Chapter 2: Slave
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The scent of burnt wiring and damp leather filled Elara’s nostrils as she blinked awake, her vision swimming into focus. The world was a blur of flickering neon and jagged shadows, the air thick with the hum of malfunctioning machinery. Her head throbbed, her thoughts sluggish, as if she’d been drugged. She tried to move, but her wrists were bound—tight, unyielding restraints biting into her skin.
*What the hell happened?*
The last thing she remembered was Watto’s leering face, his trunk twitching with perverse delight as he waddled toward her. Then—nothing. Just darkness.
Then—light. A harsh, artificial glow that made her squint as her vision swam into focus. The air smelled of ozone and something metallic, like old blood. Her wrists burned where rough restraints bit into her skin, pulling her arms taut above her head. The cold metal cuffs were fastened to some kind of overhead rigging, her body suspended just enough that her toes barely brushed the floor.
The camera lens was a black, unblinking eye mounted on a tripod, its red recording light pulsing like a slow, mocking heartbeat. It took in every detail—the way her bare skin glistened under the harsh lights, the way her breath came in sharp, panicked gasps, the way the restraints left angry red marks around her wrists. The floor beneath her was cold durasteel, its surface scarred with burn marks and smears of something dark.
Her bare feet barely touched it—just the pads of her toes brushing against the metal as she hung suspended by her wrists, the restraints biting into her skin like teeth. The air was thick with the stench of ozone and something fouler—Watto’s sweat, the acrid tang of burnt wiring, and beneath it all, the coppery scent of blood. Not hers. Not yet.
Her breath came in sharp, controlled bursts as she forced herself to assess the situation. The camera lens stared at her like a dead eye, its red recording light pulsing in time with the low hum of the rigging above her. The room was Watto’s back office—she recognized the rusted scaffolding, the flickering neon signs casting jagged shadows across the walls. But it was different now. The workbench had been cleared, replaced by a low, padded table covered in restraints.
Her bare feet barely touched the floor—just the pads of her toes brushing against the metal as she hung suspended by her wrists, the restraints biting into her skin like teeth.
The door hissed open.
Watto waddled in, his wings fluttering with perverse excitement.
Elara’s muscles tensed instinctively, her body betraying her before her mind could react—her shoulders rolled forward just enough to make her heavy breasts sway, the flesh quivering with each shallow breath as the restraints bit into her wrists. The movement was small, automatic, a reflex honed from years of being watched, studied, *owned*—but it sent a fresh wave of humiliation burning through her veins.
The Toydarian’s beady eyes locked onto the motion immediately, his trunk curling in delight as it slithered toward her. *"Ohhh, look at that,"* he croaked, his voice thick with satisfaction. *"Such a good girl, already knowing what I like."* His fat fingers twitched at his sides, his bloated body waddling closer until the stench of him—rotting meat and burnt oil—clogged her throat. The camera’s red light pulsed in time with her racing heartbeat, recording every humiliating detail.
Watto’s trunk quivered with anticipation as he circled her, his beady eyes drinking in the sight of her bound body—her full breasts swaying with each panicked breath, her toes barely grazing the durasteel floor. The restraints bit into her wrists, leaving angry red marks that would bruise by morning. He could already imagine the credits pouring in from the black market feeds.
*"Such a pretty little Jedi,"* he croaked, his voice dripping with mock admiration. *"All tied up and helpless. Just the way I like them."* His fat fingers traced the edge of the padded table where he’d laid out his tools—vibrating stimulators, clamps, and a collection of probes that gleamed under the flickering neon lights. The air smelled of burnt wiring and something fouler, the scent of her fear mixing with the stench of his sweat.
Elara’s lips curled back in a snarl, her voice a low, venomous whisper that cut through the hum of the machinery. **"If I ever get free, I’ll kill you."**
Watto’s trunk twitched in amusement, the fat appendage curling toward her like a diseased snake. **"Ohhh, such fire,"** he croaked, his beady eyes gleaming with cruel delight. **"But you’re not going anywhere, Jedi."** His fat fingers traced the edge of the padded table, where the restraints waited like hungry mouths.
Elara’s muscles tensed, her body betraying her as her shoulders rolled forward just enough to make her heavy breasts sway. The movement was automatic, a reflex born of years of being watched, studied, *owned*—but it sent a fresh wave of humiliation burning through her veins.
Then Watto’s fat hand shot out with surprising speed, his palm cracking against her cheek with a wet, resounding *smack* that echoed through the chamber. The force of the blow snapped her head to the side, her dark hair whipping across her face as she tasted copper.
*"You’ll learn respect,"* he wheezed, his trunk quivering with perverse delight as he watched the red imprint of his fingers bloom across her pale skin. The camera’s red light pulsed faster, recording every humiliating detail—the way her bound body swayed from the impact, how her full breasts quivered with each ragged breath, the way her lips parted in shock before pressing into a thin, furious line.
