The Pleasure Palace of Orionis (Patreon)

Contains: Breast Expansion as Weight Gain

These characters are mine; the setting is not.

Happy Star Wars Day.

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The Pleasure Palace of Orionis

Jedi Master Jennlyd and her Padawan, Cinally, strode from the landing pad into a massive palace. The building’s plaster facade was so white it looked like marble. Orionis was a temperate planet—during their descent toward the sprawling city of Ves Eveon, Master Jennlyd pointed out the surrounding woods, pastures, and farmland that made the planet’s economy largely self-sufficient. And yet Isadora Skye, the city’s mayor and de-facto leader of Orionis, had sent out a request for aid from any available Jedi.

The halls of the palace were as near-blinding as their exterior counterparts but interrupted here and there with hung tapestries, gilt-framed glow panels, and potted flowers and plants. Cinally admired the plants for a moment, then considered the servants who must water and trim them on a daily basis, likely hauling the pots in and out of the building to make sure they got enough sunlight. It was an extravagance, a waste. Struggle though it was, she was taking the lessons of her Master to heart. Austerity, self-control, temperance; these were things of the Light. However, prejudice and assumption were no more of the Light than extravagance. If these simple plants provided serenity and joy to the people who lived and worked in this palace, what was the harm? Even more, if the servants who cared for them found gratification in their labor, what could be bad about that? There were not many servants in the palace. An attendant led the women to meet with the mayor, and Cinally saw no more than a dozen other people as they walked through the white-walled corridor. They all looked healthy and well-fed, with ruddy cheeks and bright eyes. Cinally would reserve judgment; no one working in the palace looked like a slave.

Isadora Skye lounged in a large padded chair in a room filled with white pillars. Cinally would have called the chair a throne, but Isadora was not a queen. The mayor held a gauntlet of deep red liquid that glimmered with encrusted gems. The pillars in the room surrounded a clear pool, barely a few hand-spans deep, where half a dozen men and women sat. Some sat in the water; some only dipped their feet. A few had wine goblets like the mayor, and every last one was being waited on by more servants. The servants carried heavy-laden platters of food, and a young male was even feeding some small fruits to a woman who sat at the edge of the pool. Her plump legs were outstretched in the water, and through her diaphanous robes, Cinally saw her heavy breasts spilling languidly over a well-rounded belly. Clearly, she thought, asceticism was not among the virtues of Isadora Skye’s administration.

“Ah!” Isadora exclaimed as the robed women entered the room, “The Jedi are here.”

“Indeed we are, Mistress Skye,” Jennlyd said.

“Please, please, you must call me Isadora.”

“Very well, Isadora. I am Jennlyd, and this is my apprentice, Cinally.”

Cinally bowed slightly to the mayor.

“Come, sit! I confess I was not certain anyone would answer my request. There are so few Jedi these days. Some even say there are none left, but here you are!”

Jennlyd walked to one of the seats the mayor indicated and sat. Cinally followed her Master, brushing her heavy robe under herself before lowering into the chair.

“Please tell us what the trouble is, Isadora,” Jennlyd said.

“In good time, all in good time. First, you must be weary from your journey. Pray, take some refreshment.”

Seeing the pampered people in the room and the well-fed servants, Cinally suspected whatever food the mayor had on offer would taste better than the rations she’d been eating for the last dozen or so days. Unfortunately, she could feel her Master’s disapproval at the mere thought of accepting Isadora’s offer.

“We are adequately provisioned, thank you,” Jennlyd said.

Isadora took a sip from her goblet. “Come now, I know what kinds of food are kept on ships. I mean no disrespect, but practicality rules in such circumstances. Allow me this small indulgence.”

Cinally waited for her Master to respond. It was not her place to speak out of turn, but she felt certain that even a Jedi’s austerity would not force them to reject the mayor’s hospitality.

“We will take tea if you have it,” Jennlyd said.

Isadora raised one hand, and a curvaceous servant rushed from the hall. Cinally waited for the conversation to proceed, but the mayor seemed intent on waiting for their tea.

After some time, the servant returned with two large, steaming mugs. They could almost have been bowls. Cinally tasted the tea handed to her. It was saccharine sweet, almost too sweet. As a girl, she’d adored any kind of sweet thing she could find, but years of Jedi training in a life of self-denial had altered her tastes somewhat.

