Star Wars: The Eclipse before the Dawn (Corsair and Xana)

[TheCorsair]

The pain and shame and rage flooding her mind hit him harder than the bulkhead.

He'd been wide open, enjoying the feel of her cunt gripping and clenching around his thick meat as he slowly stroked himself into her, tasting her arousal and her desperate need. It was their anniversary, after all, and he'd planned this out. Planned to feel her building pleasure, planned to keep her at the very cusp of orgasm without letting her go over until her body and mind could do nothing but beg for him. Until her entire world had collapsed into the sweet torture of his dick filling her, and the desperate need for release. Then, and only then, would he allow her to climax and follow her down into that rapture. But then an agonizing, torturous pleasure had flooded her and flooded him with her, and suddenly he was flying across the room.

The impact against the wall was a relief, despite the bruising force. It was a distraction from the agony bleeding from Kaydia's mind. From the horrified betrayal that followed, as she sobbed and curled in on herself. "Why..." she demanded. "Why would you do that to me?"

"gaaaahh..." he responded, trying to fill his lungs with air. "Aaahiii..." He tried again, feeling a twinging in his chest as he gasped for breath. Had he broken a rib? More than one? "I... I didn't...." he finally managed to get out, before sagging to his hands and knees and hyperventilating. The SIN. Damnit, it had to be the SIN! With everything else they'd been doing, it had seemed such a low priority to try and have those implants removed. "I... I wouldn't..."

Forcing himself to his feet, he staggered across the tiny cabin. "Kaydia, I... I wouldn't. I... you know... I wouldn't hurt you. Ever." Joining her on the bed, he started to pull her into a comforting embrace before stopping. Would she accept it? Would she trust him?

Suddenly, it hit again. He caught the barest fringes of it before he was able to erect his own mental shields, blunting the worst of the agony that fed through their bond. Throwing caution to the wind he rested his hands on her neck and head, calling on the Force to shield her as well. It was harder, since the agony was produced through a purely physical stimulus of her nerves, but the techniques of the Jedi could operate on the material as well as the subtle levels. After a moment he felt her begin to relax slightly, felt her own training assist and then take over blocking the pain. "It wasn't me," he repeated. "I wouldn't even know how to trigger them. Is it... some short in the ship's systems, maybe? Something wrong with the holonet transmitter?"

 

[Xanaphia]

Kaydia knew he hadn’t, almost as soon as the words left her lips. Of course he hadn’t, not her husband. Then the way he tried to assure her that he hadn’t –wouldn’t– hurt her between pained gasps made her feel worse. But someone had triggered the SIN. Or something? They were all alone, after all.

“Are you okay? Did I hurt you badly?” She whispered, wanting his touch but cautious of potential injuries. She tried to check, but another wave of electric torment vibrated under her skin. It wasn’t as bad at the first time, and Quentin tried to protect her as much as he could. Still, tears well up in her eyes and difficult memories welled up in her consciousness.

“I…” the nervous panic faded into tingling on her skin, but it still clawed at her mind, making thinking and talking difficult, “Can we go out to dinner? If it is something on board that is cause these reactions, can we just…get out for a little while?” She flashed a smile, seeking some comfort in the fact that the SIN wasn’t being triggered to purposely hurt her. Still did, though. Darting closer to Quentin, she planted a kiss on his cheek.

“I am going to take a shower and get dressed…” She started, trying to assure him she was okay. Trying to assure herself she was mostly okay. “Maybe…maybe I should take it alone though.”

Still finding it difficult to relax, Kaydia took a quick shower. She changed into a velvety wine dress, wrapped tight around her waist, and clinging to her hips. It showed a lot of skin, but after force pushing and accusing Quentin, she hoped to make to up to him. And if it was something on the ship triggering the SIN, she should be fine if they end up somewhere else tonight. Maybe they’d met up in a hotel room, like two strangers looking to have anonymous sex.

Emboldened by the thought, Kaydia joined Quentin, posing for him a touch. “Why don’t we try again after dinner? Maybe we can find a tall building with a glass elevator?”

 

[TheCorsair]

“I am going to take a shower and get dressed…” She started, trying to assure him she was okay. Trying to assure herself she was mostly okay. “Maybe…maybe I should take it alone though.”

It was right on the tip of his tongue to insist that he join her. The shower, after all, was just large enough to allow two to share it if they were close. They both knew that from experience, having tested it more than once. But he could taste her concern in her thoughts, and understood just why she wanted to be alone. So he nodded. "All right," he agreed, after a moment's hesitation. "I'll give some thought to an alternative anniversary celebration. Cerea may be known for it's great intellects, but there still must be something fun to do here."

Stretching and rolling sore muscles, he drifted out into the central room of the ship - the combination living room, galley, workout room, and sick bay of the Scrapper. Pulling on a pair of loose workout pants, he took a seat at the HoloNet terminal and began searching. "Things to do in an Outsider Citadel," he murmured to himself. There wasn't as much as he hoped. The Cereans were fairly isolationist for a Republic member world, and generally tried to discourage visitors. The first hit on a search for lodgings were the 'sleep stations' - great stacks of rooms barely larger than coffins, designed to (barely) cater to the needs of travelers. They'd be interesting, of course, in the right kind of mood. Perhaps playing at being anonymous lowlifes that were meeting for a quick, anonymous fuck. But not the sort of thing he was in the mood for, not tonight.

"Hmmm..." he finally said. "The Tecave Arms." It was a wealthy, upper level establishment designed to cater to the needs of the ultra-rich that visited Cerea upon occasion. Designed to resemble a great, broad-leafed tree and standing some twenty stories tall, it wasn't impressive compared to the ecumenopoli of some of the core worlds. But impressive nonetheless. Just the sort of place they could go, once he made a few alterations to their docking pass. Smiling to himself, he set about merrily abusing his skills to get a reservation for them under the name of 'Faylen-Golb'.

He felt displaced air on his back as he was beginning to wrap up. "Why don't we try again after dinner?" Kaydia purred. He turned, and whatever it was he was going to say died on his lips at the sight of his wife. She smiled, striking a pose so he could appreciate her even more. "Maybe we can find a tall building with a glass elevator?" She wasn't bothering to shield her thoughts in the slightest, and her vague plans for the evening inspired him.

"I think I can manage that," he grinned, taking a little longer to appreciate the view before returning to the terminal. "Hang on." He tapped keys rapidly, altering his original modifications. "So, how's this? For the evening, you're now Madame Kaydia Faylen-Golb, with the remaining details left to your magnificent imagination." He smiled back at her as he tapped in a few final keystrokes. "Wealthy, though, because you're renting a suite on the 22nd floor of the Tecave Arms." Another glance back, and another smile. "And don't look at me like that. I'm using one of the various anonymous accounts I established to pay for it. I'm not stealing anything."

Biting his lip, he went back to work. "Why don't you take some time to enjoy the amenities? Get a massage, go swimming, work out, whatever. Then arrange to be in the lounge at second sundown this evening, and I'll meet you there. 'Accidentally'. We can take it from there, and see if we can't outrage a few people." Another grin. "They do have a glass elevator. I checked."

 

[Xanaphia]

Spending some time away from Quentin wasn’t exactly how she wanted to spend their anniversary, but the idea of meeting up to have semi-anonymous sex with him in public sounded insanely hot. And spending a couple hours pampering herself appealed as well. It had been years since she indulged like this, since her numb, nihilistic days as Scarlet. Since Quentin brought her back into Jedi, she didn’t need to fill the void within her with materialism. Quentin usually sufficed.

