“Yes Mistress, I do.”“Make it ready and fuck me there. Fuck me until you cum.”“Yes Mistress. Thank you Mistress.”“You’re welcome Kriss...,” she muttered, taking her position. His tongue began its work. “Masturbate my cock, Krissy,” she told him. “Give it a good tugging.” She had moved it up, so he had access to her pussy, but the base still pressed against her pubic bone, just grazing the upper base of her clit.“Yes Mistress.”The masturbating seemed to help excite him. The man was definitely on. Some of her orgasmic juices dribbled down her inner thigh across the tiny Desilijic Tiure clan tattoo which branded her as one of Jabba's slaves."May I dress?" she asked, her voice timid. He nodded in approval and she quickly bent down to retrieve her brassiere, fitting it across her breasts to regain the small amount of dignity her enslaver allowed."And now that I have ... warmed you up," Jabba began with a deep chortle, "I have an important job for you before we reach our destination..."At. Bruises and sprains were an everyday event. Fighting while injured or in a cast was regular part of our training.We were well fed, maintained and taught, but we weren't loved. The Organization was not equipped to raise a child.Our teachers would change every few weeks. They wanted us loyal to the company, not a person.By the time we hit puberty, there wasn't a gun we couldn't disassemble, clean, and reassemble, blindfolded, in less than three minutes. We knew dozens of fighting styles, and. You struggle to prop yourself up and see that you are on a rocky beach. Your shoes and your shirt are gone--you have only your shorts on. Your legs are being lapped by the waves--now calm and cheery--but your back is burned from the sun. You look down at yourself and see the imprints of the craggy rocks all over your body. Miraculously you have only a few scrapes that seem now to have scabbed over, and suddenly you have a vague memory of being thrown around in the water, feeling solid ground.