Jennlyd did not comment on the too-sweet tea but smiled at their host. “Thank you, Isadora, this tea is very fine.”

“I’m glad you enjoy it.”

The Jedi set her mug on a small table nearby, not touching it again after her initial sip. “Mayor, your posting conveyed some urgency; perhaps you’d be good enough to tell us what the trouble is?”

Isadora sighed as if the business of her position was a great burden. “I’d heard Jedi were nothing if not efficient. Very well, I am in need of protection for a few dozen cycles.”

“Protection, like bodyguards?” Cinally asked.

“Just so.”

Jennlyd gestured around the hall at the lounging guests and working servants. “Surely there are those among your own people to suit this purpose?”

Isadora took a long pull on her goblet, hints of color rising on her cheeks. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard of Corvus Darkhawk, Lady Jennlyd?”

Jennlyd ignored the improper title. “I’m afraid not.”

“I have reason to believe he and his cartel mean to disrupt trade in Ves Eveon by displacing me.”

“Jedi are not guards for hire, Mayor,” Jennlyd said.

“Of course, of course. Officially, you’d be here in the palace as my honored guests. I won’t insult you by offering payment, but all your needs will be met during your stay, and I’ve prepared a substantial donation to the Jedi temple.”

Cinally expected her Master to refuse or deliberate further, but Jennlyd merely nodded. “Very well, Isadora. My apprentice and I would be happy to stay as your guests. If this Corvus is disrupting local trade, the New Republic will want him dealt with.”

“Excellent, excellent!” Isadora clapped her hands in delight. A pair of plump servants approached her throne. “My servants will show you to the apartments I’ve prepared. If you wish to change for dinner, you’ll find clothing in your rooms as well.”

The Jedi and her apprentice did not change for dinner. “The offer is generous,” Jennlyd said, “But hiding our nature would contradict our purpose in being in this place.”

Cinally nodded in understanding. 

The mayor’s servants had already carried what little luggage they’d brought into two well-appointed rooms with balconies overlooking the city and the lush forest beyond. When a servant fetched them to dinner, they followed him to a lavish banquet hall. Isadora Skye was seated at the head of a massive wood table, and though fewer than half a dozen guests were seated along either side, the table was stacked high with enough food for fifty. Cinally let some of her base desires off their leash when she tasted the food. Every last dish was rich and delicious, perfectly cooked and seasoned, with creamy sauces and relishes. Jennlyd ate sparingly as always, but their host cajoled and urged them to try this dish or that, so Cinally reasoned that one of the two of them should acquiesce to the offers so as not to offend the mayor. When she finally crawled into her soft bed—the softest mattress Cinally had used since becoming a Jedi’s apprentice—her stomach ached with the quantity of delicious food within.

She was going to enjoy this job.

***

Her days in the palace became a steady routine. Jennlyd patrolled the palace grounds, acquainting herself with the staff and the steady trickle of guests that came and went. Cinally rarely saw her Master more than once or twice per day, leaving herself more often than not as the sole focus of the mayor’s attention.

“Do you like the soup, Cinally? Try some of these biscuits with it.”

Isadora was a very generous host. Her sole purpose seemed to be the comfort and pleasure of the people around her. Each day, Cinally was treated to a lavish breakfast, an opulent lunch, and an extravagant dinner. To say nothing of the near-constant snacks and treats the mayor made available. Not that Isadora did much of the eating or any of the serving work herself; the cheerful servants in their snug breeches, wide skirts, and overfilled tunics were ever close at hand to refill Isadora’s goblet or to offer some drink or snack to the redheaded Padawan. Cinally accepted nearly everything offered to her—in the name of congeniality, of course.

She and the mayor chatted amiably for hours. Isadora never tired of hearing Cinally’s stories. The places they’d been, the people they’d met. Isadora shared her own tales of Orionis, her childhood, her rise to prominence, and—though Cinally tried to divert her—the endless string of lovers who’d shared the mayor’s bed.

Days became weeks, and before she knew it, Cinally and her Master had been guests in the palace for over a month. One afternoon, after a customarily heavy lunch, Cinally lounged in her apartment, eyelids heavy as she reclined in an overstuffed chair. A soft rap at the door made Cinally sit up straight, grunting at the sudden movement.

“Yes?”