Still, after the stress of reawakening memories, a few hours unwinding at the spa was just what she needed. Now she was relaxed, and rather looking forward to “bumping into” Quentin.

The hotel bar was tastefully decorated, melding nature and modern sensibilities in a refreshing way. Glass and greenery dominated the décor, feeling almost like a greenhouse that happened to have a bar within. Kaydia took her seat at the bar, savoring her second glass of sparkling white wine.

“May I join you?” An older human asked, pulling out the barstool beside her. He probably had thirty years on her, with silvering hair and deep laugh lines around his grey eyes. A dozen excuses to turn him away ran through her mind, but he seemed to sense her impending rejection. “Relax, I am not trying to pick you up. Just pass the time.”

Kaydia blushed, ashamed of her assumptions, “Sure, but I waiting for someone.” Quentin wasn’t here yet, but surely any moment now.

“As I am,” the older man explained, “So no harm in enjoying each other’s company while we wait. What brings to Cerea?” The bartender brought over his drink and he dropped a handful of credits in his hand.

“Work. Well, wrapped up my last appointment early, and so I have a few days to myself,” Kaydia answered, leaving her meaning vague. Her finger circled the rim of her wine glass. “You?”

“Business. Made an important acquisition recently, just waiting to finalize the deal.”

“I hope it works out for you, in that case,” Kaydia offered, holding up her glass to tapped with his.

He took up her offer, clinking their drinks before taking a hearty swig. “Oh, I am quite sure it will. And I think your companion arrived.”

That claim shocked her, forcing her to sit up straighter. Did he know what she was? Who she and Quentin were? “Excuse me?”

“He is sitting behind you, and keeps looking over this way,” he explained, pointing with his chin over her shoulder. “So, either he is the one you’re waiting for, or he is going to try and pick you up next. Regardless, my acquaintance has arrived as well. Have a pleasant evening, miss.” He finished his drink and got up, shaking hands with skinny male twi’lek. They left together, and Kaydia laughed to herself. I probably wasn’t even his type…

Shifting on her stool, she saw Quentin just where the older man said he was. She flashed him a quick smile, before turning her attention back towards her drink.

 

[TheCorsair]

Despite all his training, waiting was the hard part. The abortive lovemaking, and the thought of meeting Kaydia later, left Quentin entirely on edge. Enough so that he considered opening up his mind and jerking off, letting her feel him pleasuring himself as she tried to focus on whatever it was she was doing right now. But, no. Not because he didn't want to, but because he didn't want to take the edge off. So he controlled himself, and ran through his exercises, and picked out his suit - a black asymmetric blazer and slacks, with a collarless shirt. The cut didn't allow him anywhere to conceal his lightsaber, but he was on vacation.

He considered that thought for a moment. Then he slipped the slim silver bracelets of the Teras Kasai fighting gauntlets on his wrists. Vacations had gone badly for them in the past, after all. No need to take chances.

By the time he reached the bar, he'd settled on a cover. His room was reserved under the name 'Brin Malloy', with no other information. He was, he decided, an independent purchasing agent. A freelancer, specializing in acquiring unique and exotic items. It was cheesy as hell, but their little games of seduction and sex rarely needed elaborate stories. Too much like work, really. Was Brin married, he asked himself. Then he shrugged. That would depend on Kaydia's mood - sometimes, pretending to cheat made these games more fun.

He ordered a drink and took a seat at the bar. Kaydia was deep in conversation with a distinguished looking older gentleman, all expensive power suit and silver hair and a physique that showed he didn't let age keep him from exercise. Not her usual type. Was she trying to make him jealous, or just killing time? Not that it mattered, because he'd clearly been waiting for a thin young twi'lek. Her quick smile distracted him from speculating on what they were doing.

Rising, he slowly approached his wife, wondering how Brin would approach a woman he wanted to fuck. Brin was confident, he decided. Confident, but not arrogant. "Good evening," he said, taking the stool the older man had vacated. "I saw your husband leave, and thought you might like some company."

 

[Xanaphia]

Kaydia stifled her laugh as Quentin approached, dragging teeth over her bottom lip as she considered how to respond. Playing along sounded so enticing in the moment. Still, he might have intended for a slow seduction, but she had no patience for it. Not after their earlier lovemaking was cut short and rudely interrupted.

“Was it so obvious that I crave the touch of a real man?” She purred, slipping into the skin of an unsatisfied trophy wife. “That money is all well and good, but it can’t keep me warm at night?” She let her bare leg brush against his, and didn’t remove for a full five seconds. The heat of his body was so inviting, she was surprised she wasn’t already peeling him out of that suit. “Or maybe I just need to get fucked like a filthy whore.”

She knocked back her glass at that, signaling the bartender for another. “But, alas, it’s so risky. Why, my husband is just upstairs, meeting a business partner. What if he catches us? My husband is so possessive.” Turning towards Quentin, she ducked in closer to him. He looked so good in his sharp suit, displaying his delicious figure to great effect. Without bothering to stop herself, she caressed his thigh, leaning in so he could look down her dress and get an eyeful of cleavage.

“We’d have to be discreet. Could you be discreet? Or would you have me screaming out your name where he might hear us?”

 

[TheCorsair]

It was going to be like that, then? Not that he minded in the slightest threat, really. “Discrete?" he repeated, reaching into his pocket. "You don't strike me as the sort of woman that wants 'discrete'." He drew a 100 credit note from his coat, trailing it over her breastbone and down one breast before tucking it into her dress. "Not if you want to be fucked like a filthy whore."

His fingers were still on her skin, exploring slightly below the dress, holding the note. He grinned, leaning forward and seizing the back of her neck to pull her into a kiss. His tongue forced itself into her mouth as he released the note, moving his hand to cup her breast and toy with her nipple through the thin fabric of her gown. "You won't be screaming my name, though," he promised, his breath hot on her face. "Because I'm not going to tell it to you. I'm going to fuck you like a filthy whore, and you're never going to know my name. You'll go back to your husband, full of a stranger's cum, knowing you let a stranger use your body all night."

Ignoring the disapproving looks of the bartender he rose and pulled her to her feet. "Come on," he said, capturing her wrist in a grip of iron. "There's a hundred credits, reminding you that you wanted to be my filthy whore." With that, he headed for the elevator. It was a free-standing column of transparent ferrocrystal, rising the full length of the hotel, and the pass he had meant that a car was waiting for them when they reached it. As soon as the door closed he pushed her up against the transparent wall, his mouth hot and hungry on hers.

"Tell him I forced you," he growled, pushing her hem up higher so that her thigh could slide over his. His other hand pulled her dress down over one shoulder and along her arm, baring a breast as he devoured her mouth again. "But you wanted this. Wanted me hard and hungry and anonymous, fucking you mercilessly."

 

[Xanaphia]

It didn’t long for them to reach the elevator, and it was still too long in Kaydia’s mind. Too long between hot and hungry kisses, with his perverse promises humming in her ears. Clearly, he wanted his as badly as she did, needed her as much as she needed him. Longing left her aching for him.

She had wanted to blow him. Slow and lingering, repaying his earlier teasing with her own. Bringing him to edge, again and again until he begged for her. But she had no patience for it now. She needed him inside her, needed her husband fucking her senseless, until all the earlier stress evaporated away. Until her mind and body were full of his pleasure.

So, her thigh went up around his hips, and one hand went between them to work up his belt. “They are watching us,” she moaned, arching her back to offer him more of her neck and bare shoulder. Offering him the breast he bared to the hotel. “Show them all how you fuck a filthy whore. Please…please, show them how hard you can make me cum.”

