Chapter 7: Kilea's Proposition
The azure hologram of Kilea Vex shimmered with hopeful intensity, her lonely eyes fixed on them. Her proposition hung in the corridor’s sterile air, absurd and monumental.
Bultar stared, her bare foot tapping an impatient rhythm on the cool floor. “Let me get this straight,” she said, her voice flat.“You want us to… act out one of your smutty stories? To spring you from ghost jail.”
“The bindings are psychosomatic, tied to the denial of the physical self,” Kilea explained, her form flickering with earnest energy. “A genuine, joyful enactment of the principles my master feared—played by three knights who just achieved harmony through their own delightful vulnerability—could disrupt the matrix.Think of it as a… systems override. A very fun one.”
Barriss had covered her face with both hands, her green skin darkening with a profound blush.“This is a sanctioned Jedi archival annex,” she mumbled through her fingers. “We are naked.We are discussing performing a… a playful corporal vignette for a spectral eroticist. My life has become incomprehensible.”
Rey, however, was leaning closer to the energy field, her scavenger mind turning the problem over.“What exactly would we need to do? Specifically.”
Kilea’s light brightened. “My most subversive entry—the one that truly sent my master into apoplexy—wasn’t about grand passion.It was about… familiarity. Playfulness. The casual, affectionate humiliation shared between sisters-in-arms.” She gestured, and a flickering page of ornate script appeared beside her. “The scene involves a stolen training remote, a mischievous ambush, and a resulting spanking and wedgie contest in the refectory. The key is the laughter.The lack of malice. The liberation in the surrender to embarrassment.”
Bultar snorted.“So you want a show. You want us to pants each other while you watch.”
“I want you to feel it,” Kilea insisted, her voice softening. “The bindings react to authenticity.To the same unguarded camaraderie you just displayed. If you go through the motions like it’s a chore, nothing will happen.You have to mean it. You have to play.”
A heavy silence followed. Rey looked at Barriss, who was peeking between her fingers, and at Bultar, whose skepticism was warring with her inherent love for any form of competition. They were all standing there, utterly exposed, having already traversed galaxies of awkwardness today.What was one more star system?
“If it works,” Rey said slowly, “you’re free. And we get to put on clothes.”
“And I owe you a debt spanning millennia,” Kilea added.“I know where everything is hidden in this Temple. I know which statues are loose, which ventilation shafts lead to the masters’ private saunas, and the exact frequency to make the laundry droids dance the Kowakian monkey-lizard.”
That did it.
Bultar cracked her neck.“Fine. But if some stuffy hologram of your master appears and lectures us, I’m blasting the wall.”
“Agreed,” Kilea beamed.Barriss lowered her hands, her expression one of serene, doomed resignation. “Very well.Procedural specifics, please.Duration.Intensity.Safe-words, presumably?”
Kilea laughed. “No safe-words!That’s the point!It’s about trusting the game. The scene is simple. One initiates, claiming the ‘remote’—” she nodded at the little black controller on the floor, “—and uses it to distract.An ambush follows. The initiator administers a playful, but sincere, spanking. The ambushee retaliates, leading to a brief wedgie contest.It ends when all parties are breathless and laughing. The power is in the escalation, the surprise, the… unfiltered reaction.”
They looked at each other. The corridor felt incredibly large and incredibly small all at once.
“I’ll start,” Bultar said instantly, a competitive gleam in her eye. She swooped down and snatched the remote from the floor.“Hey!” Rey protested, but a grin was tugging at her lips.
Bultar backed up, thumb hovering over the remote’s controls.“Kilea said authentic, right? So we’re not pretending to be surprised.” She looked directly at Barriss, the usual instigator.“You’re always so clever, Barriss. Always so composed.”
Barriss’s eyes went wide. “Bultar, wait—”
Bultar thumbed the remote.A sharp, electric buzz erupted from the discarded podracer shorts.
It was a fraction of a second of distraction, but it was all Bultar needed. She moved with the predatory speed of a Corellian duelist, not toward Barriss, but in a feint that made Rey flinch—before pivoting hard and closing the gap on the Mirialan.
“Bultar, don’t you da—eek!” Barriss’s shriek of protest was cut short as Bultar’s arm hooked around her waist, pulling her off balance.All her analytical composure evaporated in a flash of panic. She stumbled forward, and Bultar, with practiced efficiency born of a hundred sparring sessions, guided her into a half-bent position over her own thigh.