Elara’s cheek burned where his hand had struck, the sting radiating down her jaw. She could feel the heat of his breath against her skin, the damp stench of him thick in the air as he circled her like a predator.
The Toydarian’s trunk slithered over her shoulder, leaving a wet, slimy trail as it traced the curve of her neck. *"Such a pretty little Jedi,"* he croaked again, his voice thick with lust. *"So strong. So proud. But now you’re mine."*
Elara’s breath hitched as the trunk curled around her throat, not tight enough to choke—but enough to remind her who was in control. Her nipples hardened against the rough fabric of her robes, the sensation sending a traitorous jolt of heat between her thighs. She hated herself for it, for the way her body reacted despite her disgust.
The Toydarian’s trunk tightened around her throat just enough to make her gasp, and then—without warning—it slithered down, tracing a wet path between her breasts before wrapping around her left nipple. The sensation was obscene, the heat of his breath against her skin making her stomach clench with revulsion. *"Fuck you,"* she hissed, but her voice came out breathless, her body betraying her as her nipple hardened under the pressure of his trunk.
Watto let out a wet, rattling laugh, his beady eyes gleaming with cruel satisfaction as he watched her reaction. *"Mmm, so sensitive,"* he croaked, his trunk curling tighter, the suction growing stronger. *"Such a good little Jedi—already knowing what I want."* His fat fingers fumbled at the fastenings of her robes, the fabric parting with a sharp tear as he exposed her full, heavy breasts to the cold air.
The Toydarian’s trunk slithered down, wrapping around her left nipple with obscene suction, while his other hand groped between her thighs, his damp fingers probing her with cruel precision. Elara gasped as he forced her legs apart, her body betraying her with a traitorous wetness as his thumb circled her clit in slow, deliberate strokes. The camera’s red light pulsed faster, recording every humiliating detail—the way her hips jerked against his touch, the way her full lips parted in a silent moan, the way her bound wrists strained against the restraints as she fought the pleasure he forced upon her.*
*"Fuck you," she hissed, but the words came out breathless, her body arching into his touch despite herself. Watto’s trunk released her nipple with a wet *pop*, his beady eyes gleaming with triumph as he circled her, his fat fingers still buried between her thighs.
The Toydarian’s breath came in ragged, wheezing gasps, his trunk twitching with perverse excitement as he watched her body betray her. Elara’s full breasts heaved with each panicked breath, her bound wrists straining against the restraints as she fought the traitorous heat pooling between her legs.
The camera’s red light pulsed in time with her racing heartbeat, recording every humiliating detail—the way her hips jerked against his touch, the way her full lips parted in a silent moan, the way her bound wrists strained against the restraints as she fought the pleasure he forced upon her.
But the most obscene contrast of all was the grotesque disparity between them: Elara, tall and powerful, her Jedi robes clinging to curves that made Watto’s trunk twitch with hunger; and Watto himself, barely reaching her waist, his bloated blue body glistening with sweat, his stubby legs wobbling beneath the weight of his obscene bulk, his wings fluttering like damp leather as he struggled to maintain his balance.
His beady eyes gleamed with cruel satisfaction as he watched her body betray her, his trunk curling tighter around her nipple, the suction growing stronger. *"Look at you,"* he croaked, his voice thick with lust. *"Such a pretty little Jedi—so strong, so proud.
But now you're mine."*
Watto's bloated blue body barely reached her waist, his stubby legs wobbling beneath the obscene weight of his bulk as he stood between her spread thighs. His damp, twitching trunk slithered over her exposed skin, leaving trails of slick saliva as he worked his fat fingers between her legs. Elara's full breasts heaved with each panicked breath, her bound wrists straining against the restraints as she fought the traitorous wetness pooling between her thighs. The camera's red light pulsed faster, recording every humiliating detail—the way her hips jerked against his touch, the way her full lips parted in a silent moan, the way her body betrayed her despite her fury.
*"Look at you,"* Watto croaked, his voice thick with satisfaction as his trunk curled tighter around her nipple, the suction growing stronger.
"* His fat fingers pressed harder between her thighs, his thumb circling her clit in slow, deliberate strokes that made her hips jerk involuntarily.
Elara’s breath hitched, her body betraying her as a traitorous wave of pleasure crashed through her. The humiliation burned hotter than the heat pooling between her legs, but her body didn’t care—her back arched, her full breasts heaving as her muscles tensed. *"No—fuck—"* she gasped, but the words dissolved into a broken moan as Watto’s trunk tightened around her nipple, the suction sending a jolt of electricity straight to her clit. Her thighs trembled, her toes curling against the cold durasteel floor as the pressure built, relentless and unstoppable.