Finally, she got his pants off, leaning into his to stroke his cock. Damn, he was so hard she could feel him throbbing, could felt the mounting tension that had built since they had to cut their first attempt short. Soon she was throbbing too, desperate for his touch, for his body, for the beautiful connection of their bodies tangled together.

His pants and boxer pooled on the floor of the elevator, and her dress was hiked up over her hips. Her legs tightened around his hips as he pulled her into his arms, driving his iron cock into her heated depths. Fuck, that was glorious. So glorious, she pulled him all the way inside her, thighs squeezing him, squeezing them closer, so he could pull away. Just holding him there, within her depths, as close as they could get together. For five heartbeats, she gazed into his eyes, lips parted and her own eyes rolling back into her head, overcome with pleasure.

She could nearly climax, filled with Quentin, layer atop the lascivious game they played. Finally, she released him, just enough he could fuck up into her. Dragging her along his length, until her nerves with afire with bliss. The trip to their room wouldn’t take too long, but she wasn’t sure she’d last, physical pleasure melting away until orgasm surged through her. Once more growing tight around his shaft, caressing hard meat with trembling walls and…

Pain. Again pain, vibrations shredding her nerves and reawakening earlier trauma. Again, she screamed, becoming a panicked shriek, before setting into an enraged roar. She sought to block the sensation, the shock to her senses, reaching for her anger to armor her sorrow. Eyes flared orange as she pushed her husband away again, careful not to direct her fury towards him. He’d never do this to her, but someone was. “Whoever has that remote better pray I don’t find them.” She snarled, and then the elevator door opened.

 

[TheCorsair]

Quentin let himself melt into his wife, opening himself to the sensations coursing through her body and mind. Let them watch, he told her, pinning her between his body and the transparent crystal of the elevator. His tongue filled her mouth, moving in a rhythm that matched the movements of his body within her. Words fell away from his thoughts, leaving behind the wordless bliss and need of and for her body as he thrust into her. He needed her now, needed to feel her climax, needed to feel his own. The mounting pleasure built, feeding on and into one another until...

Until he screamed, the nightmare pain/pleasure of the SIN ripping through her nerves and along them into his own unshielded mind. He screamed, shame and horror flooding his mind as his body lost control and he felt the physical reaction of orgasm as he shared her pain. Felt his seed empty into her as agony and fury and shame flooded through them both. He staggered back as she pushed him away, gasping as he struggled for balance - physical and mental both. "Fuck," he gasped, struggling against the white-hot fury that lashed through her. That lashed through him as well. Someone had hurt her, again. Someone had hurt her badly. “Whoever has that remote better pray I don’t find them.”

Had he said that? Had she? Did it matter? No, no it didn't. If she hadn't, he would have.

The door slid open. Shaking with rage and the effort to control it, he managed to drag his pants back up around his hips. A matronly humanoid and her companion gasped in shock at them, staring at the half-dressed man and the half-naked woman in the elevator, and a mad impulse seized him. Hurt her, he thought. Hurt the bitch, for hurting Kaydia. Even as he thought it, he struggled for control. He sensed nothing from her, nothing but shock and alarm at the sight confronting her. "Come..." he gasped out, offering Kaydia his arm. "Come... along. Dear."

They stumbled past, Kaydia still fixing her hem as they left the elevator behind. Doors passed in a blur, Quentin desperately focusing on their destination. On the door into the suite he'd rented. He shoved it open, slamming it shut behind them. Only then did he sink to his knees, snarling out an animal sound of rage and pain as he ignored the contents of the room. "Fuck," he growled, shuddering with the emotions he struggled against. "We need to find them." He forced himself to concentrate. "It... it can't be you as the target. They'd have moved on us, in the elevator." Another deep breath, and he came to the only realization that made sense. "Slaver, Kaydia. There are slavers on Cerea."

 

[Xanaphia]

There was no room for shame when the elevator opened to other hotel guests. No room for smug pride either. Normally, she would flaunt the scent of sex and her husband’s seed like a badge of honor. Not now though, with her own wrath inflamed by Quentin’s emotions. Just restraining the urge to lash out, Kaydia fixed her dress, not quite so keen about being on display for strangers.

With her mind so clouded with rage, Kaydia followed Quentin wordlessly as he led her to their room. Some distant part of her mind was glad he hadn’t brought their lightsabers. In her current state, it was far too easy to imagine turning this hotel into the pirate ship that had captured them before. Carving up her rapists, and would be rapists, and turning her pain outward. Not that she needed a saber to hurt someone. She had developed a terrifying bag of tricks through the force, to inflict her darkness on another.

Instead she paced the room, trying to clear her mind of the urge to kill. Quentin, for his part, managed to piece together the situation, but his conclusion did not bring her peace. Slavers. Of course, the bastards who did this to her intended to sell her. They probably use the sin on all the slaves, to make them more obedient. Or to amuse the particularly sadistic masters. Then her rage was replaced with horrifying realization. Recalling what had been down to her, and what she had prevented from being inflicted upon her. Unlikely any other slaves would have been so lucky.

“You’re right. We have to find them. We have to stop them and…free those slaves,” Kaydia agreed, focusing her anger towards the task at hand. With a shuddered breath, she took inventory of their situation. No weapons, no sabers, no protective articles save the Teras Kasai gauntlets (wearing hers became second nature). Neither of them were properly dressed for a confrontation, but they didn’t have the luxury of taking time to prepare. If they didn’t move on this lead here and now, they could lose the trail, and there’d be little to no chance to save those other slaves. If it was too big for them to handle like this, at least one could keep an eye on the targets, while the other retrieved their weapons.

“Alright, if we combine our focus, we just might be able to pick up the emotions of the other guests,” Kaydia decided, pulling her husband to his feet. She lead him back to the bed, (which would have been lovely to have him on), and sat cross legged across from him, palms out before her facing him. Once he matched her pose, they joined in their minds, feeling the emotions of the guests, starting with the closest rooms and spreading to encompass the building.

As it turned out, it didn’t need to spread far. On that very floor, closer to the west wing, they located a being radiating despair and terror, the likely candidate for a slave. Changing focus, they examined the room more closely. Three heartbeats. If the slave was one, then her and Quentin should be able to subdue the other two. It was at least worth investigating closer. “They are nearby. Which is probably why the sensation grew stronger as we drew closer.”

 

[TheCorsair]

Entering into communion with Kaydia at this level was terrifying. Seductive, and overwhelming, and frightening. Simply operating through their bond in the Force, they were able to augment and assist one another. They could pool their talents and training, share their memories and emotions and sensations, and become something more powerful than the sum of their parts. But when they melded like this, sinking deep into rapport and lowering the shields that kept them separate, they became something far beyond what they ordinarily were. The power was incredible, and Quentin suspected it was why the High Council had forbidden research into Force Bonds and even gone to the extreme of forbidding relationships to the Jedi.

The currents of the Force were visible to their joint perceptions, flowing and uniting and straining between all things in the hotel. Small nodes and currents eddied along, the clear passage of living things. Here was a thread of darkness, the sign of ordinary anger or selfishness. There were pinpricks of brightness, marks of acts of kindness and selflessness. And there... there was a gathering miasma. The darkness, attracted by fear and despair greater than the ordinary. Not the mark of an acolyte of the Dark Side, but darkness called by acts of cruelty. “They are nearby," one of them said. "Which is probably why the sensation grew stronger as we drew closer.” Was it the same person who said that? Or the other? Or did it matter?

