Chapter 1: The Forest Moon Orgy
The air on Naboo was always soft, but tonight it was like breathing in silk. Anakin Skywalker lay back on a mound of silk pillows, the golden grass of the clearing tickling his bare shoulders. Above, the twin moons carved everything in silver and shadow. He could feel the low hum of the planet beneath him, a living pulse that matched his own.
“You’re thinking too loudly.”
Padmé’s voice was a warm murmur against his ear. She knelt beside him, her dark hair unbraided and falling like a curtain around them. Her fingers traced the scar above his eyebrow, then drifted down the line of his jaw. “The Council isn’t here. The war isn’t here. It’s just us.”
“Us and a former Padawan,” Anakin said, a sly grin pulling at his mouth. He turned his head, his blue eyes finding Ahsoka where she stood by a floating lantern, its light dancing over the blue and white stripes of her montrals. She was pouring wine, her movements as agile and precise as they were in combat.
“Former being the key word,” Ahsoka called over, without turning. Her hearing was, as always, impeccable. “No rules out here, Master. Remember?”
“Don’t call me that tonight,” Anakin said, the words coming out rougher than he intended.
Ahsoka finally turned, a playful challenge in her blue eyes. She walked over, the simple wrap of amber fabric around her body swaying with her hips. “What should I call you, then?”
Padmé answered for him, her hand sliding possessively down Anakin’s chest. “Tonight, he’s just a man.” She leaned down and kissed him, deep and slow, a clear claim that made heat pool low in his gut. When she pulled back, she looked at Ahsoka. “And we are just women.”
Ahsoka sank onto the cushions beside them, the playful tease softening into something more genuine. “I like the sound of that.” She took a sip of wine, then offered the glass to Anakin. He drank, his eyes never leaving hers over the rim.
The silence that followed was thick, charged. It was the sound of three people shedding lifetimes of roles. Jedi, Senator, Commander, Padawan—all of it burned away by the moonlight and the jasmine-scented breeze.
Anakin sat up, the blanket falling to his waist. He reached out, his mechanical fingers surprisingly gentle as he took the glass from Ahsoka and set it aside. With the same hand, he cupped her cheek, his thumb stroking the unique patterning of her skin. “No regrets?”
“Only if you stop,” she breathed, leaning into his touch.
That was all the permission he needed.
He kissed her, and it was nothing like the stolen, frantic kisses of his past. This was deliberate, a slow exploration. Her lips were soft, and she tasted of twilight and wine. She met him with equal curiosity, her hands coming up to tangle in his short sandy hair. A low groan escaped him, vibrating into her mouth.
Padmé watched, her brown eyes dark with arousal. She moved behind Ahsoka, her hands coming to rest on the younger woman’s shoulders. “You see?” Padmé whispered, her lips close to Ahsoka’s montral. “How good it feels to just want?”
Ahsoka shivered as Padmé’s fingers found the clasp of her wrap. The fabric loosened, and Padmé drew it down, exposing Ahsoka’s back, the elegant line of her spine, the powerful set of her shoulders. Anakin broke the kiss to look, his breath catching. She was all taut muscle and smooth skin, so different from Padmé’s softer curves, and utterly breathtaking.
“Lay back,” Anakin instructed, his voice husky.
Ahsoka obeyed, settling into the pillows. Anakin hovered over her, drinking in the sight. Padmé, still behind her, cradled Ahsoka’s head in her lap, her fingers stroking the sensitive tips of her montrals. Ahsoka’s eyes fluttered closed, a soft sigh escaping her.
“Look at me,” Anakin commanded.
Her blue eyes snapped open, blazing with trust and desire. He lowered his head, kissing a trail from the hollow of her throat down between her small, firm breasts. He took one nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the tight peak. Ahsoka gasped, her back arching off the cushions.
“Anakin…” His name on her lips was a revelation.