Then—just as her breath hitched in anticipation of the inevitable—Watto’s trunk released her nipple with a wet, obscene *pop*, his fat fingers withdrawing from between her legs with a cruel, deliberate slowness. The sudden absence of stimulation left her gasping, her body aching with unfulfilled tension as she sagged against the restraints.
The Toydarian let out a wet, rattling chuckle, his beady eyes gleaming with sadistic amusement as he stepped back. *"Mmm, not yet, Jedi,"* he croaked, his trunk quivering with perverse satisfaction. *"You’ll wait. You’ll *beg*."* His stubby legs wobbled beneath his bloated body as he turned away, his wings fluttering with the effort of moving his grotesque bulk.
The mattress groaned under Watto's weight as he collapsed onto his bed, the springs protesting with a metallic screech that echoed through the dimly lit back room. The Toydarian's blue skin glistened with a sheen of sweat, his fat rolls spilling over the edges of the stained mattress like melted wax. His trunk curled limply against his chest, still twitching occasionally as if savoring the memory of Elara's bound body. The camera's red light continued its slow, mocking pulse, now recording Watto's grotesque form instead of the Jedi's humiliation.*
The Toydarian let out a wheezing sigh as he shifted his bulk, the bed creaking ominously beneath him. His beady eyes darted to the security monitors mounted on the wall, where Elara's restrained form still hung suspended in the next room.
The red recording light pulsed steadily, capturing every tremble of her bound body. Then, with a wet, rattling breath, Watto turned over on his filthy mattress—only to freeze as his trunk stiffened in surprise.
There, sprawled naked on the cold durasteel floor beside his bed, was the busty elf slave he'd acquired from the black market. Her golden skin glistened faintly under the flickering neon light, her full breasts rising and falling with each slow, unconscious breath. The restraint marks around her wrists and ankles had faded to angry purple bruises, but her body still bore the evidence of his recent attentions—dried saliva on her thighs, reddened skin where his trunk had left its mark.
*"Hmmph,"* Watto wheezed, his trunk twitching as he studied her. The elf's long, pointed ears twitched slightly in her sleep, as if even unconscious she sensed his gaze.
Watto's beady eyes drank in the sight of her - the way her heavy breasts spilled against the cold floor, the curve of her hips where his trunk had left damp marks, the faint tremble of her thighs still parted from his earlier attentions. His trunk quivered with renewed interest, the fat appendage uncurling from his chest as he leaned forward on the mattress, the springs groaning beneath his weight.
The camera's red light pulsed steadily above them, its unblinking eye capturing every detail - the way her golden skin glistened with a faint sheen of sweat, the way her full lips parted slightly in sleep, the way her bound wrists had left angry red marks against her pale skin. Watto's bloated body wobbled as he shifted his weight, his stubby legs barely supporting him as he reached out with his trunk, the fat appendage slithering toward the elf's exposed thigh.
A low, wet whistle escaped his lips—two sharp notes, then a descending trill—like the call of some obscene bird of prey.
The elf's golden eyes snapped open instantly, her body responding to the sound before her mind could catch up. She stirred, her full breasts rising and falling with each shallow breath as she pushed herself up onto her hands and knees. The cold durasteel floor pressed against her palms, her fingers splayed wide as she crawled forward with practiced obedience, her golden skin glistening faintly under the flickering neon light. Her long, pointed ears twitched as she moved, her hips swaying slightly with each deliberate motion, the restraint marks around her wrists and ankles still angry and raw.
The camera's red light pulsed steadily, capturing every humiliating detail—the way her heavy breasts swayed with each movement, the way her full lips parted slightly as she breathed, the way her thighs trembled faintly as she approached the bed.
Watto's trunk quivered with anticipation, the fat appendage slithering toward her exposed skin, leaving a damp trail in its wake. The elf's golden eyes locked onto his, her expression blank but obedient as she crawled forward, her full breasts bouncing slightly with each motion, her ass jiggling with each deliberate step.
Her hands reached out, fingers curling around the base of his thick, glistening cock, the wet sound of her grip making Watto's trunk twitch with pleasure. She leaned forward, her heavy breasts pressing against his thighs as she took him into her mouth, her full lips stretching around his girth as she began to suck. The wet, obscene sounds filled the room, her tongue swirling around the tip as she worked him with practiced skill.
Her heavy breasts swayed like pendulums with each bob of her head, the golden skin glistening under the flickering neon lights as they jiggled with the rhythm of her sucking. Behind her, the elf's round ass rose and fell with each forward motion, the muscles flexing as she knelt between Watto's stubby legs, her hips swaying slightly as she took him deeper into her throat.
The camera's red light pulsed faster, its unblinking eye capturing every humiliating detail—the way her full lips stretched around his girth, the way her throat bulged as she swallowed him down, the way her bound wrists trembled against the restraints even as her body moved with practiced obedience. The Toydarian's trunk quivered with perverse delight, the fat appendage curling around her pointed ear as he watched her work, his beady eyes gleaming with cruel satisfaction.