Slowly, reluctantly, Quentin untangled himself from the union of their minds. "It has to be them," he said, repeating what they had decided together. "What else would we have sensed?" Glancing at the silver bands on his wrists, he smiled ruefully. "We really need to accept that going anywhere unarmed is a terrible idea. Don't we?"

There wasn't much need for speech. They already knew what they needed to do, after all. So he led the way out of the suite he'd rented, feeling Kaydia's comfortable presence in his mind as he strode down the hall and into the other wing. The door was ahead of them, unguarded by anything but the security fields of the room beyond. They'd be formidable to most, able to withstand anything short of a crew-served weapon or a military intrusion kit for long enough for security to respond.

Quentin reached out through the Force, overloading the mechanisms and shutting down the locks and the defensive screens. Neither he nor Kaydia were 'most'.

He rotated his wrists as he kicked the door open, letting the silver mesh of the gauntlets encase his hand in shimmering flame. Beyond, the older man who'd spoken to Kaydia looked up in shock. He couldn't react, because he was too busy with his pants around his ankles and his cock deep in the slave girl he'd tied to the low table in the center of the room. The slave girl was too busy whimpering and sobbing to react, eyes clenched tight and clearly praying that this violation would end soon. The other occupant was a spindly Bothan, who brought up a concealed blaster and fired twice. Quentin caught both blasts in his right hand, deflecting them into the ceiling before ripping the weapon away with the Force.

"Who... who the hell are you?" the older man demanded, stumbling in an effort to get his pants back up as he staggered away from his victim. He tripped and fell backwards, which might have been comedic if he hadn't been caught in the act of rape.

"Jedi," Quentin told him.

 

[Xanaphia]

Catching the gentleman from the bar in the room, raping the slave smacked of betrayal. Irrational, Kaydia recognized, given that they spoke for all of ten minutes, and he hadn’t lied about his business, just couched it in dry language. But he had seemed so genial, funny and charming, to realize he was waiting for his chance to abuse a slave made her sick to her stomach.

With the immediate threats neutralized, Kaydia made her way to free the slave from her bondage. Her thin wrists were raw from rope burn, signs she had tried to resist, or struggled against her violation. Clearly the undercover Jedi hadn’t been his type. From the looks of the slave girl, fifteen or sixteen at most, a woman half his age was too old for him.

“Shh,” Kaydia whispered to the girl, who was still crying, “It’s all over now. You’re safe.” She helped the girl up and summoned a robe from a hook in the bathroom to her hands with the force. The girl was calmer now, still shaking and whimpering, but quiet at least.

“You two are under arrest for slave trafficking and I am sure the local authorities can come up with a slew of additional charges to bring you up on. Get on your knees, with your hands behind your head.” Kaydia explained in a dry tone, seeking balance in the force. The older man, still shaken up about getting caught in the act complied without words, but the Bothan just sat, lips curling into an infuriating smirk.

“Or what? You’ll shoot? Do you two even realize what you’ve stumbled upon?” The Bothan gloated, not moving as Quentin kept his own blaster trained on him. “Jedi or not, you are in over your heads.” Making a show of sniffing loudly, he laughed. “You two aren’t here investigating the slave trade. Not dressed like that and reeking of each other. So why you do the smart thing and walk away. Enjoy your vacation.” The words were intended to shame them, Kaydia recognized, but she was long past shame for her relationship with Quentin. And it couldn’t be used as leverage by others if she didn’t bother hiding it.

“Don’t think for a second that being a Jedi means I will spare your life, slaver,” Kaydia snarled, feeling her control slipping. The Bothan’s threats and the girls’ whimpers fed her rage. Memories of the pirate’s ship came back unbidden, tempting her with recollections of strength and power. The satisfaction of gutting the slaving bastards. “I am giving you more chance. On your knees, hands behind your head.”

Challenge flared in the Bothan’s eyes, his arms crossed over his chest. Kaydia knew she should let it go, shouldn’t let his defiance get under her skin, but the irritation of having her private time with Quentin get interrupted twice now was weighing on her. Instead her fist clenched, imagining the satisfaction of feeling him struggle against her grasp until–

Another blast shot into the room, from the hallway this time. Kaydia barely had the sense of mind to deflect it, so distracted by her fury to listen to the warning in the force. In that moment the older man dropped to his stomach, covering his head in defense, and the slave girl was sprinting for the door. The Bothan pressed a button on his wrist communicator, and the girl dropped to her hands and knees, screaming and shaking. Kaydia also screamed, throwing herself back into a wall to evade the volley of blaster shots while the sensations of the SIN prevented her from using her connection to the force.

“So that’s how you found us,” the Bothan laughed, keeping the SIN triggered. Kaydia could shield herself from the worst of its effects, but it took most of her concentration to do so. And the girl’s screams made that even more challenging. Quentin did what he could, firing out the door to keep the rest of the slavers out, but they were effectively pinned down if she couldn’t recover. The Bothan stepped closer, watching her reaction as the SIN continued to rage. “Should have walked away Jedi, when you had the chance…”

 

[TheCorsair]

Quentin reached out through the Force and squeezed. There was a loud crunching sound as the transmitter crushed against the Bothan's wrist and then the Bothan's wrist splintered under the effects of his will. Sure, there were other ways he could have handled the situation. But none of them were quite so satisfying. "You should have taken your own advice," he remarked, sighting along the barrel and dropping one of the slavers.

The Bothan sagged to his knees, clutching his shattered wrist to his chest and mewling in agony.

"What? No witty comebacks?" Quentin shot another slaver, then hurled himself aside as two more opened up with riot guns. A hailstorm of blasterfire chewed his impromptu defenses to pieces, and it was all he could do to evade wildly for a moment. But, as Master Valis had always taught him, he did the unexpected. Instead of scrambling for more cover he hurled himself towards the gunmen, flinging his captured blaster at one of them and activating his Teras Kasai gauntlets once more. The battery packs hadn't fully recharged, but he was able to deflect three shots before he closed the gap and the power field lasted just long enough for him to smash the jaw of the man on point. Then the Force lent him strength as well as speed, and an uppercut took the wind out of the second gunman. Behind him, the third and last of them brought his own weapon up. Slowly. Much too slowly, to Quentin's augmented perceptions. He raised a hand, and the man slammed heavily against the far wall. He bounced back, then slammed again. After the third repetition, the man didn't seem to be in a mood to argue much about whether or not he'd stay down.

Turning on his heel, Quentin stalked back into the room. "You're right," he said, lifting the gagging Bothan to his feet with a gesture. "We weren't here investigating the slave trade. And we don't realize precisely what we've stumbled on. So..." He smiled. "Why don't you tell us all about it?"

The Bothan spat. "You'll get nothing from me, Jedi!"

Quentin stared at him, then smiled even broader. "I already have, Vesper Jan." The shock in the Bothan's eyes was amusing. "The Crucible. And your contact is..." He examined the Bothan minutely. "Hal-Jakan Teris, operating out of the Velvet Hour on Canto Bight." He let the Bothan collapse. "There are techniques that will permit someone to resist having their thoughts read. Perhaps you should have learned them." Finally, he looked back at Kaydia. "How are you doing?"

 

[Xanaphia]

Kaydia still wanted to kill the Bothan. Memories from the pirate ship burned bright, coming into sharp focus as the pain from the SIN faded away. Reclaim her power, her strength, make him feel her agony for the last few miserable moments of his life.