He switched to her other breast, his hand kneading the soft flesh he’d just abandoned. He could feel the furious beat of her heart. Padmé continued her gentle assault on Ahsoka’s montrals, and Ahsoka began to writhe, caught between the two sensations.
“Please,” Ahsoka whispered, the word torn from her.
Anakin moved lower, his kisses trailing over the quivering muscles of her abdomen. He hooked his hands under her knees, spreading her legs, opening her to the moonlight and his gaze. She was already wet, glistening.
“Fuck, Ahsoka,” he breathed, the crude word feeling right in the primal air.
He didn’t tease. He lowered his mouth to her and licked a slow, firm stripe through her folds. She cried out, her hands fisting in the silk beneath her. Her taste exploded on his tongue—sweet, salty, uniquely her. He licked into her, devouring her, using the strength of his tongue to mimic what he knew they both wanted. He found her clit and sucked, rhythmically, relentlessly.
Padmé watched Anakin work, a beautiful, shameless hunger on her face. One of her hands left Ahsoka’s montral to travel down her own body, slipping beneath the waist of her gown. Her head fell back as she touched herself, matching the rhythm Anakin set.
Ahsoka was unraveling. Her breaths became ragged sobs. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, I’m so close…”
Anakin slid two fingers inside her, curling them, and she screamed. Her climax hit her like a seismic wave, her whole body seizing, her internal muscles clutching at his fingers. He kept his mouth on her, drinking every pulse, until she was limp and trembling.
Before she could even come down, Anakin moved up her body. He was painfully hard, his cock jutting against her thigh. He poised himself at her entrance, his eyes locking with hers. Her pupils were blown wide, her expression dazed and utterly satisfied.
“You’re sure?” he gritted out, every muscle in his body taut with the effort of holding back.
In answer, she wrapped her legs around his hips and pulled him down, sheathing him inside her in one deep, stunning thrust.
They both cried out. For Anakin, it was an incendiary heat, a tight, perfect fit that threatened to end everything too soon. He dropped his forehead to hers, his organic hand threading into her head-tails for balance. “Kriff,” he muttered, the expletive a prayer.
“Move,” she begged, her heels digging into the small of his back.
He began to thrust, setting a deep, punishing pace. The slick sounds of their joining filled the clearing, a raw counterpoint to the distant chimes. Padmé had shifted, moving to kneel beside Ahsoka’s head. She guided Ahsoka’s mouth to her breast, and Ahsoka took the offered nipple greedily, suckling as Anakin drove into her.
The sight of them together—Padmé’s head thrown back in pleasure, Ahsoka’s mouth on her, the sheer carnal beauty of it—sent Anakin over an edge he hadn’t seen coming. His thrusts became ragged, uncontrolled.
“I’m gonna come,” he warned, his voice strangled.
“Do it,” Ahsoka panted against Padmé’s skin. “Fill me up.”
Her words shattered the last of his control. With a guttural roar that echoed off the ancient trees, he plunged deep and spilled himself inside her, wave after hot wave, his body shaking with the force of it. He collapsed onto her, then rolled, taking her with him so she lay sprawled on his chest, both of them slick with sweat and spent.
Padmé lay down beside them, her hand stroking Anakin’s hair. For a long while, there was only the sound of their breathing slowing.
It was Ahsoka who broke the silence, a lazy, sated smile in her voice. “So, ‘just a man,’ huh? Not bad.”
Anakin laughed, a real, unguarded sound he rarely made. He was about to reply when a familiar, guttural roar split the night, followed by the bright, unmistakable sound of Rey’s laughter.
They all froze, listening.
Footsteps, multiple and approaching, crunched through the undergrowth at the edge of the clearing. A Wookiee’s murmur. A man’s low, answering chuckle.
Padmé sat up quickly, pulling her gown around her. Ahsoka shifted off Anakin, her body tense but not alarmed. Anakin was already on his feet, the Jedi reflex for assessment overriding post-coital haze. He reached for his tunic, his eyes fixed on the tree line.