The camera's unblinking eye captured the scene from behind, its lens trained on the obscene sight of her round, golden ass jiggling with each bob of her head as she sucked him off, her bound wrists straining against the restraints as she knelt between his stubby legs.
The wet, slurping sounds filled the room, her full lips stretching obscenely around his girth as she took him deeper, her throat bulging with each swallow. Behind her, the elf's round ass rose and fell with each forward motion, the muscles flexing as she knelt between Watto's stubby legs, her hips swaying slightly with the rhythm of her sucking.
*Fucking perfect,* Watto thought, his fat body trembling with excitement. The elf’s golden skin glistened under the flickering neon lights, her heavy breasts swaying with each bob of her head as she took him deeper into her throat. The wet, obscene sounds filled the room, her full lips stretching obscenely around his girth as she swallowed him down.
His trunk quivered with perverse delight as he watched her work, his beady eyes gleaming with cruel satisfaction as he felt the first hot pulse of his release. **"Fucking perfect,"** he croaked, his fat body trembling with excitement as his cock twitched in her mouth. **"Swallow it all, you little whore—"** The words dissolved into a wet, rattling gasp as his trunk curled tighter around her pointed ear, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hips as he forced her down harder, his cock pulsing between her lips.
And she obeyed. Like the good slave she was.
Her throat worked obediently, the muscles flexing as she swallowed every thick, salty spurt of his cum, her tongue swirling to catch every last drop.
When the final pulse of his release shuddered through his fat body, she pulled back just enough to let his softening cock slip from her lips with a wet *pop*, her full lips glistening with the evidence of her service. Then, without waiting for permission, she lifted her head and met his gaze with those golden eyes—still blank, still obedient, but with the faintest flicker of something else beneath the surface. *"Are we done now, Master?"* she whispered, her voice husky from the deep-throating, her bound wrists still trembling slightly against the restraints. The question hung in the air like a challenge, though her body remained perfectly still, her heavy breasts rising and falling with each controlled breath.
Watto's trunk twitched in irritation at the presumption, his beady eyes narrowing as he studied her.
*"Not yet,"* he wheezed, his voice thick with lingering satisfaction from his release. But then his gaze flicked to the security monitors where Elara still hung suspended in the next room, her bound body trembling with unfulfilled tension, and something darker crossed his features. *"But you'll earn it."*
The elf's golden eyes flickered with understanding before she moved with practiced efficiency. She shifted her weight back, her round ass settling on Watto's bloated belly as she straddled him, her heavy breasts swaying with the motion. The camera's red light pulsed faster, its unblinking eye capturing every detail—the way her golden skin glistened under the flickering neon lights, the way her full lips parted slightly as she began to rock her hips, the way her bound wrists trembled slightly against the restraints.
*"Mmm, that's it,"* Watto croaked, his trunk curling around her waist as he guided her movements.
The elf's golden skin glistened under the flickering neon lights as she settled onto his bloated body, her heavy breasts swaying with each deliberate motion. The camera's red light pulsed faster, its unblinking eye capturing every detail—the way her full lips parted in a low, needy moan, the way her hips began to roll in slow, grinding circles against his fat belly, the way her bound wrists trembled slightly as she braced herself against his chest.
The elf's golden eyes locked onto his, her expression still blank but her body responding with practiced obedience. She rocked her hips forward, her full breasts bouncing with the motion as she ground herself against him, the wet heat of her pussy leaving a slick trail against his bloated skin. *"Fuck,"* she gasped, the word slipping out between her full lips as her body betrayed her, her thighs trembling with the effort of keeping her balance on his grotesque bulk.
The camera’s red light pulsed in time with her ragged breaths, its lens trained on the obscene sight of her round, golden ass rising and falling as she rode him, her hips rolling in slow, deliberate circles that made her heavy breasts sway with each motion. The dim neon glow cast jagged shadows across her golden skin, highlighting the way her muscles flexed beneath the surface—her back arching just enough to make her spine curve like a bow, her bound wrists straining against the restraints as she braced herself against his bloated chest. The air smelled of sweat and sex, of Watto’s acrid stench mixing with the musk of her arousal, the scent thick enough to taste.
The elf’s golden skin glistened with a fine sheen of sweat as she ground herself against him, her full lips parted in a silent moan.
From the camera’s angle at the foot of the bed, the scene was almost comical—the way her round, golden ass rose and fell with practiced rhythm, her heavy breasts swaying like pendulums with each deliberate motion, while beneath her Watto’s bloated blue body looked absurdly small, his stubby legs barely reaching her knees, his fat rolls spilling over the edges of the mattress like melted wax.