The sharp, crisp sound of the first spank echoed down the hall.It wasn’t a gentle tap.
“OW!” Barriss yelped, kicking one leg.The pale green skin of her left cheek immediately flushed a darker shade.
Bultar grinned, her earlier frustration melting into pure, playful dominance. “That’s for the mop droid,” she said, and delivered another swift, stinging slap to the same spot.
“It wasn’t me! Ah!” Barriss squealed, her hands flying back in a futile attempt to shield herself.Her face was burning now, a mixture of sting and sheer, naked humiliation. She writhed, but Bultar’s grip was iron.
Rey watched, her own face hot.It was absurd, undignified, and yet there was a terrifying honesty to it. Barriss, always so in control, was reduced to kicking and squealing, completely at the mercy of Bultar’s impish revenge. The sight was compelling in a way Rey didn’t want to examine too closely.
After four more sharp, rhythmic spanks that left Barriss gasping and whining, Bultar relented. “Okay, retaliation window is open,” she announced, releasing her.
Barriss stumbled upright, rubbing her throbbing backside, her breath coming in shaky hitches. The mortification was absolute, but beneath it, a spark of familiar mischief flashed in her wet eyes.She didn’t speak.She just moved.
She feigned a limp, pained step toward Bultar, then dropped and swept Bultar’s legs out from under her with a clean, low kick. Bultar went down with a surprised “Oof!” onto the polished stone.
Before Bultar could roll over, Barriss was on her, not for a spanking, but for the classic, humiliating equalizer. She seized the back of Bultar’s utilitarian underwear and yanked with all her might.
The elastic band shot upward with a thwip sound, digging deep into the cleft of Bultar’s ass.“YOW! Kriffing hell, Offee!” Bultar bellowed, arching her back. The wedgie was professional-grade, instantly immobilizing and supremely uncomfortable.Rey’s laughter burst out of her then, uncontrollable and loud. It broke the strange tension, transforming the scene from a surreal ritual back into the dumb, familiar game they all knew.
Barriss, straddling Bultar’s back, gave a dry, breathless chuckle.“That’s for… disproportionate retaliation.” She gave another tug for good measure.
Bultar growled and bucked, trying to dislodge her.“You’re dead! You hear me?Dead!”
That’s when Rey made her move. The remote was on the floor where Bultar had dropped it. Rey snatched it up, thumbed the button, and the shorts buzzed again.Both Barriss and Bultar looked over.Rey shrugged. “Initiation,” she said simply, and lunged.
She didn’t have Bultar’s refined technique.She had Jakku brawling instincts. She barreled into Barriss, knocking her off Bultar, and the three of them tumbled into a tangled, naked heap of limbs, shrieks, and sudden, gasping laughter. Hands grabbed at underwear, pulling, twisting.A playful swat landed on Rey’s thigh. Another snagged Barriss’s briefs into a severe, seat-hugging wedgie that made her squeak. Bultar, finally free, immediately retaliated on both of them, her fingers quick and cruel, administering wedgies so aggressive they lifted both Rey and Barriss onto their toes.
The corridor filled with the sounds of their struggle: slaps that were more slapstick than stern, sharp intakes of breath, yelps of surprise, and most of all, real, unfettered laughter. It was ridiculous.It was embarrassing.It was, despite everything, fun. The shared secret of it, the absolute silliness, crackled between them like static.
Kilea Vex watched, her holographic form beginning to tremble. The azure light wasn’t just shimmering now; it was vibrating, emitting a low, resonant hum that harmonized with their laughter.
Barriss, caught in a double wedgie from Bultar and Rey, finally gasped out, “I yield! I yield! The geometry is unsustainable!”
They all collapsed backward, breathing hard, a tangle of warm skin and disordered undergarments. Rey’s cheek was pressed against Bultar’s shoulder, Barriss’s leg hooked over both of theirs.They were a mess.They were victorious.
Behind the energy field, Kilea Vex’s form dissolved into a shower of brilliant, white-gold sparks.The holocrons went dark. The wall itself seemed to inhale, and then the energy field vanished with a soft pop.In its place stood a woman. Solid.Real.
She was dressed in simple, grey Jedi linen robes, her hair a fall of dark waves around a face that was now touched with color and awe. She took a tentative step forward, her boots whispering on the stone. She looked at her own hands, turning them over, then at the three knights on the floor.
“Oh,” Kilea breathed, her voice no longer holographic, but rich and alive. “Oh, that feels… extraordinary.”
