Chapter 6: Honouring her Word
The taste of Rotta was still a phantom on her tongue, a sickly-sweet ghost she couldn’t rinse away. The walk to Grakkus’s chambers felt longer than the march from the throne room. Her body ached in new, specific ways—a deep, tender soreness between her legs, a bruised feeling along her inner thighs. The synth-leather wrap Melina had given her after… everything… was clean and simple, but it felt like a uniform for a duty she hadn’t enlisted for.
The corridor outside his room was quieter, the bass from the central hall a dull throb underfoot. The door was reinforced durasteel, scarred and pitted. A single, functional glow-panel buzzed overhead.
Rose took a breath, held it, let it out. It was just a transaction. A deal made to secure a tool, a chance. She knocked, three sharp raps.
The door slid open with a hydraulic hiss. Grakkus filled the frame, his bulk blocking the dim light from within. He smelled of oil, musk, and dried sweat. His small, porcine eyes looked her up and down, no surprise in them.
“Melina sent me,” Rose said, her voice steadier than she felt. “We made a deal. I do this for you, you get me… you get me access to the south ventilation shaft. Tomorrow.”
Grakkus said nothing. His face was incapable of anything resembling a human expression. He stared at her for a long moment, then stepped aside, gesturing with a meaty hand for her to enter.
His chambers weren’t a decadent den. They were an armory. The “opulence” was brutal, functional. Credits and spice were stacked in clear storage crates against one wall like sacks of grain. Weapon racks held brutal, unmodified blasters and vibro-axes. A large holoscreen flickered silently with security feeds from around the palace. His bed was a wide, low slab of a platform with a thick hide covering. There were no velvet drapes, only reinforced shutters.
He grunted, a sound like rocks grinding together, and pointed a thick finger at the bed.
Right. No pleasantries. Rose walked to the edge of the platform and sat down. The hide was coarse under her palms. She watched as he sealed the door, the locks engaging with heavy clunks. He lumbered over, his shadow engulfing her.
He didn’t kiss her. There was no pretense of that. His large, calloused hands went directly to her shoulders, pushing her back onto the bed. One hand yanked the front of her wrap down, exposing her breasts to the cool air. He grunted again, a noise of appraisal. His touch wasn’t cruel, but it wasn’t gentle. It was investigative. He squeezed the soft flesh, his thick thumbs rubbing over her nipples until they hardened into tight peaks.
Rose lay still, her mind a blank screen. She was a circuit being tested.
Then he lowered his head. His mouth was wet and hot, his tusks carefully angled away. He took one nipple between his lips and suckled, hard. The sensation was a direct, shocking line of electricity to her core. A sharp gasp escaped her. His other hand slid down her stomach, past the waistband of the small briefs she wore, his blunt fingers finding her folds, still sensitive from earlier. He pushed one inside, then a second, his movements efficient, testing her readiness.
A moan tore itself from her throat. It was pure, unthinking reaction. Her back arched off the hide blanket.
I’m already here, the thought surfaced, clear and pragmatic amidst the shock of sensation. Might as well enjoy myself.
It was a surrender to the physics of it. The nerve endings didn’t care about the reason. The pleasure, when it came, was just a signal. A simple, amoral output. She stopped fighting the tension in her limbs. A second, louder moan drifted from her lips. She let her head fall back. “Yeah,” she breathed out, the word shaky. “Like that.”
Encouraged, Grakkus worked his fingers deeper, curling them. His mouth moved to her other breast, his tongue laving the peaked nipple. The dual assault was overwhelming, crude, and incredibly effective. Heat pooled low in her belly, a familiar and now welcomed ache. She reached a hand down, her fingers brushing over the coarse hair on his forearm as he worked her. Her other hand tangled in the rough hide beneath her.
He shifted then, pulling his hand away. He was already unfastening his own crude leather loincloth. His cock sprung free, thick and heavy, blunt-tipped and intimidating. Rose pushed herself up on her elbows. Her eyes met his. There was no tenderness there, only a feral, focused hunger.