The contrast was obscene. Her long, toned legs wrapped around his grotesque bulk, her golden skin contrasting sharply with his mottled blue hide, her bound wrists trembling slightly as she braced herself against his bloated chest. The camera’s red light pulsed in time with her ragged breaths, capturing every humiliating detail—the way her hips rolled in slow, grinding circles, the way her full lips parted in a low, needy moan, the way her body betrayed her despite her disgust.
Then Watto’s fat fingers dug into the soft flesh of her ass with bruising force, his stubby legs suddenly flexing beneath her as he *thrust up harder*, his bloated body slamming into hers with enough force to make her scream.
**"FUCK—!"** The word tore from her throat, raw and desperate, as his thick cock speared deeper into her, the wet sound of their bodies slapping together filling the room. Her golden skin flushed dark with humiliation, her bound wrists straining against the restraints as she tried to push away—but Watto’s trunk curled around her throat, tightening just enough to cut off her air, forcing her to take every brutal inch of him.
The elf’s golden eyes widened in shock, her full lips parting in a silent gasp as her body was wrenched forward by the force of his thrust.
The wet, obscene sound of their bodies slamming together filled the room, the slick heat of her pussy gripping his cock like a vice as he forced himself deeper inside her. **"Fuck—!"** The word tore from her throat, raw and desperate, as his thick cock speared into her with brutal precision.
Her bound wrists strained against the restraints, her fingers curling into fists as she fought against the humiliating pleasure that pulsed through her body. The camera’s red light pulsed faster, capturing every detail—the way her heavy breasts bounced with each brutal thrust, the way her golden skin flushed dark with humiliation, the way her thighs trembled as she tried to resist the traitorous heat pooling between her legs.
Watto’s bloated body slammed into hers with relentless force, his stubby legs flexing beneath her as he forced himself deeper, his thick cock spearing into her with obscene wet sounds."** The word tore from her throat, raw and desperate, as his thick cock speared into her, the wet sound of their bodies slamming together filling the room.
From above, the camera’s unblinking eye captured the grotesque contrast—her golden, toned body glistening with sweat, her full breasts bouncing with each brutal thrust, while beneath her Watto’s bloated blue form looked absurdly small, his stubby legs barely reaching her knees, his fat rolls spilling over the edges of the mattress like melted wax. His trunk curled around her throat, tightening just enough to cut off her air, forcing her to take every inch of him as he thrust up with surprising force, his grotesque body jerking beneath her with each obscene impact.**"
The elf’s bound wrists strained against the restraints, her fingers curling into fists as she fought the humiliating pleasure that pulsed through her body.
Her golden skin glistened with sweat, her heavy breasts rising and falling with each ragged breath as she collapsed against Watto’s bloated body, her golden eyes fluttering closed in exhaustion. The Toydarian’s trunk had finally released her throat, leaving her gasping for air, her body trembling from the force of his brutal thrusts. The room smelled of sweat and sex, the air thick with the musk of their bodies, the flickering neon lights casting jagged shadows across her golden skin. She was asleep next to him before she could even register the thought, her consciousness slipping away into the darkness like a stone sinking into deep water.
Watto’s beady eyes watched her for a long moment, his trunk twitching with satisfaction as he studied the way her full breasts rose and fell with each slow, even breath.
The elf’s golden skin glistened faintly under the flickering neon light, her bound wrists still trembling slightly against the restraints even in sleep. The Toydarian’s bloated body sagged deeper into the filthy mattress, his stubby legs twitching as he finally succumbed to the heavy pull of exhaustion. His trunk curled limply against his chest, still twitching occasionally as if savoring the memory of her body.
The camera’s red light pulsed steadily, now recording Watto’s grotesque form instead of the elf’s humiliation. Then, with a slow, deliberate exhale, the elf’s golden eyes snapped open.
She lay perfectly still for a long moment, her golden skin flushed with the lingering heat of their encounter. Her bound wrists ached against the restraints, the marks from the metal cuffs still raw and angry.
The elf slave’s golden eyes flickered open in the dim neon glow, her breath shallow as she listened to Watto’s wet, rattling snores. His bloated body sagged into the mattress, his trunk curled limply against his chest like a dead thing. She waited—counting each ragged exhale—until she was certain he was truly asleep.
Then, with the practiced silence of a hunted creature, she slid from the bed. Her bare feet made no sound against the cold durasteel floor as she gathered her discarded shift from the corner, the thin fabric still damp with sweat. The basement door stood slightly ajar, its rusted hinges groaning faintly as she slipped through, the stairwell beyond swallowed by darkness.
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The basement was a labyrinth of stolen tech and forgotten horrors. Flickering holoscreens cast eerie blue light over stacks of broken droids, their lifeless eyes watching her pass.
