Chapter 2: The Wookiee's Claim
The deep, rumbling purr emanating from Chewbacca’s chest was a vibration they all felt in their bones. The aftermath of their shared climax was a warm, heavy blanket of limbs and spent energy, but the Wookiee’s large, amber eyes, still dark with hunger, cut through the languid haze. He nuzzled Padmé’s neck again, a question in the gesture.
Padmé understood. She turned in the circle of his furred arm, meeting his gaze. The Senator was gone; here was just a woman, her body humming and receptive. She saw the thick, leathery length of him, partially sheathed but still prominent, against his thigh. It was intimidating, a truly alien piece of anatomy, gnarls and ridges she could only guess at.
“You’re not finished,” she stated, her voice a low hum.
A soft growl of affirmation. He nudged her gently with his muzzle.
“Then don’t be gentle,” she whispered, a daring spark in her brown eyes.
With a powerful but careful motion, Chewbacca rolled, shifting their entire group. He guided Padmé onto her hands and knees on the silks, her back arched, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders. He settled on his knees behind her, his massive frame dwarfing her, blotting out the moons. The sight was primal, a tableau of pure scale and vulnerability.
Anakin, who had been trailing his fingers down Rey’s spine, went utterly still, mesmerized. Ahsoka propped herself up on an elbow, her blue eyes wide. Rey simply watched, fascinated, her scavenger’s mind cataloging every detail.
Chewbacca’s huge paws settled on Padmé’s hips, nearly encircling them. He guided himself forward, the broad, blunt head of his cock pressing against her soaked entrance. Padmé gasped, pushing back against him instinctively.
“Oh, force,” Anakin breathed, watching as Chewie applied steady pressure.
Padmé’s head dropped, a moan torn from her as he began to enter her. It was a slow, inexorable stretch. Her fingers clenched in the silk, knuckles white. “Yes… fuck, yes… more.”
Chewbacca pushed forward, a deep, rolling groan spilling from him as he sheathed himself inside her to the hilt. Padmé cried out, a sharp, beautiful sound of overwhelming fullness. He was so deep, so thick, reshaping her around him. He held there for a long moment, letting her adjust, his fur trembling with the effort of his control.
Then he moved.
His thrusts were not fast, but they were profound, each one a slow, deliberate drive that pushed Padmé forward with its force. The sound was obscene and wet, a slick, rhythmic slap of flesh and fur. Each time he withdrew, the thick ridges of his cock dragged against her inner walls, and each time he plunged back in, his heavy balls slapped against her clit.
“Harder!” Padmé begged, the word fragmented. “Don’t you fucking stop!”
Encouraged, Chewbacca’s thrusts gained power. His growls became louder, more guttural. The clearing seemed to shake with them. Padmé was sobbing now, tears of intense sensation streaming down her face, her cries rising in pitch with every earth-moving drive.
The raw display ignited the others. Ahsoka turned to Anakin, her hand closing around his cock, which was already rigid and leaking. “He’s not the only one who’s still hungry,” she murmured, her voice husky.
She pushed Anakin onto his back and, with a playful glance at Rey, lowered her mouth to him. Her tongue licked a broad stripe from his balls to the tip before she swallowed him down, her technique confident and deep. Anakin groaned, his hips bucking off the cushions.
Rey watched for a second, then joined, her movements more eager, less polished. She kissed and licked along the shaft, then took his balls into her mouth, sucking gently. Ahsoka released him with a pop, her lips glistening, and pulled Rey into a deep, open-mouthed kiss, letting her taste Anakin on her tongue.
“Fuck, that’s hot,” Anakin grunted, his head rolling to the side to watch Chewbacca hammer into his wife.
The Wookiee was losing his rhythm, his thrusts becoming jerky, powerful. His roars were constant now, a storm of sound. Padmé was chanting, “Come on, come on, fill me up, you beautiful monster, do it!”
With a final, seismic roar that seemed to silence the very forest, Chewbacca slammed deep and held. His body shuddered violently, his grip on Padmé’s hips viselike. They could all see the intense pulse at the base of his cock where it was buried in her. He was coming, flooding her with his release in hot, pumping waves. Padmé screamed, her own climax ripped from her by the internal deluge, her body convulsing around him.