But the girl was crying, curled into a ball of misery against the wall. It cut through her rage, giving her something more important to focus on rather than the memories the SIN triggered. So once again Kaydia helped the girl up, using her own empathic gifts to sooth the distress consuming the slave. Her crying slowed to a whimpered and a sniffle and her breathing relaxed. She was safe, and soon she would be free.

---

It hadn’t taken long for the authorities to show up, not after the blaster battle erupted in the hallway. The four survivors were taken into custody, and the girl taken to a hospital to treat her injuries. Nothing major, as far as Kaydia could tell, at least not physically. But the emotional scar would likely remain, if Kaydia’s own history were a clue. All they were left with was another mission and her own scars, aching anew.

Kaydia returned to the room they had rented, still frustrated they hadn’t had a chance to properly utilize it. After giving her report to the local authorities, she was exhausted, and yet still too keyed up to sleep. The rhythmic rushing of water from the bathroom gave away Quentin’s position, and nothing sounded better to Kaydia than joining him.

The showers were large, with a bench along one wall and Kaydia liked that addition. Usually, when they had sex in a shower, it would either be Quentin lifting her up to fuck her into a wall, (as they did in the elevator earlier), or bent over while Quentin took her from behind, occasionally surprising her with which hole he wanted to fuck. Both of those were all well and good, but it wasn’t what she wanted right now.

She didn’t want to talk or examine her feelings or mind her thoughts or anything other sort of introspection. She pushed the urge away as she pushed her tongue into Quentin’s mouth, fingers tight on the back of his head. No resistance from him, welcoming her touch, even as his concern brushed her mind, but she pushed that away too.

The hot water felt glorious on muscles that still remembered the torrents of the SIN, and Quentin’s hands felt even better. Her own hand focused on his cock, slipping up and down his shaft, while the other kept him close, kept their mouths pressed together in a hungry kiss. Then, once he was steel hard in her grip, she pushed him back against the bench and straddled his lap.

Still no words as she sunk down his length. No words, just need carried on the current of the force, resonating between their minds in the shared bond. A need for him, for her Quentin, with any foreplay or games or worries that the SIN might activate on her again. Guttural utterances of pleasure and relief bounced off the walls, amplifying her own bliss.

Pent up rage and anger transformed into white hot lust, pleasure she could take from her husband with him pinned against the wall and bench. His arms went around her waist, supporting her as her back arched in ecstasy and her wet breasts slapped against his chest. That orgasm, finally arriving without the accompaniment of the SIN, was paradise and liberation all at once.

Sated and safe, Kaydia cuddled into Quentin, enjoying the stream of hot water on her back. “Happy Anniversary.”

 

[TheCorsair]

“To sum up,” Quentin said, tossing a data slate onto the small table and slumping into a seat, “slavery is a touchy issue in the Republic.”

Two weeks had passed since their anniversary, and he had thrown himself into research. It was a habit Master Valis had drilled into him as a Padawan, and it had served him well in the two decades he’d spent as a Knight and a Shadow. But what he’d learned about this had been, in a word, disheartening.

He shoved the dataslate across the table. “Slavery is illegal in the Republic, of course,” he sighed. “But... well, the Galactic Republic isn’t a single monolithic government. Star systems that joined the Republic are subject to its laws, of course, but there’s a host of Charter Signatory nations that retain independent governance with treaty-mandated compliance with Republic law, and trade alliance partners who abide by Republican law when interacting with the greater Republic, and so on. So slavery can be legal in a system that most people would consider part of the Republic, as long as the slaves aren’t exported to the greater Republic.”

He sighed. “And that doesn’t even get into the problems of defining slavery. Like, are Czerka Corporation employees slaves? They live in corporate housing and pay rent to the Czerka, buy clothes and food and entertainment and medical care from Czerka, and cannot Break contract with Czerka until they settle their debts - which accrue from birth, because the infant is charged the costs unless the parents choose to pay.”

Grimacing, Quentin drummed his fingers on the table. “Even the use of something like a SIN isn’t automatically illegal. It can be used as a nonlethal restraint system for prisoners. Hell, there’s even a fetish subculture that voluntarily gets the implants.” He shook his head. “So, what the Crucible is doing is illegal, but not necessarily illegal. Which means that we may have no legal jurisdiction over their actions, depending on where they are.”

He watched his wife carefully, then smiled and laid both their lightsabers on the table between them. “We are Jedi,” he stared. “Our calling is to defend the idea and the ideals of the Republic against the darkness, not to enforce the law.”

With a grin, he tapped a control on the dataslate and projected a hologram of a planet into the air. “Canto Bight is, of course, a pleasure world for the plus ne ultra of Galactic wealth. Hardly the sort of place Quentin Hall and Kaydia Hall-Voss would be seem. But...” his grin grew triumphant, “It would be perfectly reasonable for Madame Nyamelo Cordfay, a known confidante and business partner of Madame Sheila Golb to visit. And, of course, Madame Cordfay would never dream of going anywhere without her elite bodyguard Malachi Hardin.”

A pause.

“What do you think?”

 

[Xanaphia]

Given how badly the SIN had crippled her, not just disrupting her mind, but her sense of balance as well, Kaydia spent the first couple days back on Coruscant having the implants removed. A delicate procedure, as the microscopic nodes had attached directly to her nerves. Once it was complete, Kaydia spent several more days meditating, seeking balance from the darkness that her memories had awoken. Only when she felt as if she could trust herself again, did she join Quentin in his research and preparation.

Quentin laid out a brief explanation of the extra-legal complications in pursuing the slavers, before assuring her that the letter of the law wouldn’t get in the way of their pursuit of justice. She reviewed the information about Canto Bight as he explained how they would use their previous identities in this investigation. And why shouldn’t they use those identities, with the added credibility Sheila provided them. And the only ones who had seen their disguises were dead now.

“What do you think?”

Kaydia nodded and leaned back in her chair. “I am just glad you aren’t trying to talk me out of this. Let just try to be more careful here, and not accidentally star in another porn.”

---

Elite guests, such as Madame Nyamelo Cordfay, could enjoy complimentary travel to the desert world of Cantonica, by way of Canto Bight, where she would arrive directly at the landing docks in the center of the city. Additionally, Madame Cordfay and her chief of security, Malachi Hardin, were transported to their hotel by a smiling chauffeur who awaited their arrival on the planet.

The entire endeavor was a touch overdone, but they really needed to be completely in character from the moment they arrived. The Velvet Hour, a high-end brothel not unlike the one that had been her base of operations as Scarlet, was a legitimate business designed to cater to the desires of the wealthy elite. This perfectly legitimate front covered by the illegal slave trade that operated out of it. And anyone interested in that aspect of the establishment could only be accommodated by way of invitation. As distasteful as it was, Kaydia was going to have to put up the façade of wanting to purchase a slave to the right people, before she would get the chance to blow that operation wide open.

Settling into their room, Kaydia looked over the map of the city. “From what I can recall working out of the Velvet Spire, clients looking for ‘extra services’ spoke with management, who arranged further meetings. I think out best bet is to head for the Velvet Hour, and let it be known we are looking for a more long-term arrangement with an escort.”

 

[TheCorsair]

“Was the Velvet Spire actually that discrete?” Quentin wondered aloud, listening as he finished the diagnostics on the HK drones Malachi Hardin favored for security. He’d added a fourth, something that would have made sense now that Nyamelo Cordfay was associated with Golb GMbH, and wanted to make sure the unit was properly interfaced with his glasses.

