This late in the evening, the twin suns of Tattooine have begun to droop toward the horizon, bringing the promise of respite from the sweltering heat. Rather than stray outdoors, most people stay inside. The low-ceilinged room is packed with sweaty bodies. You keep in the corner near the vent to avoid the unpleasant mugginess that comes with crowds in enclosed spaces.
You turn your attention toward Boba, unable to keep your eyes from him any longer. He does not speak much, but his very presence is electric, even magnetic. You can’t help yourself as you take him in. He’s sitting on his throne again, knees spread deliberately with his weight resting against the arm. His posture radiates boredom as he gazes out over the crowd of ass-kissers surrounding him. Judging what each one might want from him. Which one might try to shoot him next.
You remain next to the bar. The dress you’re wearing is black. It’s too short and too tight, leaving little to the imagination. As you tug the skirt back down to where it belongs, you see a glint of light as Boba tilts his head in your direction. Then deliberately, he lifts his hand and crooks one finger, beckoning you to him. You lift your brow at him, as if to ask really? Boba pats his knee with one hand, and you sigh to yourself, finishing that last sip of your drink and leaving the cup on the counter in a puddle of its own condensation.
You saunter across the floor. The crowd of alien bodies parts silently and without hesitation. You note that people are deliberately avoiding looking at you, knowing that retaliation will be swift and violent if they make that mistake. It is a well-known fact that Boba has claimed you as his. The last time anyone got between him and his woman, blood had been spilled. Even now, the bloodstains stand out vividly on the sandstone flooring.
As you settle onto Boba’s knee, you cross one knee over the other, letting him get a peek at the lacy stocking underneath. His hand finds your thigh immediately. The worn palm of his leather glove is warm, almost unbearably so. He strokes his way up to the hem of your skirt, dripping his hand down toward your sweltering heat.
“Boba,” you scold, giving him a flirtatious smile. “What are you doing?”
“Seeing if everything’s where I left it,” he says, and you roll your eyes in response.
Your knees part automatically for him. Biting down on your lip, you give him a coy look, tingling gooseflesh following his fingers as they drift higher and higher. A tiny moan of frustration escapes you as his hand pauses to unclip your garter belt. Then he slowly palms your stocking down toward your knee, brushing his gloved fingertips against the newly-exposed expanse of skin. Biting down on your lip, you shift impatiently on his knee.
“Careful, little one,” he purrs. “I might think you actually like this.”
He slides further up and cups your mound, a growl like a purr escaping him.
“So warm,” he says. “Are you getting wet for me, little one?”
Boba doesn’t wait for an answer as he pulls his fingers away, forcing a whine from your lips.
“Look at them,” Boba says casually, as he removes his glove. “Desperately trying to not look at you while I fuck you on my fingers.”
You glance over at the milling crowd. Some have pointedly turned their backs to the throne; others are trying to watch from their periphery. Yet no one looks directly, all too frightened of Boba to dare look at him. At you. He returns his hand to your crotch as you pull the short skirt up. He begins stroking you through your panties. You’re so wet you can hear the wet noises of his fingers against your clenching core.
He only gives you a few more moments of blessed friction against your clit before pulling away once more. As you gulp down a breath of air, the spinning in your head stops. Boba pulls out his vibroblade and slips his fingers under the crotch of your panties. Then he slices through the fabric and puts the blade away. Before you can scold him, he gives you a glare you can feel through his visor.
“I bought them,” he reminds. “I’ll get you more.”
An annoyed huff escapes you, but it soon dies away.
“Do you want me to keep going, little one?” he asks.
“Yes, please,” you respond impatiently.
Boba traps your clit between his index and middle fingers. Electricity fills your veins as he pinches lightly, sending a bolt of lightning straight up your spine, driving away any coherent thought that might have still been lingering in your mind. Two long, calloused fingers slide between your slick folds, parting you around him as he traces a slow path toward your entrance. Boba teases you, dipping the tip of his finger inside, giving you just enough to feel but not enough to bring you any measure of relief. Before long, you’re squirming, panting, aching for more. Little whimpers fall from your lips between gasps for air.
Then he slides two fingers in, gaze heavy as he watches your face contort with pleasure as he finally takes mercy on you. Slowly, carefully, Boba works his fingers in and out, slowing or stopping each time you start to squeeze around his digits. He keeps you on the edge until your body is so tense it feels like it’s on the verge of just snapping. Then he stills his fingers inside you, giving you a blessed moment to catch your breath.
“There we go,” he rumbles. “Look at how wet you are…dripping into my palm.”