She reached out, her small hand wrapping around his girth. She gave him a firm stroke, her thumb sliding over the head. She bit her lip, feeling the sheer, solid reality of him. “Come on, big guy,” she said, her voice a low, husky thing she barely recognized. “Give it to me.”
With a growl, he moved. In one swift, powerful motion, his hands seized her ankles. He lifted her legs, folding her almost in half, pinning her ankles above her head beside her ears. Her world tipped, the room upending. From this vulnerable angle, she saw the flickering security feeds on the wall, the stacks of credits, the ceiling.
He loomed over her, notched himself against her entrance, and pushed.
The stretch was immense, breathtaking. Her eyes went wide, her mouth falling open in a silent “O”. He didn’t stop. He sank into her with one relentless, deep thrust, filling her completely.
A punched-out “Yes” gasped from her lips. Her hands flew to the sides, fingers clawing into the rough hide of the bed for purchase. He began to move, a steady, piston-like rhythm that shook the entire platform. Each thrust drove the air from her lungs, sent a jolt through her suspended body.
And it felt… good. A deep, consuming, mind-numbing good. Her earlier soreness was burned away by a building, urgent friction. She met his thrusts as best she could from her pinned position, a rising tide of pleasure drowning out every other thought—the Resistance, Rotta, the taste, the shame. It all dissolved into the slap of skin, his guttural grunts, the creak of the bed. She was chasing that signal again, that peak, tumbling towards it with a frantic, single-minded need.
She was close. So close. The coil in her belly was tight, ready to snap. Her moans were continuous now, raw and pleading.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
The sound cut through the room’s rhythm.
Grakkus didn’t stop.
THUD. THUD. THUD.
It was a fist pounding on the durasteel door. Insistent. Urgent.
A frustrated, agonized groan tore from Rose’s throat. “No,” she whimpered, her body straining against his, teetering on the very edge. “No, no, no…”
Grakkus froze, buried deep inside her. His head swiveled toward the door, a low, irritated snarl rumbling in his chest. The pounding came again, a staccato beat of impatience.
“Boss! Open up!” a gruff voice filtered through the metal, followed by guttural, porcine laughter.
With a wet, abrupt slide, Grakkus pulled out of her. The sudden emptiness was a physical shock, a cruel denial that left her throbbing and exposed on the hide blanket. He stood, quickly fastening his loincloth, and stomped toward the door. Rose pushed herself up onto her elbows, her body humming with unresolved tension, a sharp and sudden fear cutting through the haze. Had Rotta changed his mind? Was this a trap?
The door hissed open. Grakkus filled the doorway, blocking her view. He exchanged a series of rough, snuffling grunts with whoever was outside. Then, with a final nod, he stepped back.
Four other Gamorrean guards shoved their way in. They were smaller than Grakkus but still massive, their armor smeared with grease and old blood. Their small eyes immediately locked onto her, half-naked and flushed on the bed. Rose’s heart hammered against her ribs. She pulled her wrap up, clutching it to her chest, her mind racing through escape routes that didn’t exist.
The lead guard, his tusks chipped, let out a wet chuckle and said something to Grakkus in their guttural tongue. Grakkus grunted back, a sound that might have been amusement. Then, to her disbelief, the newcomer began unbuckling his chest plate. Another guard started working on his vambraces.
The fear didn’t evaporate, but it shifted, transforming into something else. A dark, curious heat. She realized what was happening. This wasn’t a punishment. This was the deal. The real deal. A primal excitement, frightening in its intensity, began to uncoil within her, cutting through the last strands of her resistance.
They weren’t gentle. They were a tide of green muscle and rough hands. Her wrap was torn away completely. Calloused palms groped her breasts, squeezed her ass, pulled her into different positions. She was rolled onto her stomach, a heavy weight settling on the back of her thighs. A blunt, broad tip pressed against her back door, slick with something one of them had spat into his palm.