He stayed buried in her for a long moment, both of them panting, before he carefully pulled out and collapsed beside her with a ground-shaking sigh of satisfaction.
Padmé slumped forward, spent and trembling, a slick, pearlescent mix of their shared fluids dripping down her inner thighs. She turned her head, her cheek against the silk, and gave Anakin a look of dazed, sated triumph.
Anakin felt a possessive surge, hot and dark. He pulled himself from Ahsoka’s mouth, his cock throbbing. “Rey. Up.”
Rey scrambled to her knees. Anakin pointed to Padmé. “Over her. Now.”
Understanding flashed in Rey’s eyes. She moved on shaky legs, straddling Padmé’s shoulders, lowering her hips until her damp, swollen sex was just above Padmé’s mouth. Padmé, exhausted but willing, lifted her head and her tongue stroked a slow, promise-filled line through Rey’s folds. Rey gasped.
Anakin moved behind Rey. He gripped her hips, his mechanical hand cool against her skin, and positioned himself. He didn’t tease. He pushed into her with one solid, deep thrust.
Rey cried out, the sound muffled as she bit her own fist. She was still sensitive from before, incredibly tight. Anakin set a brutal, piston-like pace, fucking her hard, his eyes locked on where Padmé’s tongue was now working furiously on Rey’s clit.
“Taste her,” Anakin commanded Padmé, his voice ragged. “Taste all of us.”
Padmé moaned her assent, her tongue delving deeper, drinking Rey in. Ahsoka crawled over, kissing Anakin’s shoulder, her hand snaking between Rey’s legs to join Padmé’s mouth, two fingers sliding into Rey alongside Anakin’s cock.
The叠加 sensation was too much. Rey’s orgasm hit her like a shockwave, her internal muscles milking Anakin violently. Her scream was raw, endless.
It tipped Anakin over the edge. With a final, broken shout of “Padmé!”, he emptied himself into Rey, his seed mixing with the wetness already there, some of it dripping down onto Padmé’s awaiting tongue below.
They collapsed into a heap, a tangled, breathing mosaic of spent bodies. Chewbacca gathered them all in with a contented rumble, his fur a warm nest. The lanterns guttered lower. The twin moons began their final descent, washing the clearing in a pale, pre-dawn light.
In the sudden quiet, the real world felt very far away. But Anakin felt it creeping back in at the edges—the weight of his deception, the phantom eyes of the Council, the war waiting in the stars. He held Padmé closer, her back against his chest, and over her shoulder, his hand found Ahsoka’s. Rey’s breath eased into sleep against Chewbacca’s side.
The bliss was absolute, and for that reason, it felt terrifyingly fragile. The first hint of grey light touched the highest leaves. The night of forgetting was ending. The day of pretending was about to begin.
The day of pretending was about to begin. That grim thought, slithering through Anakin’s mind, demanded defiance. His hand tightened on Padmé’s hip. The grey light felt like a condemnation. He wouldn’t accept it.
“No,” he muttered into her hair, the word thick with sleep and sudden, dark intent.
“Anakin?” Padmé murmured, still half-dreaming.
He shifted, rolling her onto her back. He looked over her, past her, to where Chewbacca lay, watching him with ancient, knowing eyes. A silent communication passed between them, forged in battle and now in this strange, intimate trust. Anakin’s gaze was a challenge, a question laced with a frantic need to obliterate the coming dawn.
Chewbacca gave a low, understanding rumble.
“Padmé,” Anakin said, his voice assuming that familiar, commanding edge that thrilled her. “Stay just like that.”
He moved up her body, kneeling over her face. She understood instantly, her lips parting. He guided his cock into her mouth, and she took him deep, her tongue flattening against his shaft. But Anakin wasn’t looking down. He was looking at Chewbacca, who had shifted closer, his massive form looming over Padmé’s lower half.
The Wookiee’s broad tongue swept up Padmé’s inner thigh, collecting the dried evidence of their earlier union. Then he nudged her legs wider. He positioned his thick, re-hardened cock at her entrance, still slick and loose from his first claiming. With a single, powerful surge of his hips, he re-sheathed himself inside her.
Padmé’s muffled scream around Anakin’s flesh was a vibration that went straight to his core. Her body arched, trapped beautifully between their two opposing pressures. Anakin reached back, his hand finding Chewbacca’s furry forearm, gripping it for balance and connection.
