The twin suns of the Tatoo system glinted off of the chrome hull of the Queen’s ship as it made it’s final approach to the planet Tatooine. Taking a last look over the shoulder of the Queen’s pilot, Captain Panaka left the bridge. Striding through the empty corridors, Panaka noticed Jar Jar innocently bobbing his head as he tried to look invisible near the secured engine section entryway. Shooting a glare at the oafish Gungan, Panaka strode past him without a word. Disgusted, he sulked off to his cabin. Just as he was keying open the hatch, a soft hand reached out and touched his arm. He looked down into the face of young Padmé, the Queen’s most outspoken handmaiden.

Padmé: Captain. I, I mean, the Queen, wishes that I be allowed to go into the spaceport with the Jedi.

Panaka: I’m surprised she doesn’t go herself.

Padmé: She wants to know more about this place.

Panaka: More likely she wants to pick up some exotic sexual aids.

Padmé: (shrugging) Perhaps.

Panaka: She should order this stuff through the usual channels. Senator Palpatine can get her whatever she wants.

Padmé: She is looking for something in particular. Something specific.

Panaka: And illegal, I’ll bet. Fine, sure. Whatever. But the Jedi will be the one that decides. I don’t seem to have any authority on this ship anymore.

Tilting her head sympathetically, Padmé reached out and caressed Panaka’s tight ass.

Padmé: Perhaps you could put in a good word for me?

Panaka: One hand washes the other…?

Padmé: (smiling) What? You want another white bread sandwich with Rabé and Eirtaé? You stretched them so badly last time they needed a dip in a bacta tank.

Panaka: I was thinking how nice a triple dip would be this time. Sabé looks like she can handle it. I’m sure the others will be up for it… If you spoke to the Queen for me.

Padmé: I am sure the Queen would approve. I will stop by on my way to the airlock.

Panaka: Fair enough. Let me stow my gear and I’ll find you something to wear.

Padmé: Something tight?

Panaka: Sure.

In the small cargo area, Obi-Wan was scrambling to get his Master’s equipment ready. Qui-Gon had been decidely moody ever since their departure from Naboo, and Obi-Wan was certain that the odd tremor in the Force had something to do with it.

Qui-Gon: Don’t wrinkle the robe, Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan: Sorry, Master. Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?

Qui-Gon: No. Stay with the ship. I don’t trust that Desk Jockey Captain. Of all the ships in that hangar bay he picks the one that is falling apart and has no weapons.

Obi-Wan: I’ll keep an eye on him.

Qui-Gon: Better keep two on him, Obi-Wan. I have not failed to notice you eyeing the skirts onboard. This is not a pleasure cruise. The sooner we get this mission finished, the better.

Obi-Wan: Yes, Master.

Qui-Gon: I noticed her Worshipfulness pawing the transmitter earlier. Don’t let her make any calls. We are running short on credits as it is. I only have 20,000 credits and her Highlessness conveniently managed to leave all of her money back in her palace.

Donning the loose poncho and putting it over his tunic, Qui-Gon keyed the door release and strode down the corridor, Obi-Wan tagging closely at his heels.

Qui-Gon: I don’t suppose we will be needing that emergency shelter. This shouldn’t take that long.

The two Jedi started around the corner and collected the remaining R2 droid. Heading to the forward airlock they almost ran into Jar Jar, who was about to throw open the main hatch release lever.

Jar Jar: Meesa gonna open door now, Okeyday?

Obi-Wan started to reach out his hand to evoke a Force push that would have sent Jar Jar into the bulkhead, but Qui-Gon stopped him.

Qui-Gon: Let’s wait until we’ve entered the atmosphere, instead.

Jar Jar: Oyi! Mooie mooie. I luhv yous!

Obi-Wan looked at Jar Jar and then at Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon shrugged.

With a faint jolt, they felt the ship penetrating the atmosphere of the planet and moments later they felt the throbbing of the retrothrusters as the ship began drifting lower toward the surface. The dust swirled under the landing skids of the Queen’s ship as it came to rest on the arid surface of Tatooine. Motioning to Jar Jar, Qui-Gon pointed to the release lever. Jar Jar opened the main hatch, flooding the airlock with sunlight. It was obvious that Obi-Wan was hoping to get some time alone with the Gungan, and not to teach him how to repair the hyperdrive.

Qui-Gon: Let’s get going. Jar Jar, you had best come with me. Obi-Wan, remember what I said. Find a place on the bridge and stay there.

Obi-Wan: Of course, Master.

Qui-Gon: (Looking somberly at Obi-Wan) Stay there.

Obi-Wan grimaced slightly and nodded, tramping off back up the corridor to the bridge.

As Qui-Gon, R2D2 and Jar Jar approached the tip of the dune surrounding the grounded starship, they heard voices shouting their names behind them. Disinterestedly, Qui-Gon pretended to not hear them, but Jar Jar studiously turned, stopped, and flapped his arms. With a grunt, Qui-Gon stopped as well. Turning, he found himself watching Captain Panaka stumbling up the dune with one of the Queen’s handmaidens. The young girl was dressed like a vagabond in rags, with bandages that looked like they were ransacked from the medical compartment.

Panaka: The Queen orders you to take her handmaiden with you.

Qui-Gon: Oh really?

Panaka: Um, yes. She wishes to know more about the planet.

Qui-Gon: It’s a fucking desert. I’ll give her a full report when I get back.

Panaka: (Winking at Qui-Gon conspiratorily) The Queen specifically wanted Padmé here to go with you.

Qui-Gon: She did, huh? Fine. (To Padmé) Nice outfit. Stay out of my hair.

Without another word, Qui-Gon turned and strode purposefully across the sand, the wind catching his hair and blowing it in a way that he knew looked cool. Padmé followed with Jar Jar and R2D2 bringing up the rear.

As they entered the city of Mos Espa, Qui-Gon grudgingly pointed out some of the local scenery for the Queen’s handmaiden.

Qui-Gon: That’s a building. There is a… green thingy. Over there’s some bantha shit.

Jar Jar looked wherever Qui-Gon pointed, and smelled the bantha shit on his foot after he had stepped in it.

R2D2 whistled despairingly as Jar Jar made him spray the crap off his foot with one of the droid’s many tools.

Qui-Gon: Most of these people are farmers.

Padmé: Farmers? This place is as dry as a bone! What could they possibly grow here?

Qui-Gon: That’s exactly right. This planet is a scam. The Hutts advertise this planet as one of the lushest, most fertile planets in the galaxy. People trade a few years of labor to the Hutts for a few quads of land and when they get here they realize they’ve been fucked. They end up slaving for the Hutts to pay off their debt. The interest rate on the loan keeps them in servitude forever.

Padmé: That’s brilliant.

Qui-Gon: It works. People are generally stupid.

Padmé: So what’s it like being a Jedi?

Qui-Gon: Not bad. The benefits are excellent. Free meals in the Jedi commissary. Custom tailored uniforms and free dry-cleaning. I also get to keep my accrued Star Miles® on business trips. Plus, there are additional bonuses.

Padmé: Such as?

Qui-Gon: Well, I’ll show you. Lift up your shirt.

Padmé: WHAT? Are you crazy?

Qui-Gon waved his hand in front of Padmé’s face, at the same time telling her that she really wanted to show him her tits. Immediately, Padmé lifted her shirt and showed him her pink young nipples.

Qui-Gon: Just forget you did that.

Padmé: Did what?

Qui-Gon: Nothing. Let’s try one of the smaller dealers.

Back onboard the Queen’s ship, Obi-Wan sat bored on the bridge, monitoring the sensor displays. The pilot had tried to thank him for rescuing he and his friends back in the hangar on Naboo, but Obi-Wan brushed away his thanks. The brash young Jedi liked the entertainment provided by lesser beings and had always been of the opinion that normal people were rather pathetic and without a Jedi around to keep an eye on them they would probably end up killing one another. The bridge hatchway opened with a hiss and Obi-Wan looked up from his screen to discover one of the Queen’s handmaidens holding a tray of food. She smiled at him and started to take the tray to his station, but with a casual wave Obi-Wan lifted the tray with the Force and set it easily in front of himself. The handmaiden squealed in delight as she watched his Jedi trick. Obi-Wan smiled at her appreciatively and invited her to sit next to him.

Sabé: So. What’s like being a Jedi?

Obi-Wan smiled wickedly.

Qui-Gon and his entourage entered a dingy beat up junk shop near the edge of town. An odd fluttering creature made his way over the tables of merchandise. He was smoking a long pipe attached to his hip. Padmé noticed, on closer inspection, that it appeared as though the pipe was extracting the creature’s own body fluids from his waist and dripping them into the pipe. The creature was having trouble navigating through his shop, and with each turn he collided with more and more junk, causing most of it to come crashing to the ground. Finally, he managed to hover dodgedly in front of Qui-Gon.

Qui-Gon: I’m looking for parts for a J-Type Nubian.

Watto: J-Tip Nub’n?

Qui-Gon: Yes. Specifically, a T-17 hyperdrive generator core.

Watto: Yeh. Nub’n. Tee sev’n’t’n. Suh. We got lotsa d’at.

Watto called out loudly in some strange language that Qui-Gon didn’t understand. In a few moments a grimy young boy appeared in the shop and Watto exchanged a few more slurred words with him. The boy went behind the counter and hefted himself up on a tall stool.

Watto: Letsa go out back. Get whatevuh you need.

Qui-Gon: Fine. Jar Jar, stay here with the girl and don’t touch anything. Understand?

Jar Jar nodded, not really understanding at all, as he was already fiddling with what looked like a thermal detonator. Padmé took it from him and surreptitiously placed the item in her bag.

Qui-Gon: Come on droid, you can show him what it is we need.

R2D2 made a bleating sound as he rolled after Qui-Gon.

Letting Jar Jar wander around the store to attract the boy’s attention, Padmé checked the meager inventory for her own needs. When nothing presented itself, she turned and noticed that the boy was looking at her.

Anakin: Are you a whore?

Padmé: What?

Anakin: You look like one of Sebulba’s whores.

Padmé: You are one seriously fucked up individual. Do you know that?

Anakin: (continued) I hear the deep space pirates talking about the whores from Duroon and H’nimth. When Gardulla the Hutt sold me to Watto, he said my mom looked like a whore.

Padmé: You’re a slave? (She started laughing at him loudly.)

Anakin: (Obviously defensive) I’m a PERSON, and my name’s Anakin, you bitch!!

Padmé continued laughing even more rudely, almost doubling over.

Anakin: (Talking to himself) Someday I am gonna leave this fucking dump and find me some whores. Then’ll I’ll show them. (Muttering) Sebulba. Fucking seahorse, doesn’t know his dick from a drainpipe…

Padmé: (Shaking her head as she watches Anakin talking to himself) Yeah. Sure. Uh huh.

Completely disinterested she wandered over to look at more space junk.

Padmé: So, slaveboy. You know where a girl could find some entertainment items on this sandpile?

Anakin: What’s it worth to you?

Padmé: (Arching her eyebrows and giving the boy a wicked grin) More than you can imagine.

Anakin: I can imagine quite a bit.

Padmé: Somehow, I rather doubt that.

Anakin: What are you offering?

Padmé: What do you want?

Anakin thought hard, looking around the store that had been his life ever since he could remember. Taking it all in he tried to think of what he wanted more than anything.

Anakin: Do you think you can get me a ride in a starship?

Padmé, smiled wickedly.

Padmé: Sure. I think I can do that.

As Watto hovered about the back scrapyard, Qui-Gon shook his head, unimpressed. Despite all of R2D2’s holograms, Watto was unable to locate the T-17 generator core.

Watto: H-10, G-16, B-12, A-4… How ‘bout uh mil’tary grade turb’las’r core? You could shunk a battl’ship with d’at.

Qui-Gon: NO. Not a turbolaser. A hyperdrive generator core.

Watto: Uh, gotta Nubian Frigidaire 9000 cooling vat. You wanna cold drink? Got lotsa d’at. Mebbe you don’t needa gen’rator core. Mebbe you need a new ship, eh? Will be cheaper, I think, huh?

Qui-Gon: Cost isn’t the issue, unless you have the parts I need. Are you sure you have a T-17?

Watto: Sure, sure. It’s here somewhere. Aha! Here it is. Well, it’s a T-23, but should work OK. Justa shav’n down the emitt’r rods and it fit OK.

Qui-Gon: How much?

Watto: 70,000 truguts. I’m feelin’ gen’rous.

Qui-Gon: (starting to count out his credits) What is that in Republic Credits? 50? 200?

Watto: Don’t piss me off, Outworlder.

Qui-Gon: OK, OK. 2,000 Republic Credits?

Watto: (spitting in rage) Republic Cred’ts NO GOOD OUT HERE. I need something more… Real.

Qui-Gon: Real what? Look, how about 10,000 Credits. You could almost buy your own ship for that. Granted, you’d need to find someone else to fly –

Watto kicked the credits out of Qui-Gon’s hand as he flew right into his face, screaming.

Watto: Credits NO GOOD HERE. Only MONEY!!! No MONEY, No DEAL.

Qui-Gon: Dammit. I didn’t want to have to do this. But how’s this for real?

Qui-Gon waved his hand in front of Watto’s face, and just as he got Watto’s attention, whipped out his lightsaber and thumbed it on. Slashing the glowing blade wickedly just over Watto’s head, Qui-Gon let out a fearsome Jedi warrior cry. Watto watched the whole performance uninterestedly.

Watto: Fucking Ootmian. You think because I live so far from d’uh center, I don't know noth’ng? I’m Toydarian. We smoke our own excr’ment. Are you trying to make funny here?

Qui-Gon: Credits will do fine.

Watto: No. They won’t. Threats no work on me. Only money. You got money, we deal. You wave your lightsaber around like d’at, you deal with d’uh Hutts.