“Statement,” the drone snapped in the trademark HK sarcasm, “watch the clumsy fingers, meatbag.”

He checked the optical data feeds and clicked the maintenance hatch shut. “I’ll admit that I visited the spire... let me think... twice. On business, both times. But it really looked like you just picked an employee that caught your eye, and paid up. In advance, unless you were a regular.” He scratched his cheek with the microspanner, then tucked it into his kit. “Still, you know more about that line of work than I do. In the mean time..”. He slid a small box across the table. “Here.” Inside was a pair of gold and diamond earrings.

“I can get away with being discretely armed,” he continued, strapping on a shoulder holster and tucking a slim blaster into it. “I’m your bodyguard, after all. But you can’t, not really. The Teras Kasai gauntlets are about all you’ll be able to justify. So the HKs are slaved to those earrings, just like my goggles. Audio only, but they’ll gleefully Kill or petulantly stun anything you sic them on. And there’s more!”

He made a subvocalized command and one of the drones swooped low, disgorging a lightsaber hilt. He held it up with a wink. “I’m afraid it doesn’t match the earrings,” he apologized with broad good humor, “but I see no reason to get caught unarmed again.” He tossed the saber to the drone, which caught it and tucked it back into the concealed compartment.

Leaning back, he watched her with some interest. “Now then, Madame Cordfay. Did you want to visit the Velvet Hour first? Or were there other stops on your itinerary?”

 

[Xanaphia]

“You shouldn’t have,” Kaydia gushed, pushing the earrings into place. The fact that they were just as functional as they were ornamental was a point in Quentin’s favor. It was in the back of her mind to argue she didn’t need all this, that her skills in the force could buy whatever time she might need in an emergency. But, truthfully, it probably wasn’t a good idea for her to rely so heavily on her gifts. Especially not as their latest mission brought on memories tinged in pain. She couldn’t entirely trust herself not to reach for her inner darkness as she sought to right the wrongs she’d suffered through. Her path was a razors edge between light and dark, and it would be far too easy to succumb in the throes of recollection.

Leaning back, he watched her with some interest. “Now then, Madame Cordfay. Did you want to visit the Velvet Hour first? Or were there other stops on your itinerary?”

Kaydia laughed, letting Quentin’s question and implicit suggestion tear her from introspection. “Visiting the Velvet Hour first is our best bet, I do believe. If the Crucible works the same as the Black Sun in this regard, it might take a day or two to receive our invitation to review their slaves. They like to do a cursory investigation, to ensure we aren’t law enforcement. Good thing our identities are so well established.” Standing, she made her way to the suitcases, deciding on an outfit for the trip. “I’ll make an appearance, let my intentions be known, and wait for someone to contact me. I am sure we can find activities to fill the time while we wait for that.”

---

The most striking difference between the Velvet Hour and the Velvet Spire was the exhibition hall. Separate from the restaurant or the club, it was guarded by a second set of bouncers and required its own entrance fee. And once they were inside, it was obvious why. Throughout the large hall were various rounded stages surrounded by guests, and upon those stages were a variety of performances. One featured a woman strapped into a machine that penetrated all of her orifices simultaneously. Upon closer inspection, there was a control panel before the exhibit, allowing one person an opportunity to operate the machine, choosing from a variety of settings.

Other such exhibits featured men and women bound in intricate rope and metal patterns, their bodies available to use by anyone who desired, with a wide selection of toys available for guests to use. The nearest exhibits contained mostly human and humanoid species, but along the back wall were displays of more exotic species and more extreme demonstrations.

The perverse spectacle was not lost upon Kaydia, half appalled and half enthralled. Seeking the emotions or the “performers”, she was hit with a wave of pleasure and lust, enough to quicken her breathing and flush her skin. They were certainly enjoying the acts visited upon them, but were they authentically enthusiastic or just drugged?

I…I was not expecting this, she admitted to Quentin through their link. What do you make of it?

 

[TheCorsair]

I... I was not expecting this, she admitted to Quentin through their link. What do you make of it?

I... don’t know, Quentin replied, trying to maintain an air of watchfulness. He was supposed to be a bodyguard, after all. But it was a difficult prospect, with all of the exotic perversion on display. He was no prude, he knew that. But some of the acts on display left him deeply unsettled and others deeply aroused, and the combination was awkward. Mostly, I hope all of these people are employees who chose this life freely, and not contract laborers or slaves.

A number of spectators were gathered around a small arena, cheering as women in scraps of leather and ornate masks fought with power weapons. At first glance it seemed an odd event in a brothel, until he realized that the women gasped and moaned in pleasure as the weapons struck. Finally, one woman slammed the other into the glass wall and ground their bodies together, frantically exploring her opponent with lips and hands and the humming blade of her knife. Money changed hands as the spectators cheered.

“It is quite the spectacle, is it not?” remarked a burly, mutton-chopped man as he stepped up beside Kaydia. “They fight with nerve induction weapons, similar to stun weapons but triggering he pleasure centers instead of overloading the nervous system entirely. The first gladiator to give into the desire for greater stimulation loses.”

The victor had her opponent on her knees now, playing the knife over her slit as she moaned and writhed. “The weapons are blunted, of course.” He bowed, taking Kaydia’s hand and kissing it as he did. “I am Procurator Rygar-El Trinidad, and i my is my honor to be your guide to the services offered within the Velvet Hour, Madame Cordfay.”

Straightening, he made a discrete gesture. “I am given to understand that you desire the services of an escort for an extended time. Did you have something particular in mind, or would you prefer that I show you what the Velvet Hour has to offer?”

As he spoke, a dark-haired woman adorned in jewelry and paint and nothing else appeared in response to his signal. “And would you care for some refreshments?”

 

[Xanaphia]

Kaydia’s building desire was distracting, hot and wet between her thighs, and Quentin's own lust further inflamed her. Suddenly she was glad she’d chosen a power suit in white. In a dress it would have been too easy to let Quentin just take her, bent over a table and fucked mercilessly. Bound, as many of the entertainers here were, and even some of the other patrons. But she was here on business, not pleasure.

“I am Procurator Rygar-El Trinidad, and I my is my honor to be your guide to the services offered within the Velvet Hour, Madame Cordfay.”

“I had heard such great things, Mr. Trinidad, and the Velvet hour certainly lives up to expectations, and then some,” Kaydia agreed. Her initial thought was to hide how aroused all the exhibitions had made her, but then decided against it. He would be expecting her to be excited if she were a sincere patron after all. Luckily for her, he didn’t drag out their conversation but got right to the heart of the matter.

“I am given to understand that you desire the services of an escort for an extended time. Did you have something particular in mind, or would you prefer that I show you what the Velvet Hour has to offer?”

“I am exploring long-term options in a personal companion, and I was lead to believe you could accommodate me,” she admitted, finding it easier to contain her lust as she spoke in innuendo about purchasing a sentient being. Disgust served as cold water splash against her desire, focusing her mind on the task at hand.

But focus was the last thing Mr. Trinidad wanted from her right now, as he offered her a drink. Laced with aphrodisiacs, no doubt. It was a technique she recognized well, as anyone who used sex as a tool would know. Get the client thinking with the wrong head, and tilt the favor away from them. Kaydia played along, accepting the drink while filtering the stimulates from her bloodstream as soon as they entered. She wasn’t going to make the Telerath mistake again.