“Fuck her,” Anakin growled, pushing Padmé’s head down onto him. “Fuck her while she sucks me.”
Chewbacca obeyed with a series of deep, rolling thrusts that made Padmé’s entire body shake. Anakin fucked her mouth in time, a brutal, syncopated rhythm. The sounds were obscenely wet, punctuated by Chewbacca’s guttural groans and Anakin’s sharp, choked curses.
“Kriff, yes… take it… take all of it…”
Padmé was in a suspended state of overwhelming sensation, her mind blank, every nerve ending screaming. Her hands scrambled for purchase, one clutching Anakin’s thigh, the other tangling in the fur of Chewbacca’s leg.
Nearby, the fervent energy pulled Rey and Ahsoka from their lethargy. Rey watched, her breath quickening, seeing Padmé so utterly possessed. Ahsoka watched Rey watching, seeing the raw hunger return to the scavenger’s eyes.
“You want that?” Ahsoka whispered, her lips against Rey’s ear.
“I want you,” Rey countered, turning with a feral suddenness. She pushed Ahsoka onto her back, her wiry strength surprising. She kissed her, a clash of teeth and tongue, then descended, her mouth hungry on Ahsoka’s breasts, her stomach, her hips.
Ahsoka spread her legs, her head falling back. “Don’t be gentle.”
Rey didn’t need the instruction. She buried her face between Ahsoka’s thighs, eating her with a desperate, noisy urgency. Her tongue was a rough, demanding point, licking and thrusting. Ahsoka cried out, her fingers knotting in Rey’s loose hair, her hips bucking off the silks.
“Just like that… fuck, Rey…”
But Rey had more in mind. She pulled back, her chin glistening. She shifted Ahsoka’s hips, turning her onto her stomach. Ahsoka went willingly, pushing herself up onto her knees, presenting herself. Rey’s eyes fixed on the tight, dark rose of her asshole.
She leaned in, her tongue pressing flat against it, licking broad, wet stripes. Ahsoka gasped, the sensation shockingly intimate, a profound vulnerability. Rey’s tongue pointed, then pushed, breaching the tight ring of muscle slowly.
“Oh, stars,” Ahsoka moaned, pushing back against the intrusion, her own fingers digging into her clit. “Yes… eat it… eat my fucking ass.”
Rey feasted with single-minded intensity, her tongue working in and out, lubing the clenched passage with her spit. She reached around, her calloused fingers finding Ahsoka’s clit, rubbing rough, fast circles. Ahsoka’s moans became screams, her body trembling on the edge.
Back with the triad, Anakin felt his climax coiling, a tight spring in his gut. Chewbacca’s thrusts were becoming erratic, his roars more frequent. Padmé was gagging gently on Anakin’s length, her throat fluttering around him.
“Gonna come,” Anakin warned, his voice shattered.
Chewbacca roared in unison, a sound of pure, animal release. Anakin spilled into Padmé’s mouth, jet after hot jet, as he felt the powerful, internal pulses of Chewbacca filling her womb again from behind. Padmé swallowed convulsively, her body seizing in a silent, endless climax between them.
They collapsed in a heap of sweat-slicked skin and fur, utterly drained. The simultaneous cry from Rey and Ahsoka pierced the air a moment later—a shared, shattered sound of completion.
Silence returned, deeper now, stained with the first true gold of sunrise. The pretending hadn’t just begun. It hung over them, heavier than ever. Anakin disentangled himself, his blue eyes meeting Padmé’s. In them, he saw no regret, only a profound, weary satisfaction—and a reflection of his own creeping dread.
He had just shared his wife with a Wookiee. He had fucked a scavenger’s mouth while it happened. The reality of it, in the harsh light of day, was a cold stone in his stomach. He reached for his trousers, the simple fabric feeling like a lie. Across the clearing, Rey was helping Ahsoka to her feet, their ease with each other a stark contrast to the tension coiling within him.
The war, the Council, the whole fragile galaxy of secrets he balanced—it all came rushing back. It demanded he stand up. It demanded he become someone else. He looked at his lightsaber, lying innocently beside a discarded silk pillow, and the gulf between that weapon and what he had just done felt infinite, and terrifying.