The elf’s bare feet left damp prints on the cold durasteel as she moved through the basement, her skin still tingling from Watto’s touch. The air smelled of ozone and something sour—old grease, maybe, or the lingering stench of whatever creatures had been dissected in this pit before her.
Her room was at the far end, past the rusted repair bays and the cages where Scritch kept his "special projects." The Jawa’s hunched form was nowhere in sight, but she could hear the faint, wet clicking of his mandibles from somewhere deeper in the maze of junk. A shudder ran through her—Scritch was worse than Watto in some ways. At least Watto’s cruelty was straightforward.
The door to her cell slid open with a groan, revealing the narrow cot and the single water jug that passed for her belongings.
But the room wasn’t empty.
The elf froze in the doorway, her golden skin still flushed from Watto’s touch, her full breasts rising and falling with each shallow breath as her eyes locked onto the hunched figure perched on her cot. Scritch’s stunted, wretched body was sprawled across her thin mattress, his misshapen limbs splayed like a broken droid’s, his greasy Jawa robes clinging to his emaciated frame. His bulbous, tumorous head lolled to one side, the jagged teeth of his grin splitting his leathery face in a way that made her stomach clench. The dim light from the flickering holoscreens outside cast grotesque shadows across his sunken eyes, his yellowed nails tapping against the durasteel frame of her cot like the legs of some obscene insect.
His grin widened as he saw her reaction, the stench of his breath—rotten meat and burnt wiring—filling the cramped space.
**"Oohhh, big-tit elf,"** he croaked, his voice like rusted gears grinding together, **"Ive got something for you."** His clawed fingers reached into the folds of his filthy robes, emerging with a small, misshapen loaf wrapped in greasy cloth. The scent of fresh-baked bread cut through the basement’s stink, warm and buttery, so shockingly out of place in this hellhole that it made her stomach clench. **"Elf bread. Baked fresh. And credits too."** He jingled a pouch at his belt, the coins inside clinking like broken teeth.
The elf’s golden eyes locked onto the bread, her nostrils flaring despite herself. Her mouth watered—she hadn’t eaten in two days, and the last thing Watto had given her was a half-rotten protein bar that had made her retch.
But the bread smelled real, *good*, like something from the surface markets. Scritch’s yellowed grin stretched wider as he saw her hesitation, his clawed fingers tightening around the loaf. **"Do you want it?"** he rasped, his voice like broken glass. **"Or do you want something else this time?"**
The elf’s golden eyes flicked from the bread to his gnarled face, her bound wrists twitching against the restraints that still bit into her skin. She knew what *else* meant. Knew the price. But her stomach cramped with hunger, and the memory of Watto’s weight on her was still fresh enough to make her thighs ache. **"What do you want this time?"** she asked, her voice low, careful. The words tasted like ash.
The elf’s golden eyes flicked to the bread again, her stomach betraying her with a low, hungry growl. Scritch’s grin widened, his jagged teeth glinting in the dim light like broken shards of durasteel. **"You want it?"** he rasped, his voice like rusted hinges. **"Then come get it."**
She hesitated. The bread smelled real—warm, buttery, *safe*—but Scritch’s presence made her skin crawl. His hunched frame was a grotesque parody of a Jawa, his limbs twisted and stunted, his face a nightmare of bulbous tumors and sunken eyes. He looked like something that had crawled out of a reactor core and never quite finished dying. The air around him reeked of burnt wiring and something sour, like spoiled meat left too long in the Tatooine sun.
Scritch’s grin widened, his jagged teeth glinting in the dim light as he jiggled the loaf of bread in his clawed hand. **"You want it, elf?"** he rasped, his voice like broken glass grinding together."**
She hesitated, her golden skin still flushed from Watto’s earlier attentions, the restraint marks around her wrists aching. Hunger gnawed at her stomach, but the thought of what Scritch might demand made her throat tighten. Still, the bread smelled real—warm, buttery, *safe*—and she hadn’t eaten in days.
With a slow, deliberate breath, she lowered herself to her hands and knees on the cot, her full breasts swaying with the motion, her naked body jiggling slightly as she moved. The thin mattress creaked beneath her weight, the sound muffled by the rusted metal frame.
Scritch’s yellowed eyes bulged as her heavy breasts swayed with each slow, deliberate movement, the golden skin of her back glistening faintly under the flickering neon light. Her full lips parted slightly, her breath coming in shallow, controlled gasps as she crawled forward, her bound wrists trembling against the restraints. The elf’s golden skin flushed darker as she reached the edge of the cot, her fingers curling around the greasy cloth wrapped around the bread. The scent of fresh-baked crust made her stomach clench with hunger, but the way Scritch’s jagged teeth gleamed in the dim light sent a shudder down her spine.
**"Mmm, good elf,"** Scritch croaked, his voice like rusted gears grinding together. His clawed fingers tightened around the loaf, pulling it just out of her reach.