Qui-Gon held his lightsaber in annoyance. Looking around the scrapyard for witnesses, he noticed several of Watto’s slaves looking at him hopefully. As he started lifting the lightsaber again, this time seriously, Watto casually thumbed a button on his wrist unit. One of the slaves immediately exploded with a scream, the searing blast igniting another two slaves standing too close. Qui-Gon had to duck to avoid the arms and legs blasted outwards. The other slaves dashed hurriedly for cover. Watto smiled, the glazed look in his eyes extending to his face.

Watto: 70,000 truguts, no less. Now fuck off, I have work to do.

Qui-Gon, R2, and Watto returned to the shop. Jar Jar was entangled in a droid cleaver, it’s blades flashing back and forth as it prepared to chop the Gungan to bits. Qui-Gon idly slapped at the control on the face plate of the droid, shutting it down just in time. He then ordered Padmé and Jar Jar to leave the store with him.

Anakin: Find Gorgmonger on the main marketstreet thoroughfare. She should have what you need.

Padmé: Excellent. Look, see me later about the other think, OK?

Anakin: Yeah., right. Bitch.

Padmé: Oh, come on, slaveboy. Trust me.

She pinched one of Anakin’s nipples and left.

Watto hovered over Anakin, frustratedly picking gnats from the boy’s hair.

Watto: Clean d’is shit up, and d’en go home.

Qui-Gon, R2, Padmé and Jar Jar wandered the crowded streets of the Mos Espa marketplace. Qui-Gon was conspicously making a call to the ship with his comlink.

Obi-Wan: I’m sorry, Master. I only turned my back on him for a minute.

Covering the mouthpiece of his comlink, Obi-Wan muffled a grunt as Sabé squirmed down, another inch of his cock vanished inside her pink little pussy.

Qui-Gon: Did you see which way he went?

Obi-Wan: Um, no, Master. He managed to knock out the sensors before he left the ship.

Eirtaé giggled and fingered herself over Obi-Wan’s head, letting the juices drip down into his face.

Qui-Gon: And you’re sure there is nothing left onboard?

Obi-Wan: A few containers of supplies, the Queen’s Handmaidens, maybe…

Sprawled out naked on Obi-Wan’s bunk, the handmaidens smiled at Obi-Wan provocatively… Rabé extended her tongue invitingly several inches as she licked at his swollen balls, hanging against Sabé’s firm ass.

Obi-Wan: (Amused) Not enough for you to barter with, probably.

Qui-Gon: Another solution will present itself.

Qui-Gon looked at Padmé sceptically as he turned off the comlink.

Qui-Gon: What was that the boy was saying about Market Street?

Padmé: Oh, him? Nothing. Just slave talk. I wasn’t paying attention.

Qui-Gon: Oh. Well, why don’t you go get us something to eat. That store over there appears to be selling things we would find edible.

Padmé glared at him for a moment until she realized that the store Qui-Gon was indicating was, in fact, the one Anakin had suggested to her. With a quick sarcastic smile, she turned on her heel and headed away.

The shopkeeper was a horrific alien monster. As Padmé approached, she heard several of the alien’s clients referring to ‘her’ as Gorgmonger. The main store front seemed to stock assorted local animals hanging on hooks, ready to be butchered. Some tanks carried more exotic living creatures. Beyond the food area, there was a dark doorway into another part of the shop. Padmé started to walk toward the door.

Gorgmonger: Gooza dub womba ugktak, Ot-shez. (No peeking, bitch. You look, you pay!)

Padmé: I’m sorry, I am a stranger here. I don’t understand what you are saying.

Gorgmonger: Grunda dun uftak, wooz. Truguk duz hava shizeh. (What the fuck are you saying, whore? You got the money or not?)

An unfinished protocol droid stumbled forward from the side of the building.

C3P0: Excuse me, ma’am. Perhaps I may be of assistance here. I am C3P0, Human-Cyborg relations. I am familiar with 6 forms of communication, one of them being basic, and one of them being Huttese. I would be happy to translate for you.

Padmé: Six languages? That’s it?

C3P0: Well, my Master hasn’t completed my programming as of yet. He just managed to get me operational, really. I am working for Madam Gorgmonger at the moment and waiting for my Master to arrive from work.

Padmé: Whatever. I want to go in the shop. Depending on what I find, I may be buying.

C3P0 translated for Padmé to Gorgmonger. The large alien screamed several curses in Padmé’s direction but was interrupted by Jar Jar, who was pawing at one of the hanging pieces of meat. Apparently having grown tired of waiting for Padmé to bring back the food, he had decided to go himself. Taking advantage of the momentary confusion, Padmé crept into the darkened store interior.

Gorgmonger: Gruzza Dindke otto-gurma palwanka ga! (Fucking stalk-brain! Get away from my womprats!)

Jar Jar tried to look innocent as he sucked the long tail of the womprat into his mouth. Gorgmonger flew from around the table, surprisingly agile for a creature of her size. Grabbing Jar Jar in a fearsome grip she shook him until he spit out the rat. Then, she tossed the Gungan effortlessly against a wall. With a sickening thud he fell onto a table, scattering the lunches of several rough looking aliens. One of the aliens grabbed the Gungan by the eye and poked it with his claw.

Sebulba: Ni chuba na?? (Is this yours?)

Inside the dark store, Padmé let her eyes adjust for a moment. A security Bot was hovering nearby, it’s camera eye focused intently on her. Swallowing confidently, she started poking about. Against one wall were several stalls for patrons to sample some of the sale items. Another wall was a display case, packed floor to ceiling with a large range of decidely wicked merchandise. All illegal. Padmé smiled. Selecting one of the largest units on the case, she started for the stall. Suddenly, she stopped. Gaping upwards at an incredibly smooth and shiny device, hanging majestically on it’s own display stand, bathed in the soft warm glow of hololamps. She reached out slowly, as if in a trance. Her hands touched the nearly frictionless curves of the mother of all sexual aids. Designed and hand crafted by a group of Verpine scientists, who were later executed by the Republic, it glistened before her like a ghost ship. She put her hands around it and gently hoisted it from it’s holder. The weight was excellent. The balance was perfect. She made some trial jabs with it and smiled gleefully. This would do. This would most certainly do. She wanted to try it out. She wanted to feel it. She started for the stall but a sudden loud commotion outside got her attention.

Gorgmonger was screaming something and the droid was trying to translate too many languages. It sounded like it was going to short circuit. Suddenly, she heard Qui-Gon just outside the shop, trying unsuccessfully to use his Jedi Mind Trick on the crowd. The security Bot wavered for a moment, it’s focus suddenly on the doorway and the crowd outside. Padmé instantly dropped her pride and joy into her bag and took out the thermal detonator. Walking toward the door she casually thumbed the switch, checked to see if the winking red light was working, dropped it onto the floor and walked out.

Outside the store, Qui-Gon was trying, unsuccessfully, to dislodge Sebulba’s sex organ from Jar Jar’s ass.

Jar Jar: How wude! Mesa doen nutten!

The crowd was gathered about jostling and shoving and trying to do a hundred things at once. Gorgmonger had already torn several patrons to pieces in a rage as she tried to get between Qui-Gon and Jar Jar. Shouting that it was all a mistranslation, the protocol droid was pushed aside and trampled over. From out of the crowd came Anakin, kicking his way through customers and whining about his droid. Heaving the protocol droid as best he could, Anakin dragged C3P0 across the street. Reactivating him, he helped C3P0 stand back up.

Anakin: What the fuck are you doing?

C3P0: Master Anakin! I’m so glad you are here! An awful misunderstanding has occurred. You see I was—

Anakin: Not now, ‘3P0. Tell me later. Get home and tell mom I may be a little late. I need to get my money from Gorgmonger.

C3P0: Of course, Master Anakin. As you know I am quite capable of—

Anakin ignored the droid and ran back across the street to the front of Gorgmonger’s store.

Anakin: Grubba don truguk shaz? (Hey, my money?)

Gorgmonger screamed in fury, waving her arms at the chaos of her store and pointed at Anakin.

Gorgmonger: Hunsa bon hecko?! Geeza shen con-jugal droid! Gremplek du haffa!! Shen viz Otmunga!! (Are you insane? Your damn droid has fucked my world! Look at this mess?)

Anakin: It’s not my fault! I told you he only speaks six languages! And well, not all that well, really. I had to program him myself!!

Suddenly, Qui-Gon was able to get a solid grip on Sebulba and pulled the beast off of Jar Jar, a thick slimy stream of orange goo connected Jar Jar’s asshole to Sebulba’s dangling cock. With a satisfied smirk, Sebulba landed gracefully on the ground and, giving the finger to Anakin, he sauntered off into the crowd.

Jar Jar: Mesa hate crunchen. Dat's da last ting mesa wanten.

Anakin: You picked a fight with a Dug. An especially horny Dug named, Sebulba.

Anakin helped Jar Jar to his feet as the Gungan tried to get his pants back up. They were torn in several places. Orange goo was everywhere.

Gorgmonger was screaming something and looking away as Padmé sidled up to Qui-Gon. With a jolt of surprise she recognized Anakin.

Padmé: You?!

Anakin: Hey, bitch.

Padmé: You’re a funny little boy. I bet you have a funny little dick.

Anakin: Better than that ramrod you got in your bag, whore.

Qui-Gon: I think we should leave here immediately.

Padmé: I agree.

Qui-Gon gave her an irritated look as if he didn’t believe her.

Padmé: Really. I do.

Anakin: Wait! My money!

Qui-Gon: Enough of this. It is time to go. Jar Jar, Padmé, let’s collect the R2 and go.

Padmé: (Looking knowingly at Anakin.) Why don’t you hang out here and wait for your money?

Anakin looked thoughtfully at Qui-Gon for a moment and then at Padmé.

Anakin: I’ll get it later. I think I’ll hang out with you guys for a while. Show you around. Unless you want me to tell Gorgmonger to run an inventory check.

Padmé: Why don’t you do that, slaveboy. I’ll just wait over there.

Padmé immediately began moving away from the store with considerable haste to catch up with Qui-Gon. Anakin looked at Gorgmonger and then at Padmé. With a shrug he took off running after Qui-Gon just as Gorgmonger’s store exploded in a violent burst of shrapnel. Gorgmonger’s screams echoed through the streets as well as several onlookers amongst the crowd.

Within a few minutes of wandering through the dusty streets, Jar Jar began to complain of being hungry. Even Qui-Gon was growing tired of his moaning and groaning. Turning suddenly on Anakin, Qui-Gon waved his hand in front of the boy’s face.

Qui-Gon: You. Slaveboy. Where do you live?

Anakin: What? Why?

Qui-Gon looked at his hand for a moment, surprised. Shaking it as if it were broken he tried it again.

Anakin: What the fuck is your damage?

Padmé exchanged a rather startled look with Qui-Gon as well. Anakin looked from the girl to the old man and back to the girl. Shrugging, he waved his own hand at the market place as if inviting them to continue walking. Padmé looked at Qui-Gon as they walked along.

Padmé: What is wrong? Can’t you make it work?

Qui-Gon: Of course I can make it work. Sometimes it just doesn’t. It must be that boy.

Padmé: Are you sure?

Qui-Gon waved his hand in front of Padmé’s face, telling her that she would really like to fondle his cock for a moment under his robe. Without a blink, Padmé’s hand went under the Jedi’s robe, she squeezed his cock and balls gently for a few moments.

Qui-Gon: You love my cock.

Padmé: I love your cock.

Qui-Gon: You’d love to suck it.

Padmé: I’d love to suck it.

Nodding with satisfaction, Qui-Gon continued walking. Anakin had watched the entire exchange thoughtfully as he walked by Qui-Gon.

Qui-Gon: So, Slaveboy. Do you have a name?

Anakin: (sarcastically) Yeah. It’s Slaveboy. What’s yours?

Qui-Gon: I am Qui-Gon Jinn. I am, uh, a navigator on a spice freighter.

Anakin: Uh huh. So’s my daddy. I’ve heard that before. My name is Anakin. My home is around the corner. You guys want to eat there and stay the night? You can meet my mom, Mister. You look like you’d probably like that. Besides, if you and your bunch get caught in a sandstorm they won’t find your bones ‘til the sequel.

Padmé: I don’t know…

Qui-Gon: Thank you, young man. That is very thoughtful of you.

Anakin: Thoughtful my ass. I need some time to work on my podracer without my mom around, and YOU are gonna show her a good time. Get the picture?

Qui-Gon: What are you implying?

Anakin glared at him for a moment and playing a hunch, waved his hand in front of the old man’s face.

Anakin: You’re gonna fuck my mom. OK?

Qui-Gon: I’m going to fuck your mom. OK?

Anakin: Sure. You bet. Go for it. C’mon. My house is this way.

Padmé looked at the two of them, completely stunned, and not a little worried. She caught Qui-Gon’s gaze, but he didn’t seem to realize what had just happened. The group turned the corner and entered the house that Anakin gestured them toward.

Later that evening, the group sat around the ramshackle table in the Skywalker hovel. Shmi had managed to scrape some leavings from a local refuse vat and had spun it into a questionable looking soup. She dished the contents of her pan onto each of their plates.

Qui-Gon tried to look cheerful, but gave up in disgust.

Qui-Gon: This smells like shit.

Shmi: Yes. It is.

Jar Jar suddenly jerked his hand across the table, spilling his plate on the floor.

Jar Jar: Mesa...ooooh...aaaa.....clumsy.

C3P0 immediately moved from his place against the wall and started to clean up the mess.

Padmé: I noticed your droid. Did you build that?

Anakin: Yeah. It’s a protocol droid to ‘help’ mom. Now that your friend is here, though, I won’t be needing him.

C3P0 started in surprise, the broken pieces of plate shaking in his grip.

Anakin: Once he’s finished, I suppose I can sell him.

Padmé: Yeah, he could use a bit of work on his language skills.

Anakin (shrugging): Maybe.

Shmi: So what brings you to Tatooine?

Qui-Gon: (sniffing at the hovel) We’re not here by choice, I assure you. Our ship was damaged in an ion storm and we were forced to land and make repairs. Unfortunately, we don’t have the money to get the parts we need.

Shmi: What kind of repairs?