She gasped into the hide blanket as he pushed in, the stretch a bright, shocking pain that quickly melted into a deep, full burn. At the same time, another guard knelt by her head, his thick cock nudging at her lips. She opened her mouth, accepting him, the salty-pork taste flooding her senses. The one at her rear began to move, a slow, grinding rhythm.
They used her relentlessly, but with a strange, focused efficiency. One would finish with a grunt and a damp splatter on her back, only to be replaced immediately by another. She was flipped onto her back, her legs pushed wide. A guard knelt between them, but he only rutted against the inside of her thigh, his cock sliding along her skin, bypassing her completely. Another took her from behind while she serviced a third with her mouth.
The pleasure was intense, layered, overwhelming. But a specific, aching emptiness grew at her core. The frustration built with each thrust that landed elsewhere, each grunt that wasn’t inside there. It became a knot in her gut, tighter than the climax she was chasing.
During a brief lull, as one guard switched places with another, she finally moaned it out, her voice ragged and raw. “Fuck,” she panted, her eyes glazed, looking at the rotating circle of green faces. “Can at least one of you use my pussy? Please.”
A moment of silent snuffling passed. Then Grakkus, who had been watching from near the door, gave a sharp, commanding grunt. He stepped forward, shoving a smaller guard aside. He positioned himself between her legs, his familiar, formidable girth poised at her entrance. Another guard moved behind her, his own length pressing against her back door. A third guided his cock back to her lips.
This was the geometry she needed. Grakkus thrust home, filling that desperate void with a deep, satisfying stretch. The guard at her rear entered in tandem, a double penetration that stole her breath. Her world narrowed to sensation: the thick stretch front and back, the heavy weight on her tongue, the rough hands of the two remaining guards as she reached for them, her fists pumping their cocks in time with the pounding rhythm of the bodies using her.
It was too much. It was everything. Her climax didn’t build—it detonated. It tore through her, a silent, seismic event that arched her spine and locked her joints. She cried out, the sound muffled and gargled around the cock in her mouth, her vision whiting out as she felt all five of them, their heat, their movement, their animal presence, consuming her completely.
The gangbang continued, a relentless cycle of grunts and sweat and shifting positions. She lost all sense of time, existing only as a nexus of pleasure. Finally, she felt the tension coiling in the guards around her, their movements growing jerky, their grunts sharper. She pushed Grakkus back, then the others, her own breath coming in ragged gasps.
“Okay, okay… here,” she managed, gesturing them close. She knelt before them, her body glistening, her eyes heavy-lidded. She took them in her hands, one after the other, her strokes fast and knowing. “Come on. Do it.”
They didn’t need more encouragement. With a chorus of guttural roars, they finished. Thick streams striped her face, her neck, her breasts. She tilted her head back, sticking her tongue out to catch what she could, the warm, salty tang mixing with the taste already in her mouth. She smeared it over her skin with her hands, painting herself with their release, a slow, shameless smile touching her swollen lips.
The guards, spent, began to shuffle out, clapping Grakkus on the shoulder. The door hissed shut, leaving silence and the sharp scent of sex and Gamorrean in the air. Rose sat on the edge of the ravaged bed, spent and sticky. Grakkus tossed a rough cloth at her feet. He pointed a thick finger toward the door, then made a twisting motion with his hand—a gesture for a vent cover. His part of the deal. Then he turned his back, dismissing her.
She wiped herself clean, her movements slow, mechanical. The taste, familiar now, lingered. She dressed in the torn wrap. As she slipped out into the empty corridor, the distant thump of music from the central hall felt like a heartbeat from another world. Her body was a map of new aches, a tool that had been used and, improbably, had worked perfectly. She thought of the ventilation shaft. Of tomorrow. The taste in her mouth was no longer just surrender. It was fuel.