**"Finally I get a piece of this dumb big-tit elf,"** Scritch wheezed to himself, his yellowed grin stretching wider as he watched her struggle. **"Hehe."**
The elf’s golden eyes flickered with something dark—disgust, maybe, or just the hollow resignation of a creature who had learned to survive by swallowing her pride. She didn’t flinch when his free hand reached out, his gnarled fingers brushing against her bare thigh. The contact made her skin crawl, but she forced herself to stay still, her bound wrists trembling slightly against the restraints.
**"Good elf,"** Scritch croaked, his voice like rusted metal grinding together. **"You learn fast."** His fingers traced higher, nails scraping against her golden skin, leaving faint red marks in their wake. The elf’s breath hitched, but she didn’t pull away.
Scritch was barely half her size, his hunched body a grotesque parody of a Jawa, his limbs twisted into knobby angles like a broken droid’s. His yellowed grin stretched obscenely wide as his clawed fingers traced up her inner thigh, his misshapen body trembling with excitement—like a gnarled root clinging to the base of a towering tree. She could have crushed him with one knee if she wanted, but the bread smelled too good, and Watto’s restraints still bit into her wrists.
**"Mmm, so soft,"** Scritch croaked, his voice like rusted hinges grinding together. His fingers dug into the flesh of her thigh, his nails leaving faint red crescents in her golden skin. The elf’s bound wrists trembled against the restraints, her full breasts rising and falling with each shallow breath as she forced herself to stay still.
Scritch’s clawed fingers dug into her golden thigh, his jagged nails leaving faint red crescents in her skin as he yanked her hips back toward him. His breath reeked of burnt wiring and something sour, his hunched body trembling with excitement as he positioned himself behind her. The elf’s golden eyes squeezed shut, her teeth clamping down on her bottom lip as she braced herself—
Then he was inside her.
Scritch fucked her doggy hard and fast, her body jiggling with each brutal thrust, her heavy breasts swaying obscenely with the force of his movements. The wet, slapping sounds of their bodies colliding filled the cramped cell, the thin mattress groaning beneath them as he pounded into her with manic energy, his twisted limbs jerking like a broken droid’s.
**"Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah!"** she gasped, her golden skin flushing darker as she rocked back against him, her bound wrists straining against the restraints. **"Quick—before he wakes up!"** The words came out in ragged bursts, her full breasts bouncing with each brutal thrust, the scent of sweat and sex thick in the air.
Scritch’s jagged teeth were bared in a feral grin, his clawed fingers digging into her hips with bruising force as he hammered into her from behind. His hunched body trembled with perverse delight, his breath coming in wet, rattling gasps as he fucked her with the desperate urgency of a scavenger who knew his time was running out. **"Hehehe—you like it, elf?"** he croaked, his voice like rusted metal grinding together.
His jagged teeth were bared in a feral grin as his clawed fingers dug into the soft flesh of her hips, his stunted body jerking forward with each brutal thrust. The camera’s unblinking red light pulsed from the corner of the room, its lens trained directly on her—capturing the obscene sight of her heavy, golden tits swaying with each violent impact, the way her bound wrists strained against the restraints, the way her full lips parted in a silent gasp as Scritch’s grotesque form slammed into her from behind.**
The elf’s golden skin glistened with sweat under the flickering neon light, her full breasts bouncing like pendulums with each brutal thrust, the weight of them making her whole body jiggle with the force of Scritch’s movements.
Behind her, the Jawa’s grotesque form was a nightmare of twisted limbs and knotted flesh, his hunched back arched as he slammed into her with the desperate, jerky energy of a starving scavenger—his stunted body barely reaching her waist, his fat, tumorous head bobbing between her shoulder blades as he grunted with each thrust. The camera’s red light pulsed in time with her ragged breaths, capturing the obscene sight of her round, golden ass slapping against his bloated belly with wet, slapping sounds, the way her heavy tits swayed forward with each impact, the way her bound wrists strained against the restraints as she braced herself against the cot.
Scritch’s jagged teeth were bared in a feral grin, his yellowed eyes bulging as he watched his own grotesque reflection in the sweat-slicked curve of her ass.
The elf’s golden skin glistened under the flickering neon lights, her heavy breasts swaying like pendulums with each brutal thrust, the weight of them making her whole body jiggle with the force of his movements. He could feel the heat of her pussy gripping his cock like a vice, her muscles clenching around him in a way that made his stunted body tremble with perverse delight."** she gasped, her bound wrists straining against the restraints, her fingers curling into fists as she rocked back against him."** The words came out in ragged bursts, her full lips parting in a silent moan as she braced herself against the cot. Scritch’s clawed fingers dug into the soft flesh of her hips, his jagged nails leaving faint red crescents in her golden skin as he forced himself deeper inside her.
