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The Sinking of the Cerulean Bliss	By : Meowshi Category: Star Wars (All) > General Views: 2468 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars, the locations, nor the characters. They are the property of Disney. I do not make money from writing this story. This work is of pure fiction.

Chapter List
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For what feels like the twelfth time this evening, a leathery hand reaches down the back of my thong and grabs hold of my backside.
My mental conditioning allows me to keep my face expressionless, even as I feel anger boiling up inside of me, bubbling just beneath the surface of my placid smile. With practiced grace, I manage to discreetly coil away from the fondling touch, my muscles tightening in reaction to the unwanted contact. I remind myself to smile prettily at the Quarren gunrunner who had groped me so unseemly; the clientele of the Cerulean Bliss prefers their serving girls to be coquettish and docile.
My glimmering pink eyes twinkle suggestively as I tease him, “Naughty squidlord, I’m not on the menu!” My voice is flirtatious, but there is a silent fury behind my eyes. I am forced to bite my lip and dig my sharp nails into the meat of my thigh just to stop myself from lashing out at the bastard in anger.
The rough-looking companions of the Quarren laugh and slap him on the back, congratulating him for treating me like nothing more than a piece of meat to be pawed over. A small, conspiratorial smile appears on my face as I imagine them all being jettisoned out of the nearest airlock, but I don't allow that contempt to show in my expression. Instead, I smile pleasantly while refilling their table with expensive bottles of Tarkenian Nightflower, making sure to stay just outside of arm's reach. With a polite nod, I hurry back toward the kitchens before the handsy gangsters can decide that they wanted another feel at me.
Neon illuminators brighten the path back to the kitchens, filling the cantina with disorienting flashes of color - even at this late hour. The extravagantly-furnished saloon was filled with tall, shimmering mirrors in every corner, presumably so that the customers could more easily admire the scantily-clad waitstaff as they ran around taking orders and refilling glasses. I flinch slightly every time I pass one of these mirrors; shocked by my shameless, provocative appearance.
My budding nipples show prominently through the translucent, gossamer bands of fabric tied around my adolescent chest. The only things covering my taut midsection are a few strings of dangling beads that jiggle pleasingly whenever I sway my tiny hips. My lower body is covered by a snug thong that is several sizes too small and wedgies up the smooth blue lips of my outer labia, digging invitingly into the pink underneath. My soft-hued, aquamarine face was covered in thick clouds of magenta eyeshadow and garish red lipstick. While I thought that this heavy makeup made me look like some sort of painted court jester, the customers seemed to like it. Fortunately, I didn’t require any blush as all the blood would rush to my blue cheeks whenever I caught a glimpse of my embarrassing state of undress in the mirrors.
To better please the mammalian customers, the slavers had painted thin and elegant brows onto my face, as I am a Rutian Twi’lek and my species is naturally hairless. A simple leather headdress covers my bald head and inhuman, cone-like ears, while also allowing my lekku to swing freely against the back of my head. The extremely sensitive head-tails were mottled through with patterns in white and lighter blues, and are considered quite beautiful amongst my people. As I walked, the delicate arches of my feet were elevated in a pair of glittering stiletto heels which clacked noisily in my wake, as if to make sure I couldn’t try to run away without being noticed. Completing my ensemble was a chunky, durasteel slave collar which kept my neck straight and my posture stiff.
I glance at my reflection in the mirror one final time and think to myself, ‘Oh Shanni, what have you gotten yourself into this time?’
My cheerful expression falls as soon as I enter the kitchens and am out of eyesight of the customers. For a few blissful seconds I am able to drop the performance and stop pretending. With a heavy sigh, I hand my empty tray over to one of the kitchen staff and stretch out my aching neck. The stiff slave collar always makes it feel as though I am being lightly choked; just another casual brutality the slavers of the Cerulean Bliss inflict upon their "property."
The kitchens were full of dozens of other kids like me, representing a vast array of alien species and genders. They rush back and forth, with trays of intoxicants balanced on one hand and their youthful faces lit up with anxious energy. They are all dressed similarly to me, in cumbersome slave collars and airy, sheer fabrics. When the kids become old enough, they were typically transitioned from server to dancer, and then to even more unseemly work when they were older still. Most of the slaves expected to spend their entire lives never having left the smooth, doonium corridors of the pleasure barge.
As I waited for my next order to come in, two servers that I had recently befriended approached me with sour expressions on their painted faces.
The boy, Kreo, was a shy-eyed Mirialan with an unruly mop of black hair on his head. He was a year younger than me, still just a sprout, and he looked even younger because of his malnourished body. As he had been enslaved as a babe, he didn’t have black geometric tattoos patterning his face like most members of his species; his bright yellow-green skin was decorated with freckled cheeks and a light case of acne instead. The boy walks cautiously, as every time he moved a little too fast, the flaps of his loin cloth would fly open to reveal his lime-green boyhood to anyone watching. I suspect that Kreo has a little crush on me, as the little member would frequently grow stiff in my presence. It's honestly a little flattering knowing that I have such a profound effect on him. Though he is normally all smiles whenever I am around, he fidgeted nervously now, eyes darting about as if looking for an escape.
The girl standing next to him, Xxanthippe, was usually a lot more stoic, but now her luminescent, green eyes were full of worry. Her head was adorned with thousands of thin, ribbon cables that curled and cascaded like locks of hair. Just beneath the surface of her shimmering, opalescent skin; blue circuitry and red lines of code twinkle like miniature stars. Xxanthippe’s body was covered in a layer of shimmering metal which seemed to reflect light in a way that made her appear almost ethereal. The girl claimed to be a Xxybrax, a species of mostly-mechanical, self-replicating beings from the farthest reaches of the galaxy. I had never met one before her. As my eyes run down the length of the girl’s body, I wonder, not for the first time, if she was cold and hard like a droid, or warm and fleshy to the touch.
“Something the matter?” I ask as the two of them timidly approach me. I hope that they aren't being physically harassed like I was, but knowing the sort of brutes that frequent the Cerulean Bliss, it is more likely than not. Still, the thought of them being mistreated sent a wave of righteous fury coursing through my veins.
“We’re supposed to deliver these cups of Mandalorian Kri'gee to a group of Black Sun agents,” Xxanthippe announces with a pouty frown on her pretty, pearlescent face.
“So?" I respond slowly, feigning disinterest. I hope that they cannot see my conical ears perk up expectantly at the mention of the Black Sun crime syndicate.
“So!? They're upstairs. You know, in the private rooms?” Kreo's yellow-green face drops into his hands as he trembles like a little leaf. “We’re terrified! You know what kind of stuff goes on up there!”
So the Black Sun goons upstairs finally decided to order some drinks, huh? This is the perfect opportunity to take a look around their room!
Not wanting to arouse suspicion by appearing too eager to take on their assignment, I place a finger on my chin and tilt my head as though I am lost in thought.
“Well ... I suppose if you two can handle the rest of my shift down here, I could take those cups up there for you,” I said slowly, letting a hint of false trepidation slip into my voice.
“Really?! Are you sure?”, the boy murmured excitedly, before looking at me with a look of concern. “Black Sun operatives can be even crueler than the usual guests.”
“No worries, Kreo! I know how to handle myself around the rough sorts,” I say with a confident smirk.
Little did he know how true that statement was.
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The Sinking of the Cerulean Bliss