the two Twi’lek slaves pulled their piss-soaked faces from the bowls and collapsed to their hips, sliding closer to each other on the filthy floor until their noses were nearly touching. Sara reached out to stroke one of Tali’s lekku in a grotesque imitation of their former mother and child tenderness.
“I hope Master Kit fucks your tight little throat with that huge cock of his and dislocates your jaw,” Sara whispered softly to Tali, drawing an anticipatory moan from the younger Twi’lek as their arms folded around each other. Then her voice grew wanton and vicious. “I just want to see a little human kid with a big cock skull-fuck my daughter!”
“I’m garbage, mama,” Tali cooed contentedly. “We’re both slave garbage.” She drew her mother’s cum-slathered lekku toward her face and began to suck lewdly on the end, as a baby nursing, teasing Sara by taking more and more of the tapered end in. Reaching out, Sara did the same, taking the daintier appendage of her progeny and beginning to blow it like a cock, sucking the rancid, yellow cum from the surface as they both moaned and lost themselves in the sensations.
The two remained there, sucking each other’s brain-tails, for hours. Abuse, degradation, and pleasure had become their entire lives. And when the rise of human influence and the Galactic Empire came, and it affected Sara and Tali not at all. They had nothing to worry about, ever again.
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Star Wars: A Twi'lek Destiny