The lantern light spilled over the new arrivals as they stepped into the clearing. Chewbacca filled the space, his bowcaster slung over his back. Beside him, Rey stood, her scavenger clothes dusty, her face alight with curiosity and mischief. And behind them, hands in his pockets, a wry, knowing smile on his face, was Han Solo.
“Well,” Han said, his eyes taking in the scene—the discarded clothing, the tangled bodies, the charged air. “Don’t let us interrupt.”
Chewbacca rumbled a low, dismissive comment and gave a shove towards the trees. The older smuggler rolled his eyes, but the humor faded from his face at the Wookiee's insistent growl. “Alright, alright, I know when I’m not invited to the party. Try not to get eaten by anything,” Han muttered, turning and disappearing back into the shadows with a shake of his head.
Chewbacca watched him go, then turned back to the clearing. Rey stood beside him, her gaze taking in the scene with a fascinated, unflinching clarity. There was no judgment there, only a scavenger’s keen assessment.
Padmé was the first to recover her composure, though she made no move to cover herself further. The senatorial poise had melted, leaving something older and more primal in its wake. “You’re not interrupting,” she said, her voice steady and warm. “You’re joining.”
Rey’s eyebrows lifted. Chewbacca woofed, a question.
Anakin, still naked, felt a fresh current of desire cut through his sated haze. This was new. This was uncharted. He looked at Ahsoka, who was watching Rey with a spark of recognition—two outsiders who’d carved their own paths. “The more the merrier,” Anakin said, a slow grin spreading across his face.
Rey stepped forward, her boots silent on the grass. She stopped beside their nest of pillows, looking down at Ahsoka, then at Padmé, then at Anakin. “I’ve never… with so many,” she said, the confession plain, no shame in it.
“There’s a first time for everything,” Ahsoka said, reaching up. She took Rey’s hand, calloused from staff and wrench, and drew her down. Rey followed the pull, kneeling, her knees brushing Anakin’s thigh.
The proximity was electric. Rey smelled of desert sun, mechanical grease, and sheer, vibrant life. Anakin leaned in and kissed her. It was different from kissing Ahsoka—hungrier, less practiced, all eager pressure and surprising softness. She met him with equal force, a small sound escaping her as his tongue slid against hers.
Chewbacca approached, a giant shadow softening in the lantern light. He knelt with a ground-shaking weight, his fur bristling with curious energy. Padmé rose to her knees and faced him. She placed a small hand on his massive chest, feeling the heartbeat beneath, and looked up into his eyes. “Yes?” she asked, a single, profound question.
He answered by bending his great head and nuzzling into the crook of her neck, a rumble vibrating through her entire body. Padmé laughed, a rich, delighted sound, and her fingers plunged into his fur, holding on.
The clearing became a symphony of rediscovery. Anakin broke his kiss with Rey to watch as Ahsoka moved behind the scavenger, helping her out of her tunic. Rey’s torso was lean, tightly muscled, scattered with scars that told stories Anakin immediately wanted to hear. Ahsoka’s lips traced the longest one, a pale line down her spine, and Rey shivered.
“Lie down,” Anakin told Rey. She did, stretching out on the silks beside him, her eyes wide and dark. He kissed down her neck, down her sternum, taking a small, firm breast into his mouth. Her back arched, offering herself. Ahsoka mirrored him on Rey’s other side, her tongue flicking a nipple while her hand slid down the flat plane of Rey’s stomach.
Rey’s hands flew out, one tangling in Ahsoka’s head-tails, the other gripping Anakin’s hair. “Oh, stars…”
Nearby, Padmé was helping Chewbacca out of his bandolier. He was surprisingly gentle, his huge paws careful as they pushed the fabric of her gown from her shoulders. When she was bare, he simply looked, a deep, approving groan resonating in his chest. He leaned in and lapped at her breast with a broad, warm tongue, the sensation so foreign and intense that Padmé cried out, her fingers clutching at his arms.
