The Coming Doomsday 9 (Patreon)

Komand’r stood at the window of the bedroom, looking out at a harbor littered with sails like napkins on a banquet table. She wore a shirt meant for a stout man. It easily held her trim belly, but her large breasts threatened to pop it open below her throat. Her hips matched her chest, forcing the hem of her shirt up nearly to her waist, showing the supplely muscled thighs that were held in tight black trousers, showing each sweeping curve as they wove themselves into slender legs.

Yet despite being a portrait of beauty, she couldn't manage the lush sexuality and giggly cheer that she knew made her sister even more appealing than her.

Her face was more striking than gorgeous —her sister was gorgeous —with dark eyes, a cruel mouth, and a prominent nose that drew attention which would be reserved for full lips and doe-like eyes in her sister. She wore her blood red hair long; it was straight and came down to the swell of her ass, not that it was ever commented on as her sister's was. She held herself with arrogance and power rippled in her every certain movement.

As she looked out over the harbor, a launch sped through the water, carrying passengers to a yacht too large for the briny, old-world pier. She smiled with sharp white teeth, a feature she was proud of. No one ever complimented her sister on her teeth’s wolfish gleam.

“It will be an interesting trip… pleasurable and certainly profitable,” she said, thinking of the equivalent ship in orbit, which put this primitive floater to shame. “And I will shame my sister with how much I enjoy myself while she's limited to a single male.”

The telephone rang. Komand’r resented the shrill noise which was this planets seemingly only means of drawing and keeping attention. She took four tigerish steps across the room, feeling the luxurious carpet tickle her feet and disliking as well that she had to touch it at all instead of flying.

She picked up the phone, promising herself she'd destroy the odious instrument the moment she was done with it.

“The constable has arrived, your majesty,” her minion said.

“Excellent. And the young woman?”

“She's with him.”

“Good,” she hissed, though secretly she'd almost hoped he would fail her and give her an excuse to punish him. “Wait five minutes, then show them into my office.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“And if the gallery calls, tell them where to deliver the paintings. You do remember where we landed, yes?”

“It shall be done. Will that be all?”

“Not quite. Make sure the catering is taken to the same location. We leave tomorrow and everything must be ready by then.”

“Yes, lord.”

“Now, unless the captain arrives, I wish not to be disturbed until my meeting with the constabulary is over.“

Komand’r set the phone down after threatening the handset by squeezing it until a crack appeared in the plastic.

A few moments later, she appeared in a room that was expensively carpeted but sparsely furnished. It held only an expansive desk and several starkly simplistic chairs spaced out before it. She padded over the thick carpet, hating even the whispers her feet made, and took her seat behind the desk. 

A door on the other side of the room opened. A new woman entered. She appeared to be in her early twenties, far shorter than Komand’r’s six feet of height, and built on a slender frame. Her hair was the bright yellow of the sun after a storm, long and giving no indication whatsoever of being a wig. She had a small, sharp-featured face—large eyes and a neat, pointy chin. Her mouth was wide with slender lips, her nose narrow, and there was a las-gun strapped to her luscious hip. She wore as little as could pass uncommented on: shorts and a gauzy blouse that conspired with the sunlight to reveal much of the body underneath and little of what, if anything, covered it further.

Komand’r smiled at the sight of the weapon. “Are you going to protect me, Phaidor?" she asked.

The other rubbed her thumb over the butt of the holstered pistol. “You have many enemies, lord, and make more frequently.”

“I doubt that this policeman is one of them. He makes too much money off me.”

“He could make more by killing you.”

She patted the weapon as the door opened.

The constabulary seemed about to burst out of his uniform, reminding both women of a hot-air balloon that had somehow managed to acquire arms and legs. His considerable height of six feet was diminished by his girth. A thick double chin and florid slabs passing as jowls framed his broad features.

He bowed deeply to Blackfire. “It is a pleasure to be visited by such an illustrious personage.”

Komand’r nodded, but her eyes skipped over him to get to the woman who'd followed him inside. A hazel-eyed Twi’lek, Aayla Secura had a generously proportioned and athletic body, capable of making any man stop in his tracks and forget what he was doing until he’d had his last look at her. Her lekku cascaded down past her shoulder blades, sensual even to non-Twi’leks with their lush curves, obviously erogenous sensitivity, and lingerie-like ribbons, tousling back from her high forehead with wild splendor.

There was something about how she carried herself, gracefully, but with an almost uncontainable youthful energy, that made a man harden at the sight of her. She had flawless skin, a lovely luminous blue the shade of the sky on a perfect summer day, soft and blushing into the depths of sapphires on the undersides of her high cheekbones.

Now, though, her intelligent eyes were rimmed with red, trying to hide the fear and bewilderment that, to one familiar with Twi’leks, was obvious in her frantically twitching lekku.

“My lady, I present to you Aayla Secura, formerly of the Jedi order. She is, I fear, not as welcome on this world as you.”

Komand’r’s eyes roamed over the exotic and alluring figure the Jedi presented to her. “I must apologize on her behalf for how she's broken your laws. How much would it cost me to ameliorate her offense?”