To prove his statement, he pulls his fingers out with an obscene wet noise. He holds his hand up, showing you the puddle of slick coating the palm of his hand.
“Boba!” you whimper.
“What do you want from me, little one?” he asks in mock-curiosity, “Wanna come?”
“So polite,” he responds. “How could I ever tell you no, princess?”
Instead of sliding his fingers back into you, Boba starts undoing the fastenings on his trousers and pulls his cock out. He strokes himself a few times, spreading your slick along his shaft. The head of cock is dark with arousal, a drop of cum already glimmering on the tip. Your mouth waters at the sight.
“Do you want my mouth, Boba?” you ask sweetly.
“Not yet,” he says. “I want your pretty little pussy.”
It takes a few moments to squirm your way into position, but the throne is big enough for the both of you. Boba’s hands push your skirt up around your waist as you settle on your knees, hands on his thighs to balance yourself. One hand cups your ass; his other steadies his cock under you. He pulls down
“Good girl,” he rumbles, “Nice and slow.”
You sink down onto his cock, biting down on your lip to smother your moan. With each rock of your hips, you sink down a little further, eyes rolling back into your head as he slowly parts your walls around him. He’s fucked you well over a half-dozen times in the past week alone, but it feels so good. Each time he slides his cock in it feels so right, like he was made for you and you alone. At long last, he’s buried in you to the hilt, just shy of uncomfortable.
“There we go, little one,” he says, hands massaging your ass cheeks. “Just like that, you’re doing so well. Now, stay perfectly still.”
You desperately want to move but you know better than to disobey. Boba is a generous lover. He gives you whatever you want, whenever you want, but the instant you disobey is the instant he takes it all back from you. Then he’ll punish you. He will keep you on the edge as long as it takes to break you. Until you’re crying. Writhing in a puddle of your own slick. Begging him for mercy.
He wraps one arm around your middle and settles you back against his shoulder, spreading your knees a little wider. Spreading you wide open for the spectators who are pretending they can’t see his cock buried to the hilt in you. His fingers find your clit once more and squeeze. You very nearly come on the spot, a shrill noise escaping you. Boba’s other arm pins your hips down into place as a rich laugh escapes him.
“Mmm,” he rumbles into your shoulder. “Such pretty noises you make.”
His fingers start to circle slowly, his other hand flat against your belly. Little bolts of pleasure shoot through you as you watch your audience with half-closed eyes, their determined eyes focused anywhere but you. Boba starts grinding his hips upward, fingers on your clit, each stroke inching you closer and closer to the precipice. Your heart pounds as your fingers dig into the heavy metal bracer across you, your hips swivelling in tight circles to meet each grind of his hips.
“Good girl,” he rasps into your ear. “Doing so well for me.”
“Boba,” you whine, feeling a bead of sweat drip down your chest and into your cleavage. “Please, I’m so close, so-so close, I’m gonna - “
“Gonna what, little one?” he croons into your ear. “Gonna scream for me? Make a mess on my cock while you come?”
His words break you. With the next swipe of his fingers around your pearl, you come undone, crying out his name. Closing your eyes, you ride the sharp waves of pleasure, moaning with each stroke inside you. Quick as lightning, Boba shifts, pulling out his blaster and aiming. A split second later, you hear the deafening crack of his weapon, and a body falls to the floor. A puddle of blood rapidly spreads underneath it, and you hazily think it’s another stain that’s not coming out.
“Don’t look at what doesn’t belong to you,” Boba says, voice carrying over the crowd as he re-holsters his blaster.
As you squeeze around him, you can feel that liquid fullness, your innermost walls impossibly slick with his spend. Vaguely, you wonder if shooting that random person had gotten him off. After a few moments, his cock stops twitching, and you settle back, clenching tight to keep him in you. Slowly, your breathing and heart return to normal. Your skin is damp with sweat in the muggy air. His hand strokes along your abdomen absently, fingers pausing to trace over the scar on your hip.
“Care to get me a drink, little one?” he asks, squeezing gently. “I’m parched.”
“Yes, of course,” you manage to say.
With a wet noise, you climb off his lap, unable to silence your whine of protest as he slips out. Then you pull your skirt down around your upper thighs. On shaking legs, you head to the bar, burning hotter with each step you take. His cum, warm and thick, starts to leak back out, coating your inner thighs. You can feel the weight of their eyes on you as they take in Boba’s claim dripping down to your knees.
With a swing of your hips, you return to Boba’s side and take your place in his lap once more. It feels good.