Qui-Gon: The hyperdrive was damaged. We need to replace the core.

Anakin: Maybe my MOM can HELP you with your ship, Qui-Gon. She can FIX anything. Right, mom?

Shmi: Now, Anakin. Don’t embarrass me. I only do odd jobs for Watto and fix a few of his machines. That is a far cry from major repairs on a starship.

Padmé: Is there anyone on this planet that can exchange credits for the local currency?

Shmi shook her head.

Shmi: No. Most of the local bars will accept credits as drink cozies, but that is about it.

Qui-Gon: There must be a way to barter here.

Shmi: Well, there is the slave market. That is popular.

Shmi pointed at Jar Jar who was leaning back too far in his chair, almost about to topple over.

Shmi: You won’t get that much for your friend there.

Qui-Gon hazarded a look in Padmé’s direction but when she felt him looking at her he quickly turned his head and smiled at Shmi.

Qui-Gon: So. How long have you been a slave?

Shmi: Since I was a young girl. My parents and I were traveling on our ship when it was attacked by pirates. My father was forced to watch as all of the pirates raped my mother and I repeatedly. Then my father was tortured and killed in front of us.

Qui-Gon: Must’ve been rough. So where is your mother now?

Shmi: She was sold as a whore to Jabba the Hutt years ago. He grew tired of her, though, and fed her to his Krayt Dragon.

Qui-Gon: This Jabba the Hutt sounds like he has a lot of clout. Do you think he could help us?

Shmi: Possibly. You’d have to have something pretty stunning, though, to get his attention.

Qui-Gon nodded his head thoughtfully.

Qui-Gon: I see, I see.

Padmé: Sounds like slavery is a good business here. But don’t you ever want to just run away?

Shmi: All slaves have an explosive locator chip planted somewhere within their bodies. Any attempt to escape and they will blow us apart. No questions asked.

Anakin: I think I found my locator chip, but I am having trouble getting it out. Maybe Qui-Gon can help you find yours, mom.

Shmi: Hush, Anakin. I don’t like that kind of talk.

Anakin: Mom, I’m finished. May I be excused?

Shmi: Sure Anakin. Why don’t you take ‘3P0 into the back and introduce him to that R2 unit? Perhaps he could download some language programs.

Anakin: Aww, mom. Do I have to? I wanted to meet Kitster and check out the spaceport bars and listen to the space pirates.

Shmi: Anakin. You can waste time with your friends when your chores are done.

Anakin: You always say that one of the biggest problems with this universe is that there is never a man around when you need one. Well, mom, I brought you a man. Can’t you cut me some slack?

Padmé: I’m sure Qui-Gon doesn’t want to make it with your mom—

Shmi: Anakin, take the girl and go play with Kitster. Off with you now. Go on. Scoot!

Smiling deviously at Qui-Gon, Shmi arched an eyebrow.

Qui-Gon: So. What’s it like being a slave?

Anakin and Padmé wandered along through the smokey streets of the drinking cluster of Mos Espa. Seedy characters were everywhere, lumbering about and heckling loudly to one another in a thousand languages. Padmé seemed nervous, but resolutely refused to let the boy see her scared. If he could go into a place like this, then she could, too.

Anakin: So where did you dig up that old fossil, anyway?

Padmé: Who? Qui-Gon? Hell if I know. He has been throwing it around since I met him. Says he’s a Jedi Knight. Says he’ll get me safely home. Says a lot of shit.

Anakin: Oh yeah? I’ve heard of Jedi. I dreamed I was a Jedi once. Fuckin’ pathetic. I’d rather be a podracer.

Padmé: Must be better than being a slave.

Anakin: Up ahead is where we hang out the most. A lot of Corellians frequent this dive called the Undertow. Just follow my lead. And don’t say anything. Your liable to get your smart mouth shot off with a blaster bolt.

Padmé: (changing the subject) That locator you were talking about? You said you found it? Aren’t you worried about tripping it and getting blown up?

Anakin: Not really. Once it is out, I’ll be safe. I’ll try and find a way to slip it into Watto’s pipe or something.

Padmé nodded.

Padmé: So. Where is it?

Anakin: Why do you want to know?

Padmé: Maybe I can help you get it out.

Anakin: And why would you do that?

Padmé: I would help you if you would help me. I don’t really have a lot of faith in my Jedi Protector. I have a feeling he is walking into trouble and couldn’t find his ass with both hands and a hydrospanner. So maybe you and me can figure out a way to get off this planet together. Maybe one of your Corellian friends would help you out.

Anakin: Why would they do that?

Padmé: Perhaps they might want to spend some time with me? I can make it worth their while.

Anakin: I don’t know. What are you, fourteen? You’re too old. These guys consider me in the senior circuit. They haven’t fondled me since I could put two sentences together. If the slavers found out I was getting buggered on the side, they’d hang their cocks out on Boonta Eve.

Padmé: There must be a way.

Anakin: Sure. Maybe if we trade you and your twin sisters in as slaves, we’d have enough money to bribe these pilots into taking us for a ride.

Anakin rolled his eyes, but stopped when he noticed Padmé’s thoughtful gaze.

Anakin: What?

Padmé: How many slaves did you say we would need? Three?

Anakin: At least. Now shut up and let me do the talking.

They entered the Cantina and waited until they could see. Gathered around the bar were Corellian pirates, all wearing the same outfit. Tight blue jeans with red or yellow piping up the sides, cut off dirty white collarless shirts, and black vests. All wore blasters on their hips. Anakin looked around for a familiar face.

Anakin: Over there. Yeah. I think he’s the one I spoke with the other day. Go over and introduce yourself. Tell him little orphan Annie sent you. I’ll meet you outside in a couple hours.

Padmé: "Little orphan Annie." Gotcha.

Anakin smirked and wandered over to another table. He tried to get the attention of the squabling space pirates but they ignored him.

Pilot 1: Hey shitfly. You stand still too long and I’m liable to smell you. Why don’t you blow out of here.

Anakin: Hey, Ace. The only thing I know about blowing I learned from your daddy.

The pilots laughed and tussled the boy’s hair.

Pilot 2: Alright kid. What is it this time? Space battles over Tatooine again?

Anakin: Nope. I’m looking to hire one of you. I need me a mealticket offworld ASAP. Gonna become a star pilot for the Republic.

Ace: Uh huh. The Republic could use a hot pilot your size. They seem self destructive enough.

Pilot 2: Kid. You need money to hire us. And last time I checked, you were a filthy fucking slave with nothing but shit in your pockets. What’d you do? Discover water or something?

Anakin: Nope. There is a big race tomorrow on Boonta Eve. I am entered in the podrace. With the winnings, I can afford to buy a ticket. I just need to leave right after the race. I may be in something of a hurry.

Ace: Kid, if you actually win that race and don’t get yourself smeared into Beggar’s Canyon, I’ll personally lick your ass. But to get a ticket offworld you need 5,000 truguks or 20,000 Republic Credits.

The pilots all started to laugh.

Anakin: 20,000 credits? Deal. Where is your shipped docked?

Ace: Don’t piss me off, kid. It was funny. Now it’s annoying. I’m in Docking Bay 94. You keep wasting my time and I’ll cook your hide against it’s walls on my way out.

Anakin: OK, OK. I’m going. But remember the deal. I’ll be there tomorrow night.

Anakin ran out before the pilot could slap him.

Padmé strode up to the young pilot seated at the bar. He didn’t look up from his drink.

Padmé: Little orphan Annie.

He didn’t even flinch. Taking a long drink from his mug, he drained it and ordered another round.

Padmé cleared her throat and said the code phrase more loudly.

Padmé: LITTLE ORPHAN ANNIE.

The bartender looked her over and pointed to a door next to the bar. It was labeled in a strange script that Padmé didn’t recognize. The bartender spit in a mug and wiped it with his apron, nodding toward the door again with a warning grimace.

Padmé nodded and opened the door, inside it was all dark. She couldn’t see anything. Suddenly, she heard a voice.

Voice: Come in. Shut the door.

Padmé obeyed.

Voice: Sit down.

Before Padmé could as where to sit, a glimmer of light shone down from the ceiling highlighting a single chair in the midst of the room. She sat in it.

Voice: Little orphan Annie?

Padmé: That’s me.

Voice: I thought you’d be younger.

Padmé: I am. I am wearing make up. I like to look older.

Voice: I see. Stand up.

Padmé stood up.

Voice: Turn around. Slowly.

Padmé turned around, slowly.

Voice: Dance for me.

Padmé: Dance?

Voice: Do it slowly.

Padmé began to awkwardly swivel her hips slowly. Imagining music in her head she closed her eyes and tried to move as rythmically as she could. She could hear the breathing of the person now. It was getting heavier. Faster.

Voice: Your clothes. Take them off. Do it slowly.

Padmé began to unfasten the tight bindings in her legs, unraveling them slowly. It was taking a while. Panaka had taken every meter of the medical bandages from the ship’s first aid kit to make her outfit.

Finally, she managed to expose one leg and half of the other.

Voice: Your breasts. Show them to me. Do it slowly.

Padmé slowly lifted her tunic over her head, removing it. Her nipples were getting very erect.

Voice: More. Show me more. Do it slowly.

Padmé continued to unwind the bandages until a large pile appeared on the floor next to the chair. Standing naked in front of the voice she continued to slowly dance.

Voice: Now. Bend over. Show me your hot little ass.

Padmé turned around and bent at the hips, her legs splayed widely apart.

Voice: Now, finger that cunt, you little bitch.

Padmé stood up in shock, suddenly recognizing the voice.

Padmé: Oh my God!

A bright light suddenly glared in front of her, flooding the man and his desk. There, seated behind it in a comfortable black chair was her chief of security, Captain Panaka.

Panaka: That’s right.

Nestled in the raggedy sheets of Shmi’s sleeping mat, Qui-Gon brushed a bug from his naked shoulder. Shmi’s head lay nestled on his chest, tugging at his chest hair as if she had never seen anything like it before. Occassionally, Shmi would lift the scant covering from Qui-Gon’s cock and stare at it in fascination. Qui-Gon rolled his eyes for the hundredth time. Trying to get her attention off of his cock and what would undoubtedly lead to yet another fuck session, Qui-Gon attempted pillow talk.

Qui-Gon: So. Your son sure is an interesting boy.

Shmi: Yes. He is. You’re cock is sooooo big. I’ve never seen one that big.

Qui-Gon: Your son seems to have good luck. He’s always in the right place at the right time.

Shmi: Yes. He does. Do all men have penises this big?

Qui-Gon: Tell me about your son. Who was his father?

Shmi: There was no father.

Qui-Gon: So he’s a bastard?

Shmi: Basically.

Qui-Gon: (Almost to himself) Why am I not surprised?

Shmi: It’s getting hard again. Do you want me to suck it?

Qui-Gon: It is getting a little sore… And those strange discolorations on the shaft are worrying me. Why don’t we…

Shmi started to cry.

Shmi: My son showed you into our home. I fed you what scant food we had to offer. And like a typical man you come up into my room and fuck the shit out of me and the first thing you want to do is leave. Fine. Be like all the others. Complain about your sore cock and run like a coward. Fuck you. Who needs you, anyway.

Qui-Gon tried to get from amongst the rags but found the woman was clinging to him with surprisingly strong arms. Shmi moaned again and again and wailed at him, her tears glinting in her eyes, and dripping onto his chest. She was so pathetic. So lonely. And she was crawling with bugs.

Qui-Gon leapt to his feet!

Qui-Gon: Jesus Christ! Your pussy is full of MAGGOTS!

Shmi: Oh my god. Really? You don’t say? Holy shit you ARE new at this aren’t you? Those are the latest development in spermical treatment. Those little suckers will eat every last drop of sperm inside me and then die of starvation. I’ll spew them out on my next menstrual cycle. Works like a charm. You think I want another little brat? I can barely feed the one I’ve got.

Qui-Gon shook his head and tried again to pull himself forcefully from her grip. Shmi wouldn’t have it. Gripping his enormous cock with both hands she started pulling it inch by inch toward her ass.

Shmi: It is so big. Please. Let me feel it up there. Please. Make it hurt.

Qui-Gon: Look. It’s been fun. Really. But I need to get back to my ship.

Shmi: Don’t go, please… I’ll help you get your money. I’ll do whatever it takes. Please. Just do this one thing for me. Please?

Qui-Gon grudgingly lowered himself back down into the filthy rags.

Out in front of the Cantina, Anakin waited for Padmé. She appeared shortly, disheveled and with a strange look on her face. Most of her leg bindings were gone, leaving her dressed in only her tunic, belted around her waist, which barely managed to cover her pubic hair. She said nothing to Anakin as they made their way back to the hovel. When they arrived, they found Jar Jar asleep under the table and the droids deactivated and plugged into the recharger. Shrugging, Anakin showed Padmé his room and pointed to a somewhat dry corner where she could sleep. The floor was covered with crunchy dried towels. The room smelled funny.

Padmé: What the hell is that smell?

Anakin: Most likely it’s me. Like I said, I’ve been trying to find my locator for a while. When I found it I tried getting it out on my own. I tried and tried and tried, but I couldn’t get it out.

Padmé: Where is it?

Anakin: It’s in my left testicle. I was hoping that by jerking off I could force it out along with the sperm. But even cumming several dozen times a day, I haven’t been able to get rid of it.

Padmé: That’s disgusting!

Anakin: So’s being a slave, bitch. But that time is at an end. At least for me. Speaking of which, how did your meeting go, anyway?

Padmé: Wonderful. No problems.

Anakin looked shocked.

Anakin: Really? No shit? You said the code phrase, ‘"Little orphan Annie" sent you?’ Right?

Padmé: Um, sure. Yes. I did.

Anakin: Wow. Well, um, great. A deal’s a deal. I got you yours, now it’s time for you to get me mine.

Padmé: What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

Anakin: Simple. You are gonna help me get my locator out. You said you would.

Padmé: How am I supposed to do that?