She knelt beside their pile, her eyes shining.“Thank you.” The gratitude was profound, unburdened by millennia of loneliness.
Bultar sat up, wincing as she adjusted her underwear.“Don’t mention it. Ever.To anyone.”
Rey laughed, pushing herself up.“So… you’re free. What now?”
What now?” Kilea’s smile was just beginning to widen, her newfound solidity seeming to settle into her bones, when a sound like cracking glass split the air. The color drained from her face—literally. The warmth in her cheeks faded back to holographic azure, starting at her fingertips and racing up her arms.
“No,” she whispered, her voice thinning back into static. “He reinforced the bindings. A failsafe.”
Her form flickered violently. The grey robes dissolved into shimmering light. She reached for them, a pleading gesture, but her body was being pulled backward as if by a giant, invisible cable. She snapped back through the archive entrance, which had remained open, and the energy field resealed with a jarring thrum that vibrated through the floor.
Inside, the five holocrons blazed once more, this time with a harsh, crimson light. Kilea’s form was trapped within a crackling lattice of red energy between them, a ghost in a cage. Her voice reached them, strained and distant. “He anticipated… a physical breach. The ritual requires… a mental one. You have to imagine it.”
Bultar slammed a fist against the energy field. It sparked, repelling her. “We just did your stupid scene!”
“A different one!” Kilea’s shout was edged with desperation. “More creative! More… immersive. You must use the Force to link your minds, create a shared scenario. The bindings feed on literal action. They can’t hold against pure, consensual, joyful imagination. You have to think the humiliations you’d never dare to actually do!”
Rey looked from the trapped hologram to her friends. Barriss was pulling her underwear back into place, her expression shifting from post-game relief to fresh dread. “A shared psychic construct? That is… extraordinarily advanced. And intimate.”
“And our only kriffing option,” Bultar said, gritting her teeth. She turned to the field. “Fine! But you’re directing, Casper. What’s the scenario?”
Kilea’s voice, though pained, gained a thread of its former sly humor. “The Great Temple Garden. Zero-gravity topiary symposium. You’re all junior gardeners, tasked with trimming the grav-lotus hedges. You’ve… mishandled the hover-shears.”
A ridiculous, vivid picture blossomed unbidden in Rey’s mind. She couldn’t help but smirk. “Mishandled how?”
“You’ve accidentally tuned them to a… sensitive frequency,” Kilea continued, the red energy crackling around her. “And you’re all wearing those dreadful, oversized utility jumpsuits. The ones with the easily-snagged back flaps.”
Barriss closed her eyes, taking a steadying breath. “The psychic anchor will be the sensation of zero-gravity. The shared focus.” She looked at Rey and Bultar. “We need to join hands. And we must… commit.Fully. No holding back.”
They linked hands again, skin still warm from the earlier tussle. The cool corridor faded. The hum of the energy field became a distant buzz. Rey focused on the feel of floating, the gentle, disorienting lift she’d sometimes felt in damaged starfreighters. Bultar imagined the competitive thrill of a gymnasium's anti-grav chamber. Barriss conjured the precise, scientific parameters of orbital freefall.
The world dissolved into light and sensation.
They were floating. Not in a corridor, but in a vast, sun-drenched conservatory where giant, sculpted hedges of glowing grav-lotus drifted like green islands. The air was perfumed with alien pollen. All three of them were encased in baggy, bright orange utility jumpsuits, the material coarse and unforgiving.
Rey fumbled with the large, humming hover-shear in her grip. It vibrated with a worrying pitch. “I think the gyro-stabilizer is—”
She accidentally squeezed the trigger. A wave of visible sonic energy, pale pink and shimmering, pulsed from the blades. It didn’t cut the hedge. It hit Bultar, who was floating nearby trying to look commanding.
The effect was instantaneous. The coarse orange fabric over Bultar’s backside tightened violently, then heated up to a pleasant, tingling warmth. It molded itself to her, emphasizing every curve. A perfect, targeted spank, delivered by sentient clothing.
“Hey!” Bultar jerked, dropping her own shear. The motion sent her spinning slowly in the zero-g. “What the hell was that?”
Rey stared, then burst out laughing. “It makes your jumpsuit… affectionate!”
Barriss, ever the analyst, aimed her shear carefully at a drifting hedge cluster. She fired. The sonic pulse went wide, curving around the foliage and striking Rey square in the seat of her jumpsuit.