Anakin watched, mesmerized, as Padmé guided Chewbacca’s head lower. The Wookiee needed little prompting. He buried his muzzle between Padmé’s thighs, his long, thick tongue exploring her with an earnest, thorough curiosity. Padmé’s entire body bowed off the ground, a string of filthy, grateful curses spilling from her lips that would have shocked the Senate.
The sounds pushed Anakin on. He moved lower on Rey, nudging Ahsoka aside with a shared, heated glance. He parted Rey’s thighs, the sight of her—pink, glistening, utterly open—making his cock, already hard again, twitch against his stomach. He didn’t wait. He covered her with his mouth, eating her with a single-minded intensity.
Rey screamed. It was a raw, shattered sound that echoed in the trees. Her hips pumped against his face, seeking more, harder. Ahsoka stroked her own breasts, captivated, then bent to kiss Rey deeply, swallowing her cries.
The clearing was a tangle of limbs and gasps and animal heat. Chewbacca’s growls vibrated the air. Padmé was riding his face now, her hands braced on his furry shoulders, riding with a fierce, grinding rhythm. “Yes, like that, just like that you big, beautiful beast,” she chanted.
Anakin felt Rey’s climax approach, a tightening in her muscles, a change in her taste. He drove her over with two fingers curled inside her and the relentless suction of his mouth. She came with a broken sob, her body convulsing under his hands.
Before the tremors had even ceased, she was pushing at him, rolling him onto his back, straddling him. Her eyes were wild, feral. She guided him inside her, sinking down inch by agonizing inch until he was buried to the hilt. She was incredibly tight, hot, clenching around him in aftershocks.
“Fuck, Rey,” he choked out.
She began to move, riding him with a desperate, scrappy rhythm that spoke of a life fighting for everything. Anakin gripped her hips, his mechanical hand leaving no mark, his organic one digging into her flesh. He thrust up to meet her, their bodies slapping together.
Ahsoka watched, her own need a palpable ache. She moved behind Rey, her body pressing against the scavenger’s back. She reached around, her fingers finding Rey’s clit, circling it in time with their thrusts. Rey’s head fell back against Ahsoka’s shoulder, her mouth open in a silent scream.
Chewbacca, with a final, rumbling groan that signaled his own peak, eased Padmé down. She kissed his muzzle, tender and slow, then turned her attention to the trio. She crawled over, her body gleaming with sweat. She met Anakin’s desperate gaze, then leaned over Rey’s shoulder and kissed Ahsoka deeply. Her hand, however, found its way between Anakin and Rey’s joined bodies, her thumb pressing against the base of his cock where it stretched Rey open, adding a shocking new pressure.
It was too much. The sight, the sensations, the overwhelming, rule-breaking freedom of it all.
“I’m gonna come,” Anakin warned again, his voice shattered.
“Do it,” Rey demanded, driving down on him harder. “Give it to me.”
Padmé’s thumb pressed. Ahsoka’s fingers circled. Rey’s inner muscles fluttered.
Anakin exploded, a white-hot supernova behind his eyes. His release pumped into her, wave after endless wave, and he shouted, a raw, uninhibited roar of pure feeling that was echoed a second later by Rey’s own climax, and then by Ahsoka’s, her body shuddering as she held them both.
For a long moment, the only sounds were their ragged breaths and the distant chimes. They were a heap of intertwined bodies, a mosaic of human and Twi’lek and Wookiee, skin and fur, all slick with sweat and shared pleasure.
Chewbacca rumbled contentedly, pulling them all closer into the warm circle of his fur. Padmé nestled against his side, one hand on Anakin’s heaving chest, the other stroking Rey’s hair. Ahsoka lay with her head on Rey’s stomach, a serene smile on her face.
The twin moons climbed higher, their light dappling through the leaves onto a scene that defied every law, every code, every boundary they had ever known. And for now, in the humming darkness of the Naboo night, it was simply and profoundly enough.