Anakin: Do I have to draw you a fucking map? That ramrod you stole from Gorgmonger will help. I think what I need is a REALLY good orgasm. Nothing sparks an orgasm better than exciting the prostate. I think your ramrod oughta do the trick. And you can handle the rest with your smart little mouth.

Padmé: Bullshit. I am NOT going to swallow that fucking thing.

Anakin: Spit, swallow, I don’t give a shit. I just want it out. Now, let’s get busy. Tomorrow is gonna be a big day.

Qui-Gon awoke the next morning with a bad taste in his mouth and the sunlight in his eyes. There was a strange sighing sound coming from close by and a whipping sound. It took him a few moments to remember where he was. That information made him want to go back to sleep. The strange sounds continued. Looking from side to side, he tried to see where they were coming from. Nothing was there except for Shmi, and from her mouth came the sighing sounds, as if she was having a pleasurable dream. Rolling his eyes, Qui-Gon leaned up on his elbows, pushing Shmi off of his chest and found himself looking square into Jar Jar’s face. The Gungan was using his exceptionally long tongue to flick in and out of his mouth, each time devouring some of the maggots spilling out of Shmi’s pussy. Reaching out faster than the eye could follow, Qui-Gon grabbed the Gungan’s tongue. Pulling it hard from Jar Jar’s mouth, he waited for it to almost snap, then he released it smacking back into the Gungan’s face. Maggots flew all over the Gungan’s head.

Qui-Gon: Don’t do that again. If you are hungry, go eat some shit. Where are the others?

Jar Jar: Them outside. They fixin’ pod. Told me ‘come in here and distract yousa.’

Qui-Gon: Oh. Did they indeed? We don’t have time for this.

Qui-Gon got out of bed and pushed roughly at Shmi.

Qui-Gon: Good morning. Your son is out fucking with his pod. Time for you to make good on your promise. You are going to help me get my money.

Shmi: Very well. We should speak with Jabba. I will call Watto and get him to set it up.

Shmi eyed Qui-Gon’s enormous cock again, appreciatively.

Shmi: I am pretty certain you will be just what Jabba is looking for.

Gathered around the broken down podracer, Anakin was introducing his guests to his friends. Padmé tried her best to avoid touching any of them. She didn’t feel too well. As Anakin worked, Qui-Gon and Shmi came down from the slave areas. Shmi smiled happily at Anakin, a radiant glow about her. Anakin waved at her.

Anakin: Hi mom. Just working on my podracer.

Shmi: That’s so wonderful, Anakin.

Anakin: And mom, I am gonna be in the Boonta Eve race this afternoon.

Shmi: That sounds like fun, Anakin.

Anakin: And mom, Watto told me Jabba wanted you and me to be in a new snuff movie. He says he is going to sell us both for a new vaporator.

Shmi: Be brave. Don’t look back.

Anakin: Don’t worry, mom. I won’t.

Shmi: Mr. Qui-Gon and I need to head into the market for a while. We won’t be long. Have fun with your friends.

Jar Jar wandered over to the pod and began pawing at it curiously. The turbines looked very sharp, but just to be sure, he slipped out his tongue and sliced it along the edge of one of the blades. Blood spurted from his mouth, as he reached up to grab his tongue.

Jar Jar: Ouch-dats muy bigo Oucho.

Spinning around, he fell into the path of the brightly flickering energy binders. With a smell of burnt flesh, he was flung away from the pod into a stone wall. Shuddering violently for a moment, his body was then still.

C3P0: You know, I find that Jar Jar to be rather stupid. Even for an organic. Disgusting creature.

R2D2 beeped in agreement.

Kitster: Wow, a real Astro Droid... How'd you get so lucky?

Anakin: You think that’s cool? (Pointing at Padmé) Check out my new whore.

Amee: Your whore??? Was she able to find your dick, Anakin? Lord knows I couldn’t.

Anakin: (Ignoring Amee) That isn’t the half of it. I'm entered in the Boonta Race!

Amee: Oh? You’re mommy know about that, Annie? I figured she’d be too busy sucking off your new pal to give a shit.

Kitster: What? With this??

Wald: Annie, Jesko na joka. (You are such a joke, Annie.)

Anakin gave Wald a not so subtle glare. Wald turned away and wandered off.

Amee: You've been working on that thing for years. It's never going to run. You’d have better luck flying your balls through Beggar’s Canyon.

Anakin: That’s it, bitch!

He holds up his fingers in a claw, Amee doubled over choking and gasping.

Anakin: Cool. It worked!

Seek: Uh, come on, let's go play ball.

Seek tried tugging at Amee’s lifeless corpse, but had to give up.

Seek: Keep it up, Annie, and you're gonna be bug squash!

Anakin gave Seek a menacing glare and started to lift his fingers. Seek tripped over Amee’s body as he and Wald fled.

Padmé: Look, I need to make a call. Mind if I use your comlink?

Anakin: Sure. Make it collect. We’re not made of money. OK, Kitster. Let’s get this thing over to the hangar.

Padmé entered the hovel and blew the dust off of the mouthpiece. Punching in some numbers, she waited for the other side to connect.

Padmé: Obi-Wan?

Obi-Wan: This is Obi-Wan. What can I do for you, young handmaiden.

Padmé: Cut the shit. I don’t have time. Look, I need you to run an analysis on this sample I am sending you. I need a pregnancy test.

Obi-Wan: One moment. Alright. Go ahead.

Padmé stood on a chair in front of the comlink and, spreading her legs, urinated onto the transciever.

Obi-Wan: Sample received. Test is… Negative.

Padmé: Thank God. Disgusting.

Obi-Wan: This is odd though, I am getting some strange readings on the sperm in the sample. The midichlorian count is off the scale. Amazing. Is this Qui-Gon’s?

Padmé: As if! No. Just some local fuckstick. No one important. Look. Let me talk to my, er, the Queen. Quick.

In a moment the face of the Queen appeared on the screen.

The Queen: Yes, Padmé?

Padmé: Look. I need you to do something for me. I want Eirtaé, Sabé, and Rabé to meet me at the Boonta Eve race today. It is in the arena just south of the town near the ship. They can’t miss it. Arches, flags, and plenty of shit trails to follow. I need YOU to distract that Jedi and keep him onboard.

The Queen: Of course, Padmé. There is a message from home? Do you wish to hear it?

Padmé: No, no, I’m too busy. Just tell them the usual shit, you know. "Good luck, keep fighting, don’t give up." Blah blah blah. You know the drill. Look, I have to go now. Get that message out, and take care of that Jedi. Padmé out.

Qui-Gon took a moment to look about at the fortress of Jabba the Hutt. The security looked tight, but nothing he couldn’t handle if he needed to make a quick exit. Straightening his tunic, he strode forward.

Qui-Gon: I have an appointment with His Excellency, Jabba the Hutt. Let me enter.

The Gamorrean Guard sniggered and coughed a reply, but opened the gate. Qui-Gon entered and made his way along the corridor as Shmi had directed. Coming to some large stone steps, he ascended them into the main parlor of Jabba the Hutt’s throne room. Standing in front of the dias, he was able to see the Hutt for the first time.

Qui-Gon: Your excellency. Your flatulence astounds even me, and I have been inside the worst shitholes on Kessel.

Jabba: Kollo wampa durros klim’nik dranga shaza wohpee. (Watto said you had a sense of humor.)

Qui-Gon: As I expected, you only speak Huttese. I, of course, cannot understand a word you are saying. Therefore, I will assume you can’t understand me either. Your mouth reminds me of the cankerous pussy slit of a diseased Yakface.

Jabba: Ugtuk moto grubba fanga wah. Sheeza doh h’sha bona wonga. (This is going to be fun. I haven’t made a Jedi squeal like a Bantha in a long time.)

Qui-Gon: Same to you.

Jabba: Gronga shurlik nonpa tralpa. Jussa neg’lit howsa mootee. (Gronga, show this little whore the back door. And don’t give him any lubricant.)

Qui-Gon: I don’t have time to continue pretending to be interested in what you have to say. I was told you were looking for someone with my skills, and here I am. This is what I have to offer.

Qui-Gon lifted his tunic and unbuckled his belt. As his pants dropped, the eyes of the entire chamber followed them down, and they all in turn boggled at what had been hidden within. As they watched, the Jedi Master started to rub his cock, pumping it up nice and hard. It stood out a bright red and was fully erect.

Jabba: Porsa fornga vanga dwongo! Lipee suck’nes rewoota mungee!! (What the fuck is that? Waving that thing around in here? You think you’re some kind of porno star or something?)

Qui-Gon: Anyway. Let’s get this show on the road. My price is 70,000 truguks.

Jabba: Hurp dergurga L’pnick gashag. Res’pik noo dongi loopa burz. (I think I have an position for you, Human. It just opened up, and I think you’ll fit in nicely.)

Outside the Arena, Padmé shifted from foot to foot nervously. Finally, she caught sight of her handmaidens approaching. They all looked terrified and were covered with grit and sand.

Eirtaé: Your Highness! My god! This place is horrid! How can you stand it? The smell. The creatures!

Sabé: I barely managed to shake off two of those Jawa-things. They kept trying to put a collar around my neck!

Rabé: I broke a heel on my boot!

Padmé: I am sure this has been a tremendous strain on all of you, but at the moment, I don’t really give a shit. I have an old friend that I want you to meet, and then I need to run some errands for a while. I may be gone a long time, so I want you to stay with this old friend and do as he says. OK?

The handmaidens looked at one another nervously. Slowly, they began to nod.

Rabé: We obey, Your Highness.

Sabé: We are brave, Your Magesty.

Padmé: I knew I could count on all of you. Now. This way.

Padmé led them to a deserted alleyway and quickly checking from side to side, she led them down it. Coming to the end, there was a large door that was sealed shut. Padmé keyed the switch with her palm and the door opened to complete darkness. Leading the others inside, Padmé went in.

Eirtaé: No one to meet us?

Rabé: I don’t like this!

Padmé: What would you like? Look. Wait here. I am going to meet my friend, and I’ll be right back.

Sabé: Yes, Highness.

Suddenly, a light shone down from the ceiling, highlighting an area in front of an inner door. The door opened and Captain Panaka strode in.

Padmé: You see? My friend.

Panaka: Very good, Padmé. Very, very good. I believe this is what you required?

Captain Panaka handed over a large leather bag. It felt heavy. Padmé quickly opened it and checked inside. The handmaidens saw a faint golden glow enshrouding her face.

Panaka: We’re good?

Padmé: Yes. We’re good. Fucking great. OK. I gotta jet. Ladies. Wait here for me, please, and enjoy the company of our good Captain Panaka.

With a nod, Padmé keyed open the large door again, and left.

Captain Panaka rubbed his hands together with a large grin.

Panaka: So. Who’s in the mood for a sandwich?

Anakin was in the hangar putting the final touches on his podracer when Sebulba approached him.

Sebulba: Chuba!! Ni chuba na?? Tooney rana nu pratta dunko, shag. Una noto wo shag, me wompity du pom pom. Bazda wahota, shag. Dobiella Nok. Yoka to Bantha poodoo.

Anakin: Cut the shit, ‘Bulba. That may impress your whores, but it bores the shit outta me.

Sebulba: (switching to Basic with a mild shrug) I was just thinking what a shame it would be for a young man like yourself to come to such an unfashionable end. Imagine yourself, encrusted on the wall of rock, your charred body at one with the stone.

Anakin: Not this time, Seahorse. This time I’m gonna win. See this pod? It’s the fastest ever. And it’s all mine. And with the money I win, I’m getting’ off this dustball. I’m going where the REAL action is. I’m gonna be a pilot for the Republic!

Sebulba: Whenever you’re done stroking yourself, little one. Reality says today is the last day of your pitiful little life. Unless you want to cut a deal with me.

Anakin: What kind of deal?

Sebulba: Perhaps I can get you the price of your ticket. You just put on a good show, and stay behind me and you won’t get hurt. You do things your way, you will definitely being leaving the planet, in pieces. Do things my way, and you will be a rocketsocks fighter pilot for the Republic. Do we have a deal?

Anakin: (Loudly) Throw the race? Are you insane!!!! (Then, very quietly so only Sebulba could hear) Sure. That sounds like a deal. I need the money up front, though.

Sebulba: Very well, Human. A wise choice. Meet me by my pod in 5 minutes. It will be waiting.

Qui-Gon met Anakin on his way to Sebulba’s pod in the hangar. Shmi was with him. Qui-Gon did not look at all well. His face looked flushed and he spoke with a slight stutter.

Qui-Gon: So, Slaveboy. Where are you off to?

Anakin: I have to meet someone before I throw the race.

Qui-Gon: I see. Very well, carry on.

Shmi: Anakin, I spoke to Watto. He won’t bet on you in the race. He has bet everything on Sebulba. Including you and I.

Anakin: Smart choice. Sebulba is going to win, I think. Qui-Gon, sir? Do you still have those Republic Credits?

Qui-Gon: Certainly right here, why?

Anakin waved his hand in front of Qui-Gon’s face.

Anakin: I thought you might like me to have them.

Qui-Gon: Actually, I thought you might like to have them.

Anakin: Wow. That’s great. Mom, look at all this worthless money we have.

Shmi: That’s so wonderful, Anakin. (Sarcastically) Now you can make your dreams come true.

The mother and son shared a brief round of laughter as Anakin took the stack of credits from Qui-Gon.

Anakin: Anyway, the smart money is on Sebulba, Mr. Qui-Gon, sir. If you still need those parts, that’s the best way to get the money.

Qui-Gon: I, um, have the money, actually. I am just on my way to see Watto to arrange the purchase of the parts.

Anakin: Whatever. I have to go. Time to throw the race, and all that. So long.

Sebulba was waiting for Anakin. In his hand was a small case of truguks. Anakin checked it and counted out the money. 5,000 truguks. Nodding, he shook the Dug’s foot and started off with his money. Sebulba’s Rutian twin whores appeared and invited Sebulba for a massage. When the Dug turned his back on him, Anakin took the small locator disk from his pocket and dropped it into Sebulba’s pod cockpit.