Trinidad led her toward the back, accessing a discreet panel that opened an equally discrete passageway. The hallway was a tight squeeze (and the remnants of her lust drunk mind considered how similar it was to the fresher unit she often shared with Quentin, and how easy it would be to brace against the walls while he fucked her brains outs), but he led her into a private lounge, with seating for 6 or so, and dark lighting. Pulling out a chair for her, Trinidad invited her to sit across from him. “Tell me a bit more about what you are looking for, Madame Cordfay.”

“The truth is, I have an exacting requirement of obedience for all my employees, Mr. Trinidad, and a personal companion would be no exception to this. Really, because of the nature of the arrangement, I would be even more demanding.”

“Completely understandable, my dear. All of our escorts are well trained to anticipate and satisfy even the most demanding clientele.”

She took another drink, still focusing on cleansing her system of toxins. “What can you tell me about failsafes, to protect myself?”

“All of our escorts have implants that allow for nonlethal restraint, for your and their own protection. It is, in fact, similar to the gladiatorial display you were watching. You will have complete access to the settings, should you need to adjust sensitivity or response.” He explained it all so simply, in broad, general strokes, but all Kaydia could think about was they paralyzing horror the SIN brought. She responded with a nodded, taking a deeper drink of her cocktail. “Shall I bring in some options, Madame Cordfay, or did you have further questions?”

What do you think? she asked Quentin without looking at him.

 

[TheCorsair]

Quentin wasn't offered a drink, and he didn't ask for one. He was, after all, the help. Help with benefits, assuming their current host had done his homework - which Quentin was certain he had - but help nonetheless. And the help didn't get wined and dined and sweet talked. Whatever uses Procurater Trinidad assumed Quentin was put to in private, he interacted with the ne plus ultra of society sufficiently to understand that in public it would be business. So he simply followed in Kaydia's wake, his security drones hovering discretely nearby (and no doubt tracked by the Velvet Hour's own internal security), trying to look like the help. And trying to ignore Kaydia's ass swaying in that white suit of hers. Because fuck he was turned on by some of the exhibits, and by Kaydia's nearness and the lust dripping off her. Even without one of the chemical-laced drinks she'd been served, he was finding it hard not to dwell on the thought of pinning her against the narrow wall of the hall and fucking her hard and deep.

The private room they entered was a bit of a surprise, although he rapidly realized it shouldn't have been. Low light and lounging couches that you could sit or lay on, and floors that were discretely padded, and he had no doubts that many of the decorative elements were sturdy enough to anchor a restraint of some sort. A meeting room, yes, but also a room that could be used for an intimate little party of one sort or another. He listened to the conversation with one ear, examining the room with the rest of his attention. Surveillance, of course. There was no shock to that, and anyone who entered here would be expecting that. He doubted it was used for blackmail purposes, though. A place like the Velvet Hour would need to be discrete, and word of such activities got around. But maybe they offered the opportunity for others to watch? Would that be an additional fee, he wondered, or would it reduce the costs?

“What can you tell me about failsafes, to protect myself?” Kaydia asked, pulling his attention back. He listened curiously, hiding his expression aas he heard the description of the nonlethal restraint implants. SIN systems, or something similar. He felt Kaydia's visceral reaction to the clinical description of how it all operated, and it took all of his self control not to lash out then. What do you think? she finally asked, as he offered to bring in 'options'.

I think we need more information, he replied, keeping his face neutral. We want to get to the people in charge, and I doubt Trinidad is at that level. Not if he's meeting guests here. "How are the implants controlled?"

Trinidad gave him a puzzled look, as if a pet or a houseplant had spoken. "I beg your pardon?"

"The implants," Quentin repeated. "As Madame Cordfay's chief of security, I'm curious to know how they are activated."

"Oh, yes. I see." Trinidad nodded. "There is a safe word command, coded to the voice pattern of the client and to others designated by the client, which triggers the implants. They trigger the pleasure center of the brain, so no lasting harm is done while the companion is incapacitated. Finer gradations may be adjusted with a control that is frequently set into jewelry or some other personal item, but these may also be set for vocal control." Quentin nodded, and the man continued. "Now, if I may, I have a few individuals I could present. Do you have any preferences, Madame?"

"Madame Cordfay has varied tastes," Quentin replied. "She expects only the best."

"Well," Trinidad said, clapping his hands, "she may judge for herself." Another door opened. The first to enter the room was a woman with dark hair, wearing a tight corset top and skirt. She was followed by a heaviily-muscled man in a kilt, a shirtless dark-skinned man, and a woman painted or tattooed to resemble an exotic cat.

 

[Xanaphia]

Kaydia nodded at the assembled selection, genuinely impressed by what was offered, even as she was distantly appalled by the implications. But nothing in their demeanor suggested they were in distress. If they were keen on their profession, and eager to attract the eye of a wealthy patron, it would be one thing, but Kaydia couldn’t be quite sure they weren’t extremely well-trained slaves, independence broken. Like this, she’d never be able to tell, but if they were put under duress, the truth could come out.

“Very nice, Mr. Trinidad. Your stock is world class,” Kaydia acknowledged, the sentiment true. She could see her and Quentin taking any or even all of them into their bed, so long as they were truly willing. Even if they did have to pay, and neither of them were the type to have to pay for such things. Usually, they were on the other end of that agreement. With another sip of her drink, Kaydia continued, “Like my security chief said, I expect only the best. And I am not sure I can choose the best of this lot on looks alone. And I would still like a further demonstration of the restraint system you discussed earlier.”

“I sense you have an idea in mind then, Madame Cordfay, in how you might choose a companion?” Trinidad noted, raising his drink as he pointed to her. She’d stayed silent for a moment longer, letting the planned flow from her mind to Quentin’s, and giving her husband a chance to decline before suggesting it out loud. His silence became consent. “I must say, that gladiatorial event you had hosted was unlike anything I have ever seen before. I think that only a companion who could win such a contest could service me as I require.”

“Further, I would like to submit my chief of security to participate as well. I know he will give me honest and objective feedback on the restraint system, and will be in a good position to help me tailor it to my needs once he has had a chance to experience it firsthand.”

 

[TheCorsair]

"Wait, what?" Quentin gasped out, startled.

Despite his protest, Procurator Trinidad looked delighted. "Of course, of course, although these individuals are not so... aggressive. Had I but known you wished a more aggressive companion, I would have arranged a different sort of meeting. But I can have your bodyguard kitted out immediately." He eyed Quentin critically. "A public demonstration, I think. The assembled patrons would dearly love to see a professional fighter take on our gladiators, after all, and the prize money for the fight would naturally be applied to the cost of your purchase."

"How much?" Quentin managed.

"Victors take home a purse of 10% of the earinings," Trinidad replied. "Which can be quite a sum, depending on skill and appeal. The losers receive no prize, of course, but they often still receive patronage after a match." He glanced at Kaydia. "Which I can also arrange, should you wish it."

"Wait just a..." Quentin began, but Trinidad ignored him and clapped his hands. A minute later, an older woman in a sleek red dress entered the room.

"Dominia Tark," Trinidad said politely. "This man is Malachai Hardin, the chief of security for Madame Nyamelo Cordfay. He will be participating in one of the combats, to test the skills of potential companions for his employer. Please see that he is made ready."

"Of course," Dominia Tark purred, gesturing for Quentin to follow. "Follow me, Malachai."

---

In short order, Quentin found himself dressed in, well, something that could charitibly be called an outfit. Briefs, really, and bracers. And a gleaming oil that was being massaged into his skin by the dark-haired woman and by Dominia Tark, both of whom were enjoying themselves immensely. "Is this strictly necessary?" he asked.