The door swung open to admit Isadora, who closed the door behind her. Cinally struggled to her feet. “Isadora, what can I do for you?”

Isadora stepped close to her, very close. Her voice pitched to a whisper, she said, “I’d more hoped to see what I could do for you, Cinally…”

The mayor’s tall, elegant body was so close that Cinally could smell the wine aroma rising off the other woman.

“I’d like to think we’ve become friends,” Isadora continued.

“O-of course!” Cinally’s heart raced in her chest. Romantic pleasures were not something Jedi pursued, but pampered as it was, Cinally’s body was less devoted to asceticism.

“I’d like to show you how friends show their appreciation for one another here in Ves Eveon.”

Cinally knew she should refuse, step away from this hedonistic mayor she’d grown so fond of these past weeks. But Isadora’s hand touched her hip, and despite the layers of material covering her, the touch sent tingling heat throughout her body.

The voice that came out of Cinally’s mouth in a husky whisper seemed to belong to someone else. “Very well…”

Isadora’s nimble fingers undid the belt at Cinally’s waist, pushing open her heavy brown outer robe. The tan tunic beneath hugged Cinally’s body, revealing generous curves she’d not had when they arrived on Orionis.

Isadora’s hands gently stroked her sides through the tunic, brushing her softened belly and widened hips. “You really are a lovely woman, Cinally. And you’ve grown even lovelier under my care.”

Cinally opened her mouth to say… something, anything, to protest or deny Isadora’s implication. But before any words came out, the mayor’s mouth was against her own. Instinct took over, and Cinally leaned into the kiss. A whimper came from the back of her throat at the tingling pleasure of her tongue mingled with Isadora’s. She found her own hands stroking Isadora’s waist and back, drawing the taller woman even closer. A strange weight pressed against Cinally’s chest as Isadora leaned into her, reaching behind her back and fumbling for the tucked end of the tunic’s wrapping.

Isadora undid the wrap, running her hands around and around Cinally’s waist until her tunic was free. She pushed the outer robe from Cinally’s shoulders, then opened the front of her tunic. The touch of the mayor’s hands against her bare skin made the Padawan gasp. An unfamiliar sensation flooded her with fresh pleasure as Isadora’s hands hefted and kneaded some part of… her hanging from her chest.

“Such a lovely figure,” Isadora moaned, bending down to bury her face in Cinally’s skin. “It’s criminal to hide a body like this under those heavy robes…”

Her words cut through the haze of lust flooding Cinally’s mind. She’d never had an impressive figure. Never even noteworthy. True, she’d been a Jedi’s apprentice since she was a child, but her body had always been taut muscle and lean limbs. She’d closed her eyes when they started kissing, but now they shot open. She looked down to find Isadora’s head surrounded by a pair of breasts larger than the mayor’s head. Cold shock ran through her. Where had those come from?

It took no more than 3 seconds for Cinally’s mind to replay the constant stream of luxurious meals and generous snacks. She remembered the Twi’lek on Shoursoun, the former Imperials on Pegrilia, and everything clicked into place. She took Isadora by the shoulders, spinning them around and pushing the mayor down into the chair she’d been nearly napping in.

“Apologies, Mayor, I cannot do this.”

Isadora sputtered, and Cinally could see the woman was more drunk than she’d first thought. “W-what?”

“It is forbidden. I’m sorry!”

Without stopping to fetch her outer robe, Cinally dashed out of the room, clutching the sides of her tunic in a vain attempt to cover her modesty. Unbound as they were, her breasts created a wobbling canyon of cleavage between her arms as she hurried down the palace corridors, reaching out through the Force to find her Master.

Cinally found Jennlyd in a darkened room, gambling with some palace guests and smoking something from a long tube.

“Master? Are you smoking death stick leaf‽”

Jennlyd looked up, startled at the sight of her half-dressed apprentice. “Cinally? What hap— No, of course not. It is an herb native to this planet. It’s medicinal.”

It seemed that while the Padawan had been busy stuffing herself into a body fit for a cantina dancer, the Master had been smoking strange leaves and gambling. The importance of a Jedi’s self-restraint had never been more clear.

Cinally stared down at Jennlyd. Her disapproving scowl’s effect was spoiled somewhat by the massive breasts spilling from her tunic.

“I think it’s time we left this planet, Master.”