Anakin: Later, Slimo.

Shmi: Qui-Gon, sir. Do you like my son?

Qui-Gon: (startled) What?

Shmi: My son. Do you like him?

Qui-Gon: Well, sure. Maybe. He looks like an OK kid. Scrub some of the dirt off and stop feeding him shit for a month and he may start looking halfway decent.

Shmi: You won’t know it to look at him but he really does have a gift.

Qui-Gon: Gift? What gift?

Shmi: My son has a power. A power over people. He can do things. Say things. People listen to him.

Qui-Gon: What? Like a lawyer? Or an actor?

Shmi: He can see things before they happen. Change things. He only needs a chance. A chance to get away. If you could take him.

Qui-Gon: You want me, a total stranger, to take your only son away from you. On a starship. To another planet?

Shmi: He deserves better than a slave’s life.

Qui-Gon: I’m not so sure. But look, I don’t need a slave. I have one. Lots even.

Shmi: But, after all we have done? Isn’t that worth one more slave? Surely you could use a boy like him to clean up after you? To brush your hair? Iron your robes?

Qui-Gon: Really, I appreciate the offer, but no, OK? Now, fuck off already. I need to see your boss about some parts.

Without a glance, Qui-Gon left Shmi standing dejected outside the hangar.

Watto: And here as you can see is clearly writt’n in bold print: "As IS. Non-Warranteed. No RETURNS. Not guaranteed. Absolutely NO refunds. Deal is FINAL."

Qui-Gon: Yes, yes, sure. Whatever. Look, I need to get those parts to my ship. Can you spare someone to carry them over?

Watto: All my slaves are dead or busy. I have some eopies you can borrow. I’ll take your old generator core in trade for d’eir use fo’ one hour. Agreed?

Qui-Gon: Deal.

Qui-Gon signed the paperwork, gave his retinal print, and handed over all his money. Watto nodded and ordered the parts to be brought to the front for immediate delivery.

Thumbing on the comlink as he made his way to the ship, Qui-Gon waited for Obi-Wan to respond. Several minutes passed and there was nothing but static. Shaking the comlink, Qui-Gon tried again. No response. He was almost to the dune when he noticed billowing black smoke rising into the sky. Concerned, he started to ride his eopie ahead. A figure appeared at the edge of the sand dune, dazed, and staggering. The form eventually focused as his Padawan, Obi-Wan.

Qui-Gon: Obi-Wan! What happened?!!

Obi-Wan: That fucking bitch! She called home. Fucking called all night. I was asleep. The other bitches left sometime in the morning. I think she drugged me. I don’t know.

Qui-Gon: Obi-Wan! Slow down! What happened to the SHIP???

Obi-Wan: Attacked. I don’t know. The cunt was in the can and I had to piss, so I went outside to the dune. Next thing I know some fucking marauder came out of nowhere and started blasting it all to fuck. I barely managed to get out of sight. It’s fucking gone, man. Totally blown away. I started for the spaceport to find you.

Qui-Gon: Obi-Wan. Listen carefully. We have a SHITLOAD of USELESS fucking parts here and NO SHIP!!! The Queen is DEAD. We are STRANDED on this fucking PLANET!!!

Obi-Wan: Forgive me, Master. That fucking bitch. I told her "no calls!" But she didn’t listen. Fucking bitch…

Qui-Gon stopped listening as his eyes followed the blackened smoke into the sky.

Anakin stood outside the box waiting to place his bet. Handing over all the money Sebulba had given him as a payoff, Anakin bet on himself. The odds were a thousand to one. Everyone else was betting on Sebulba. After placing his bet, Anakin started back for the hangar. The race was about to begin. Anakin paused only long enough to make a quick call on a public comlink. It would take a while for Watto to get the message, but when he did, he was going to be VERY, VERY pissed off.

Padmé made her last sale to a horny Ithorian. The leather case, now empty, was cast aside as she counted out her truguks. Just over 5,000. There was enough there to get her back to Coruscant or wherever else she was going. She considered all the places where she could go, and decided that her best option was getting to the Republic Senate. If she couldn’t get them to help her get her job back on Naboo, maybe Senator Palpatine could use a new gopher. Padmé made her way back to the seedy Cantina from the night before. If she was lucky, she could still find a Corellian pilot willing to get her offworld tonight.

The crowds roared with expectation as the podracers pulled themselves into position.

Anakin casually stood taking a piss next to his podracer. Unconcerned that the other racers were already about to start without him. Pulling up his pants, and tucking in his tunic, Anakin sent a stream of snot from one nostril at one of the pit droids that was wandering near his pod. Putting on his helmet and flight gloves, he settled into his pod and relaxed. The secret to podracing was to not think about how stupid it was, how dangerous it was, and how probable it was that he would die doing it. The other secret was to masturbate before each race. He hadn’t had time to do it before but he certainly had the time now. Thinking hard about Sebulba’s blue whores, Anakin began to stroke his itchy penis.

From his box, Watto could entertain his friends and watch the race. He took his datapad from his bag and keyed open his bank listing. Then, as a final thought, he made sure that all of the bets were finalized. Today he was going to become extremely rich. With a blast of engine backfire, the podrace began. The crowd’s cheers almost drowned out the sound of the high pitched whines. Watto closed down the betting box numbers and opened the camera eye positions on the podracers. On his screen he could watch as Sebulba systematically would erradicate each of his opponents.

Satisfied, and properly adjusted for his race, Anakin wiped the streamy cum from his hand on the side of his podracer. Kicking over the drive, he flooded the engine of his podracer just as the starting signal went off. While all the other racers shot away, he calmly waited for a few moments so he could have a clear run at the course. Bored, he idly began to restart his engines. When they sputtered to life, sending out a reeking cloud of brown smoke behind him, he slammed the control sticks forward and shot away. Twisting around the first turn, Anakin couldn’t see any other pods. He knew where the cameras were that monitored the course, and he switched on his cockpit monitor to keep an eye on the other racers. As Anakin’s pod approached the extrememly dangerous Beggar’s Canyon, he pulled his usual stunt of flying over it, rather than through it. Within moments, he caught up to the stragglers at the end of the line of racers. Slowing down to comfortable and somewhat safe speed, Anakin followed them into the Arena area.

Watto was watching the race on his datapad when he noticed his message light blinking. "You got mail, huh," the Toydarian computer voice told him. Watto hit the "receive" button and waited for the message to load.

In the third and final turn of the course, Sebulba dispatched his last two ‘real’ competitors. Satisfied that Skywalker had kept a polite distance from him the entire race, Sebulba prepared to take the win.

Watto watched in surprise as an image of his slave, Anakin Skywalker appeared in a small holo image atop his datapad. He listened to the boy’s message.

Anakin: "Attention, Needledick. This is Anakin Skywalker, speaking. Remember that name, Cocksucker, because you’re gonna hear it a lot from now on. See, after the race – me and some buddies are stowing away on an ore ship and leaving Tatooine for good. Once outside the planet’s gravity well, your fucking locator chip won’t do you a lot of good and I’ll be a free man. You can take your slave’s life and shove it sideways, you buzzing little fuck. Next time you smoke some of that shit, think of me - I pissed in your pipe last night when you weren’t looking. I hope you get so much gas you fart your way into orbit. And you can tell my mom to fuck off, too. That fucking whore was gonna hand me over to some perverted old geezer. He probably would have used me in his next porno flick. You can tell him to lick my ass, too, while your at it, Chubby. Now, I have a race to win. Prepare to lose big time, Dicknose."

Watto howled in a rage and threw his datapad into the head of one of the audience. Looking around for Anakin’s pod, he couldn’t see it, only Sebulba’s pod about to cross the finish line.

Watto: Burn in Hell, you punk’boy bast’rd! I’ll shit on yer grave!!!!

Watto keyed in Anakin’s locator control code and slammed down the explosive control.

The audience screamed in terror as a sudden blast of shrapnel and flaming wreckage spilled across the Arena. The people in the cheap seats caught on fire.

Anakin collected his winnings in several large cases, placing them onboard a repulsor sled. Clean up crews were still working to scrape the residue of Sebulba and his podracer from the walls of Jabba’s arena. It would probably take at least a week of scrubbing to finish. Anakin opened one of the cases and took a handful of coins and dumped them in his pocket. Then he stored the cases and the repulsor sled in a secured lockshed near the Market Sector. Entering into a retail shop, he purchased some new clothing for his trip to Coruscant. The shop was Corellian, and so naturally the only available outfits were dark blue or black trousers with red or yellow piping down the legs, and off-white collarless shirts, black dewback leather boots and black vests. Anakin selected an outfit his size and changed. Disposing of his evil smelling slave rags, he paid the clerk and left. He made his way to the dingier, more decayed side of the Market Sector and found a particular nasty looking weapons shop. It was dark and hot inside. The cooler must have been broken. The one-eyed shopkeeper looked up from his datapad and gave Anakin a scowl.

Shopkeeper: Kids aren’t allowed in here. Go away.

Anakin: I’m not a kid, I’m a midget and my name’s Anakin. I need to buy a gun.

Shopkeeper: I’ll need to run a 10 year background check. Stand here and look into the retinal scanner.

Anakin: I just won the Boonta Eve podrace. I’m currently the richest human on Tatooine. Now I’m gonna hire a ship and leave for Coruscant to join the Republic Starfighter Corps. I don’t have time for a background check. You want to help me out, here, pal?

Shopkeeper: Sorry, mister. The Hutt’s aren’t too happy about all the violence lately. Any violence on this scrapheap has to come strictly from them and for their entertainment. If I just sell you a gun without running a background check, I’ll end up spending my last remaining days in a waste vat being shit on by Banthas.

Anakin: Fine. Scan me.

Padmé sat huddled in the corner of the Undertow Cantina trying to look inconspicuous. A pilot had agreed to meet her here for drinks and to finalize her passage to Coruscant. Scanning all the identically clothed Corellian smugglers, pirates, and mercenaries for the face she recognized she finally saw him entering the Cantina. He looked about for a moment and saw her at the table they’d agreed upon. He sauntered over with a strange smile on his face.

Ace: Well, honey. This is your lucky day. It just so happens that I am going to Coruscant. Tonight. And I have an empty seat. And it’s only gonna cost you 6,000 truguts.

Padmé: What? You said this morning that you’d do it for 5000.

Ace: Change of plans, sweetheart, and a change of price. What’d you expect? I’m a scoundrel.

Padmé: Dammit. I only have 5000 truguts. And you KNOW that!

Ace: As it happens, my dear, I’m feeling generous and we have a little while to kill before departure. I think we should fill that time discussing how you can best pay off that extra 1000 truguts.

Padmé: You can’t be serious.

Ace: Not usually, no. But I AM horny and you look like you have what it takes to make for a little party. What’dya say? You wanna leave Tatooine tonight with Captain Ace Azzameen, or stay here with your dignity intact?

Padmé: Fucking you won’t take my dignity, I lost that last night.

Ace: Fine then. Let’s head around back behind the Cantina. I have a spot all ready for us amongst the refuse containers.

Padmé: Sounds charming. Jesus. Let’s go.

Anakin stood on his tiptoes and looked into the scanner. There was a brief glow about his face and the shopkeepers computer began to slowly whir. When the screen flashed nothing on the screen for a few moments, the shopkeeper hit it roughly with his palm.

Shopkeeper: Goddamn thing is only going back 9 years. What the fuck?

Anakin: Look, I’m in a hurry here. Can’t we speed this up any?

Shopkeeper: Cool your jets, hotpants. Sometimes this takes a while. Goddamn thing.

The shopkeeper hit it again. Still nothing. Only 9 years were traced with nothing at all on file but several incidents of vandalism, two counts of rackateering, eleven counts of domestic disturbance, an unsettled child pornography case, three assaults with slaves that were cleared by the owners, nine counts of public lewdness, and four counts of underage drinking. Otherwise the customer was clean. Anakin started tapping several coins on the counter.
 

Anakin: Safe to assume I’m a fine human being and law-abiding citizen. Now, perhaps you could take these 100 truguts and hand me that Mer-Sonne 48 ‘heavy hitter’ blaster pistol?

Shopkeer: One moment.

Placing three fingers on three separate keys, the Shopkeeper restarted his screen, stood up and took the blaster down from the shelf.

Shopkeeper: This one’s pretty big for someone your size. You might want to start with a –

Anakin: I can handle this one just fine. Gimme a holster and spare blaster packs to go with it. How much?

Shopkeeper: I want 2000 truguts. For the gun. 500 truguts for the holster.

Anakin: I don’t have time to haggle. 2000 truguts is what I got. Deal?

Shopkeeper: You’d be robbing me blind, you little asshole. 2300 truguts or you can get back on your training swoop and ride on outta town.

Anakin: You’re already half blind. And don’t stand so close, your breath smells like a dirty twat. 2150 truguts, and I won’t tell my mom I found my daddy. She still wants that money she won in the paternity suit.

Shopkeeper: 2200 truguts and I’ll recommend a cosmetic surgeon that can add six inches to any part of you that you want. It looks like you could use it.

Anakin: 2200 truguts. That’s a deal. And don’t bother. I have a feeling I’m about to have a growth spurt.

Tying down the blaster holster around his right leg, Anakin checked out his reflection. He looked like a space pirate right out of the holothrillers. Smiling, he made his way back to his lockshed. It was almost evening, and the Suns had begun to fall low against the horizon. Anakin noticed a couple of sleek familiar forms being thrown out of a small cantina. It was the late Sebulba’s two Twi’lek whores, Ann Gella and her twin sister, Asa. A rich Rutian blue with their sets of sexy lekku. The bartender was kicking sand at them.

Bartender: Get the fuck out! I want my money for your tab before you get another drink.

Asa Gella: Please, we’re good for it, really. Just one more Guri Juice. We need a drink!

Bartender: You’ll get my boot across your asses. Get outta my sight!

Ann Gella: You need some entertainment? We’re available for parties. Gang bangs. Orgies. We’ll pack the place! My sister has never had it up the ass before, honest! Just one drink!