The elf’s golden eyes squeezed shut, her teeth clamping down on her bottom lip as she tried to ignore the grotesque reality of what was happening. And then she saw it—*really* saw it—and the absurdity of the situation hit her like a blaster bolt to the chest.
Because Scritch was *tiny*.
Not just small—*ridiculously* small. Like a Jawa who had been run over by a speeder and left to dry in the Tatooine sun. His hunched, stunted body barely reached her waist, his misshapen limbs jerking like a broken droid’s as he tried to pound into her with all the force his twisted frame could muster. His fat, tumorous head bobbed between her shoulder blades, his yellowed eyes bulging with effort, his jagged teeth bared in a grin that looked more painful than anything else.
**"Fuck—hurry up!"** she gasped, her voice raw with frustration as she rocked back against him, her heavy tits swaying with each motion. The absurdity of it all—her golden skin glistening under the flickering neon, her round, golden ass jiggling like a bowl of nerf jelly with every brutal thrust—was almost enough to make her laugh if she wasn’t so goddamn *hungry*.
**"Hurry up!"** she hissed again, her bound wrists straining against the restraints as she tried to speed things along. **"Before Watto wakes up and—"** Her words cut off in a sharp gasp as Scritch’s stunted body jerked forward, his claws digging into her hips hard enough to draw blood."** she snarled, her golden skin flushing darker as she glared over her shoulder at him.
His stunted body was barely half her size, his hunched form trembling with effort as he tried to fuck her with the force of a Jawa who’d just discovered the concept of sex. "**Hurry up, you pathetic little *thing*—**" Her words cut off in a sharp, undignified moan as his next thrust sent her heavy ass jiggling violently, the golden flesh rippling like a bowl of nerf jelly being shaken by a child. The sheer *volume* of it was obscene—each slap of his bloated belly against her round cheeks sent a wave of motion through her entire body, her full breasts bouncing in time with the grotesque rhythm. "**Fuck—**" she gasped, her bound wrists straining against the restraints as she tried to brace herself, but the cot creaked ominously beneath them, threatening to collapse under the sheer *weight* of her ass in motion.
Scritch’s stunted body jerked forward with a wet, guttural grunt, his claws digging into her hips hard enough to draw blood—then, with a sudden, violent twist, he *yanked* her back, sending her sprawling face-first onto the thin mattress. Her heavy tits slammed into the durasteel frame with a muffled *thud*, her golden skin flushing dark with humiliation as she gasped for air.
**"Need something tighter,"** Scritch wheezed, his voice like rusted metal grinding together, his clawed fingers already yanking her hips up, exposing the tight, golden curve of her ass to the dim neon light. The elf’s breath came in sharp, panicked bursts as she tried to twist away, her bound wrists trembling against the restraints.
**"That’s not the deal!"** she gasped, her golden skin flushing dark with humiliation as Scritch’s clawed fingers dug into the soft flesh of her hips, yanking her back into position. The thin mattress creaked ominously beneath them, the durasteel frame groaning under the weight of her body as she struggled. **"Scritch, *no*—!"**
But the Jawa was already pressing forward, his stunted body jerking with perverse excitement as he forced himself against her tight, unyielding entrance. The elf’s golden eyes widened in horror as she felt the grotesque pressure of his cock pushing against her asshole, the slick heat of her own arousal doing nothing to ease the brutal invasion.
The camera’s red light pulsed faster, capturing the obscene sight from above—her bound wrists straining against the restraints, her heavy breasts pressed flat against the durasteel frame as Scritch’s stunted body jerked forward with desperate, frantic thrusts.
From behind, the angle was even more grotesque: Scritch’s hunched, tumorous form looked like a twisted parasite clinging to her golden skin, his stunted legs barely reaching her knees as he hammered into her with the desperate energy of a Jawa who knew his time was running out. His jagged teeth were bared in a feral grin, his yellowed eyes bulging with effort as he forced himself deeper inside her, his clawed fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hips hard enough to draw blood."** The word tore from her throat, raw and desperate, as Scritch’s grotesque cock speared into her with brutal precision.
The elf’s golden eyes rolled back as the first wave of pleasure crashed through her, her bound wrists straining against the restraints as she came with a choked, undignified moan. Scritch’s stunted body jerked forward with a wet, guttural hiss, his claws digging into her hips as he emptied himself inside her, his jagged teeth bared in a triumphant grin.**
The elf’s golden skin glistened with sweat under the flickering neon light, her heavy breasts pressed flat against the thin mattress as she gasped for air. Scritch’s stunted body slumped against her, his breath coming in wet, rattling gasps as he savored the aftershocks of his release. The camera’s red light pulsed steadily, recording the obscene sight of his seed dripping from her ass, the golden curve of her flesh glistening with the evidence of their encounter.