Thwump. Rey’s suit cinched and warmed, a sudden, shockingly pleasant sensation that made her yelp. “Okay, that’s actually really weird!” she giggled, the zero-g euphoria loosening her inhibitions.
“Weird?” Bultar grinned, grabbing her floating shear. “It’s target practice.” She took aim, not at a hedge, but at Barriss.
The Mirialan saw it coming. She tried to dodge, but in zero-g, her graceful evasion became a slow, pirouetting tumble. The pink pulse caught her dead center.
Paf! Barriss’s suit squeezed and heated. A strangled, dignified squeak escaped her. “I feel… thoroughly calibrated,” she admitted, her cheeks darkening green.
It became a floating, chaotic game of tag. Sonic pulses crisscrossed the sunny space, missing hedges and striking fabric with soft, padded thwumps and pats. Each hit was a jolt of warm, embarrassed delight. Rey, after getting caught twice more, used her scavenger instincts to short-circuit her shear’s safety governor. It emitted a wider, continuous wave.
The wave engulfed Bultar and Barriss. Their jumpsuits didn’t just spank them this time; the back flaps, already strained, unsnapped completely with a series of plastic pops.
“Rey!” Bultar shouted, trying to grab the floating flaps behind her.
This was the wedgie moment, but in zero-gravity. Rey, laughing uncontrollably, darted forward. She didn’t use her hands. She used the Force, grabbing the loose flaps of their suits and giving them a sharp, playful tug.
The sensation was bizarre and utterly humiliating. The suits, pulled inward, acted like a giant, full-body wedgie, hauling both women momentarily into a curled position. Barriss let out a gasp that was half-protest, half-hysterical laugh. Bultar flailed, cursing creatively.
Barriss, in her curled state, managed to reactivate her shear. She didn’t aim for Rey. She aimed for the loose, dangling strap of Rey’s own jumpsuit, which had come undone in the fray. A pinpoint sonic pulse hit it.
The strap, vibrating at a intense frequency, suddenly whipped around like an angry snake. It didn’t hit Rey. It snaked up the leg of Bultar’s suit, which was gaping open, and delivered a sharp, stinging flick to a very unprotected, already-warm spot.
Bultar’s eyes went wide. “OFFEE!”
The shared imagination magnified everything. The absurdity. The floating, clumsy collisions. The fact that their humiliation was self-created, voluntary, and somehow freeing. The joy was palpable, a golden thread woven through the embarrassment. They weren’t just enduring it; they were crafting it, moment by hilarious moment, each escalation met with breathless, sincere laughter.
Back in the corridor, their physical bodies stood rigid, hands clasped, but their faces were alight with changing expressions—smirks, winces, open-mouthed laughter. The energy field before them began to stutter.
Inside the archive, the crimson lattice binding Kilea flickered in time with their laughter. The harsh light fragmented, pierced by strands of gold and pink. She gasped as the constraints loosened. She wasn’t just watching a scene; she was feeling it, the emotional resonance flooding her prison.
The holocrons shrieked, overloading. With a final, brilliant flash of mixed colors—red, gold, pink, azure—the lattice shattered.
Kilea collapsed onto the dusty archive floor, solid once more, breathing in ragged, real gulps of air. She was free again, her form stable. Outside, the mental link broke. Rey, Bultar, and Barriss stumbled back from each other in the corridor, blinking, their bodies thrumming with the phantom sensations of zero-g and sonic spankings.
Bultar leaned against the wall, rubbing her backside out of instinct, a wide, incredulous grin on her face. “That was… the dumbest thing I’ve ever done.”
“Agreed,” Barriss panted, straightening her real tunic, her face a masterpiece of flustered amusement.
Rey just shook her head, the shared giddiness still buzzing in her veins. They all turned to the archive entrance.
The energy field was gone. Kilea stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame for support, looking utterly spent but radiant. “Thank you,” she said again, her voice raw with emotion. “That was… perfect. The sheer inventive joy of it. It burned the bindings clean out.”
She took a step forward, then her knees buckled. Rey caught her elbow, steadying her. The ancient Jedi felt startlingly light, insubstantial.
“The failsafe will reassert,” Kilee murmured, her strength fading. “It’s drawing power from the Temple’s heart. This is… temporary. You’ve given me maybe a few hours.”
Bultar’s grin vanished. “So what breaks it for good?"
Kilea shrugged. "I'm not sure. But it's okay. This method should work consistently as long as you're all okay doing this again?"