The bartender started to unzip his pants, pulling out a rather wrinkled and scrawny cock. He started pissing directly toward the twins. They spit at him in disgust and started to run away. Hurling another curse at them, the bartender strode back inside the dark cantina. Anakin approached the twins and gave them a closer looking over.

Ann Gella: I know you! You’re that human podracer! The one Sebulba paid off to lose.

Anakin: Someone might say you know too much. I would’ve lost, if Sebulba had taken better care of his pod. What a shame, it exploding so suddenly like that… And so near the end of the race, too. What else could I do? He’d killed everyone else.

Asa Gella: Yeah, Sebulba’s dead and we’re fucked. He never bothered to put our contracts into receivership so we have nothing. Our contracts with him are for another seven years. Who the fuck is gonna have the money to buy them?

Ann Gella: Word is that Watto has a contract out on you, kid. I’d get you and your fancy new duds out of Mos Espa for good.

Anakin: I’m doing better than that. I’m leaving Tatooine tonight. Who’s holding your papers at the moment?

Ann Gella: Gardulla is holding Sebulba’s property until they can sell it off.

Anakin: I think it’s time you ladies got a leg up in the world. I’m going to need someone to keep me company on Coruscant. Also I’ve been feeling pretty tense lately and I need some competent massage therapy. How’d you girls like to work for me?

Asa Gella: Tempting offer, halfpint. But you’re a slave. You can’t own anything.

Anakin: I’m a freeperson. Watto’s just pissed that he bet his ass and everything inside it on Sebulba and I won the Boonta Eve. Let me make a call to Gardulla and get things moving. Go pack up your shit and meet me at Docking Bay 94 in one hour.

Ann Gella: Might as well give it a shot. OK, kid, you got yourself some company. Don’t fuck it up.

Gardulla transferred the ownership of the Rutian twins to a "Mr. Qui-Gon Jinn" sight unseen. Anakin delivered the money to Gardulla’s contact and received the two contracts on a datacard. Their locator detectors had been reset and encoded onto a wrist unit. Anakin put on the wrist unit and had to hurry back to the lockshed for the rest of his money. He had only a few minutes to get to Docking Bay 94.

Padmé wiped the cum from her lower lip as Ace Azzameen zipped up his trousers. Coughing and gagging a few more moments, she then proceed to put her tunic back on. She didn’t even bother to pull it over her ass.

Ace: Well, little lady. I think you just got yourself a ticket. You got any luggage you want transferred to my ship? I got a buddy that’ll fetch it if you let him pop you one in the poop chute.

Padmé: Tempting, but no. I’m ready now. God, isn’t there anything to get this taste out of my mouth. Your cum is like bile.

Ace: I could piss in your mouth, if you’d like.

Padmé: No thanks. Jesus, I have to get my gag reflex back.

Padmé picked up a handful of sand and put it in her mouth, swished the spit and cum around then spit it all out.

Ace: That’s Corellian Nectar for you, sweetheart. Goes down smooth, if you swallow it. Otherwise it makes you want to puke. C’mon. The ship’s this way.

Guiding his repulsor sled, Anakin made the final turn through the streets of the Market Sector. Just ahead was the Corellian Quarter and beyond that were the Southern Docking Bays. He walked past the door of one of the hostels when he heard a voice from inside.

Bounty hunter 1: Hey! It’s Skywalker! Get HIM!!!

Bounty hunter 2: He’s mine, he’s mine!!! That little fuck!! Hahahaha!!!

Anakin kicked the repulsor sled with his money between two vaporators and dived behind a lounging dewback that was tied to a hitching post. Blaster bolts sizzled through the air all around him. The dewback reared up as it’s flesh was seared by dozens of powerful bursts of energy. With a mournful wail, it collapsed into the sand, it’s charred hide smoking and gouged by the bounty hunters’ guns.

Anakin: Now THIS beats podracing!! I could get into THIS!!! C’mon you fuckers!!! Let’s DANCE!!!!

Anakin dived to his left, drawing the extremely heavy blaster pistol from his holster and squeezing off several rounds at his assailants, onlookers, shopkeepers, pedestrians… Bodies fell everywhere, smoking from a dozen wounds. Carnage and blood spattered across the stone walls of the shops. Anakin squeezed the blaster trigger again and again loving the sound of the blaster bolts almost as much as he loved watching them flying through the air into the bodies of his enemies. It sent a rush through him that was as powerful as the orgasm that had popped his locator disk from his nutsack.

Anakin: Wooohoo! Take that! (b’ting!) and that! (b’zing!) Oh, you want some? (b’vang!) You want some of this? (gr’ting!) Oh, you, too? (kr’tang!) Don’t be shy, assholes, there’s more where that came from!! MUHAHAHAHA!!!! (g’ting! f’rzang! b’tonk!)

Bountyhunter 3: Jesus Christ!!!! The kid’s gotta fuckin’ turbolaser!!! Aahhhhh!!!!!

With a loud pop the bountyhunter caught a burst from Anakin’s gun right between his eyes, his head bursting from the pressure and heat. The other bountyhunters ducked for cover, most of them barely able to crawl, some were missing arms and legs.

Anakin: Where you goin’ ASSHOLES??? (c’zank!) Don’t you wanna party with a REAL man??? (d’ting!) Poke your head up again, and – (gr’tink!) FUCK YEAH!!! Gotcha dipshit!!!

The smoke started to clear and Anakin was suddenly the only one shooting. Everyone in the street was dead and the shops in front of him were burning out of control. With a quick look to each side, Anakin confirmed that he was alone. Slowly he blew the smoke from the barrel of his blaster and slid it into his holster. Retrieving the repulsor sled, he manuevered it to the Departure Sector.

Outside Docking Bay 94, Anakin showed his new slaves their contracts and the wrist control he wore that he could trigger at any time. They immediately smiled and began fondling him, bathing him with kisses and whispers of promised pleasures. Suddenly, Padmé appeared at the entryway and, catching sight of Anakin, she stormed toward him.

Padmé: I don’t fucking believe it.

Anakin: Believe it, bitch. I don’t even want to think of what you had to do to get the money for this trip. Must’ve been some truly repugnant shit.

Anakin started to guide his repulsor sled toward the entryway.

Padmé: What the hell do you think you’re doing?!!

Anakin: What is it look like I’m doing? I’m storing my stuff and getting my ladies bedded down for our trip to Coruscant.

Padmé: YOUR trip??? Are you inSANE?? This is my trip, you little freak!

Anakin: Is that the gratitude I get for helping you out? If it wasn’t for me, you’d be slaving it out under some anally congested Hammerhead, or playing ‘rubsies’ with Gardulla the Hutt.

Padmé: You fucked me over, you little shit. You ditched me at the Arena!

Anakin: Nice try, douchebag. Speaking of which, I’d use one, if I were you. You’re pussy’s starting smell ripe. You fucked me, and then fucked me over first. Now why don’t you go get cleaned up while I talk with my friend here and get us on our way. I’ve been attacked once already, and I’d rather not get blasted down this close to my flight from bondage.

Padmé was about to argue more when she caught the distinct movement of Anakin’s hand. With a heated glare she turned around, farted, and then walked up the ramp into the ship.

Anakin: OK, Ace. As promised. 20,000 Republic Credits.

Ace: Uh huh. And what about the money for your ‘guests’ here?

Anakin: Them? They’re my slaves, Ace. And you know damn well slaves aren’t people and I don’t have to pay for their passage. Here’s their contracts and their locator controller.

Ace: Now I’ve seen everything. Kid, I don’t know how the fuck you pulled this off. First the Boonta Eve race, and now this.

Anakin: Clean living, Ace. Now, if you’ll get your ass into the ship and get us on our way, I won’t make you lick my ass.

Ace: Hahaha. I’m starting to like you kid. You got some promise. C’mon. Store that shit in the back, and strap yourselves in. Next stop, Coruscant!

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan led Watto’s eopie back into Mos Espa. They were sharing the job of steering the repulsor sled carrying their now useless hyperdrive generator.

Qui-Gon: We’ll try selling this pile of shit back to Watto. With the money, we’ll get back to Coruscant.

Obi-Wan: How do you propose we do that? You said it was non-refundable?

Qui-Gon: This blue-skinned buzzing creature will agree, or I’ll put my foot up his ass. The negotiations will be short.

Obi-Wan: Yes, Master.

They came to the entrance of Watto’s shop to find that it had been closed and secured shut. There were signs across the door in several languages. In Basic, it read: "This premises has been closed for repossession by Hutt Collections, Ltd."

Obi-Wan: You were right about one thing, Master.

Qui-Gon: Mmm? What was that?

Obi-Wan: Hold on a minute, I’m thinking…

Qui-Gon: Very funny. If I’d wanted a laugh, I’d show you your birth certificate.

Obi-Wan: Master, perhaps one of the larger dealers?

Qui-Gon: Shut up. We’ll try one of the larger dealers. This way, Obi-Wan.

Qui-Gon lead the way into one of the larger parts dealers stores. The shop was huge with bright clean shelves of shiny new equipment. Everywhere they looked, polished droids were helping people select their items and others were cleaning parts and putting them on display. Almost immediately, a tall alien appeared wearing an orange work apron with a yellow smiley face button on the strap.

Salesperson: Can I help you, Gentles?

Qui-Gon: Yes. We’d like to sell this hyperdrive generator. It’s a model T-23.

Salesperson: Tsk, tsk. You know, we are overstocked on the T series hyperdrive generators at them moment. We just had a huge Boonta Eve sale on them. All priced to go. We were selling them two for one, for just 50 truguts a piece.

Qui-Gon gritted his teeth as a flush of blood colored his face. He let the anger flow through him.

Qui-Gon: Is there ANYONE that can use an almost new T-23 hyperdrive generator?!!!

Salesperson: Sorry. No. We can make you a deal on the repulsor sled and the eopie, though. I think my manager can pay, oh, 20 truguts for them? And I’ll dispose of your generator if you’d like.

Obi-Wan: Let’s go, Master.

Qui-Gon: On any other day, I would smile, say something pleasant and agree completely. This is not any other day. This is the worst day of my life. My ship was destroyed, I failed in my mission, and I am stranded on this godforsaken lump of shit of a planet with a pile of fucking useless parts and a sore dick. Now. I will ask you again. Is there ANYONE that can use a T-23 hyperdrive generator?

Salesperson: There is no reason to take that tone with me, Sir. Godforsaken lump of shit? This is my home. Now. We reserve the right to refuse service to anyone. Do I have to call the manager, or will you leave quietly?

Qui-Gon: Why you snot-oozing, pointed earred, little fuckwad. I’m gonna split you from your neck to your nuts!!!

Before Qui-Gon could draw his lightsaber, Obi-Wan grabbed him and pushed him from the store, leaving the parts behind.

Obi-Wan: Master! Stop! Remember Rakrir!!?? We spent six months incarcerated there when you lost your temper with that Bith bartender. We can’t afford bail this time, and no one knows where we are to come and help us out. Now, let’s just figure out what we are going to do here.

Qui-Gon: Yes, Obi-Wan. You are quite right. You are a much wiser man than I, and I foresee that you will become a great Jedi. Now get your fucking mitts off me, you uppity little prick! I was cutting down badguys as a Jedi Knight when you were just a twinkle in your mother’s eye. And where the fuck were you when our ship was blasted to hell, hmmm? Out draining your lizard - writing your name in the sand!! Now shut the fuck up and let me think.

Qui-Gon: We have two alternatives. Neither one is very attractive. There is someone on this planet that may be able to help us. On the other hand, they may not want to give us the time of day. The other alternative is that we go see that Jabba the Hutt and I try and resume my acting career.

Obi-Wan: I don’t want to deal with a Hutt, Master. Who is this person that might be able to help us?

Qui-Gon: Hmmm. Well, I’d rather not say right now. C’mon. Let’s steal a speeder and check it out. Maybe we’ll get lucky. If we hurry we can get there before nightfall.

Qui-Gon piloted the speeder quickly over the blowing dunes out beyond the bounds of the small desert town of Anchorhead. Obi-Wan had tried to ask his Master questions to find out where they were going, but so far Qui-Gon had remained secretive and thoughtful.

Obi-Wan: Master, what are people doing this far in the middle of nowhere?

Qui-Gon: They are moisture farmers. Trying to harvest water from the air. That is where we are going. Up ahead there.

The speeder approached a small domed homestead which was lit by small exterior spotlights. Qui-Gon brought the speeder to a stop and climbed out of the cockpit.

Qui-Gon: Let me do the talking here, Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan: Yes, Master.

They strode up to the main dwelling just as an old man with a grizzled face and white hair poked his head out of the door.

Old Man: What the hell?

Qui-Gon: Good evening, Sir. We don’t mean to intrude.

Old Man: Well, I’ll be damned!!! You again? Jesus fucking Christ. Can’t you just leave me ONE to help around the farm?

Qui-Gon: It’s not like that at all, Berman, really. I just need a favor.

Berman: A favor? Are you out of your fuckin’ mind? I think I’ve done you about all the favors I’m gonna. Now you get the fuck off my land before I blast you into next week, Jedi or no.

Qui-Gon: Please, Berman. It isn’t a big favor. We just need to stay the night and possibly, if you’re willing, find some work to do to get some money for passage to Coruscant. Or a loan, you know I’m good for it.

Berman: That’s it. Get your dusty asses off my land this instant! I swear I’ll burn you down to the ground.

Obi-Wan took a slight step forward, putting as much of the Force into his voice as possible and waving his hand gently in front of the old man’s face.

Obi-Wan: Perhaps we could interest you in this speeder as a trade? Or as collateral on a loan--?

Qui-Gon: Obi-Wan, really, I don’t think that is a good idea –

Berman: Why you little putzmonkey fuckstick!!! You tryin’ to pull a Jedi Mind trick on ME????!!! Goddamn you, you little shit!!!

Faster than Obi-Wan would have thought possible, the old man drew a wicked looking holdout blaster from his robe. Obi-Wan reached for his lightsaber, but he was too late to block the bolt as it pierced him in his leg and he went down, a smoking, scorching burn across his thigh.