The constabulary opened his arms in an expansive gesture. “I would ask for only your fond memories of our humble land, but former Jedi are in great demand by the Empire. I won't ask you to pay more than them, Blackfire, but you must equal the amount I'd get from them.”

“And how much is that?”

“Four million credits.“

Phaidor hissed through her teeth. “We could get dozens of Twi'lek trash for that much!”

Aayla’s lekku twitched and she slashed Phaidor with raging eyes. “Most in the galaxy are too moral to own so much as one slave.”

“Most don’t know how to teach them the respect I’ll teach you!”

Phaidor stepped towards her.

“She's mine to handle, Phaidor!” Komand’r barked. She turned a smile on the constabulary, whose affable smile had not changed any more than a painting would. “Four million credits is no small sum.”

He made a show of spreading his hands apologetically, but before he could say anything, Aayla spoke up again.

“I'm here as a courtesy to this man, who said he wouldn't report me to the Empire so long as I took this meeting. He said there was a woman who might be sympathetic to the Jedi, if she could meet with me and be sure I was as I claimed. I didn't come here to be bartered over!”

Komand’r smiled at her spirit. “Yet you are. And for a tidy sum.”

“No more than the Empire would pay,” he reiterated.

“And does the Empire always keep its deals?”

“No,” the constabulary admitted. “But better a gamble than a trifle.”

“You won't get anything for me, either of you!” Aayla cried.

“My dear, this will go easier for you if you face realities now rather than later.”

Komand’r nodded agreement. “A woman fleeing extermination shouldn't find my employ so intolerable.”

“That's what you want? To hire me?”

“There are many things I want,” Blackfire murmured. “If you're wanted by me, rest assured that I'll have you.”

“No man may have me,” Aayla said haughtily.

“I'm no man,” Blackfire retorted in an amused tone.

Aayla tossed her head with a bounce of her lekku. “Then you can't even take me.”

“The matter is irrelevant unless my fee is met,” the constabulary said flatly.

“I am not a good to be sold,” Aayla snapped.

Blackfire smiled at her fury. "You'll have a better time as my cargo than as the Empire's prisoner. You want to decide your own fate? Make that choice.”

“You know who I am? I'm a Jedi, a guardian of peace and order whose lineage dates back—"

“You are a wanted fugitive slated for a particularly brutal fate,” Blackfire said bluntly.

Fear entered Aayla’s eyes. “Then… those are my choices? To be your slave or to die?”

“No choice at all,” Komand’r stated. “And you won't get much more in my service. Only whether you enjoy yourself or not.”

“I could never enjoy being a slave.”

“How can you be a slave?” Komand’r asked mockingly. “You're choosing this.”

“And what's to stop me from leaving at the first opportunity?”

“Convenience. If you escape, I'll simply report you to the Empire and allow them to make good my loss. But if you complete six months in my service, you're free to go.”

“Doing what?”

“I'll explain everything,” Komand’r said. “Once the constabulary leaves the room. We wouldn't want him to hear anything he might have to pass along to his colleagues in law enforcement.”

He bowed again, hiding his knowing smile almost in the floor, before he left the room.

As soon as he'd shut the door behind him, Komand’r stood and sat on her desk, displaying her flank to Aayla instead of hiding it. She plucked a cigarillo from a box on her desk. When she turned on the table lighter to flame it, the burn chased the shadows from Aayla’s body. Her eyes boldly devoured all that was revealed.

“Don't think you've gotten the job,” Komand’r said coldly. “You've only gotten me alone. Now we'll see if you're worth the price you carry. Disrobe.”

Aayla gasped and flushed a deeper shade of blue. “How could you? I'm a person, a Jedi, not a piece of meat.”

“You are very much a piece of meat,” Komand’r rejoindered. “An expensive piece of meat. And I always inspect such things closely before I pay for them.“ 

The would-be-calm hazel in Aayla’s eyes locked with the fathomless black inside Komand’r’rs pupils. She struggled to hold onto her poise.

“I won't do it,” Aayla said, her voice dropping. “I'm my own person, a free Twi'lek, and I won't be pored over like a picture on a page.”

Komand’r’s voice rose to be as icy and insulting as she could manage. She needed this girl humiliated, and now, not later. The sooner she was broken, the sooner she could be put to work.

“I'm not interested in how you'll be pored over, only that you are. You're selling the only thing you have to sell and I'm buying. I want to see what I'm getting for my money. Now strip.”

Aayla glanced at Phaidor. "What about her? Why should she get to see me?”

“A great many people will see you before your six months are up. I only made the constabulary leave because I disliked the thought of your nudity being tainted by his piggy little eyes. But if you can't even be naked before a woman as lovely as Phaidor…” and Blackfire put her finger on the button for her intercom.

“I can,” Aayla said quickly, then looked mortified at how she'd had to embarrass herself out of her haughty disposition. “I will.”

“Phaidor,” Komand’r said with the rolling firmness of a command. “See that she does.”

Phaidor’s eyes shot to the low-cut neckline of the summer dress Aayla was wearing. “No slouching,” she ordered.

Aayla rose uncertainly to her full height. Her eyes gleaming, Phaidor leaned forward and ran her fingers along Aayla’s nylon-clad knees. In an instant, her soft hands were moving up Aayla’s dress, along her thighs.