"Of course it is," the Dominia replied, runningher hands over his chest. "We shan't be giving you implants, of course, so the conductive oil allows the discharge of the weapons to take greater effect when you are struck."

"Besides," the dark-haired woman added, running her hands over his thighs, "it highlights the tone of your muscles. You want to put on a good show, don't you?"

"Which reminds me," the Dominia added, stepping back and eying him critically. "You are skilled with melee weapons, are you not?"

"Uhm, yes," Quentin assured her, trying to ignore the way the dark-haired woman was caressing his rear. "Swords and knives, mostly. And hand to hand combat."

"Excellent." The Dominia tossed him a set of rings that sized themselves to his fingers as he slipped them on. "Those will allow you to punch freely then, within the rules of the arena. Don't be too concerned about shedding a little blood, but try not to strike too hard." She gestured towards a rack of weapons. "Choose what you wish. We want you to put on a good show, after all."

Stepping up to the rack, he examined the weapons and tested the balance and weight of several. Finally, he settled on a straight-bladed sword with a feel similar to the practice blades his Master had forced him to practice with. "What are the rules?" he asked.

"Oh, simple," the Dominia laughed. "You fight until you can no longer focus on fighting. The last one trying to fight wins."

---

Procurator Trinidad escorted Kaydia into a box seat overlooking an arena. "The best seats in the house," he assured her, "which is only fair, since your man will be fighting. Should you care to make any side wagers, you need only consult the terminal in the arm of your seat." He seated himself, his bulk surprisingly graceful as he did. "They may take the form of currency, of goods, or of services to be rendered or received." He smiled blandly. "All bettors are anonymous until it is time to collect, in order to add spice to the arrangement."

There was a blast of fanfare, and a gateway opened in the far wall of the arena. "The challenger!" boomed a voice over the roar of the crowd. "One Malachi Hardin, in the service of and fighting for the glory of Madame Nyamelo Cordfay! He is a newcomer to the arena, but a hardened and fierce combatant! Give him a big hand, folks!"

 

[Xanaphia]

Kaydia sympathized with Quentin’s shock, and had he been actually upset by her suggestion to offer him up as a gladiator, she would have backed out, seeking out another way to get deeper into the slave trade. But, through their bond, she could sense his reluctant pleasure as the two women who felt him up as they oiled him down, and she knew he’d be able to forgive her for this, in time.

Sorry love, but I am pretty sure it’s your turn to play eye candy bait, since I handled that honeypot over on Bespin two months back.

Kaydia couldn’t help admiring her husband in the barely-there outfit he was fitted into, putting his delicious form on full display. Remembering the role she was supposed to play, she didn’t hide her enjoyment from Trinidad, smirking as she half turned towards him. “Can I keep that getup? I could find many uses for it.”

Before Trinidad could answer, the next gladiator entered the arena. “His opponent is the Banshee, with a professional record of 116 to 6, Shrikee Tomzin!”

She was tall, an Amazon of a woman, standing just a hair shorter than Quentin. She wore gold armor, though calling it that was certainly a stretch. Sure, it covered her arms and legs, but little else, with a golden belt just holding up subligaria, and golden pasties pointlessly covering her nipples. Her tanned skin glistened under the heavy lighting of the arena, sharing the golden hue she’d chosen to complete her persona. Her weapon was a massive blade, nearly four feet long and over half a foot thick.

Strutting across the arena, she held her arms out at her sides, displaying her muscular figure for the enjoyment of the crowd. Clearly, she enjoyed the attention, eating up the cheers and wolf whistles with a cheeky smile, before turning a lascivious grin towards Quentin.

Curiously, Kaydia checked the terminal. She wasn’t sure it was ethical to bet on her husband, but she did have all the faith in the galaxy in his prowess. Besides, from what Trinidad said, she didn’t have to bet money. Already, there were a few offerings against her husband, but Kaydia decided to start mild. There was still a job to do here, even if she needed to stay in character. Wagering an orgasm, by way of hand or mouth, she placed a bet on Quentin and leaned forward in anticipation.

Shrikee charged first, massive blade held over her head as though she were going to swing, only to vault into a flip right before he reached him and twist mid-air to land behind him, managing to land the first strike of the bout, right in the middle of his back.

Kaydia gasped, playing it up as concern, but feeling through their bond the electric sensation tingling along nerves. Quentin was going to have his work cut out for him.

 

[TheCorsair]

The mostly naked amazon gladiator wasn’t all that surprising, not given the exhibitionist nature of the arena he’d found himself in. The absurdly large sword was surprising, though - it was so improbably unwieldy that it seemed to cross the level be into farce. But that was to be expected, wasn’t it? It wasn’t as if these gladiators were really expected to fight. So, as the golden gladiator strutted around and played to the crowd, Quentin relaxed. I suppose turn about is fair play, he replied with a small smile. I’ve never really thought of myself as ‘eye candy’, though.

A tone sounded, signaling the start of the bout, and Shrikee charged straight at him. Shaking his head, he stepped forward and to the right - she was right-handed, was f he was any just die, and that would put him away from her downstroke. The hardest part would be not ending this too soon... Shrikee sprang, her magnificent legs coiling and straightening as she vaulted over his head. The feat, accomplished without calling on the Force, caught him off guard for an interview maranta. And in that instant, she struck.

Quentin staggered under the impact of the heavy blade, stumbling as he fought for balance. The worst part about it was the blinding wash of sheer pleasure that radiated from the impact, make by him moaned unconsciously as his Vick stiffened. Shuddering, he fought to regain control. Pain he could have dealt with - he’d been exoecting pain, had braced for pain. Pleasure was playing havoc with his training, and he tripped and hit the ground.

---

Procurator Trinidad chuckled and keyed something into his own terminal, then chuckled and shook his head. “I am certain your bodyguard performs exceptionally,” he said, “but the skills of the Arena Av Lilla Doden are quite specialized. They translate the not real combat far better than trained warriors fare in these bouts - our gladiators do not fear injury, after all.” He watched the Banshee arch her body, displaying herself for the cheering crowd as Quentin struggled to his feet. “I hope you have not wagersd more than you care to pay.”

---

Shrikee spun her sword like a baton, her free hand caressing her golden, oiled skin as she prowled towards Quentin. “I’m going by to break you,” she purred, licking her ruby lips. “Slowly. I’m going to make you beg to worship me, Malachi. I’m going to ride you hard, and if you cum before I allow you I’ll break your balls.”

Quentin shook his head, clearing the fog of pleasure from his thoughts. It wasn’t easy, not with the memory still singing through his nerves. “I’m not that easy, Shrikee,” he replied.

“Really?” She replied, voice husky. “I’ve seen the Telerath footage, Malachi. And I can’t wait to try you out.” Then she lunged forward, heavy blade sweeping like a scythe. This time, though, he was ready. Shrikee looked startled as he caught her sword on his, deflecting it into the sand as he stepped backwards. Then his blade came up and he lunged, aming the point between her breasts. She blocked with a golden armored forearm, twisting and stepping alongside him, driving her knee at his groin and releasing her grip on her weapon to chop at the back of his neck.

The crowd roared, then roared again as Quentin blocked her knee with his. He twisted, dropping his own weapon to block her wrist and wrap his arm around hers, pulling her off balance. As she stumbled he punched her in the stomach. “Like I said,” he grinned, “I’m not that easy.” Listening to the crowd cheer, he glanced up and saw Kaydia watching. “Now,” he added, tossing her back her sword as he recovered his own, “try and put on a better show.”