Obi-Wan: Aaaaaaarrrrrghhh!!!!! Fucking hell!!!!! That hurts!!!!!

Qui:Gon: Relax!

Touching his Padawan’s shoulder firmly, Qui-Gon induced a relaxation trance on Obi-Wan. The young apprentice immediately passed out.

Berman: You over did it.

Qui-Gon: He wasn’t helping anyway. Look, what he said about the speeder, though, is true. Why don’t you take it in trade for an evening here and in the morning I will try and find us some work or someone who can help us. Please?

Berman: Oh for fuck’s sake. Pick that shit up off the ground and put him inside in the guest room. First door on the left. I tell you what, you pissheads didn’t teach him any manners at all, did you?

Qui-Gon: He is still young, and impulsive. But he’ll be no more trouble, I promise you.

Berman: And what is that? The promise of a Jedi. Especially one with no money and no where to sleep. Fuck. You can bed down in the living area on the couch. I was about to have Bee make up some chow for dinner. I’ll have her make enough for three. Doesn’t look like that little piece of shit is gonna be up for eating until at least tomorrow.

The next morning Obi-Wan awoke with a start. He sat up quickly and gasped as a jarring pain shot through his leg.

Relax, a voice said.

Obi-Wan: Who is that?

Bee: They call me ‘Bee.’ I’m Berman’s daughter. I’ve been asked to look after you today while your friend and my father went into Anchorhead. They said they would be back in about 12 hours from now, around midday. Are you hungry?

Obi-Wan: Not at the moment. Why does my leg hurt?

Bee: My father shot you for trying to pull a Jedi Mind Trick. He doesn’t appreciate Jedi too much.

Obi-Wan: Obiviously. I can’t believe he shot me.

Bee: My father has very good reflexes. He is not to be underestimated. Here, let me help you sit up.

Obi-Wan immediately realized that he was completely naked laying on the bed only under a flimsy white sheet. His morning erection was completely obvious to him, and to the young lady standing directly next to him helping to lean him up against the back of the bed.

Bee: You must be hot. I’ve been wiping you down all morning with cool compresses. You’ve been sweating in a fever all night. Your friend said your leg should be healed by tomorrow. He put you in some kind of healing trance.

Obi-Wan: That was thoughtful of him.

Bee: You’ve been talking in your sleep, you know. You’ve been saying you are stranded here. Is that true?

Obi-Wan: For the moment. We will eventually find a way to get the money to get off this – planet and back to the Republic.

Bee: The Republic is so far away from here. I hope someday I will be able to see it. Father says that he won’t ever let me go there. He says it is too dangerous these days, and that the Republic is corrupt. I don’t know. I just would like to get away…

The young girl continued to wipe Obi-Wan’s chest with the folded cool rag. She had a small plastic bowl of cool water next to the bed that she would occassionally rinse the rag into and rewet it. She pulled down the sheet a little more exposing his muscular stomach and continued wiping him down. Obi-Wan’s hard cock was throbbing from the attention and he could see and feel it bouncing and twitching slightly under the sheet as she swabbed him down. If she noticed his cock, she was hiding it well.

Bee: When you feel well enough to try walking, I’ll help you into the other room and make you some breakfast.

Obi-Wan: I’m fine for now. I’m not really hungry. So, um, what do you do around here exactly?

Bee: Quite a bit, actually. I’m the only help my father has since my mother died a few years ago. I cook, I clean, I even repair the vaporators now and then. And look after the droids.

Obi-Wan: Sounds like you are very good with your hands.

Bee gave him a strange look for a moment, a quirky smile on her young face.

Obi-Wan: I, um, mean, that you are so, um, versatile, I mean, err. I mean, you can do so many things! You must be very important to your father.

Bee nodded knowingly, the queer smile still on her face.

Bee: I know what you meant. You’re pretty funny. I like a man with a sense of humor. We don’t see many men out here, you know. The boys in Anchorhead are always so busy and when they aren’t working they are always out flying around in their dumpbspeeders and hotrodding it out on the Dune Sea hunting Womp Rats. It’s nice to have a man around, other than my father, anyway.

Obi-Wan swallowed and said nothing. Bee had begun wiping the compress around his abdomen, just above his navel. She looked at him for a moment, her hand slightly moving downward, the hard curve of the head of his cock was poking upwards under the sheet, just a few hairs shy of her hand as she made slow circles with the compress. She pulled the sheet down a little more until it was only just barely covering his swollen cock and the rest of his body. Obi-Wan could glance down and see the firm mushroom head of his dick clearly under the sheet. In the morning light under the sheet it glowed a bright pink. If Bee only turned her head slightly, Obi-Wan knew that she would see it too. She took the compress away, still looking into his face, and rinsed it off in the plastic bowl. She began to soak it with water again.

Bee: You’re friend called you Obi-Wan. Is that your real name?

Obi-Wan: It’s the name the Jedi Order gave me when I was a boy. I’ve never known another one.

Bee: I see. Do you have a girlfriend, Obi-Wan? Anyone special back home?

Obi-Wan: Well, no. Not anyone special. I don’t really have a lot of time –

As he spoke, Bee took the compress and began to rub it under the sheet, just under his thick penis. The top of her hand softly coming into contact with the head of his cock and the top of his long, thick shaft. Obi-Wan’s penis immediately responded by becoming even more firm, and a sizeable glob of precum appeared on the tip of his dick, soaking the sheet slightly in a little round spot. Bee pulled the sheet down even more, completely exposing his cock and balls to the warm air of the room. Then Bee began to rub Obi-Wan’s stiff dick with the cool wet compress, sliding her hand against it, making it even more slick.

Bee: You know, Obi-Wan. You really do have a magnificent penis. I’ve been admiring it all morning.

Obi-Wan: (gulping) You have?

Bee: Yes. It’s so much bigger than my father’s. Thicker, too. You had a wild dream, too, I think. Your dick was really wet this morning when I came in here. I was tempted to lick some of the precum. I’ve been wanting to put it in my mouth and jack you off. I’ve been wanting to feel it explode in my mouth, Obi-Wan. Do you want to know what I was doing earlier, when you were sleeping?

Obi-Wan: Yes. What were you doing?

Bee: I was fingering my cunt, Obi-Wan. Right here next to the bed. I was rubbing my clit and fingering my hole and I came right here not too long ago. I couldn’t help myself. You looked so sexy there in your bed, your big hard dick sticking up in the air. So thick. So juicy. Do you know what else I did?

Obi-Wan: (gulping again) No. What else did you do?

Bee: I stuck my finger up my asshole, Obi-Wan. I wanted to pretend it was your big cock inside me. My finger wasn’t enough, though. It just made me want you even more. So I tried two fingers, and it hurt so bad! I loved it. But it still wasn’t enough. I needed you, Obi-Wan. I needed that big fat cock inside me. I wanted to feel it. You can make me feel like no man ever will again. You’re a Jedi. A Jedi knows how to fuck!

Obi-Wan: Well, it is part of the training.

Bee: Oh, God, Obi-Wan. Fuck me, goddamn it!!! FUCK ME!!!!

That afternoon, Qui-Gon and Berman returned to the homestead. There had been no luck in Anchorhead. No one had enough money to hire two more hands until after the next harvest, which was months away. Tired, and frustrated, Qui-Gon followed Berman into the house. Immediately, they could both hear loud moaning and wailing coming from the guest bedroom. Fearing the worst, Qui-Gon took his lightsaber into his hand and held it at the ready. Berman had already seized his blaster and was leaning against the side of the door. Qui-Gon nodded that he was ready and kicked in the door. They both burst in ready for a fight.

It was total chaos. On the bed, Bee’s legs were high in the air, her ankles hoisted up and leaning against Obi-Wan’s bare sweaty shoulders. Furiously pounding his cock inside Bee’s swollen cunt. Her pubic hair was mashed down, soaking wet with sweat and sticky with several loads of gooey white cum. Her hair was splayed about the pillows, her heavy firm tits bouncing in rythm to Obi-Wan’s savage thrusts. They were both howling in orgasmic duress and failed to hear the newcomers entering the room.

Berman: BEN!!!!!! WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING???????

Obi-Wan: Wha -- ? Holy SHIT!!!! Get the FUCK OUT HERE!!!!

Berman: BEN, YOU SONUVABITCH!!!! YOU RAVING FUCK!!!! I’LL KILL YOU, I SWEAR TO GOD I’LL KILL YOU DEAD, YOU STUPID FUCK!!!!!

Bee: Daddy, NO!!!!! Please don’t, Daddy, please!!!!

Berman: Beru. Please, just SHUT YOUR MOUTH!! Do NOT speak again, DO YOU HEAR ME????!!!

Obi-Wan: Ben??? Who the fuck is BEN??? What the FUCK are you two doing in HERE????!!!

Qui-Gon: Obi-Wan… Prepare yourself for a bit of a shock…

Berman: Attention: BEN!!!! Would you PLEASE – Get YOUR FUCKING DICK OUT of your SISTER’S CUNT! NOW!!!!!!

Obi-Wan: What??? My sister??? WHAT????

Qui-Gon shook his head in exasperation. His eyes were tightly shut and he put his lightsaber back on his belt.

Qui-Gon: Obi-Wan. This is Berman Oni Kenobi, your father. And this – This is Beru, or ‘B’ for short… Your sister…

Berman: Now listen to me very carefully, Jedi. I want the two of you no-good fuckmonkeys to get out of my house, and off my land in the next 2 minutes. Take your fucking speeder, and leave. Do you hear me? I am not going to say it again. What I am going to do, is take a piss. When I get back in here, I am bringing my gun. The big one this time. And if you two are here, I will shoot you both. Are we clear? Good. And Beru. You have that same two minutes to get your fucking clothes on and into the kitchen where you belong, GODDAMN IT.

With that, Berman turned around slowly, and walked out. Less than two minutes later, Qui-Gon was tossing Obi-Wan’s robe, tunic and boots into the back of the landspeeder. Limping naked after him, Obi-Wan collapsed into the passenger side of the speeder. Without a word, the speeder shot away.

Obi-Wan was doing his best to dress himself despite Qui-Gon’s savage piloting of the speeder over the dunes. Qui-Gon was incensed, his forehead collapsed into folded ridges and his chin jutting out like the horned spine of a Rancor. Obi-Wan was becoming more and more aggitated by the minute. His overt sex drive had gotten him into trouble before, but he sensed this time was different. A lot different.

Obi-Wan: Well, Jesus H. Christ. How the FUCK was I supposed to know she was my sister????

Silence.

Obi-Wan: You NEVER said she was my SISTER!!!! And you KNEW the WHOLE time!!!!

Silence.

Obi-Wan: My name is BEN??? Why didn’t you TELL ME????

Silence.

Obi-Wan: But, Master, she was putting the MOVES on ME, man!!! She was totally WANTING it, you know??? She was BEGGING me for it!! I just couldn’t resist!!!

Silence.

Obi-Wan: OK. OKAY!!! I shouldn’t have fucked her. I admit it. OKAY???

Qui-Gon: Your hindsight serves you well, young Padawan. Now why don’t you bury your head deep down inside your ass where it usually is and shut the fuck up. I can’t believe how bad you have fucked it up this time. Do you realize how badly you have fucked us??? DO YOU????

Obi-Wan: I’m SORRY!!!! OKAY??? How many times do you want me to say it? I’m S-O-R-R-Y!!!!

Silence. The speeder continued to careen wildly over the dunes as Qui-Gon drove the vehicle as fast as it could go.

Obi-Wan: Can you TRY and not jerk the controls around, please. I’d rather not get thrown out of this thing and die before I get a chance to prove how S-O-R-R-Y I am. And where the fuck are we going, anyway? This isn’t the way back to Mos Espa.

Qui-Gon: That’s right, Fucknut. We’re not going to Mos Espa. We’re going to the only place we can go. The only option left to us. We’re going to Jabba’s Palace.

Obi-Wan: Goddamn it, Master!! I’m SORRY!!!!!

Qui-Gon: Oh don’t worry, Dipshit. You think you’re sorry NOW? Ha!! You will be. You WILL be.

Jabba’s Twi’lek majordomo escorted the two Jedi into the main audience chamber. Sitting on his repulsor lift dias, Jabba was being amused by an enormous Whipid breaking the limbs of a Rodian female as he held them behind her back and raped her from behind. Floating cameras were filming the entire grisly spectacle.

Jabba: Grom bido! Grom bido!! (Excellent! Excellent!!)

With a last massive tug, the arms of the Rodian tore free from their sockets, her yellow blood spurting from the jagged stumps. Her wailing cries increased to an ear splitting shriek. Impaled on the Whipids massive hairy cock, the armless Rodian screamed in abject horror. With a gut wrenching grunt, the Whipid climaxed. The pressure of his spewing penis blasted the woman from his cock, sending her sprawling into a twisted bloody heap on the grate in front of the dias. With a last flappy clap of his chubby hands, Jabba smacked the grate control with his fist. The floor under the blubbering woman collapsed instantly and she fell into the dark pit below. Muffled cries rose, filling the audience chamber, followed by a loud bellow and then a distinct crunching sound. The grate swung upwards again, shutting off the pit. The assorted spectators howled and cheered. With a glowering smile, Jabba the Hutt said: "Cut."

The majordomo lead Qui-Gon and an extremely pale Obi-Wan to the foot of the dias. Obi-Wan was vitally aware that they were now standing on the same detachable grate. The Twi’lek introduced them to Jabba, who looked completely unimpressed. A somewhat dusty green protocol droid stood to the left of the dias ready to translate for the Hutt Crimelord.

Jabba: Bo grunda vaz degredo sushuz glutoogah. (So, our one-time star has returned for an encore performance.)

Qui-Gon: Your Eminence. It is our honor to once again serve You. We await your pleasure.

Jabba: Awani dibanka cretoo. Grepenko shunkrapo hurami. (And who is this insect with you? He looks small, even for a human.)

Qui-Gon: This is another Jedi.

Jabba: Frobunka waz. Gruntunko greeta borni wuzzy. (Ridiculous. He looks sick. Like he has been licking his own ass all morning.)

Qui-Gon: Your Excellency, he is merely in awe at your granduer and power. I assure you he is quite well and has a great deal of stamina.

Jabba: Junza vega canto wah. Pretekko vani duregga wimpani huska. Hurzenka mo wani juzka dwah tey shinto. (Stamina my ass, I’ve shit turds with more fortitude. I’ve let farts with more staying power.)

Qui-Gon: If it is permitted to say, however, I have seen him in action myself, and his performance is quite remarkable.

Jabba: Frebekka waska grinto sushuz bwani, huska dorna unti gwana loata wani hurami prekko nor. Burengo toowani loska dinto vani kaluwuska grande pako, nuto bwanga dorso limpor cansatongo. (I would delight in seeing this puny human demonstrate his sexual prowess, unfortunately, my Whiphid star is spent at the moment. However, I think my guests would appreciate some further entertainment and, as always, the cameras are rolling.)

Qui-Gon: We live to serve, Your Greatness.

Jabba: Un grebo. (For now.)

The heat of the stage lamps broiled the air around the stage against the audience chamber. Qui-Gon was wearing a scant little white tunic that tied around his waist, his cock and balls held inside a brief pocket of almost transparent linen. Obi-Wan was bare-chested, but wearing a shimmering white skirt. Strangely coiled circular hairpieces had been stuck to the sides of his head. He grimaced and tried not to forget his cue.

Jabba: Crupe! (Action!)

Standing between two solid appearing walls of painted plastiform, the two Jedi were waist deep in grimy muck and refuse. Metal cans, spongy globs, and moldy leftover food were all around them. Gritting his teeth, Obi-Wan spread his legs and hoisted himself onto his stomach on top of the garbage. Standing behind him, Qui-Gon unsnapped the linen loincloth and rubbed his penis until it was fully erect. Qui-Gon then spit into his hand and let a long stream of saliva spill onto the head of his cock. Rubbing his hand and his spit between Obi-Wan’s asscheeks, Qui-Gon poised the head of his massive cock against his Padawan’s puckering, star-shaped anus. With a grunt, Qui-Gon pushed his cock forward and began to work his way inside Obi-Wan’s incredibly tight ass. Obi-Wan moaned and squirmed against the garbage, writhing around and trying not to thrash himself free. Several more pumps later, Qui-Gon had buried his enormous cock until his floppy balls smacked gently against Obi-Wan’s flushed ass. Obi-Wan let out a sigh of relief, thinking the worst of it was over. Qui-Gon, on the other hand, knew better. With a quick jutting pull, he brought his cock almost completely out of the pressing muscle, and before Obi-Wan could catch his breath, the thick hard cock of his Master was jabbing into his asshole again. Obi-Wan gasped in pain and howled into the refuse pile. Qui-Gon began pumping as hard as he could, sending his rigid shlong into the round brown hole of his apprentice. In his mind, Qui-Gon tried to think of anything but what he was doing, but he couldn’t get an image of a woman into his head. Instead, he kept thinking of how it was that Obi-Wan, his Padawan, had fucked things up so badly that he, Qui-Gon Jinn, an esteemed Jedi Master, had now sunk so low as to be making homographic porno flicks for a sloberring Hutt Crimelord on the backwater world of Tatooine. The thought both enraged and excited him. The two Jedi prepared to start their dialogue.

Obi-Wan: Into the garbage chute, Jedi!

Qui-Gon: Get on top of it!

Obi-Wan: I’m trying!!

Qui-Gon: One thing’s for sure. You’re anus is gonna be a lot bigger.

Obi-Wan: I wish your cock was a lot thinner! What are you fucking me with? You’re leg?

Qui-Gon: Jesus, man, your ass is so tight! It feels like it’s magnetically sealed!

Obi-Wan: Put that thing away before it gets me killed, goddamn it! Cum inside me already. Shoot that load of sperm up my shitpipe!

Qui-Gon: It’s AWAY!!!

With a loud, dramatic grunt, Qui-Gon reared back amidst the swirling garbage and grasped Obi-Wan’s asscheeks apart. His cock bucked and shuddered with a flooding orgasm. Moaning loudly for the microphones, Qui-Gon tossed his head back and shook his long hair free. He pulled his cock free of Obi-Wan’s asshole with a shuddering and slimy sounding ‘plop.’ Grasping the base of his cock he ejaculated his great streams of cum across Obi-Wan’s asscheeks.

Obi-Wan: How rude!!

Jabba: Hupe! (Cut!)

The two Jedi were shown to their places as Gamorrean guards pushed the new set pieces into place.

Jabba: Crupe! (Action!)

Adjusting his footing high above the stage, Qui-Gon tugged lightly on the shimmering strand of rope that was tied to the pipes along the ceiling. Firmly braced for the swing, Qui-Gon grabbed Obi-Wan around his waist and bent him low, kissing his apprentice firmly on the lips.

Qui-Gon: For luck!

With a surging leap, the two swung across the audience chamber from stage to stage. Landing as gracefully as they could manage, the two Jedi rolled into a crouch. Obi-Wan’s skirt caught on the strategically positioned hook and tore off, exposing his genitals. Qui-Gon, right on cue, landed face first directly into Obi-Wan’s lap, his mouth now pressed squarely against Obi-Wan’s balls. Following the lit up camera, Qui-Gon leered directly at it and then looked down hungrily at Obi-Wan’s growing erection. Wrapping his strong hand around the shaft, Qui-Gon began rubbing it up and down, pumping it up until it was thick and hard. Then, opening his mouth, he descended on Obi-Wan’s cock until his lips touched the brushy pubic hair on the young man’s belly. Gobbling at the shaft, Qui-Gon smothered the quivering dick with his saliva until is was shiny and slick. With slow, firm strokes of his palm, Qui-Gon matched the rhythm with his lips, pushing them up and down around Obi-Wan’s cock. Obi-Wan gritted his teeth as if he were in ecstacy, and began his lines.

Obi-Wan: Feel, don’t think... Use your instincts.

Moaning at the appointed time, Obi-Wan dropped his head back, thrusting his hips gently in time with Qui-Gon’s artistic sucking.

Obi-Wan: Can you feel the force flowing through me, Master? It’s about to flow really hard soon!!

Gasping loudly, Obi-Wan began bucking his hips, feeling the surging of heat in his balls as his orgasm approached.

Obi-Wan: There’s always a bigger fish!!!

With a loud trembling moan, Obi-Wan threw himself against the floor of the stage. Qui-Gon’s hand rapidly pumped the young Padawan’s cockshaft until the streamy white cum erupted from the head in spurt after spurt, slapping in creamy white streaks against the Jedi Master’s face and beard. As the camera zoomed in for a close-up, Qui-Gon extended his tongue, licking a large glob of cum from his cheek and with a lascivious grin, he swallowed it.

Jabba: Hupe! (Cut!)

Qui-Gon counted their money out to make sure they had received the correct amount. When he was satisfied, he dropped the pile of shiny coins into his side pouch and collected Obi-Wan. The two Jedi proceeded to their speeder by the front gate of Jabba’s palace without speaking. They climbed into the seats and Qui-Gon started the engine and pointed it for the distant city of Mos Espa. Their journey back was a silent one.

Qui-Gon: That’s right. Two tickets to Coruscant, please. As soon as possible.

Pilot: Damn. You two just missed one. My buddy jetted out of here for Coruscant last night.

Qui-Gon: Is that a fact?

Pilot: Yep. Damn lucky guy, too. Got himself TWO separate fares for the same trip.

Qui-Gon: Two fares?

Pilot: Yep. Made a bundle, too. Hahaha. He even fucked over the one chick and scammed her for a blowjob on top of that. What a dumb bitch. I met the kid, though. Fucking lucky little prick. Won that Boonta Eve race yesterday and everything. Made himself a fucking shitload of money. Then shot up some bounty hunters and fucking took off with a couple of hot looking whores. Damndest thing.

Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon exchanged surprised glances.

Qui-Gon: The girl was about so high, kind of young, brown hair, and small tits?

Pilot: That’s her, alright.

Qui-Gon: The boy’s name was… um… Anson, Anthony, Anadon…

Pilot: Anakin. Anakin Skywalker. That shop keeper Watto is plenty pissed off. The kid was his slave until yesterday. The little fucker popped his locator chip and took off. Watto lost everything betting on Sebulba. But I guess if you gamble long enough, eventually you lose. Right?

Qui-Gon’s mood was suddenly very black. He glowered at the pilot showing him his dark circled eyes.

Qui-Gon: Right. Listen. We need to leave Tatooine as soon as possible. How soon can we get a transport to Coruscant?

Pilot: Well, I do have to make a shipment to Bothawui which is due next week. I was gonna head out day after tomorrow, but I suppose I could be persuaded to go tomorrow instead. For the right price.

Qui-Gon didn’t even hesitate. He felt the anger inside of him broiling like a smelting pit. Pointing two fingers directly at the pilot, he made a sharp chopping gesture, exercising the full intent of the Force.

Qui-Gon: You will be HAPPY to take us tonight.

Pilot: I’ll be happy to take you guys tonight. What d’ya say?

Qui-Gon: I’d say that you’d made an excellent choice.

The two Jedi had a few hours to kill so they wandered in the streets of Mos Espa trying to stay in the shade and also trying not to talk to one another. The memories of the past several hours were like protusions in their brains. They were leaving the Docking Sector and found themselve in the middle of the Drinking Quarter where many Corellian pilots were quartered. As they passed a closed shop, Obi-Wan saw a face that he recognized passing in the crowd.

Obi-Wan: Eirtaé!!! I don’t believe it!! What are you doing here?

Eirtaé: Obi!! My god!! I thought you were dead! You have to help me! The Queen sold all of us as slaves!

Obi-Wan: What? The Queen is dead!

Eirtaé: Dead? No. She was here yesterday. Saché was still on the ship! Padmé sold us to Captain Panaka.

Qui-Gon: Captain PANAKA????!!!

Obi-Wan: Padmé????!!

Eirtaé: Yes. And he implanted us with a fucking explosive!! If we try and run away, he said he’d blow us up!

Qui-Gon: Well, shit happens. Where is Panaka now?

Eirtaé: He went into the desert to hunt Krayt Dragons.

Obi-Wan: Shit.

Qui-Gon: When is he coming back?

Eirtaé: Not until next week.

Obi-Wan: Well, so much for kicking his ass. Damn, that would’ve been fun. Fuck.

Qui-Gon: And Padmé left for Coruscant last night with that little slimy slaveboy. Fucking HELL!!!

Eirtaé: Please! You have to help us!

Qui-Gon: I didn’t come here to free slaves. Did you come here to free slaves, Obi-Wan?

Obi-Wan: Fuck no. That was absolutely NOT in the job description for this mission.

Eirtaé: Obi-Wan, PLEASE!!! After all we’ve been through together, you have to help us!!!

Obi-Wan: Have to? "Have to" is what I said two hours ago when I had a penis up my butt. As far as freeing slaves, I don’t "have to" do jack shit! Now beat it, bitch. And tell your ‘sisters’ that if they want to stay tight they should lay off the furniture.

Pushing Eirtaé to the ground, Obi-Wan turned with his Master and the two Jedi strode off into the crowd.

Obi-Wan: One fuck and they think you owe them their freedom. What a crock of shit.

Qui-Gon: Typical slave mentality. "Fuck me, Free me." Pathetic. Look, I’m sorry about before. If it means anything to you, I actually thought you were a great lay. And your cum tasted really good. I can see why your sister wanted you so badly.

Obi-Wan: Thank you, Master. I am grateful that you told Jabba that I had a lot of stamina. That meant a lot, coming from you, of course. And, well, I actually started to like your penis up my ass. I had no idea you were so huge when you were hard.

Qui-Gon: You’re welcome, young Padawan. And thank you. Come on, we have a little money, let’s get something to eat.

Sitting outside under an umbrella, the two Jedi Knights ate a small meal. Suddenly, there was an excited burst of bleeps and whistles and turning, they noticed a squat blue R2 unit that looked vaguely familiar. Standing next to him was an unfinished protocol droid. The prissy-voiced droid introduced himself.

C3P0: Good afternoon, Sirs. My name is C3P0, human-cyborg relations. And this is R2-D2, whom I believe you have met previously.

R2D2 beeped and whistled an affirmitive.

Qui-Gon: Get lost.

Obi-Wan: Yeah. Fuck off already.

C3P0: But, Sirs! This astro droid claims to be the property of Obi-Wan Kenobi and Qui-Gon Jinn: Jedi Knights that match your description.

Obi-Wan: I don’t recall ever owning a droid before.

Qui-Gon: If I owned a droid it would be a silent one that could give good head.

Obi-Wan: Yeah, and if I had an astro droid, I would make sure it came equipped with a vibrating dildo. I have a feeling that I am going to be needing a lot more anal activity from now on. SOMEONE stretched my ass so badly I won’t need to strain to shit for a month. And my prostate was so tickled, normal orgasms will never be the same again.

C3P0 looked from side to side at the two Jedi Knights trying to fathom what they were talking about.

C3P0: Sometimes I just don’t understand human behavior.

Obi-Wan: Word of advice, needledick. Don’t try.

Qui-Gon: I don’t know. Perhaps these droids might be useful. When we get to Coruscant perhaps they can help us find a certain renegade slave and his whore of a Queen accomplice.

Obi-Wan: Damn straight!! And she’ll be needing a lot more than decoys to save her ass this time.

Qui-Gon: We’ll move against the little runt first. We’ll then have no trouble taking the Queen and fucking the living shit out of her before we chop her into tiny little bits.

The two Jedi stood up.

Qui-Gon: C’mon. It’s about time to go. You two droids hurry along with us, now. We have a mission to complete.

C3P0: Mission? What mission?

Obi-Wan: The best kind of mission, fuckstick. A mission of vengeance.